CHAPTER XXVIII
From an old log farmhouse on the hills of Maryland,—overlooking the town of Harper's Ferry, the panther was crouching to spring.
For four months in various disguises Brown had reconnoitered the mountains around the gorge of the two rivers. He had climbed the peak and looked into the county of Fauquier with its swarming slave population. Each week he piloted his wagon to the town of Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, thirty-five miles back in the hills.
The Humanitarians through their agents were shipping there, day by day, the powder, lead, guns, knives, torches and iron pikes the Chosen One had asked.
These pious men met him for a final conference in the home of Gerrit
Smith, the preacher philanthropist of Peterboro.
The canny old huntsman revealed to them just enough to excite the unconscious archaic impulse beneath the skin of culture. He told them that he was going to make a daring raid into the heart of the Old South and rescue as many of the "oppressed" as possible. They knew that the raid into Missouri had resulted in murder and that he rode back into Kansas with the red stains on his hands.
Brown gained their support by this carefully concealed appeal to their subconscious natures. As the crowd of eager faces bent close to catch, the details of his scheme, the burning eyes of the leader were suddenly half closed. Silence followed and they watched the two pin points of light in vain.
Each pious man present caught the smell of human blood. Yet each pious man carefully concealed this from himself and his neighbor until it would be approved by all. Had the bald facts behind the enterprise been told in plain English, religion and culture would have called a halt. The elemental impulse of the Beast must therefore be carefully concealed.
Every man present knew that they were sending Brown on a man-hunt. They knew that the results might mean bloodshed. They knew, as individuals, exactly what was being said and what was being planned. Its details they did not wish to know. The moral significance—the big moral significance of the deed was something apart from the bloody details. The Great Deed could be justified by the Higher Law, the Greater Glory of God. They were twisting the moral universe into accord with the elemental impulse of the brute that sleeps beneath every human skin.
The Great Deed about to be done would be glorious, its actors heroes and martyrs of a Divine Cause. They knelt in prayer and their Chosen Leader invoked the blessings of the Lord of Hosts upon them and upon his disciples in the Divine Cause.
The hour of Action was now swiftly approaching. Cook had become a book agent. With his pretty Virginia wife his figure became familiar to every farm, in the county. He visited every house where a slave was to be found. He sold maps as well as books. He also sketched maps in secret when he reached the quiet of his home while his happy little bride sang at her work.
He carefully compiled a census of slaves at the Ferry and in the surrounding country. So sure had he become of the success of the blow when it should fall, that he begged his Chief to permit him to begin to whisper the promise of the uprising to a few chosen men among the slaves.
The old man's eyes; flamed with anger.
"You have not done this already?" he growled.
"No—no."
"You swear it?"
Brown had seized Cook by both arms and searched his eyes for the truth.
The younger man was amazed at the volcanic outburst of anger.
"A hundred times I've told you, Cook, that you talk too much," he went on tensely. "You mean well, boy, but your marriage may prove a tragedy in more ways than one."
"It has proven my greatest weapon."
"If you're careful, if you're discreet, if you can control your foolish impulses. I've warned you again and again and yet you've been writing letters—"
Cook's eyes wavered.
"I only wrote one to an old girl friend in Tabor."
"Exactly. You told of your marriage, your happiness, your hopes of a great career—and I got a copy of the letter."
"How?"
"No matter. If I got it, somebody else could get one. Now will you swear to me again to obey my orders?"
The burning eyes pierced his soul and he was wax.
"Yes. I swear!"
"Good. I want a report from you daily from now on. Stop your excursions into the country, except to meet me in broad daylight in the woods this side of our headquarters. You understand?"
"Yes. You can depend on me."
Brown watched him with grave misgivings. He was the one man on whom he depended least and yet his life and the life of every one in his enterprise was in his hands. There were more reasons than one why he must hasten the final preparations for the Deed.
The suspicions of the neighbors had been roused in spite of the utmost vigilance. He had increased his disciples to twenty men. He had induced his younger son, Watson, to leave North Elba and join them. His own daughter, Annie, and Oliver's wife had come with Watson, and the two women were doing the work for his band—cooking, washing, and scrubbing without a murmur.
The men were becoming restless in their close confinement. Five of them were negroes. Brown's disciples made no objections to living, eating and sleeping with these blacks. Such equality was one of the cardinal principles of their creed.
But the danger of the discovery of the presence of freed negroes living in this farmhouse with two white women and a group of white men increased each day.
The headquarters had a garrulous old woman for a neighbor. Gradually, Mrs. Huffmeister became curious about the doings at the farm. She began to invent daily excuses for a visit. They might be real, of course, but the old man's daughter became uneasy. As she cleaned the table, washed the dishes and swept the floors of the rooms and the porch, she was constantly on the lookout for this woman.
The thing that had fascinated her was the man whom this girl called father. His name was "Smith," but it didn't seem to fit him. She was an illiterate German and knew nothing of the stirring events in Kansas. But her eyes followed the head huntsman with fascinated curiosity.
At this time his personal appearance was startling in its impressive power, when not on guard or in disguise. His brilliant eyes, his flowing white beard and stooped shoulders arrested attention instantly and held it. He was sixty years old by the calendar and looked older. And yet always the curious thing about him was that the impression of age was on the surface. It was given only when he was still. The moment he moved in the quick, wiry, catlike way that was his habit, age vanished. The observer got the impression of a wild beast crouching to spring.
It was little wonder that Mrs. Huffmeister made excuses to catch a glimpse of his figure. It was little wonder that she had begun to talk to her friends about "Mr. Smith" and his curious ways.
She had talked to him only once. She was glad that he didn't talk much. There was an expression to his set jaw and lips that was repulsive. Especially there was something chill in the tones of his voice. They never suggested tenderness or love, or hope or happiness—only the impersonal ring of metal. The agile and alert body of a man of his age was an uncanny thing, too. The woman's curiosity was roused anew with each glimpse she got of him until her coming at last became a terror to the daughter.
