Flashman - Flashman and the Angel of the Lord Part 13

"d.a.m.nation, what'd I say?" cries Stevens. "It's but eight miles off ! Two, three hours, we'll have the militia on us -"

The crack of a shot interrupted him, sending us scurrying behind the armoury railings, and then came two more, from somewhere in the town. There was a shrilling of women as the people gave back to the houses, except for one fool who made a dart across the street towards the a.r.s.enal. One of our men - the younger Thompson, I think - loosed a shot at him, and he threw up his hands and flopped down in the mud, to a chorus of screams and oaths from the Wager House. A couple of men ran out, crouching, and hauled him away, Stevens bawled: "Stand to, men!", and every rifle was trained on the town, but now J.B. was striding towards us from the Potomac bridge; coat flapping, calling to hold our fire.

A man came hurrying from the Wager House, waving his hands as though appealing for calm, and J.B. stopped to talk to him, and presently nodded and came on to us, while the other scampered back to safety. No further shots came, but our fellows stayed at the armoury railings, and behind them the prisoners cowered down, all save old Was.h.i.+ngton, who stood his ground, arms akimbo.

"Those were only squirrel rifles," says J.B., unconcerned. "There will be no more of that, but be at the ready, men, and keep up a bold front."

"Cap'n," says Stevens, "this won't do. We're in no case to fight, just a handful here an' the rest spread all over -"

"There will be no call to fight," says J.B. "The prisoners are our security."

"If you count on that, sir, you are in error!" It was Was.h.i.+ngton, loud and steady, not stirring a foot. "Captain Brown, you must give over this madness! Either lay down your arms or avoid the town!" Odd word to use, I remember thinking. "Look yonder, sir! You have put the people in fear, you have shot a man down, you hold us captive here - all to no purpose! Give it up, sir, before worse befalls!"

He was full of s.p.u.n.k and sense, the old soldier,50 both of which were wasted on our ragged Napoleon. He lifted a commanding hand to Was.h.i.+ngton.

"Be silent, sir! I have my purpose, as you shall learn - you and all others who live by human bondage! Not another word, sir!"

He stood a long moment, glaring like the wrath of G.o.d, and then looked about him, taking a slow survey of the scene, turning on his heel, his rifle at the port. It was full light now, and all plain to see - our men kneeling or standing behind the railings, pieces presented; behind them, Was.h.i.+ngton four-square among the prisoners; across the street to our right, the houses with people peering out of the alleys in nervous silence; the a.r.s.enal, with Hazlett and his chum in the door-way, rifles ready; the Wager House, with faces at every window and at least a score of folk on the porch, and others under the trees beyond, where Galt's saloon could be seen with a couple of fellows sitting on the roof; a few more by the railroad tracks. Hidden from our view by the Wager House, Watson and Taylor were on guard at the Potomac bridge.

And not a sound, except for the distant wail of the train whistle far away on the Maryland sh.o.r.e. A light rain was falling again, pattering in the muddy puddles. Everyone just stood, waiting on that gnarled, bearded old scarecrow in his soiled coat and ragged hat, his ridiculous sabre trailing at his side. He finished his survey and fixed Was.h.i.+ngton with a grim burning stare.

"If any are in fear it is a judgment on the sins of their guilty land! If any die resisting a just cause, then they have brought it upon themselves! As to the purpose of your own captivity, I have told you it was a moral one, and also because, as aide to the Governor of Virginia, you would have endeavoured to perform your duty, and perhaps you would have been a troublesome customer to me!" He thrust a finger like a handspike towards Was.h.i.+ngton. "I shall do my duty also, and to a higher power than a slave State! I shall be very particular to pay attention to you, sir, on my word!"

He paused, growling deep in his chest, and turned to Bill Thompson at the railing. "Captain Thompson, how many hostages are under guard? Thirty, you say - so many! Why, that is twice our own number. Well, now, we must take account of that!"

He leaned his rifle against the gate, and stood glowering at the prisoners with his hands resting on his pistol-b.u.t.ts, his lips moving as though in calculation, and I felt the hairs rise on my neck.

"Sweet Jesus, what's he about?" gasps Stevens. "Is he crazy?"

A rhetorical question if ever I heard one, with the old death's-head glaring like Dragfoot the Hangman, and then he swung towards our group, hitching his sword-hilt out of the way and fumbling in his pants pocket. He lugged out a handful of the eagles Meriam had given him, glancing across at the Wager House as he sorted the coins on his palm.

"Joe Simmons," says he, "here is fifteen dollars. I want you to go to the hotel yonder, and tell them we require hot breakfasts for forty-five persons, to be served to us here. Oatmeal and milk, and some of their Southern fry of eggs and ham, whatever they have, you understand . . . oh, and Joe! They'll send coffee, no doubt, but tell them I desire a pot of tea also."

