Americas good terrorist, p.19
America's Good Terrorist, page 19
A friend beckoned the Martinsburg man to enter as he passed a window of the building containing the offices, including that of the superintendent and paymaster. Upon entering, Strother saw a priest kneeling beside Luke Quinn, whose pain induced “cries and screams made one’s flesh creep.” When the priest attempted to visit Brown, Congressmen Boteler claims he witnessed Brown angrily shout, “Get out to here—I don’t want you about me—get out.” The clergymen then bowed and left.
Near the dying Marine, in the adjoining office, Strother found Brown and Stevens. Both were guarded by a sentinel. Strother described coming upon “a stout comely man” lying with his hands “folded helplessly across his breast,” motionless. His breathing was barely perceptible, and he occasionally moved his eyes from side to side. Strother wrote that the second man was an older man lying “with his head on a leather traveling sack” and his body covered with an old quilt, with his feet “near a fire which had been hastily kindled in the fireplace.” The elderly man’s “strongly marked face, iron grey hair and white beard dirty and matted with blood” had “fresh puddles oozing from wounds in his head,” collecting “on the floor and traveling bag.” Strother did not know these men or their history when he was informed they were John Brown, “the leader of the robber band,” and his lieutenant, Aaron Stevens. He started quietly sketching them when movement and noise in armory yard caused Strother’s acquaintance to exclaim, “They are putting up a scaffold,” as he ran to the window. Hearing this comment, according to Strother, Stevens lay motionless as usual, “but the unnatural restlessness of the eyes betrayed his emotions.” Strothers said Brown “began turning side to side, his eyes rolled wildly and his groans drowning the cries of the wounded [Marine], denoting the most ungovernable fear.”
The guard, seeing the situation differently, tried to ease Brown’s pain. The captain agreed to being comforted by being turned and given several sips of water. The old man became calmer, claimed Strother, when informed that what his friend had heard was only nosy men rummaging through Brown’s wagon, discovered behind a building. But soon anxiety returned as alarming threats were uttered by men passing the window. Strother discontinued his sketching and soon left with several authorities who came to check on Brown, treating him civilly and reassuring him as he “begged that he might not be given up to the mob to be lynched.”
Brown’s post-capture panic is also the assessment of Winchester militiaman Lewis T. Moore. After serving as a colonel in the Confederate army he wrote to a friend, “John Brown at the time of his capture and for an hour after his capture, was more stricken and paralyzed with fear than an human being I ever saw before or since this occasion… During our late civil war I saw men in all situations, but in the entire time of that trying period I saw no man afflicted with fear so seriously as was Brown on the morning of his capture at Harper’s Ferry.”
Weakened by two nights without sleep, with little or no nourishment, the stress of combat, the death of one son and fatal wounding of another, and pain from bleeding wounds, Brown’s capacity to cope with the trauma was lessened. He believed there was a life-threatening, unruly mob. To die immediately by their hands would abort any opportunity to explain his divine mission and would diminish it, for it might be depicted as the actions of a demented outlaw. He realized for the first time that his years of planning and his God-directed freedom crusade for the enslaved had failed, along with his plan for the hostages to secure his escape. He felt demoralizing terror and was forced to face the reality of the predictions of his sons and his friend Frederick Douglass.
Strother writes that upon meeting Lee, Green and Stuart remarked that Strother “had no prior knowledge about Brown.” Strother’s interest was piqued, and he returned with Stuart to continue his sketch of the man Stuart had said “is the celebrated John Brown of Kansas notoriety, a man so infamous for his robberies and murders that if people knew his antecedents he would not be permitted to live five minutes.” Stuart had little sympathy for Brown, whom he damned and claimed was faking serious injury. Stuart “spoke roughly” to Brown, according to Strother, ordering him to pull down his blanket for the artist to get a better view of his head. But the dirt and blood got in the way of Brown’s face, causing Stuart to suggest someone should be sent to clean him up.