She warned her father and he hastened his preparations. If the world below once got a hint of what was going on behind those rough logs there would be short shrift for the men who were stalking human game.
It became necessary for the entire party of twenty men to lie concealed in the low attic room the entire day. Not more than two of them could be seen at one time.
The strange assortment of ex-convicts, dreamers, theorists, adventurers and freed negroes were kept busy by their leader until the eve of the Great Deed. They whittled into smooth shape the stout hickory handles for a thousand iron pikes, which Blair, the blacksmith of Collinsville, Connecticut, had finally delivered. To these rude weapons the fondest hopes of the head-huntsman had been pinned from the first. The slave was not familiar with the use of firearms. His strong, black arm could thrust these sharp pieces of iron into human breasts with deadly accuracy. Brown saw that every nail was securely set in the handles.
Each day he required the first stand of rifles to be burnished anew. The swords and knives were ground and whetted until their blades were perfect.
There was not work enough to stop discussion toward the end. Cook had finally whispered to Tidd that the leader intended to assault and take the United States Arsenal and Rifle Works. Cook's study of law revealed the fact that this act would be high treason against the Republic.
The men had all sworn allegiance to Brown under his Constitution but the rank and file of the little provisional army did not understand that he intended to attack the National authority by a direct assault.
A violent discussion broke out in the attack led by Tidd. At the end of the argument Tidd became so infuriated by Brown's imperious orders for submission to his will that he left the place in a rage, went down to the Ferry and spent the week with Cook.
Brown tendered his resignation as Commander in Chief. There was no other man among them who would dare to lead. A frank discussion disclosed this fact and the disciples were compelled to submit. They voted submission and authorized Owen to put it in writing which he did briefly but to the point:
Harper's Ferry, Aug. 18, 1859.
DEAR SIR,
We have all agreed to sustain your decisions, until you have proved incompetent, and many of us will adhere to your decisions as long as you will.
Your friend, OWEN SMITH.
The rebellion was suppressed within the ranks and the leader's authority restored. But the task of watching and guarding became more and more trying and dangerous.
One of the women remained on guard every moment from dawn to dusk. When washing dishes she stood at the end of the table where she could see the approach to the house. The meals over, she took her place on the porch or just inside the door. Always she was reading or sewing. She not only had to watch for foes from without, but she was also the guard set over the restless "invisible" upstairs. In spite of her vigilance, Hazlett and Leeman would slip off into the woods and wander for hours. Hazlett was a fine-looking young fellow, overflowing with good nature and social feelings. The prison life was appalling to him. Leeman was a boy from Saco, Maine, the youngest man among the disciples. He smoked and drank occasionally and chafed under restraint.
In spite of the women's keen watch these two fellows more than once broke the rules by slipping into Harper's Ferry in broad daylight and spending the time at Cook's house. They loved to watch the slender, joyous, little wife at her work. They envied Cook, and, while they watched, wondered at the strange spell that had bound their souls and bodies to the old man crouching on the hill to strike the sleeping village.
The reports of these excursions reached Brown's ears and increased his uneasiness. The thing that hastened the date for the Great Deed to its final place on the calendar was the fact that a traitor from ambush had written a letter to the Secretary of War, John B. Floyd, revealing the whole plot and naming John Brown of Kansas as the leader.
The Secretary of War was at the time in the mountains of Virginia on a vacation. The idea of any sane human being organizing a secret association to liberate the slaves of the South by a general insurrection was too absurd for belief—too puerile for attention. The letter was tossed aside.
If this were not enough, his friend and benefactor, Gerrit Smith, had made an unfortunate speech before a negro audience in which he had broadly hinted of his hope of an early slave insurrection.
It was the last straw. He was awaiting recruits but he dare not delay. He summoned his friend, Frederick Douglas, from Rochester to meet him at Chambersburg. If he could persuade Douglas to take his place by his side on the night the blow would be struck, he would need no other recruits. Brown knew this negro to be the foremost leader of his race and that the freedmen of the North would follow him.
The old man arranged through his agent in Chambersburg that the meeting should take place in an abandoned stone quarry just outside of town.
The watcher on the hill over Harper's Ferry was disguised as a fisherman. His slouch hat, and also rod and reel, rough clothes, made him a typical farmer fisherman of the neighborhood. He reached the stone quarry unchallenged.
With eager eloquence he begged for the negro's help.
Douglas asked the details of his attack.
Brown bared it, in all its daring. He did not omit the Armory or the
Rifle Works.
Douglas was shocked.
With his vivid eloquence as a negro orator, he possessed far more common sense than the old Puritan before whom he stood. He opposed his plea as the acme of absurdity. The attack on the Federal Arsenal would be treason. It would array the whole Nation against him. It would hurl the army of the United States with the militia of Virginia on his back in an instant.
Brown; boldly faced this possibility and declared that with it he could still triumph, if once he crossed the line of Farquier county and thrust his pikes into the heart of the Black Belt.
All day Saturday and half the day on Sunday the argument between the two men continued. At noon on Sunday the old man slipped his arm around the negro and pressed it close. His voice was softer than Douglas had ever heard it and it sent the cold chills down his spine in spite of his firm determination never to yield.
"Come with me, Douglas, for God's sake," he begged. "I'll defend you with my life. I want you for a special purpose. I'll capture Harper's Ferry in two hours. They'll be asleep. When I cross the line on the mountain top and call the ten thousand slaves in Fauquier County—the bees will swarm, man! Can't you see them? Can't you hear the roar when I've placed these pikes in their hands?—I want you to hive them."
Douglas hesitated for only a moment. His vivid imagination had seen the flash of the hell-lit vision of the slave insurrection and his soul answered with a savage cry. But he slipped from Brown's arms, rubbed his eyes and flung off the spell.
"My good friend," he said at last, "you're walking into a steel trap.
You can't come out alive."