I suppose Cardigan's "Walk-march - trot!" at Balaclava is the most memorable battlefield command I've ever heard, but J.B.'s order for breakfast at Harper's Ferry runs it close. For a moment I didn't believe it, and neither did Joe, for he stood gaping at the coins in J B.'s hand - and then his glance flickered in my direction, and I knew at once what he was thinking, that if he went off to the Wager House, who was going to keep an eye on slippery B. M. Comber? For a second he hesitated, and then I he clever beggar saw his way out.

"Why, cap'n, Ah cain't do that!" says he. "They won't pay no heed to a coloured man, no suh. They'll mind what Ma.s.s' Josh says, though - an' Ah kin go 'long an' help carry, mebbe!"

And some fools say they're not fit to vote. The hope that had leapt in my breast died in a smouldering inward rage as .l IL nodded and handed me the money ... only to revive again at the thought that the crowded confusion of the Wager House might give me the opportunity I'd been praying for. All I'd need was a split second to get out of reach (and range) of Joe . . . and then either try to flee the town or declare myself to some responsible citizen as a government agent ... biG.o.d, that would be risky, they'd never befieve me ... J.B. broke in on my thoughts.

"Leave your rifles and revolvers. They will offer you no violence, knowing that we hold their friends hostage."

I didn't hesitate, but drew the two Colts from my hip-holsters and pa.s.sed them to Stevens, along with my Sharps. Joe's eyes rolled, and his ugly mouth tightened, but then he too pa.s.sed over his pistols, J.B. said "Remember the tea, Joshua", and we set off side by side across the open ground towards the Wager House, one of us casting wary sidelong glances, the other with the rea.s.suring pressure of the Tranter tucked into the back of his waistband under his coat.

It was an interesting walk, in its way, under the astonished eyes of the citizens wondering what the deuce it meant, two of the desperadoes who were holding their town to ransom suddenly strolling over to their hotel. For a moment the crowd on the porch stood goggling, and then there was a flurry of skirts and squealing as the women shrank away, and some of the men drew back, although most stood pat, hostile but scared. I played up, tipping my hat and calling a cheery good-morning as we mounted the steps, and one of the men even thrust the door open for us to pa.s.s through, crying "John! Someone get John Foulkes, quick! They're a-comin' in!"

For a moment it was like upsetting a bee's nest as we strode in, for the lobby was full of anxious citizens, as was the dining area off to one side, and the advent of a stalwart ruffian with whiskers and a ma.s.sive black of forbidding mien had them almost clambering over each other. I calmed them with an upraised hand and my best speech-day style, a.s.suring them they had no cause for alarm, that Captain Brown presented his compliments and would be withdrawing from their delightful towns.h.i.+p presently, and that in the meantime they should remain at ease while I spoke to a waiter. There was a moment's stunned silence, and then cries of "He's a foreigner!" and the like, and a red-faced worthy in a tile hat shouted: "What d'you mean by it? What d'ye want of us - and who are you?" and a woman fainted, and another woman screamed, and all was confusion until I raised my voice again, and presently a small bald trembler in a white ap.r.o.n and an extremity of terror emerged, and I gave him my order for forty-five breakfasts. Strangely enough, it seemed to have a calming effect on the a.s.sembly, if not on the hash-slinger: his teeth chattered and he closed his eyes, babbling that he didn't know if Cookie could handle that many, at such short notice, and he'd have to see, and oh my G.o.d, he'd do his best, and finally (this is unvarnished truth), in a shrill whinny: "Say, m-m-mister, how d'ye want the eggs?"

"At your discretion, my boy," says I, and he stared witless before scurrying away muttering "Discretion?" (and for all H know they're serving oeufs a la discretion in Harper's Ferry to this day), while I took a quick slant about me - fifty folk if there was one, pale faces and round eyes, women shrinking, men resolute but doubtful, every head in the dining section turned to stare, whispers and scared murmurs .. . no other door off the lobby, but one beyond the dining tables, obviously to the kitchen . . . straight ahead of me a big bar counter, with gilt mirrors behind, a staircase leading to a balcony above the lobby, a young negress looking down over the rail - and here I paused in astonishment at the bizarre contrast of bottle-bright red hair tumbling about s.h.i.+ning ebony cheeks, a plump black hand clutching a silk peignoir round a form which would have done credit to a Turkish wrestler, and bold protruding eyes regarding me with (unless I was mistaken, which I seldom am) awakening interest. I stared, and received an unexpected dazzling beam of white teeth in return .. .

"How many more of us ye aimin' to kill, ye d.a.m.ned brig-and?" It was my red-faced worthy again, waving a fist in my face. "There's a corpse a-layin' in back yonder, an' a n.i.g.g.e.r like to die -"

"An' that's Brown th'abolitionist out yonder!" cries another. "Him an' his gang o' Kansas murderers - an' you, ye skunk, an' this black villain got the gall to bust in here, askin' to be fed -"

"Shame, shame on you!" squawks a female, and then they were surging about us, spitting and cursing, a fist swung at my head, I ducked and my a.s.sailant blundered into Joe, tumbling him over, my hand was on the Tranter - and Joe, sprawling, was conjuring a Colt from his armpit! A fellow dived on him, grabbing his wrist, the squawking woman was belabouring me with her gamp, Joe was hurling his attacker aside ... but by that time I was going through the dining section like Springheeled Jack, sending a table flying as I plunged through the kitchen door. One backward glimpse I had of Joe, rearing gigantic and bellowing as the mob fell back before his pistol, and then I was face to face with a wizened black granny flouris.h.i.+ng a skillet, a kitchen in uproar, and my little waiter on his knees crying: "'Twon't be but a moment, mister, honest!" There was a door ajar to my right: I leaped through, slamming it behind me and found myself in a pa.s.sage with a door to the open air and a flight of stairs running up, and 1 was just about to choose the former when there was a tremendous crash and screaming from the kitchen, with Joe bawling: "Where'd he go? You see a white man, woman?"

