One Wore Blue (13 page)

Yes, old John Brown did have men sick and wounded. He’d seen young Oliver Brown, and he couldn’t forget his father’s words to him.
Die like a man
. He saw the light, all right. Old John Brown saw the light.

“Brown’s frightening,” Jesse said out loud. “He’s just about the most frightening man I’ve ever met in my life.”

“Damn, Jesse, that man did get to you!” Daniel was silent for a moment, watching him. “Hell, Jesse, you can’t think that the old fanatic should get away with this.”

Jesse shook his head vehemently. “No, I don’t. As far as I’m concerned, he committed murder in Kansas, and he committed murder here. Hell, I’m no judge or jury, but it sure does look like what he did here was treason as well.” He thought of the young followers of Brown who had suddenly seemed to realize that what they were doing could be construed as treason. “Daniel, I just don’t know how to describe it. There’s a light in his eyes. He knows he’s going to die, and he knew his son was going to die. But it’s like he’s on a holy mission.”

“He’s a fanatic, and he should hang.”

“I’d be the first to say that he should,” Jesse agreed, and exhaled slowly. “But you should meet that old man, Daniel. He’s frightening, I swear it.”

“I’ve never seen you afraid of anything, Jess,” Daniel commented.

Jesse grinned. “Then you didn’t always see real good, brother. Every living man has been afraid at some time in his life. I’m not afraid of going up against a man in battle, and I don’t even think I’m afraid of dying. But I’ve been afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of things that I can’t touch, things out of my reach, things I can’t even understand. Things that I can’t get my hands on, and things that I can’t stop from happening.”

Daniel stared at him. For a long moment, Jesse thought
his brother was going to make a joke. But then, as Daniel’s eyes met his, he realized that his brother knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Only time will tell, Jesse. Only time will tell.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” They were alike in so many ways. Back at Cameron Hall, they’d grown up with the same rights and wrongs drilled into them. They both had a sound sense of ethics and loyalty and honor. And both of them would follow it.

But the paths that they followed might be completely different.

“We’re blood, Jesse, no matter what.”

Daniel had reined in and now extended his hand across the chasm between them. Jesse took his brother’s hand. “Blood, Daniel. No matter what.”

“It’s a pact.”

“It’s a pact.”

They held hands in the road, their eyes meeting, their grips firm. Then Daniel grinned. They hadn’t come to an impasse yet. “Jesse, you’re awfully damned grim tonight.”

“It was a grim day.” He thought about Kiernan, and his voice softened. “Most of it.”

“Do you know what you need? A drink!” Daniel announced, convinced.

Jesse grinned slowly. “Well, what the hell. You must be right. What I need is a drink.”

“And since we’re still both officially on leave, it seems like a right good thing to do with the rest of the evening,” Daniel told him. He kicked his horse to quicken his pace.

It was a peculiar set of circumstances that had brought them both to Harpers Ferry, just as it was a peculiar set of circumstances that had brought their West Point commander, Brevet Lieutenant Colonel Robert E. Lee, and their old West Point and army friend, Lieutenant Jeb Stuart, in on a situation that was being manned by U.S. marines. When word of the raid had reached Washington, all that President Buchanan had on hand had been this navy unit under Israel Green. Green had immediately headed out from Washington with his troops.

Jeb had been visiting relatives in north Virginia when he was summoned to the war department. Jeb had invented a new way to attach a saber to a belt. He was interested in selling his patent, and the government was interested in buying it. He’d been waiting when all of a sudden things had started to happen, was sent out to Arlington House to bring back Lee.

Jesse had already been sent the night before. The old general, Winfield Scott, had heard something about the goings-on, and while things had still been rumor at that time—and Brown had only identified himself with the alias of “Smith”—the old war horse had known that real trouble was afoot. Daniel, on the other hand, had been with Jeb. Stuart had volunteered to come with Lee as an aide, and Daniel had volunteered to come with Stuart as an aide.

Now, the two brothers rode to the Wager Hotel for their drink. Since neither of them was officially attached to the troops, they were at their liberty to choose their own accommodations, and they chose the hotel. They were due to meet up with Lee and Jeb by six the next morning.