He turned to Shields Green, the negro guard who was now one of the old man's disciples. Green had been a friend of Douglas' in Rochester. He had introduced him to the Crusader. He felt responsible for his life. He had a duty to perform to this ignorant black man and he did it, painful as it was.
"Green, you have heard what I've just said to my friend. He has changed his plans since you volunteered. You understand, now. You can go with him or come home with me to Rochester. What will you do?"
His answer was coolly deliberate.
"I b'lieve I go wid de ole man!"
With a heavy heart Brown saw Douglas leave. It was the shattering of his most dramatic dream of the execution of the Great Deed. When the black bees should swarm he had seen himself at the head of the dark, roaring tide of avengers, their pikes and rifles flashing in the Southern sun. Around his waist was the sword of George Washington and the pistols of Lafayette. His Aide of Honor would ride, this negro, once a fugitive slave. Side by side they would sweep the South with fire and sword.
On arrival at his headquarters on the hill he learned that a revival of religion was going on in the town below and he fixed Sunday, the seventeenth of October, as the day of the Deed. Harper's Ferry would not only be asleep that night—every foe would be lulled in songs of praise to God.
CHAPTER XXIX
At eight o'clock on Sunday night, the sixteenth of October, 1859, John Brown drove his one-horse wagon to the door of the rude log house in which he had hidden with his disciples for four months.
It was a damp, chill evening of mid fall. Heavy rain clouds obscured the stars and not a traveler ventured along the wind-swept roads. From the attic were loaded into the wagon crowbars, sledge hammers, iron pikes and oil-soaked faggots.
The crowbars and sledge hammers might be used on the gates or doors. There could be no doubt about the use to which the leader intended to put the pikes and torches.
When the wagon had been loaded the old man summoned his faithful son,
Owen.
"Captain Owen Brown," the steel voice rang, "you will take private Barclay Coppoc and F.J. Merriam and establish a guard over this house as the headquarters of our expedition. Hold it at all hazards. You are guarding the written records of our work, the names of associates, the reserves of our arms and ammunition. We will send you reinforcements in due time."
Owen saluted his commander and the two privates under his command took their places beside him.
Brown waved to the eighteen men standing around the wagon.
"Get on your arms, and to the Ferry!"
They had been ready for hours, eager for the Deed. Not one among them in his heart believed in the wisdom of this assault, yet so grim was the power of Brown's mind over the wills of his followers, there was not a laggard among them.
Brown drove the wagon and led the procession down the pitch-black road toward the town. The men fell in line two abreast and slowly marched behind the team.
Cook and Tidd, raised to the rank of Captains, their commissions duly signed, led the tramping men. There were many captains in this remarkable army of twenty-one. There were more officers than privates. The officers were commissioned to recruit their black companies when the first blow had been struck.
The enterprise on which these twenty-one veteran rangers had started in the chill night was by no means so foolhardy as appears on the surface. The leader was leaving his base of supplies with a rear guard of but three men. Yet the army on the march consisted of but eighteen. He knew that the United States Arsenal had but one guarded gate and that the old watchman had not fired a gun in twenty-five years. It would be the simplest thing to force this gate and the Arsenal was in their hands. The Rifle Works had but a single guard. They could be taken in five minutes. Once inside these enclosures, he had unlimited guns and ammunition at his command.
The town would be asleep at ten o'clock when he arrived at the Maryland end of the covered bridge across the Potomac. Eighteen armed men were an ample force to capture the unsuspecting town. Not a single policeman was on duty after ten. The people were not in the habit of locking their doors.
The one principle of military law which the leader was apparently violating was the failure to provide a plan of retreat. But retreat was the last thing he intended to face.
The one thing on which he had staked his life and the success of his daring undertaking was the swarming of the black bees. His theory was reasonable from the Abolitionist's point of view. He believed that negro Chattel Slavery as practiced in the South was the sum of all villainies. And the Southern slave holders were the arch criminals and oppressors of human history. In his Preamble of the new "Constitution" to which his men had sworn allegiance, he had described this condition as one of "perpetual imprisonment, and hopeless servitude or absolute extermination." If the negroes of the South were held in the chains of such a system, if they were being beaten and exterminated, the black bees would swarm at the first call of a master leader and deluge the soil in blood.
John Brown believed this as he believed in the God to whom he prayed before he loaded his pikes and torches on the wagon. These black legions would swarm to-night! He could hear their shouts of joy and revenge as they gripped their pikes and swung into line under his God imposed leadership.
The whole scheme was based on this faith. If Garrison's words were true, if the Southern slave holder was a fiend, if Mrs. Stowe's arraignment of Slavery on the grounds of its inhuman cruelty was a true indictment, his faith was well grounded.
His thousand pikes in the hands of a thousand determined blacks led by the trained Captains whom he had commissioned was a force adequate to hold the town of Harper's Ferry and invade the Black Belt beyond the Peak.
The moment these black legions swarmed and weapons were placed in their hands the insurrection would spread with lightning rapidity. The weapons were in the Arsenal. The massacres would be sweeping through Virginia, North and South Carolina before an adequate force could reach this mountain pass. And when they reached it, he would be at the head of a black, savage army moving southward with resistless power.
The only question was the swarming of this dark army. Cook, who had spent nearly a year among the people and knew these slaves best, was the one man who held a doubt. For this reason he had begged Brown a second time to let him sound the strongest men among the slaves and try their spirit. Brown refused. He knew a negro. He was simply a white man in a black skin by an accident of climate. He knew exactly what he would do when put to the test. To discuss the subject was a waste of words. And so with faith serene in the success of the Deed, he paused but a moment at the entrance of the bridge.
He ordered Captains Kagi and Stevens to advance and take as prisoner William Williams, the watchman. The two rangers captured Williams without a struggle.
"A good joke, boys," he laughed.
"You'll find it a good one before the night's over," Stevens answered.
When he attempted to move, a revolver at his breast still failed to convince him.
"Go 'way, you boys, with your foolishness. It's a dark night, but I'm used to being scared!"