Stevens’s anger toward Brown expressed in the Wagner House was now replaced with compassion; upon seeing his bloodied leader treated the way Brown was being treated, Strother recorded Stevens’s saying, “Yes, it is a shame that a man like that should be maltreated and neglected. Not a surgeon has been near him and no one has paid him the least attention. If there is any manhood in you, and you are not a sett [sic] of old women you should have him cared for.” Annoyed, Stuart responded, “You are a son of a bitch, you had better keep silent. Your treatment is to be that of midnight thieves and murderers, not of men taken to honorable warfare.” Stuart taunted the prisoners, asking why they hadn’t brought their own surgeon. Stevens grew silent. Stuart’s belief that Brown was faking serious injury was shared by Congressman Boteler, who also visited Brown that day and sketched him, claiming he found the Old Man standing up and examining the wound in his side.52
Interrogation of Brown
Tuesday afternoon more visitors assembled around Brown, forming an impromptu interrogating group averaging about a dozen men, military officers, politicians, reporters, and a few curious onlookers. They included Robert E. Lee, Jeb Stuart, Virginia Governor Henry A. Wise, Senator James Mason of Virginia, Congressmen Clement L. Vallandigham of Ohio and Charles James Faulkner of Virginia (who lived not far away), and prominent locals Colonel Lewis Washington, Andrew Hunter, and David Strother. Reporters furiously scribbled in shorthand. A lengthy three-hour interview took place, much of which would be published in the New York Herald. When the Herald reporter arrived shortly after 2:00 p.m., he found Brown answering the questions of Senator Mason, who had recently arrived from his home in Winchester, 30 miles away. Shortly after questioning began, Lee offered to clear the room if the two injured prisoners found it annoying or painful. Brown rejected the offer, saying he was “glad to make himself and motives clearly understood.” If he had been fearful earlier, as Strother thought, he was not now. The Herald reporter writes he was courteous and affable, conversing “freely, fluently and cheerfully, without the slightest manifestation of fear or uneasiness, evidently weighting well his words, and possessing a good command of language.” He made a favorable impression on those who heard him. Brown assumed sole responsibility for the raid and its failure. He refused to implicate others while arguing the correctness of his divinely sanctioned duty to free slaves. The interview provided an opportunity to gain respect from many who heard him calmly and lucidly respond to their questions. Listeners were impressed by the depth of his unwavering commitment; he had sacrificed his life for a cause, though it was one the witnesses found repugnant. After the interview Wise would say Brown was “the gamest man I ever saw.” Strother, no admirer of Brown—later referring to him as that “greasy old thief”—nevertheless found him more impressive during the interview than the vain Virginia governor. The artist wrote that the old man “answered all questions considerably and directly without attempting argument or prevarication” and candidly stated his objective. Strother said, “That he purposely misstated some things… we have clearly ascertained, but that general tenor of his confession was truthful I am inclined to believe.”
The lengthy dialogue was wide ranging and often unrelated as questioners blurted out queries that suddenly came to mind as well as those of longer duration. The questioners considered it an interrogation, but to the old captain it was a press conference, an opportunity to get his message across. He was reluctant to reveal the details of his plans but expansive in explaining his justification, purpose, and the goal of his actions. The topics he covered included the raid, the correctness and morality of what he was doing, Kansas and other places he had traveled to, his supporters, the Kennedy farm, the “Provisional Constitution”—which Brown urged be carefully read—and a compliment from a physician, a Dr. Biggs, on the expertise of Brown’s lancing a boil on a woman’s neck.
Those who surrounded Brown needed to know whether his actions at Harpers Ferry were part of a Northern conspiracy to encourage those in bondage to violently gain their liberation. The New York Herald reporter’s coverage was detailed. To Senator Mason’s query—“Can you tell us, at least, who furnished the money for your expedition?”—Brown said, “I furnished most of it myself. I cannot implicate others.” “If you would tell us who sent you here—who provided the means—that would be useful information of some value,” said Mason. “I will answer freely and faithfully about what concerned myself—I will answer anything I can with honor, but not about others,” replied Brown. When the Ohio congressman, Clement L. Vallandigham, repeated Mason’s question, “Mr. Brown, who sent you here?” Brown answered, “No man sent me here; it was my own prompting and that of my Maker, or that of the devil, whichever you please to ascribe it to. I acknowledge no man in human form.” When asked who his advisers were, Brown said, “I cannot answer that,” but added, unreassuringly to his listeners, “I have numerous sympathizers in the entire North.” To the question “Where did you get arms to take possession of the Armory?” he responded, “I bought them.” He was asked, “In what state?” and replied, “That I would not state.”
In answering Mason, Brown added that his tardiness in leaving was the reason for his capture, and he was late because of his concern for the hostages. He argued that his restraint and compassion were in marked contrast to the behavior of the militiamen. He said, “It is my own folly that I have been taken. I could easily have saved myself from it had I exercised my own better judgment, rather than yield to my feeling.” When asked if he meant he could have saved himself by immediately escaping, he responded in the negative. “I had the means to make myself secure without escape, but I allowed myself to be surrounded by a force by being too tardy.” “Tardy in getting away?” asked Mason. Said Brown:
I should have gone away; but I had thirty-odd prisoners, whose wives and daughters were in tears over their safety, and I felt for them. Besides, I wanted to allay the fears of those who believed we came here to burn and kill. For this reason I allowed the train to cross the bridge, and gave them full liberty to pass on. I did it only to spare the feelings of those passengers and their families, and to allay the apprehensions that you had got here in your vicinity a band of men who had no regard for life and property, nor any feelings of humanity.
This prompted charges he and his men had shot down innocent citizens. Mason said, “But you killed people passing along the streets quietly.” “Well, sir, if there was anything of that kind done, it was without my knowledge,” countered the captive raider leader. “Your own citizens, who were my prisoners, will tell you that every possible means were taken to prevent it. I did not allow my men to fire, nor even return a fire, when there was danger of killing those we regarded as innocent person, if I could help it. They will tell you that we allowed ourselves to be fired at repeatedly and did not return it.” More than one bystander could be heard stating, “That is not so” and pointing out, “You killed an unarmed man [Beckham] at the corner of the house over there [at the water tank] and another besides.” “See here my friend,” responded Brown, “it is useless to dispute or contradict the reports of your own neighbors who were my prisoners.”
