The Guns of Old John Brown

There's an energy in the air, an intensity. There's little time left before the deadline Brown has set arrives. He cannot tolerate the evil of slavery existing unmolested in its plantation hells any longer, not now that the power of his allies has grown so immensely.

And while the specifics are only shared with a few trusted souls, everyone feels the change. Recruitment picks up as the speeches of organzers reach a fever pitch. There are a dozen clashes between rival groups in the streets of Troy, as supporters of Brown and the Cooperative Movement vie for dominance. New chapters of organizaitons dedicated to abolition or slavery spring up in cities across the country, and the intensity of public life even infiltrates into the halls of Congress, where once more blood is spilled on the Senate floor.

Letters pour into the North Elba headquarters, bringing word of support from utopian communes and admiration from foreign revolutionaries. By discreet channels, information comes, promising allies to the west that will be ready when the time comes.

And in the midst of all this chaos, Brown sits and prays, confident and serene. In another history, on another path, he failed and died a martyr. He is willing to take that fate, but he is certain he shall avoid it.

So when one of the oldest and dearest of his new comrades approaches, and asks him if he thinks they need anything still, he shakes his head and offers her reassurance.

But reassurance isn't quite as satisfying as extra ammunition, so she heads to the workshop to put some extra work into making smokeless powder functional.

With Alexander's help, the first powders made for modern weapons produced in 1859 come out. Tests follow, determining that it performs roughly the same as before, and production begins a rapid, almost manic scale-up.

Accidents follow, and even a few deaths, but the work is still much safer than any comparable factory and so there is little complaint from the workers.

There's not much smokeless powder being produced, but there is enough to supply a few rifles, and a few rifles are what's made, crude approximations of a modern hunting rifle, based on dissambled modles brought from uptime. Each one is made half by hand, with roughly interchangeable parts, each one a deadly weapon against an army with visible officers, against a politician standing near a rooftop, against any and all threats to liberty.

The gun is christened the Brown Model 1, and soon it will strike fear into the hearts of slavers.

Most are kept in North Elba, but Bobby White requisitions one as he takes a trip down into the Appalachian mountains. He spends a few minutes each night familiarizing himself with the weapon, taking it apart and putting it together, feeling the weight and heft. It kicks like a mule, and the sights are a little simple for his taste, but its a good weapon.

And when he shows it off to the people he visits, he impresses the hell out of them, perhaps even more than the food and bandages and simple comforts their new peddler friend brings them. Certainly more than the pamphlets about planter oppression do...at least until White starts musing about some fine mountain men and what they could do with guns like these...

A few of the younger sons of Appalchia accompany White back up north, eager to join up with the coming army of freedom, and more decide that if such an army appears, they'll be welcome to bed down by the fireplace. So long as they don't mind chopping wood.

Meanwhile, the factory discussions continue. They never really stopped, but they have taken something of a different form, with workers reading translated works from Europe and adding their own insights during the workday, giving their comrades and coworkers some entertainment as they work the machines.

But the more private discussions take on a different tone, changing from theory of why slavery and capitalism are unjust to how they can be destroyed. And how violence can be used to destroy them.

Adrian DuMour met Harriet Tubman and the usually smooth and polished spy could not help but stumble over the introduction as he met ne of his great heroes, a spy who had worked for a great cause just like him. She was less impressed, but his raw tradecraft more than made up for deficiencies caused by a lack of available tools, and the Underground Railraod found itself with fresh stations, each of whom had limited knowledge of others, each of whom had a small stockpile of arms and a phrase to indicate their trustworthy status.

When the war came, the armies of freedom would find they had many allies behind enemy lines, while the forces of slavery would be faced with bitter insurgent warfare. Well aware of the consequences of such warfare, Adrian took steps to minimize the collateral damage, and prayed frantically that his efforts would be successful.

In Troy, Floyd Olson was a common sight, visiting churches, homes, and factories, coming with deliveries of medicine and some very skilled nurses, providing assistance and entertainment. He organized relief drives for the impoverished, advocated for the establishment of cafeterias and day cares in workplaces, and was a genuine friend and helpmate to many. He, and many others, traversed the town. Backed by extensive funds and a genuine desire to help, they quite possibly saved lives, and certainly made many easier.

And where they went, the popularity of their allies followed, despite attempted suppression. Because they had their own militia, one that Malcolm Miller led on regular parades through the streets of Troy, stopping traffic and impressing all with their precision and attitude.

Further away, in more secretive locations, the men he taught how to march also learned how to kill.

Just as Floyd reached out to many in Troy, other members of the organization did the same all across the North. Some brave souls even reached into the South, braving lynch mobs to find those who opposed slavery, bringing with them funding, support, and weaponry.

Some even went across the ocean looking for aid. The more moderate looked to win backing from elements of the British Empire opposed to slavery, while the more radicals went to other radicals and revolutionaries, painting brave, bright pictures with their words.

And meanwhile, Brown gathered his closest and dearest. Kagi stood at his left, Tubman at his right, his sons at his back.

"We have called ourselves many names, but those names were meant to obscure, to conceal our intentions from wicked men. But soon, the day comes where we will no longer need such deceptions. As such, I propose we decide a new name here, tonight, a name we can shout proudly as we seize Harper's Ferry, a name we can carve into history so deep it can never be expunged."

[] The Freedmen's Army
[] The Army of Freedom
[] The Liberators
[] Write-in name, can be vetoed