It was not until Kagi gave him a rap over the head with his rifle that he sat down in amazement and wiped the sweat from his brow. He forgot the chill of the night air. His brain was suddenly on fire.
Brown waited at the entrance of the bridge until the watchman had been captured and Cook and Tidd had cut the line on the Maryland side of the river.
He then advanced across the covered way to the gate of the Arsenal hut a few yards beyond the Virginia entrance.
He captured Daniel Whelan, the watchman at the Arsenal entrance. Dumbfounded but stubborn, he refused to betray his trust by surrendering the keys.
"Open the gate!" Brown commanded.
"To hell wid yez!"
A half dozen rifles were thrust at his head.
He folded his arms and stood his ground.
They pushed a lantern into his face and Brown studied him a moment. He didn't wish a gun fired yet. The town was asleep and he wanted it to sleep.
"Get a crowbar," he ordered.
They got a crowbar from the wagon, jammed it into the chain which held the wagon gate and twisted the chain until it snapped. He drove the wagon inside, closed the gate and the United States Arsenal was in his hands.
Brown placed the two watchmen in charge of his men, Jerry Anderson and
Dauphin Thompson.
He spoke to the prisoners in sharp command.
"Behave yourselves, now. I've come here to free all the negroes in this
State. If I'm interfered with I'll burn the town and have blood."
Every man who passed through the dark streets was accosted, made prisoner and placed under guard.
Hazlett and Edwin Coppoc were ordered to hold the Armory. Oliver Brown and William Thompson were sent to seize the Shenandoah bridge, the direct line of march into the slave-thronged lower valley.
Stevens was sent to capture the Rifle Works which was accomplished in two minutes.
The program had worked exactly as Brown had predicted. Not a shot had been fired and they were masters of the town, its two bridges, the United States Arsenal, Armory and Rifle Works.
The men were now despatched through the town for the real work of the night—the arming of the black legion with pikes and torches.
It was one o'clock before the first accident happened. Patrick Higgins, the second night watchman, came to relieve Williams on the Maryland bridge.
Oliver Brown, on guard, cried:
"You're my prisoner, sir."
The Irishman grinned.
"Yez don't till me!"
Without another word he struck Oliver a blow. The crack of a rifle was the answer. In his rage young Brown was too quick with the shot. The bullet plowed a furrow in Higgins' skull but failed to pierce it.
He ran into the shadows.
Once inside the Wager House, he gave the alarm. The train from the West pulled into the station and was about to start across the bridge when Higgins, his face still streaked with blood, rushed up to the conductor and told him what had happened. He went forward to investigate, was fired on and backed his train out to the next station.
As the train pulled out Shepherd Haywood, a freedman, the baggage master of the station, walked toward the bridge to find the missing watchman. The raiders shot him through the breast and he fell mortally wounded. The first victim was a faithful colored employee of Mayor Beekham, the station master of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad Company.
The shot that killed him roused a man of action. Dr. John D. Starry lived but a stone's throw from the spot where Haywood had fallen. Hearing the shot and the groans of the wounded man, the doctor hastened to his rescue and carried him into the station. He could give no coherent account of what had happened and was already in a dying condition.
The doctor investigated. He approached two groups of the raiders, was challenged and retreated. Satisfied of the seriousness of the attack when he saw two armed white men lead three negroes holding pikes in their hands into the Armory gate, he saddled his horse and rode to his neighbors in town and country and gave the alarm.
While this dangerous messenger was on his foam-flecked horse, Brown, true to his quixotic sense of the dramatic, sent a raiding party of picked men to capture Colonel Washington and bring to his headquarters in the Arsenal the sword and pistols. On this foolish mission he despatched Captains Stevens, Cook and Tidd, with three negro privates, Leary, Anderson and Green. He gave positive orders that Colonel Washington should be forced to surrender the sword of the first President into the hands of a negro.
Day was dawning as the strange procession on its return passed through the Armory gate. In his own carriage was seated Colonel Washington and his neighbor, John H. Allstead. Their slaves and valuables were packed in the stolen wagons drawn by stolen horses.
Brown stood rifle in hand to receive them.
"This," said Stevens to Washington, "is John Brown."
"Osawatomie Brown of Kansas," the old man added with a stiffening of his figure.
He then handed a pike to each of the slaves captured at Bellair and
Allstead's:
"Stand guard over these white men."
The negroes took the pikes and held them gingerly.
At sunrise Kagi sent an urgent message to his Chief advising him that the Rifle Works could not be held in the face of an assault. He begged him to retreat across the Potomac at the earliest possible moment.
Retreat was a word not in the old man's vocabulary. He sent Leary to reinforce him, with orders to hold the works.
He buckled the sword and pistols of Washington about his gaunt waist and counted his prisoners. He had forty whites within the enclosure. He counted the slaves whom he had armed with pikes. He had enrolled under his banner less than fifty. They stood in huddled groups of wonder and fear.
The black bees had failed to swarm.
He scanned the horizon and not a single burning home lighted the skies.
It had begun to drizzle rain. Not a torch had been used.
He had lost four precious hours in his quixotic expedition to capture Colonel Washington, his sword and slaves. He could not believe this a mistake. God had shown him the dramatic power of the act. He held a Washington in his possession. He was being guarded by his own slaves, armed. The scene would make him famous. It would stir the millions of the North. It would drive the South to desperation.
The thing that stunned him was the failure of the black legions to mobilize under the Captains whom he had appointed to lead them.
It was incredible.
He paced the enclosure, feverishly recalling the histories of mobs which he had studied, especially the fury of the French populace when the restraints of Law and Tradition had been lifted by the tocsin of the Revolution. The moment the beast beneath the skin of religion and culture was unchained, the massacres began. Every cruelty known to man had been their pastime.
And these beasts were white men. How much more should he expect of the Blacks? Haiti had given him assurance of darker deeds. The world was shivering with the horrors of the Black uprising in Haiti when he was born. He had drunk the story from his Puritan mother's breast. From childhood he had brooded with secret joy over its bloody details.
