“So! You have escaped so far from slavery that you do not care! You have carried the scars upon your back into high places, so you have forgotten. You prate of treason! You are afraid to face a gun!” Douglass cried out in anguish. “John! John! For God’s sake, stop!” He stumbled away, sank down on a rock and buried his face in his hands. Some time later he felt a hand upon his shoulder, and Brown’s voice, softened and subdued, came to him. “Forgive an old man, son.” Douglass took the hand in his and pressed it against his face. The old man’s hand was rough and knotty, but it was very firm. “This is no time for soft words or for oratory,” he said. “We have a job to do. Years ago I swore it--that I would do my part. God has called me to lift his crushed and suffering dark children. Twenty-five years have gone by making plans. Now unless I move quickly all of these years will have been spent in vain. I will take this fort. I will hold this pass. I will free the slaves!” 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. He heard John Brown behind him and stopped. He knew that strong, elastic step. He heard the voice--full, clear and renewed with rest. “Douglass,” Brown asked, “have you reached your decision?” Without turning, Douglass answered. And his voice was weary and beaten. “I am going back.”