Will had not kept to the plan. Instead of hiding, he had joined Yellow Nelson and Hark’s band. He had met up with them at Benjamin Blunt’s farm.
“Blunt was already alerted, his men on guard.”
Nat Turner was certain of it now. Someone had given them away.
Will was panting. “Handguns and shotguns. They were barricaded in the house. They shot at us. We could not get close to them.”
Even in the dark, Nat Turner saw that Will was covered with blood. He smelled the saltiness. But where was Hark? Nelson? “But the plan was if we were discovered we would scatter. Where are the others?”
Will did not seem to be listening. He was lost in his thoughts. “The men were still on foot.”
“But without ammunition and guns, there was no way you could fight—”
“We decided then and there to take a stand. It might be our last chance. We would die fighting.”
It was not the plan. It was not as they had agreed.
“It was a slaughter. We had clubs and axes against shotguns and rifles. We could not get close enough. Most got away. A few are dead.” Will paused, breathing heavily. “They captured Hark.”
The wind was knocked out of Nat Turner. He slumped back against the wall.