The Black Bees had swarmed there and Toussaint L'Overture had hived them as he had asked Frederick Douglas to hive them here. They seized the rudest weapons and wiped out the white population. They butchered ten thousand French men, women and children. And not a cry of pity or mercy found an echo in a savage breast.
What was wrong here?
He had proclaimed the slave a freeman. He had placed an iron pike in his right hand and a torch in his left. Why had they not answered with a shout of triumph?
His somber mind refused to believe that they would not rise. Even now he was sure they were mobilizing in a sheltered mountain gorge. Before noon he would hear the roar of their coming and see the terror-stricken faces of the whites fleeing before their rush.
He had repeated to his Northern crowds the fable of negro suffering in the South until he believed the lie himself. He believed it with every beat of his stern Puritan heart. And he had repeated and shouted it until the gathering Abolitionist mob believed it as a message from God. The fact that the system of African slavery, as actually practiced in the South, was the mildest and most humane form of labor ever fixed by the masters of men, they refused to consider. The mob leader never allows his followers to consider facts.
He knows that his crowd prefers dreams to facts. Dreams are the motives of crowd action. The dream, the illusion, the unreality have ever been the forces that have shaped human history in its hours of crisis when Fate has placed the future in the hands of the mob.
The fact that Slavery in the South had lifted millions of black savages—half of them from cannibal tribes—into the light of human civilization—that it had been their school, their teacher, their church, their inspiration—did not exist, because it was a fact. They did not deal in facts.
And so again Brown lifted his burning eyes toward the hills reflected in the mirror of the rivers. Down one of those rocky slopes the Black Legion would sweep before the day was done!
He had boldly despatched Cook across the Potomac bridge with the wagons, horses and treasures stolen from Colonel Washington's house to be stored at headquarters. There was still no doubt or shadow of turning in his imperious soul.
With each passing moment the swift feet of the avengers were closing the trap into which he had walked.
By ten o'clock the terror-stricken people of the town and county had seized their weapons and the fight began. Bullets were whistling from every street corner and every window commanding a glimpse of the Arsenal and Armory.
Brown's handful of men began to fall. The Rifle Works surrendered first and his guard of three men were all dead or wounded. By three o'clock his forces had been cut to pieces and he had taken refuge in the Engine House of the Armory. The bridges were held by the people. Owen, Cook and his guard at the old log house on the Maryland side were cut off and could not come to his rescue.
The amazing news of an Abolition invasion of Virginia and the capture of the United States Arsenal and Rifle Works had shaken the nation. President Buchanan hastily summoned from Arlington the foremost soldier of the Republic and despatched Colonel Robert E. Lee to the scene with the only troops available at the Capital, a company of marines. Lieutenant J. E. B. Stuart volunteered to act as his aide. The young cavalier was in the East celebrating the birth of a baby boy.
CHAPTER XXX
When the marines arrived from Washington it was past midnight. The town swarmed with armed men from every farm and fireside. Five companies of militia from Maryland and Virginia were on the ground and Henry Wise, the Governor of Virginia, was hurrying to take command.
Stuart had established Colonel Lee's headquarters behind the brick wall of the Arsenal enclosure. Not more than fifty yards from the gate stood the Engine House in which Brown had barricaded himself with his two sons, Oliver and Watson, and four of his men. He held forty white hostages.
A sentinel of marines covered the entrance to the enclosure. The militia had yielded command to the United States troops.
As Stuart stood awaiting Colonel Lee's arrival, Lieutenant Green, in command of the marines, stepped briskly to the aide's side to report the preliminary work.
As yet no one in the excited town knew the identity of the mysterious commander "John Smith" who led the invasion. No one could guess the number of men he had in his army nor how many he held in reserve on the Maryland hills.
Stuart's blue eyes flashed with excitement.
"The marines have the Arsenal completely surrounded?" he asked.
"A rat couldn't get through, Lieutenant Stuart."
"The bridges leading into Harper's Ferry guarded?"
"Three picked men at each end, sir."
"Any signs of the Abolitionists on the hills at dawn?"
"A shot from a sniper on the Maryland side nipped one of the guards—"
"Then their headquarters and the reserves are back in those hills."
"I'm sure of it. I've sent a squad to get the sniper."
"All right, it's daylight. Keep your marines away from the Arsenal gate. It's barely fifty yards to the Engine House. We've got the Abolitionists penned inside. But they're good shots."
"I've warned them, sir."
"No fighting now until Colonel Lee takes command. His train has just pulled in."
"Why the devil didn't he come with us?" Green asked suddenly.
"Called to the White House for a conference with President Buchanan, in such haste that he couldn't stop to put on his uniform. The Capital's agog over this affair. The wildest rumors are afloat."
"Nothing to the rumors afloat here among these militiamen and dazed citizens."
"Colonel Lee will straighten them out in short order—"
Stuart suddenly stiffened to attention as he saw the soldierly figure of the Colonel approaching from the station with quick, firm step. Over his civilian suit he had hastily thrown an army overcoat and looked what he was, the bronzed veteran commander of the Texas plains.
He saluted the two young officers and quickly turned to his aide.
"No sign of a slave uprising, of course?"
"The invaders did their best to bring it on. They've taken about fifty negroes from their masters."
"Armed them?"
"With pikes and rifles."
"The invaders have robbed houses as reported?"
"Taken everything they could get their hands on. They forced their way into Colonel Washington's home, dragged him from bed, stole his watch, silver, wagons, horses, saddles and harness. They hold him a prisoner with four of his slaves."
"Colonel Washington is now their prisoner?"
"With others they are holding as hostages."
"Hostages?"
"They swear to murder them all at the first sign of an attack."
"They won't!" he answered sharply.
"I think they will, sir. They shot an unarmed negro porter at the depot and murdered the Mayor to-day as he was passing through the streets. They are expecting reinforcements at any minute."
"The militia are ready for duty?"
"Some are. Some are drinking."
Lee turned to Lieutenant Green.