When they reached the Wager, the situation was being boisterously discussed in the hotel’s barroom. “Let’s have that drink upstairs, shall we?” Jesse demanded of his brother.

“Sounds like a good place! to me.”

They left their horses to be stabled, and Jesse retired straight to their room. Daniel bought a bottle of good Kentucky bourbon and brought it up. They shared a drink while Daniel brought Jesse up to date on what was happening at Cameron Hall.

The Tidewater plantation home itself was actually Jesse’s, since he was the oldest son. But the family’s land holdings were vast, and there were a number of other fine structures built on the Cameron land, so they shared the responsibility for it. It was unspoken but understood to their family of three—Jesse, Daniel, and Christa—that whenever one of them married, he or she was welcome to make their home on the family estate.

In fact, Jesse thought, Daniel knew the land a lot better
than he himself did. Daniel was closer to it. Jesse loved Cameron Hall, and he loved his family history. But he wondered if he loved it as much as Daniel did.

And then again, he wondered if he could ever give it up. No one had asked him to, not yet.

After a while, he and Daniel fell silent. It was a comfortable silence. Then Daniel yawned.

“I still don’t get it, Jess.”

“What don’t you get?”

“You and Kiernan. Why don’t you just sweep her up on that steed of yours and carry her away?”

He’d done that, Jesse mused, he’d done that very thing just that afternoon. He could have ridden on forever with her. He could have kissed her, and he could have let the kiss become more. If he ever kissed her again, he thought, it
would
become more. He wasn’t Anthony Miller, he wasn’t the gentleman he should be, and he was suddenly certain that none of the standard rules could come into play between Kiernan and himself.

“I want her to make a choice,” Jesse said.

Daniel snorted. “Between you and Anthony Miller?”

“There’s nothing wrong with Anthony Miller,” Jesse heard himself saying. He almost grinned in the pale moonlight that settled over the room.

“I like Anthony just fine,” Daniel said. “But I repeat—what’s the choice?”

Jesse grinned broadly. He took a long swig on the bourbon and handed the bottle back to Daniel. “Thanks, brother.” He inhaled deeply. “Hell, there may be lots of choices soon. Let’s get some sleep. Morning’s going to come soon enough.”

Morning did come soon enough.

By seven thirty, the storming troops lined up in position in front of the firehouse. Lee, following both diplomacy and procedure, offered the militia units first crack at storming John Brown’s position. The militia commanders declined. Too many of the militia were family men. Federal troops were paid to risk their lives.

The manne commander, Israel Green, told Lee with ceremony and honor that his marines would be proud to enter the fray. John Brown was to be offered one last chance to surrender. Jeb Stuart brought Lee’s terms to Brown.

Jesse accompanied Jeb Stuart when he brought the terms to Brown. Jeb read Lee’s order, which first identified Lee and his command under President Buchanan of the United States. Then it demanded the release of the hostages and went on to advise Brown that he couldn’t possibly escape. If he would surrender himself and restore the armory property, Colonel Lee would keep them safe until he was given further orders from the president. If Brown did not surrender, Lee could not vouch for his safety.

Old John Brown opened the firehouse door a four-inch crack. He told Jeb that he wanted his freedom to take his followers back across the river to Maryland.

There was an uproar from the hostages inside. “Have Lee amend his terms!” someone cried out.

Then there was another call, from the prisoners. “Never mind us! Fire!”

Jesse grinned. He recognized the voice—it was Colonel Lewis Washington. The spirit of revolution did live on, Jesse thought.

Jesse couldn’t hear what happened next, but Stuart and Brown spoke for some time. Then Brown shouted out, “Lieutenant, I see we can’t agree. You have the numbers on me, but you know we soldiers aren’t afraid of death. I would as lief die by a bullet as on the gallows.”

“Is that your final answer, Captain?” Jeb demanded.

There was a silence for just a moment. The sun was rising, beautiful in the morning sky. Jesse could hear the chirps and cries of birds.

He glanced around. His old West Point teacher, the gentlemanly and indomitable Robert Lee, stood at some distance by a pillar of one of the buildings.

He wasn’t armed. He looked upon the situation as one of little consequence, one that the marines would handle quickly and efficiently.

That was all it was, Jesse told himself. Lee was right. Why did Jesse himself insist on making more of it?