He wasn't five seconds behind me: if I broke into the open he'd nail me for certain. I bounded up the stairs, through a door at the top, and crouched, wheezing with terror, in a deserted pa.s.sage, while the sound of a raging blackamoor bursting from the hotel in vain pursuit sounded below. Then I tiptoed forward past closed doors on either side, wondering where the h.e.l.l I could hide, came to the end of my pa.s.sage - and dropped p.r.o.ne as I realised it opened slap on to the balcony above the lobby! There was uproar down yonder, and someone was clattering up the main staircase towards me . . . I had no time to retreat, there was a closed door to my right, I grabbed in panic at the k.n.o.b, rolled hastily within, thrust it shut, and came to my feet, Tranter in hand and-an ear to the panels, my heart pounding as I heard the steps go past .. .

Someone gasped in the room behind me, and I whipped round with a yelp of fear to find myself confronting my dusky amazon of the balcony, hennaed hair a-tumble, hands raised in amazement. I gave a frantic croak of "No - don't call out!", and she blinked, eyes popping at the Tranter, but she didn't faint or have hysterics, and when I shoved it back beneath my coat she rolled her eyes and let out an elaborate sigh of relief, followed by a shrill giggle.

"Well, heah's a go! My, cain't you move aroun', though!" She raised a whimsical eyebrow. "You jes' pa.s.sin' through, or you kin'ly plannin' to stay .Ah hope?"

I'd no time to marvel at the presence. of a gaudy and eccentric negress en deshabille in a Southern hotel, or the nonchalance with which she greeted an armed intruder. "Madam!" cries L "Don't be alarmed, I beg! I mean no harm, I swear, but ... I'm in a slight pickle, you see - hold on, do!" I sped to the front window and peeped through the curtains - there, not fifty yards off, were the armoury gates, with J.B. and Stevens in plain view and the fellows at the tailings. To the left was the a.r.s.enal with the town houses beyond; there were a few citizens by the houses, and one bold spirit was shouting and shaking his fist in J.B.'s direction.

"Whut in creation's happenin' out theah?" demands the Queen of Sheba. "An election? Sounds like Sacramento on Fourth July! Who you runnin' from, handsome - the Vigilantes?"

I hopped to the room's other window, which overlooked the railroad tracks and the Potomac (it was a corner room, as you'll see from my map), and started back as Joe suddenly appeared beneath, by the side of the hotel, Colt in hand, staring about him. There was a knot of people by the tracks, scattering away from him as he turned and shouted, and I realised he must be addressing Watson at the bridge entrance, behind the hotel. Then he set off for the armoury gates, waving and shouting to J.B., no doubt asking him how he'd like his eggs. I crouched, watching, until a husky voice spoke reproachfully behind me.

"Well, you sho' know how to flatter a fine coloured lady! Or is the view out theah mo' pleasin' than the one in heah?"

I turned, still breathless, to find her regarding me with a quizzy amus.e.m.e.nt that took me even more aback than her extravagant appearance. This was the South, mind, where darkies knew their place, but here was one, young, sa.s.sy, and black as your boot, who carried herself like a Dahomey d.u.c.h.ess and looked the white boss in the eye with cheerful insolence. She must have read my thought, for she tossed that astonis.h.i.+ng fiery head.

"Ah's free, case you wonderin'!" says she tartly. "An' Ah'm waitin'."

When in doubt, grovel. "I beg your pardon . . . ma'am.

Believe me, I can explain. Those men yonder are abolitionist raiders -"

"So Ah been told," says she coolly. "You likewise?"

"No, no, not at all! I'm ... oh, lor' . . . the fact is, I'm a government man. I was with them to . . . well, to observe them, you see - find out what they were up to - "You don' say! Well, think o' that!" Her eyes widened in mock wonder. "Gov'ment man, huh? Like a po-lice detective?"

"It's true, I swear! I had to get away from them - but the people downstairs, they don't know what I am, you see .. . and they might not believe me . . . if they found me, I mean . . .

"Uh-huh . . . So, you got to lie low for a spell ... right heah? Is that it?" Her smile broadened, and I could have cried out in relief.

"Yes, yes, exactly!" I gave her my most appealing leer. "If I might stay for just a little while, I'd be most grateful, I a.s.sure you, ma'am ..."