"Close every barroom in town."
Green saluted.
"At once, sir."
Green turned to execute the order. The only problem that gave Lee concern was the use the invaders might make of the prisoners they held. That they would not hesitate to expose them to death as a protection to their own lives he couldn't doubt. Men who would dare the crime of raising a slave insurrection would not hesitate to violate the code of military honor.
He saw Stuart was restless. There was something on his mind. He half guessed the trouble and paused.
"Well, Lieutenant?"
Stuart laughed.
"I suppose, Colonel, you couldn't possibly let me lead the assault on the Engine House, could you?"
Lee's eyes twinkled at the eager look. The Colonel was a man as well as a soldier. And he was a father. He loved the shouts of children more than he loved the shouts of armies. In the pause he saw a vision. A little blue-eyed mother crooning over a baby which she had named for her sweetheart. The great heart forgot the daring soldier before him eager for a fight. He saw only the handsome husband and a wife at home praying God for his safe return. He could see her pressing the pink bundle of flesh to her heart, singing a lullaby that was a prayer. There would be no glory in such an assault. There was only the possibility of a bloody tragedy before a handful of desperadoes could be overcome. He faced his aide with a frown.
"Lieutenant Green is in command of the marines, sir. You are only my voluntary aide. You will act strictly within the rules of war."
Stuart saluted. He knew that his commander was a stern disciplinarian. Argument was out of the question. He made up his mind, however, to watch for a chance to join in the attack, once it was begun.
Green returned from his errand leading an old negro who held one of
Brown's iron pikes.
The lieutenant thrust the trembling figure before the Colonel.
Lee studied him, and suppressed the smile that began to play about his lips.
"Well, uncle, this looks bad for you," he said finally.
"Lordee, Master, don't you blame me!" the old negro protested.
"They found him hiding in the bushes," Green explained.
"Yassah," the old man broke in. "I wuz kivered up in de leaves!"
"That's right, sir," Green agreed. "The pike was standing beside a tree.
They raked the leaves and found him in a hole."
"An' I tried ter git under de hole, too."
"The raiders took you by force?" Lee asked.
"Yassah! Dey pulls me outen bed, make me put on my close, gimme dis here han' spike, an' tells me I kin kill my ole marster an' missis when I feels like it—"
"Did you try to kill them?" Lee asked seriously.
"Who? Me?"
"Yes."
"Man! I drawed dat han' spike on dem Abolishioners an' I says: 'You low doun stinkin' po' white trash. Des try ter lay de weight er yo' han' on my marster er missis,—an' I'll lan' yo' in de middle of er spell er sickness'—"
"And they took you prisoner."
"Yassah."
"I see."
"Dey starts ter shoot me fust! But den dey say I wuzn't wuf de powder an' lead hit'ud take ter kill me."
"And you escaped?"
"Na sah, not den. Dey make me go wid 'em, wher er no. But I git loose byme bye an' crawl inter dat patch er trees doun dar by de ribber—"
"We found him there," Green nodded.
"Yassah, I mak' up my min' dat dey's have ter burn de woods an' sif de ashes for' dey ebber see me ergin."
Stuart's boyish laughter rang without restraint.
"All right, uncle," Lee responded cordially. "You can leave that pike with me."
"Yassah, you kin sho have it. God knows I ain't got no use fur it."
He threw the pike down and brushed his hands as if to get rid of the contagion of its touch.
"You're safe," Lee added. "The United States Marines are in command of
Harper's Ferry now."
"Yassah. De Lawd knows I doan wanter 'sociate wid no slu-footed, knock-kneed po' whites. I'se er ristercrat, I is. Yassah, dat's me!"
"I'm glad to help you, uncle."
"Thankee, sah."
"Hurry back to your home now and help your people in their troubles."
"Yassah, right away, sah—right away!"
The old man hurried home, bowing right and left to his white friends and muttering curses on the heads of the Abolitionists, who had dragged him from his bed and caused him to lose four square meals.
Lee examined the pike carefully. He measured its long stiletto-like blade, projecting nine inches from its fastenings in the hickory handle. He observed the skill and care with which the rivets had been set.
"An ugly piece of iron," he said at last.
"I'll bet they've thousands of them somewhere back in these hills,"
Stuart added.
"And not a negro has lifted his hand against his master?"
"Not one."
Lee ran his fingers along the edges of the blade and a dreamy look came into his thoughtful eyes.
"My boy, such people deserve their freedom. But not this way—not this way! God save us from the horrors of the mob and the fanatic who leads them! Slavery is surely and swiftly dying. It cannot survive the economic pressure of the century. If only we can be saved from such madness."
His voice died away as in a troubled dream. He looked up suddenly and turned to his aide.
"I must summon their leader to surrender. You have not yet learned his name?"
"He calls himself John Smith, sir. They've been here all summer in an old farmhouse on the Maryland side."
"Strange that their purpose should not have been discovered. Their work has been carefully and secretly planned."
"Beyond a doubt."
"They could not have done it without big backing somewhere."
"They've had it. They've had plenty of money. They have rifles of the finest make. And they're not the type made in this Arsenal."
"They expected to use the rifles in the Armory, of course. And they expect reinforcements. Any sign of their reserves?"
"Not yet, sir. We have the roads guarded for ten miles."
"We'll settle it before they can get help," Lee said sharply.
He hastily wrote a summons to surrender and handed it to Stuart.
"Approach the Engine House under a flag of truce. Ask for a parley with their leader and give him this."
Stuart saluted.
"At once, sir."
He attached his handkerchief to his sword and entered the gate. A loud murmur rose from the crowd of excited people who had pressed close to see the famous commander of the Marines.
Lee turned to the sentinel.
"Push that crowd back."
The crowd had pressed closer, watching Stuart with increasing excitement.
The sentinel clubbed his musket and pressed against the front men savagely.
"Stand back!"
The people slowly retreated. Lee turned to Lieutenant Green.
"Your men are ready for action?"
"They await your orders, sir."