Brown also countered others who condemned him. When a uniformed militiaman asked the number of men used in the raid and was told it was 18, he asked, “What in the world did you suppose you could do here in Virginia with that number of men?” “Young man,” said Brown, “I don’t wish to discuss that question.” “You could not do anything,” responded the militiaman. “Well, perhaps your ideas and mine on military subjects would differ materially,” said Brown. When asked what his wages were as commander in chief, he said, “None.” Stuart responded, “The wages of sin is death.” The old abolitionist countered, “I would not have made such a remark to you, if you had been a prisoner and wounded in my hands.” Someone called Brown a “robber,” to which he responded “You [slaveholders] are the robbers. If you have your opinions about me, I have my opinions about you.” The governor of Virginia then said, “Mr. Brown, the silver of your hair is reddened by the blood of crime, and it is meet that you should eschew these hard allusions and think upon eternity.” “Governor,” Brown answered, “from appearance [I am] not more than fifteen or twenty years [ahead of you] in the journey to that eternity of which you kindly warn me; and whether my tenure here shall be fifteen months, or fifteen days, or fifteen hours, I am equally prepared to go. There is an eternity behind and an eternity before, and the little speck in the center, however long, is but comparatively a minute.” Brown concluded his countering argument: “The difference between your tenure and mine is trifling and I want to therefore tell you to be prepared; I am prepared. You all [slaveholders] have a heavy responsibility, and it behooves you to prepare more than it does me.”
Brown was repeatedly asked what he was trying to do and why. Vallandigham asked, “Did you expect a general rising of the slaves in case of your success?” “No, sir; nor did I wish it. I expected to gather them up from time to time and set them free,” said Brown. To Mason’s question “How do you justify your acts?” Brown said, “I think, my friend, you are guilty of a great wrong against God and humanity—I say it without wishing to be offensive—and it would be perfectly right in any one to interfere with you so far as to free those you willfully and wickedly hold in bondage. I do not say this insultingly.” When Mason responded, “I understand that,” Brown added, “I think I did right, and that others will do right to interfere with you at any time and all times. I hold that the Golden Rule, ‘Do unto others as you would that others should do unto you,’ applies to all who would help others to gain their liberty.” Stuart said, “But you do not believe in the Bible.” “Certainly I do,” responded Brown. When asked, “Do you consider this a religious movement?” Brown said, “It is in my opinion, the greatest service a man can render to God.” He was asked, “Do you consider yourself an instrument in the hands of Providence?” “I do,” was the reply. “Upon what principle do you justify your acts?” a bystander asked. Brown said, “Upon the golden rule. I pity the poor in bondage that have none to help them; that is why I am here; not to gratify any personal animosity, revenge or vindictive spirit. It is my sympathy with the oppressed and the wronged, they are as good as you and as precious in the sight of God.” “Certainly,” responded the bystander, “but why take the slaves against their will?” Brown claimed he “never did.” The bystander persisted: “You did in one instance, at least.” In a strong, clear voice Stevens agreed with the questioner, correcting his captain: “You are right. In one case the negro wanted to go back.” Stevens was asked where he was from and how far away he lived from Jefferson County. Before he could respond, Brown stopped him by saying, “Be cautious, Stephens, about any answer that would commit any friend. I would not answer that.” The Herald reporter observed that the seriously wounded Stevens “turned partially over with a groan of pain, and was silent.”
While being questioned about the places he had been, Brown shifted the subject of his response, wanting the bystanders and Herald readers to appreciate his motives:
I want you to understand, gentlemen—you may report that I want you to understand that I respect the rights of the poorest and weakest of colored people, oppressed by the system of slavery, just as much as I do those of the most wealthy and powerful. That is the idea that has moved me, and that alone. We expect no reward, except the satisfaction of endeavoring to do for those in distress and greatly oppressed, as we would be done by. The cry of distress of the oppressed is my reason, and the only thing that prompted me to come here.
This prompted a bystander to ask, “Why did you do it secretly?” Brown said, “Because I thought it necessary to success; no other reason.”
Near the end of the interview the New York Herald reporter asked Brown, “I do not wish to annoy you; but if you have anything further you would like to say I will report it.” To this and the remaining queries he warned of the impending termination of human bondage. With resolve Brown gave his justifications, framing them in a way that tried to show self-sacrifice, civility, concern, moderation, and reasonableness, and cast himself as a victim. “I have nothing to say, only that I claim to be here in carrying out a measure I believe perfectly justifiable, and not part of any incendiary or ruffians, but to aid those suffering great wrong.” Brown warned Southerners, “You had better—all the people of the South—prepare themselves of that question that must come up for settlement sooner than you are prepared for it. The sooner you are prepared the better. You may dispose of me very easily; I am nearly disposed of now; but this question is still to be settled—this negro question I mean—the end of that is not yet.”