"Call me Hannah ..." chuckles she, ". . . an', jes' try to leave!" She swayed majestically forward to lean on the four-poster in what I can only call a worldly att.i.tude, teasing an amber tress between her fingers and pus.h.i.+ng out her lower lip, and as I recovered my wind and appraised her at close quarters, inhaling a gust of sweet heavy scent and noting the ravenous glint in her eye . . . why, d'you know, all of a sudden it was like coming back to life again after months in another drab and dismal world, and my immediate terrors, and those of the past few hours, were dwindling away . . . By heaven, though, she was overwhelming, sixteen magnificent stone if she was an ounce, but light on her feet as a dancer, pug-faced pretty in an overblown way, and with a jolly sensuality in the thick purple lips and flaring nostrils spread across the fat s.h.i.+ny cheeks. Not my vision of Venus, exactly .. . but it seemed as though centuries had pa.s.sed since Mandeville, my randy imaginings of Elspeth were still fresh in mind, and as I contemplated those enormous endowments fore and aft, and the ma.s.sive shapely thigh thrust out of her peignoir, I came all over a-tremble, pointing like a gundog. Her languid smile became a hungry complacent smirk.

"Say, that's bettuh!" purrs she. "Ah wuz beginnin' to think you wuz anothuh Popplewell."

"Another what?"

"Popplewell ma lawful wedded, two days back, in Pittsbu'gh. Fu'st time fo' him, third for me . . . but ma fu'st white husband, you unnerstan'," she added proudly, drooping a plump hand to display a stone the size of a fives pill on her ring finger. "Rich li'l runt, too - how else you think fie cud bring his nigguh wife to a V'ginia ho-tel? S'posed to be takin' me honeymoonin' in Was.h.i.+n'ton - oh, don' fret, honey, he's long gone . . . vamoosed on that train aftuh the shootin', pale's a ghost, the dirty dawg! Lef' me flat - an' this was goin' to be ma weddin' night, too!" She glanced regretfully at the bed, and heaved a sigh which s.h.i.+vered her top-gallants, causing me to grunt sharply in sympathy. "An' me tricked up in ma prettiest things, an' all," she continued plaintively. "You'd ha' thought he'd ha' stayed, wouldn't you?"

And before my enraptured eyes she shrugged off the peignoir, put her hands on her hips, and stood there bursting out of a flimsy corset which would have been tight on Mandeville. She leaned forward, bulging magnificently, and pouted at me with lips like cus.h.i.+ons.

"Well?" says she, soulful-like. "Wouldn't you?"

No doubt about it, I've been lucky with women - but then, as the fellow said, the more you practise . . . and no one has striven harder towards perfection than I. But Mrs Hannah Popplewell was a double stroke of good fortune, first because her presence in Harper's Ferry, which afforded me a refuge, was a chance in a thousand, and secondly because she was one of those insatiable ornaments of her s.e.x who would rather gallop than go to church, and just what I needed after a hard night's rebellion against the Common-wealth of Virginia. If her conduct was forward, well, her connubial expectations had been dashed by the recreant Popplewell, and the arrival of Flashy with whiskers rampant must have seemed like the answer to a randy young matron's prayer.

And if you wonder that I succ.u.mbed to the brazen b.i.t.c.h's advances, with peril threatening on every side . . . don't. Fear has never damped my ardour yet (as Sharif Sahib's harem, into which I blundered accidental during the battle of Patusan, could tell you), and the contents of that corset, flopping out voluptuously under my very nose, banished all thoughts but one. I buried my face between 'em, nearly crying, and wrenched at the laces with one hand while discarding my britches with the other, which ain't easy when you're suffocating, but love will find a way. Taken unawares, the coy little flirt squeaked in pretended alarm.

"Easy, boy!" giggles she. "The door - gotta shoot the bolt -"

"Leave that to me, ha-ha!" I seized handfuls of rump, kneading away as she struggled playfully, making feeble noises of protest.

"But, honey - you ain't even tol' me yo' name yet ..."

"Allow me to introduce myself !" I chortled, and with one tremendous heave I hoisted her up, all black and glossy, into the firing position. Her eyes bugged out of her chubby face, and with a silent scream she enveloped my mouth with those enormous lips, heaving against me; I reeled back, muscles creaking, as she surged up and down - my stars, it was like wrestling an elephant - my legs. .h.i.t the bed, and I collapsed supine beneath that ponderous ma.s.s of ebony flesh, wondering whether I'd be crushed or smothered, but resolved to die game. For a moment it was touch and go, for the selfish s.l.u.t had no thought but her own l.u.s.tful gratification, but then she remembered to take the weight on her knees and elbows, as a lady should, and settled into a fine raking action that sent the bed jerking across the floor and brought the canopy down on us. I could tell she'd done it before, so I settled to the enjoyable task of holding those gigantic black b.o.o.bies at a safe distance, letting her have her head, and as we plunged ecstatically past the post I thought, good riddance, Popplewell, she'd have been wasted on you.