"I suppose you wish the honor of leading the troops in taking these men out of the Engine House?"
Green smiled and bowed.
"Thank you, Colonel!"
"Pick a detail of only twelve men, with a reserve of twelve more. When Lieutenant Stuart gives you the signal, assault the Engine House and batter down the doors with sledge hammers—"
Green saluted.
"Yes, sir."
Lee spoke his next command in sharp emphasis.
"The citizens inside whom the raiders are holding must not be harmed.
See to this when you gain an entrance. Once inside, pick your enemies.
You understand?"
"Perfectly, sir."
"Hold your men in check until the signal to attack. I hope it will not be necessary to give it. I shall do my best to avoid further bloodshed."
"All right, sir."
Green saluted and stood at attention awaiting the arrival of Stuart.
Lee's aide had approached the Engine House, watched in breathless suspense by a crowd of more than two thousand people. In spite of the efforts of the sentinels they had jammed every inch of space commanding a view of the enclosure.
When Stuart reached the bullet-marked door he called:
"For Mr. Smith, the commander of the invaders, I have a communication from Colonel Lee!"
Brown opened the door about four inches and placed his body against the crack. Stuart could see through the opening his hand gripping a rifle.
He refused to open it further and the parley was held with the door ajar.
He at last allowed Stuart to enter.
His first look at the man's face startled him. The full gray beard could not mask the terrible mouth which he had studied one day in Kansas. And nothing could dim the flame that burned in his blue-gray eyes.
He recognized him instantly.
"Why, aren't you old Osawatomie Brown of Kansas, whom I once held there as my prisoner?"
"Yes, but you didn't keep me."
"I have a written communication from Colonel Lee."
"Read it."
Stuart drew the sheet of paper from his pocket and read in his clear, ringing voice:
"Headquarters Harper's Ferry,
October 18, 1859.
Colonel Lee, United States Army, commanding the troops sent by the President of the United States to suppress the insurrection at this place, demands the surrender of the people in the Armory buildings."
"If they will peaceably surrender themselves and return the pillaged property, they shall be kept in safety to await the orders of the President. Colonel Lee reports to them, in all frankness, that it is impossible for them to escape, that the Armory is surrounded by troops, and that if he is compelled to take them by force he cannot answer for their safety.
R. E. LEE, Colonel Commanding U. S. Troops."
Stuart waited and Brown made no reply.
"You will surrender?"
"I will not," was the prompt answer.
In vain the young officer tried to persuade the stubborn old man to submit without further loss of life.
"I advise you to trust to the clemency of the Government," Stuart urged.
"I know what that means, sir. A rope for my men and myself. I prefer to die just here."
"I'll give you a short time to think it over and return for your final answer."
Brown at once began to barricade the doors and windows. And Stuart reported to his commander.
Lee met him at the gate.
"Well?"
"A little surprise for us, Colonel—"
"He refuses to surrender?"
"Absolutely. Captain 'John Smith' turns out to be Old John Brown of
Osawatomie, Kansas, sir."
"You're sure?"
"I couldn't be mistaken. I had him a prisoner on the plains once when our troops were ordered out to quell the disturbances."
"That man's been here all summer planning this attack?"
"And not a soul knew him."
Lee was silent a moment and spoke slowly:
"It can only mean a conspiracy of wide scope to drench the South in blood—"
"Of course."
"He refuses to yield without a fight?"
Stuart laughed.
"He don't know how to surrender. I left him with two pistols and a bowie knife in his belt and a rifle in each hand."
"How many men were with him?"
"I saw but six besides the prisoners he holds as hostages. The prisoners begged for an interview with you, sir. I told them to be quiet—that you knew what you were doing."
"It's incredible!" Lee exclaimed.
He paused in deep thought and went on as if talking to himself.
"Strange old man—I must see him."
"I wouldn't, Colonel. He's a tough customer."
"I hate to order an assault on six men. He must be insane."
"No more than you are, unless the pursuit of a fixed idea for a lifetime makes a man insane."
Lee turned suddenly to his aide.
"Press that crowd back into the next street and ask him to come here under a flag of truce."
"I warn you, Colonel," Stuart protested. "He violated a flag of truce in
Kansas. He won't hesitate to shoot you on sight if he takes a notion."
Lee smiled.
"He didn't try to shoot you on sight, did he?"
"No—"
"Go back and bring him here. I must find out some things from him if I can. He may not survive the assault."
Stuart again fixed his flag of truce and returned to the Engine House. This time the Colonel called a cordon of marines and pressed the crowd into the next street.
He beckoned to a sentinel.
"Ask Lieutenant Green to step here."
The sentinel called a marine to take his place and went in search of the commander of the company.
Lee lifted his eyes to the hills of Maryland. But a few miles beyond the first range lay the town of Sharpsburg, where Destiny was setting the stage for the bloodiest battle in the history of the republic. A little farther on lay the town of Gettysburg, over whose ragged hills Death was hovering in search of camping ground.
Did his prophetic soul pierce the future? Never had he been more profoundly depressed. The event he was witnessing was but the prelude to a tragedy he felt to be from this hour inevitable.
Green saluted in answer to his summons.
"I want you to witness an interview which I will have with John Brown, and receive my final orders!"
"The leader is old John Brown?"
"Lieutenant Stuart has identified him."
A shout from a crowd of boys who had climbed the trees of the next street caused Lee to turn toward the gate as the invader and Stuart passed through.
As Lee confronted Brown no more startling contrast could be presented by two men born under the same flag. John Brown with his bristling, unkempt beard, his two revolvers and sword hanging and dangling on his gaunt frame, his eyes glittering and red from the loss of two nights' sleep, the incarnation of Lawlessness; Lee, the trained soldier, the inheritor of centuries of constructive genius, the aristocrat in taste, the humblest and gentlest Christian in spirit, the lover of Peace, of Order.
The commander of the forces of Law spoke in friendly tones.
"You are John Brown of Osawatomie, Kansas?"
"Yes!"
