Master Jones had always loved Monday morning. It was a time of business. It was a time when his servants danced to the tune that he called and paid the piper. Every time one of his slaves picked a swath of cotton, another coin fell into his coffers. Every time one of his overseers whipped a slave into working harder the gold in his treasury multiplied like magic. Money was important, as it bought power and control. Power was all that mattered. Fools did not understand this one great and simple truth, but Master Jones did. That was why he was lord of the dance.
It wasn’t that he was unhappy with his life in Missouri. He had the biggest house, the strongest animals, and the prettiest wife that money could buy. But something didn’t feel right. There were still others with more power than he. That simply could not be. None of them were Master Jones! It was not right that others could tax his land and his slaves. He should not have to render unto Caesar, he should be Caesar!
Master Jones realized that he had grown complacent in Missouri. He had gotten used to being the biggest fish in a small pond. Thus when Kansas was opened to settlement with the promise that the question of slavery would be decided by a popular vote, he got an idea. All he had to do was move enough of his people into Kansas to swing the vote his way. Then slave states would outnumber free states in the Senate, and the slave powers would have him to thank for it. With his people populating Kansas, he could be elected Senator. And with sixteen of thirty-one states in his pocket, he could be elected President. Then all would be as it should be, with Master Jones seated at the head of the highest table in the land.
45So the slave driver plotted, and he schemed, and he planned. He bought more slaves to build the houses and grow the food for the real people who would come after them. He hired more overseers so that he would have enough muscle to give his people some breathing room. All it took was gold. People wanted it, and Master Jones had it. Flash enough gold and the glitter would hypnotize everyone whose eyes caught the light of it. They would go skipping up to Kansas like little children following the pied piper.
First he would be the king of Kansas. Then he would be the king of America. Finally, once he was Caesar and others must render unto him, he would raise an army and navy so big and so strong that he would be king of the world and lord of all he surveyed. He would show them. The glory that was Rome would rise again. Jones would take his rightful place on the throne, and all would know that he was their Master.
The first phase of his plan went without a hitch. He established a foothold in Kansas. The slaves were all working and the overseers kept a watchful eye on them. But then a fly buzzed into his ointment. A slave ran off. Slaves run off sometimes, and that was okay. Usually his men would just run him down and string him up as an example to the others. It did not happen often enough to present Master Jones with any significant loss. But this time the runaway found a cabin full of do-gooders who had a nasty habit of sticking guns in the faces of his recovery teams. Oh well, they were just hired hands. One could not expect them to grasp the wider complexity of things. So Jones decided that if he wanted something done right, he would have to do it himself.
On a fine Monday morning Master Jones woke with the sun and got all in readiness. He strapped on his finest pearl-handled dueling pistols and made sure every hand coming with him carried enough lead to knock down an entire forest. Behind his horse came a cart heavy with gold. Jones figured he must at least try to reason with these men. After all, everyone has a price. He just needed to do a little haggling to find out what that price was. He would offer these troublemakers a choice of gold or guns. But by hook or by crook, by God he would get what’s his.
His caravan left at dawn, riding to the north and the east. They came upon the cabin in question with the smoke of a recently smothered fire rising up in front of it. Jones knew they had to be somewhere close by.
“Channing!” he bellowed. “Come on out Channing, I wish to speak with you!”
Jacob’s pistol could be seen before he could, but within an instant both his eyes and his barrel came gunning for the tyrant. An instant later every gun held by the hired men was pointed at Jacob, and Jones laughed at the foolhardy display. He spoke with his opponent.
“So, you are the famous Reverend Jacob Channing. My men have told me about you.” Two Rivers walked over from the treeline, his shotgun raised in readiness to rain lead on Jones’ men with both barrels. Cassius slipped out the back of the cabin with a rifle. He took a hunters position by the wooden structure, drawing a bead on Jones and ready to take down the biggest game of all at the first false move. Jacob spoke.
“You must be the famous ‘Master’ Jones. My friend has told me about you. You should know that I will never hand him over to you for torture and a violent end. If that is what you are here for then you would save us both a great deal of time if you just turned around and walked away right now. I know that time is money for men such as yourself, and money is what you love.”
Again Jones laughed. “You make friends with slaves, do you? Would you make friends with a pack mule? Neither is good for anything but bearing a heavy burden. Come now good Jacob, be reasonable about this. Look at all of the gold that now sits upon my cart. Every last coin of it can be all yours. All that you have to do is give me what’s mine.”
Jacob’s eyes narrowed in determination. “It is Reverend Channing to you, and you already have your answer. You are no master of slaves here Jones, this land is free. Kindly take your filthy lucre with you when you leave.”
Jones saw an opening, and he exploited it. “So it is land you want, is it? Done, you can have all the land that you can see from here. What I ask for in return is a simple thing; I desire only the recovery of my lost property.”
Jacob had heard quite enough. With a quick glance behind him he saw that Cassius was in position. The good Reverend shifted his position so that his comrade would have a clear shot at the head of the snake, and he shifted his aim to the guard at Jones’ right. Jacob pulled a second pistol from his waistband and pointed it at the guard to Jones’ left. Then he forced the endgame.
“I am setting the terms now, so listen carefully. The land you and your men stand upon is free soil. My friend Cassius and any of his fellows that set foot upon it shall be forever free. You can either leave now or we can start shooting at each other. All of us are quite prepared to die here today in the cause of freedom. What do you say, Jones? Are you ready to find out how many of your men are loyal?”
Jones face twisted into a mask of hatred that betrayed his true nature, and he turned towards his men. “Come on boys, we’re leaving.” He turned back towards Jacob. “This isn’t over, Channing, not by a long shot. You may have won the battle, but the war is far from over. I shall return.”
With his left hand, Jacob returned his secondary armament to his waistband, and with his right he drew a bead right between slave driver’s eyes. “Anytime Jones, you know the address.”
Jones turned and started to walk away, and then he turned back for a parting shot. “I always get what’s mine.” To this Jacob replied only with a wave of his pistol. The three freedom fighters walked close to one another, but they did not lower their weapons until the caravan had ridden out of sight. Then they looked one to the other, but they did not speak a word. They didn’t have to, as each knew what the other was thinking. The price of victory is eternal vigilance.