It had all been so deuced sudden, flight one moment, fornication the next, that I was glad of the chance to lie and take stock afterwards, listening to the bride's contented lip-smackings and reflecting that J.B. and Joe had more to do than fret over me, and the last place the citizens would think of looking for an absconding raider was the upper floor of their hotel. It wouldn't be safe to play the government agent card yet awhile, though; better by far to lie snug and sale, rogering this prime piece of dusky blubber, until J.B. skipped town, as he soon must, or perish, then wait for night and slip away un.o.bserved . . . or better still, shave off my beard and whiskers, wait until tomorrow if need be, m.u.f.fle up well, and board a convenient train - perhaps with Mrs Popplewell on my arm to lend colour, so to speak. With the lintel at sixes and sevens they'd never look twice, and she was the sporty kind who'd think it a great lark, provided I continued to give satisfaction in the meantime.

Which I was soon called on to do; it seemed that I had no sooner slipped into a ruined stupor before she was bilfowing all over me again, slipping her tongue into my ear, and whispering, as she teased away with practised fingers, that I was her sho' nuff honeymoon baby, of all things, an' whenevah she saw a cuc.u.mber aftuh this, she'd think o' me. and similar endearments. She'd no notion of leisurely love-making, either; thirty seconds of gentle dalliance and she started behaving like the Empress Theodora run amok, with poor old Flashy fighting for his life, belaboured by balloons of black jelly. Capital fun, mind you, but gruelling, and so the morning wore away, and myself with it.

Meanwhile there was little disturbance from without. Now and then there would be a few shots, but whenever I looked out the state of play seemed unchanged - J.B. and Co. ensconced around the armoury gates, but taking no harm from the occasional sniping, and now and then some of the townies would even approach the railings to confer with them, without result that I could see. It was a d.a.m.ned rum business, when you think of it, a quiet little town being held up by a gang of fanatics to no apparent purpose; the two sides taking pot shots and confabbing by turns, and folk going about their business a stone's throw away. I couldn't fathom J.B. at all; if he didn't move he was done for, but he seemed content to sit and wait, while the precious minutes ticked by.

I gave up at last and bedded down - and had the horrors when I woke to find that Mrs Popplewell was absent and the door ajar, but at that moment I heard her on the landing saying she'd take the tray in herself, 'cos Mistuh Popplewell wuz still abed, plain tuckered out he wuz - this with a lewd giggle for the waiter's benefit - and here she came, fat cheeks wreathed in smiles, bearing vittles and news.

"Such a ruckus down theah, they don' know who's in the place an' who ain't!" says she. "So lean to an' hit that fry, Mistuh Popplewell! Got to keep that fine frame o' yours fed, I reckon - come heah, honey, 'n let me nuzzle yuh!" She engulfed me lingeringly. "Say, tho', yo' man Smith, or Brown, whatsisname, got hisself treed, but good, they sayin'. Militia comin' f'm Charles Town, an' sojers, an' ev'yone scared to pieces that the nigguhs'll cut loose an' ma.s.sacree the white folks, an' raise cain all aroun'! Heah, try this corn bread, dahlin', 'tis succulent . . . an' they talkin' real wild say they goin' burn this Brown feller alive when they cotch him!" She shuddered between gargantuan mouthfuls. "Ah declare he mus' be crazy! Freein' the nigguhs, whoevah heard the like! Anyway, jus' so long's they don't burn you up, big boy ... mo' coffee?"

She poured, and no Belgravia mama ever did it more elegantly, tipping in the precise amount of cream without a drip, and as I considered her, noting the delicacy with which those enormous fingers handled cups and spoons, the erect posture on the edge of her chair, the a.s.sured tilt of the splendid Zulu figurehead with the flaming red curls spilling over her shoulders, I found myself thinking back to my conversation with Joe on the Night Flyer.

"You don't approve of abolitionists, then?"

"Dam' right Ah don't! Runnin' off black trash fieldhan's an' low-life nigguhs - to freedom? Think that makes 'em free? They goin' to be slaves a long time yet, whether they got 'manc.i.p.ation papers or not." She tossed her head. "Yo' frien' Smith - oh, sho', Brown - mus' be a fool to think he can free 'em. No white man can . . . on'y us nigguhs . . . in heah." She tapped her brow. "Like Ah did, long time ago."

"How was that, Hannah?"

"Why, you know how!" She slapped my hand, chuckling. "Soon's Ah saw a white man look at me, ten yeahs back, when Ah's jes' sixteen - not as big's Ah is now, but well-fleshed, y'know, an' when they saw me shakin' as Ah went by ..." She stood up and took a few steps, swaying with ponderous grace and rolling her eyes. ". . . Ah sez to maself, 'Hannah gal, you totin' yo' fortune aroun' right heah, an' don' make no matter whether you black or white or sky-blue pink, you jes' shake that meat an' you nevah go hungry'." More soberly, she added: "Sho', Ah's a gal - but ev'y nigguh - ev'ybody - got sumpn to take to market, if they got the s.p.u.n.k an' gumption to make the most o' they-selves. You is whut you think you is - an' that's why Ah'm a lady."