“Yes,” Brown announced flatly.

Stuart stood back and waved his hat. It was the signal to Israel Green to bring in his troops, with bayonets only to reduce the risk of injuring the hostages.

The marines began to pound on the heavy doors with sledgehammers. The wood shuddered and groaned and splintered, but did not give. A halt was called, and a battering ram was formed. A ragged hole was dug into the doors, and the men burst through. Jesse followed.

It was over quickly. The marines stepped in with their silver bayonets flashing. After Colonel Washington greeted them all and identified Brown, Green struck Brown, who fell.

The raiders swept the firehouse with gunfire. A marine clutched his stomach near the doorway and fell. Smoke began to fill the firehouse. A few more marines rushed the place, and one of the raiders was instantly killed. Another, wounded, was dragged outside.

Colonel Washington pulled on his gloves before leaving the firehouse. Jesse was behind him, helping one of the hostages out, when Washington was greeted by a friend. “Lewis, old fellow, how do you feel?”

“Hungry as a hound and dry as a powder horn!” Jesse heard the disheveled Washington say, and he grinned again, touched by the man’s spirit and pride.

That’s it, he thought to himself, that is the grandeur we’ve created here in Virginia. We have bred such men!

It was, he realized, part of what he was afraid of losing.

More went on, but Jesse could no longer heed any man who was walking and well. His duty was first to the civilians and then to the marines—and then to the raiders.

Jesse learned later from Jeb Stuart that John Brown had been taken to a room at the Wager. Assembled to question him were Lee, Stuart, Senator Mason, Virginia’s governor Henry Wise, an Ohio congressman, Colonel Washington, and Congressman Faulkner of Virginia.

They quizzed him for hours, Jeb said. John Brown wouldn’t incriminate others, but he was damned forthright about himself and his determination. He said that he had only meant to free the slaves, that he’d meant no harm to others. When he was reminded that innocents had died, he had assured them that no man or woman of any innocent nature had been harmed to his knowledge. Jeb admitted that Brown was an extraordinary man. A fanatic, a doomed man, but also much more.

While Brown was being quizzed, Jesse did what he could for the wounded. Another of John Brown’s sons, a boy named Watson, lay dying during the long afternoon. There was nothing that any man could do, but Watson, too, was grilled endlessly for his part in the affair.

A boy named Anderson lay on the grass, waiting to die. As the boy continued to breathe, a man walked by him and callously remarked that it was taking him a long time to die. But eventually, his death silenced the voices of his tormenters.

At last a pit was dug, and the dead were buried, except for Anderson’s body. He was claimed by doctors from Winchester. Jesse gritted his teeth when he learned that the boy had been stuffed headfirst into a barrel, then rammed and packed down so hard that blood and bone and sinew all seemed to crack alike.

It wasn’t so bad that the body of a boy who hadn’t understood that he was involved in treason was going to medical science. It just seemed horrible that any human being could be so abused, so stripped of his dignity in death.

For Jesse, it was the final straw. He’d done what he could do. He’d seen to the wounded, he’d stormed in with the troopers, and he’d tended the wounded again.

He didn’t want to see any more at Harpers Ferry. A place that had always been beautiful and peaceful to him would never be the same again. Something about the misuse of Anderson’s body had been the final straw. When they had rolled that barrel away and he had come too late to do a damned thing about it, something inside of him had seemed
to snap. A tempest raged in him like something he hadn’t begun to imagine.

He mounted his horse. He probably should have looked for Daniel, but he didn’t know where his brother was. He was angry, but had no outlet to vent the anger.

And he felt curiously as if he had been hurt, and he didn’t know why he felt that way.

All in all, he was like a tempest brewing.

It was the best time in the world for him to stay away, far away, from Kiernan.

But he didn’t. He discovered himself riding for Lacey’s house.

Kiernan hadn’t expected to see Jesse that early in the day. She had ventured out that afternoon when she had heard that it was all over, that the firehouse had been stormed, that John Brown was now a captive. But she hadn’t gone far. She’d seen what people had done to the wounded and slain raiders the day before. Although she was appalled and horrified by the innocent lives that had been lost at Harpers Ferry because of the raiders, she couldn’t help being disturbed by some of the things done to them in retaliation.