The stars faded and went out one by one, the gray sky blended through purple and rose to blue, and still they talked. Kagi brought them food.
At last Douglass lay down inside the cave. His eyes were closed, but his mind feverishly leaped from one possibility to another.
Then Brown was laying other maps before him. He had gone over it all so carefully. Now he showed each step of the way—where the men would stand, how they would hold the bridge, where they would cut the telegraph wires, how the engine-house in the arsenal would be occupied.
“Without a shot being fired, Douglass. I tell you we can take it without a shot!”
Douglass brought all the pressure of his persuasive power against him. He threw reason, logic, common sense at the old man.
“You’ll destroy all we’ve done!”
John Brown looked at him and his voice and face were cold.
“What have you done?” The question bit like steel.
Another day passed. That night a storm came up. They sat huddled in the cave, while outside the rain beat down upon the rocks and tore up twisted roots. The mountains groaned and rumbled and the winds howled. During the storm the old man slept serenely.
When the rain stopped Douglass went out into the dripping morning. Puddles of water splashed beneath his feet, shreds of clouds lingered in the pine tops and broke against the side of the hills; the sky was clearing and soon the sun would come through. The fresh-washed earth gave off a clean, new smell. The morning mocked him with its promise of a bright, new day.