She had determined to catch a wealthy husband, "but Ah went mad for this coloured gamblin' man in 'Frisco, an' wuz wed an' widowed inside a month. Yeah, Billy shot two fellers in a faro school - one wuz a c.h.i.n.k, so didn't signify, but t'other wuz white an' a blacksmith, mighty valuable man, so Billy got hung, lef' me nothin' but his watch and twen'y-two dollahs. Then Ah married Homer, lot older'n me, mulatter gen'leman he wuz, lent money to the coloured folks, nice I'il business, but he up an' died on me in bed." Happy Homer, thinks I, but no wonder. "He lef' me a tol'able sum, but li'l Hannah see the on'y real money is white money, so Ah set me to cotch some."

She sipped at her cup complacently. "Tuk time, an' a heap ()' patience, till Ah snagged Popplewell, owns shares in half the ca.n.a.ls in Illinois, bachelor gen'leman, 'gaged me as housekeeper. I see right away he was crazy fo' black meat, wanted me to be his fancy woman, but no suh, Ah sez, you wan' to bed, you got to wed. 'Ah cain't marry a nigra!' he hollers. 'Then you can go without,' Ah says." She whooped with mirth, dealing me a playful slap that almost broke my leg.

"My Ian', how he went on, a-pleadin' an' entreatin' - an' Ah jes' kept a-shakin' till he wuz fit to boil ovah! 'You mus' be mine!' cries he, nigh weepin'. So Ah says, 'Why, whenevah you please, Mistuh Popplewell, suh - but you got to bid fo' my han' afore you gits the rest o' me.' So he did, las' week, an' we wuz wed in Pittsbu'gh, reg'lar Piskypalian ... an' he still ain't had the rest o' me." She giggled, admiring her ring with deep content.

"And the little juggins ran away, on the train last night?"

"Greased lightnin' off a shovel," says she cheerfully. " 'Ah cain't 'bide violence!' says he, all tremblish. 'We mus' fly, my own, 'fore wuss befalls!' Ah sez, 'You kin fly, Popplewell, but Ah's comf'table right heah.' An' he flew. 'Meet me in Was.h.i.+n'ton, deah creecher, an' heah's a hundred dollahs - do not fail me!' They wuz his partin' words. So Ah'll meet him, in ma own sweet time . . . meet his ca.n.a.l shares, too. But right now . . ." She rose with a fine billowing of her peignoir, put her arms about my neck, and slid her splendid bulk on to my knee ". . . Ah's real comf'table."

The unworthy thought crossed my mind that her present misbehaviour rendered her eminently blackmailable where Popplewell was concerned - but it was a purely Pickwickian reflection, you understand. I'd not have dreamed (I'd not have dared) even given the chance, for I'd taken a liking to this hearty black trollop; a true kindred spirit, pleasuring her rump off at a moment's notice - aye, and drumming up breakfast from a kitchen in bedlam, gathering the news, and preparing the way for my departure as "Mr Popplewell" into the bargain. You don't find many like her - and I told her so. "Well, now, s'pose you jes' show me," says she, squirming on my lap and licking my lips. So I did, for the third and last time.

For even as we buckled to, the curtain was rising on the final gruesome act at Harper's Ferry. Twelve hours had pa.s.sed since we'd crossed the Potomac bridge, and all unknown to us the alarm had been spreading since dawn, from village to town to city, clicking along the wire even to the White House. Already militia companies were tramping through the leafy Virginia lanes from Charles Town, and mustering in Frederick and Winchester and Martinsburg, and even eventually in Baltimore. That young beau sabreur, Lieutenant J. E. B. Stuart, who was in Was.h.i.+ngton trying to hawk his patent swordfrog to the War Department, found himself ordered to ride for Arlington to summon Colonel Robert E. Lee of the 2nd Cavalry (didn't old J.B. attract the big guns, eh?), and within hours the two of 'em were bound for the Ferry in the wake of the U.S. Marines." The steel trap that Dougla.s.s had prophesied was closing, while J.B. mooned away his time (waiting for the slaves to rally to him, waiting for the arms to arrive from Owen, waiting because the poor old peasant didn't know what else to do), and Kagi kept sending frantic messages from the rifle works, beseeching him to move, and the citizens of Harper's Ferry lost patience, and began to gather in earnest, and I - well, you know what I was doing, and not a man in Virginia was better employed, and you may tell Mrs Popplewell I said so.

It came as sudden as a thunderclap - a deafening burst of shooting, and I was springing to the window, and all h.e.l.l was breaking loose between the town houses and the armoury railings with both sides blazing away, and the far bank of the Potomac was alive with armed men in civilian duds, the Charles Town militia, led by a man who knew his business, for he was cutting off J.B.'s line of retreat. From the side window I saw them streaming down towards the Potomac bridge, which was out of sight from where I was, behind the hotel, so I didn't see them storming over the bridge shouting and huzzahing, chasing Watson Brown and Taylor, who fled to the armoury - I saw them run across from the tracks, firing back, and then the militia came into view below the hotel, scores of men who looked like farmers on a rabbit hunt. They spread out along the track beneath my window, and on the open ground, pouring fire at the armoury gates, and I thought, you're done, J.B., for I expected them to rush the railings, but an officer bawled to them to take cover in the Wager House, and I heard him ordering parties to Galt's saloon and the Shenandoah bridge, where Oliver was stationed.