"You are in command of the invaders who have killed four citizens of
Harper's Ferry and seized the United States Arsenal?"
"I am in command."
"Would you mind telling me why you have invaded Virginia?"
"To free your slaves."
"How many men were under your command when you entered?"
"Seventeen white men and five colored freedmen."
"With an armed force of twenty-two you have invaded the South to free three million slaves?"
"I expected help—" He paused and his burning eyes flashed toward the hills. "And I still expect it!"
"From whom could you expect it?"
"From here and elsewhere."
"From blacks as well as whites?"
"From both."
"You have been disappointed in not getting it from either?"
"Thus far—yes."
Lee studied him with increasing wonder. There was a quiet daring in his attitude, an utter disregard of the tragic forces that had closed in on his ill-fated venture that was astounding. What could be its secret? It was something more than the coolness and poise of a brave Ulan. His manner was not cool. His mind was not poised.
There was a vibrant ring to his metallic voice which betrayed the profoundest emotion. His daring came from some mysterious source within. It was a daring that was the contradiction of reason and experience. It was uncanny.
Lee asked his questions in measured tones.
"You were disappointed, I take it, particularly in the conduct of the blacks?"
"Yes."
"Exactly. If negro Slavery in the South were to-day the beastly thing which you and Garrison have so long proclaimed, you could not have been disappointed. Had your illusion of abuse and cruelty been true the negroes would have risen to a man, put their masters to death, and burned their homes. Yet, not a black man has lifted his hand. There must be something wrong in your facts—"
Brown lifted his head solemnly.
"There can be nothing wrong in my faith, Colonel Lee. It comes from
God."
"I didn't say your faith, my friend. I said your facts—" He paused and picked up the pike.
"These unused pikes bear witness to your error. This is an ugly weapon,
Mr. Brown!"
"It was meant to kill."
"We found it in the hands of a negro."
"I wish to conceal nothing, sir—" The old man paused, lifted his stooped shoulders and drew a deep breath. "I armed fifty blacks with them and I had many more which I hoped to use."
Lee touched the point of the two-edged blade,
"This piece of iron, then, placed in the hands of a negro was meant for the breasts of Southern white men, women and children?"
"I came to proclaim your slaves free and give them the weapons to make good my orders."
"Who gave you the authority to issue orders of life and death?" Lee asked with slow, steady emphasis.
Brown's eyes flashed.
"I gave it to myself, sir. By the authority of my conscience and what I believe to be right."
"Suppose all took the same orders? Every man who differs with his neighbor, gets his gun, proclaims himself the mouthpiece of God and kills those who disagree with him. Civilization is built on an agreement not to do this thing. We have placed in the hands of the officer of the law the task of executing justice. The moment we dare as individuals to take this into our own hands, the world becomes a den of wild beasts—"
"The world's already a den of wild beasts," Brown interrupted sharply. "They have snarled and snapped long enough. It's time to clinch and fight it out."
There could be no doubt of the savage earnestness of the man who spoke.
There was the ring of steel in every word. Lee looked at him curiously.
"May I ask how many people you know in the North who feel that way toward the South?"
"Millions, sir."
"And they back you in this attack?"
"A few chosen prophets—yes—thank God."
"And these prophets of the coming mob of millions have furnished you the money to arm and equip this expedition?"
"They have."
"It's amazing—"
"The millions are yet asleep," Brown admitted. He shook his gray locks as his terrible mouth closed with a deep intake of breath. "But I'll awake them! The thunderbolt which I have launched over Harper's Ferry will call them. And they will follow me. I hope to hear the throb of their drums over the hills before you have finished with me to-day!"
Lee was silent again, looking at the face with flaming eyes in a new wonder.
"And you invade to rob and murder at will?"
"I have not robbed!"
"No?"
"I have confiscated the property of slaveholders for use in a divine cause."
"Who gave you the right to confiscate the property of others in any cause?"
"Again I answer, my conscience."
"So a common thief can say."
"I am no common thief."
"Yet when you forced your way into Colonel Washington's home at night you committed a felony, known as burglary."
"I did it in a holy crusade, sir."
"The highwayman on the plains might plead the same necessity."
"You know, Colonel Lee, that I am neither felon, nor highwayman. I am an Abolitionist. My sole aim in the invasion of the South is to free the slave—"
"At any cost?"
"At any cost. I see, feel, know but one thing-that you are guilty of a great wrong against God and humanity. I have the right to interfere with you. To free those whom you hold in bondage."
"Even though you deluge the world in blood?"
"Yes. That is why I am here. I have no personal hate. No spirit of revenge. I have killed only when I thought I had to. I have protected your citizens whom hold as prisoners."
"You had no right to take those men prisoners."
Brown ignored the interruption.
"I ordered my men to fire only on those who were trying to stop our work."
"And yet you placed these pikes in the hands of negroes and gave them oil-soaked torches?"
Brown threw his hand high over his head as if to waive an irrelevant remark.
"I am here, sir, to aid those suffering a great wrong."
"And you begin by doing a greater wrong!"
The old man pursued his one idea without a break in thought. Lee's words made not the slightest impression.
"This question of the negro, Colonel Lee, you must face. You may dispose of me now easily. But this question is still to be settled. The end of that is not yet!"
"I, too, believe that Slavery is wrong, my friend. Yet surely this is not the way to bring to the slave his freedom. On pikes to be driven into the breasts of unoffending men and women! Two wrongs have never yet made a right."
The old man lifted his head towards the hills and a look of religious rapture overspread his furrowed face. His soul's deepest faith breathed in his words:
"Moral suasion is a vain thing, sir. This issue can be settled in blood alone."
The Colonel watched him with a growing feeling of futility.
"I have taken pains in this interview, Mr. Brown, to clear the way for your surrender without bloodshed. I cannot persuade you?"
"Upon what terms?"
"Terms?"
"I said so, sir."
The Colonel marveled at his audacity. Yet he was in dead earnest. His suggestion was not bravado.