Now it was pandemonium below stairs, and the building shook as about fifty clodhoppers surged in, hollering and cras.h.i.+ng among the furniture and firing from the windows. Female shrieks arose, and a stentorian voice ordered all ladies to take refuge on the upper floor: there was a great pattering and squealing on the stairs, and I was in terror that we'd be invaded, but Mrs P. put paid to that by showing herself in our doorway, bold, black, and bedizened - no respectable Southern female was going to share a room with a n.i.g.g.e.r, why, 'tis a scandal, allowing such a creature in civilised lodgings, what is the world coming to .. .

Suddenly there was uproar outside, a fusillade of shots, and from the front window I saw young Oliver racing across before the hotel, letting fly with his Colt at pursuing militia-men. He'd been driven from the Shenandoah bridge, and was going like a stag for the armoury gates, with Bill Thompson at his heels, and hard behind them came the old black, Dangerous Newby. Oliver and Thompson won clear, with shots kicking up the puddles around them, but Newby suddenly staggered, his head thrown back, and I saw that a shot had torn his neck horribly open; he stumbled sideways and sprawled on his back in the mud - and that was the first of John Brown's "pet Iambs" gone, and as I stared down at the twitching body and the blood welling across the ground, I suddenly remembered him sobbing in a corner at Kennedy Farm, over a letter from his wife, who was still in slavery, hoping that he'd be able to buy her and their children soon, and J.B. setting a hand on his shoulder, saying "They shall be free, Newby, depend upon it," and old Dangerous saying "Ah know it, cap'n; Ah know it."

They didn't let him be. Now that the militia were on hand, and the raiders' number was patently up, all sorts of ragged town heroes came to join in the fun, and in no time they were at the liquor in the Wager House and Galt's place; there was a fine drunken commotion beneath our feet, singing and cheering and guffawing, and great rage being voiced against J.B. and his gang. They were full of bile because Oliver and Thompson had escaped, and soon, when J.B. sent out a hostage with a white flag to hold some parley or other with the militia, half a dozen of the town vermin emerged from the hotel to take out their spite on Newby's corpse, kicking it and dragging it about with cries of there, ye d.a.m.ned n.i.g.g.e.r, rot in h.e.l.l an' serve ye right. One barefoot rascal dragged off the dead man's boots, and then Mrs Popplewell, who was with me at the window, cried: "Oh, sweet Jesus!" and turned away, for the rest of them were hurrahing round the corpse, egging on one who knelt and sawed at its head and presently came running to the hotel, bellowing who wanted a couple o' abolitionist souvenirs, hey - and I saw he was flouris.h.i.+ng Newby's b.l.o.o.d.y ears aloft. His mates cheered and clapped him on the back.

That was when the nightmare began. Shooting had broken out again, heavier than ever from the houses and the heights behind the town, and J.B.'s beleaguered party had to abandon the railings and take cover among the armoury sheds. They had no way out now; more militia were arriving, over both bridges, and soon the ground about the hotel and tracks was thick with them, clamouring to git at them dam' n.i.g.g.e.r-lovers, but 'twas all shouts and no action; either their leaders were concerned for the hostages, or, more likely, had a healthy respect for J.B.'s marksmen, who were holding their fire now except when their tormentors came too close - one idiot on horseback, waving a shotgun, was picked off like a squirrel from a branch, and another, venturing too far down the railroad tracks, was dropped with a single shot.

As I learned later, he was the Mayor of Harper's Ferry, and when the news of his death spread among the people, their rage knew no bounds. What with that and militia-men enflamed with drink, I could see J.B. and Co. being torn limb from limb when the mob finally worked up the nerve to storm the armoury, but in the meantime they were content to plaster the sheds with shot and roar blood-curdling threats.

And then J.B. sent out another white flag. There was a great howl of fury when it appeared in the armoury gateway, but a militia officer bawled to them to hold their fire, for it was borne by one of the hostages, who came marching towards the hotel with young Bill Thompson by his side. The crowd surged out and surrounded them, drowning the hostage's plea to be heard, the flag was torn from him, and Bill Thompson was dragged into the Wager House, battered and kicked, with yells of "Lynch the b.a.s.t.a.r.d! No, no, hangin's too good for him - burn the son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h!" The drunken din from beneath was now so deafening that there wasn't a word to be made out, but since they didn't haul Thompson out for execution I guessed he was still alive - for the time being.

You'd have thought J.B. would have learned from that incident, but not he - not long after, another white rag was seen waving in the armoury, the order to cease fire was shouted again, and this time it was Aaron Stevens and Watson Brown who came out, side by side. You b.l.o.o.d.y fools, thinks I, you're done for, but on they came towards the hotel, Watson stiff as a ramrod, with his head carried high, and big Aaron ploughing along with one hand raised like an Indian in greeting. For a moment it was so still I could hear their boots squelching through the puddles - and then a rifle cracked, and Watson stumbled forward and fell on his hands and knees. A great cheer went up, a volley of shots followed, Stevens seemed to hesitate, and then he came for the Wager House like a bull at a gate, hurling the flag away, and was cut down within twenty paces of the hotel - I absolutely saw his body jerk as the slugs. .h.i.t him, and then the hostage who had been with Bill Thompson came running out, arms spread wide, turning to put himself between the two shot men and the mob. Another hostage who must have been following Stevens and Watson from the armoury ran forward to join him, and together they dragged Stevens to the Wager House, one of them yelling: "You cowardly sc.u.m! Stop it, d.a.m.n you - cain't ye see the flag?" For a moment the firing stopped, and then it was seen that Watson was crawling on all fours back towards the armoury, and the mob set up a great yell and let fly again. He scrambled up and ran, clutching his stomach, with the bullets churning the dirt around his feet, and went down again, but he still kept crawling and managed to roll to cover behind one of the gate-posts. That sent them wild, and they poured in fire harder than ever.

But what, you ask, was Flashy doing while the tide of battle rolled o'er Harper's Ferry? Crouched s.h.i.+vering at the curtains, that's what, sweating pints at the thought of what those booze-sodden villains would do if they chanced to seek sport abovestairs and discovered that the trembling occupant of the Popplewell chamber was none other than the raider who'd come demanding breakfast . . . I only had to look out at the b.l.o.o.d.y shreds that had once been Newby, and listen to the h.e.l.l's chorus from below, to be almost physically sick.

The same thought must have occurred to Mrs Popplewell, for after an age in which we'd barely exchanged a word, I felt her hand on my shoulder, and the jolly black face was grim and set. "Bes' git yo' clo'es on, dearie;" says she, and I saw that while I'd been glued to the window and the horrors outside, she'd been attiring herself in a vast gown of dazzling green silk with yellow bows, an enormous hat with a yellow plume, and matching ribbons in her hennaed hair - you can't imagine what she looked like, luckily for you. She even had a rolled umbrella.

"Sumpn's up down yonder," says she. "Ah's goin' to len' an ear." And she tiptoed with elephantine delicacy to the door, a finger raised and an ear to the panels.

"Don't open it!" I yelped. "Christ, if those brutes see you, G.o.d knows what they'll do! If they find me here -"

"Git them pants on an' hold yo' noise! They ain't goin' to see n.o.body!"

She opened the door a crack, and suddenly above the clamour from below we could hear voices - and they didn't soothe me one little bit, for the first words I heard were: ". . . so string the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds up, I say! d.a.m.n it to h.e.l.l, there's Mayor Beckham layin' dead, an' you want we should he tender o' these dam' Kansas butchers? You an abolitionist yo'self, or whut?"

"I'm a soldier!" snaps another, one of your cold-steel voices. "And these men are prisoners, to be treated as such -"

"Oh, sure, you're a soldier! G.o.ddam Frederick militia, ain't you, comin' in at the tail-end! Well, Captain, we tuk these yere prisoners, as you call 'em, an' I reckon it's for us to say how they tret, ain't that so, boys?"

There was a roar of agreement, and the hairs rose on my neck as I heard Thompson's voice, crying out, but not in appeal - he was shouting something about dying gladly in liberty's cause, but it was drowned in yells of execration.

"Why, you vile white n.i.g.g.e.r, you! Have him out, boys, I cain't stand to listen to him! Why, gimme that pistol, Jem, I'll finish him myself ! Now - you see this gun, you Kansas hawg, you feel it 'gainst yo' head -"

"Put that down!" To my amazement, it was a woman, shrill with anger. "You won't sully this house with murder while I'm here! Put it down, I say! The law will take its course -"

"Law, by thunder - an' who asked you to stick in yore pert nose, missie! This heah's men's work, I reckon, hey, boys?"

"You pull that trigger, my son, and I'll give you men's work!" shouts the captain. "Good for you, Miss Foulkes!" They'll commit no outrage under this roof, I promise you!"

"Won't we, though? Oh, well, now, we wouldn't want t'offend the good lady's feelin's! Would we, men? No, sir, I reckon not! So with yo' kind permission, ma'am, we'll just take the lousy abolitionist outside, an' 'tend to him there! Heave him up, boys - an' that other wounded son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h, too!"

"No, no, let him be - he's dyin' nice an' slow as 'tis, with good ole Georgie Chambers's slugs in his guts! Let him suffer, I say -"

"Why, you drunken cur!" cries the captain. "If that man could stand up with a gun in his hand, you'd all jump out the window!"

A storm of yells and curses greeted this, and then I heard Thompson again, wild and high: "G.o.d bless you, Aaron Stevens! They may take our lives, but eighty million will rise up to avenge us -" and then Mrs Popplewell closed the door and leaned her back against it, looking solemn.

"You was right, honey," says she. "They ain't in no mood to b'lieve you's a gov'ment man."

"Oh, my G.o.d! Maybe they won't come up, though!"