THE EXECUTION OF
JOHN BROWN.*
BY MURAT HALSTEAD
The execution of John Brown was on the
second of
December, 1859; the scene, in a field a
furlong south of
Charlestown, seven miles from Harper's
Ferry. The
sensation caused by the John Brown raid
was something
wonderful. The excitement of the whole
country was
out of all proportion to the material
incidents. The
shock was because the feeling of the
people that the
slavery question had reached an acute
stage and de-
manded uncompromising attention, was
general, and
there was apprehension that there were
conditions upon
the country of "unmerciful
disaster"--a public sensi-
bility that an immense catastrophe was
impending.
As a correspondent of the Cincinnati
Commercial,
to write the story of the hanging of
old John Brown, I
carried letters from Dr. Dandridge,
cousin of Colonel
Washington, to that gentleman, and from
the Hon.
George H. Pendleton, to the
superintendent of the Har-
per's Ferry rifle-works of the United
States. On the
journey I fell in with the Baltimore
police scouts, who
by command of the Governor of Virginia
had explored
"the abolition counties of
Ohio" in search of military
organizations, made up in violation of
the peace and
dignity of the United States, for
"another raid on
Virginia."
* Written for the New York
Independent. See Connelly's John
Brown, pages
384-393.
(290)
The Execution of John Brown 291
When we reached Harper's Ferry the
station was in
the hands of the military, and I was
driven about at the
point of the bayonet for some time
before finding a
place to stand and wait a few minutes.
There was a hole
ragged with splinters at the corner of
the station-house,
constructed of plank, but put together
with tongue and
groove, said to mark the course of
"the ball from a yager
with which old Brown killed a
man." Inside Brown's
fort was a plain red stain on the whitewashed
brick wall,
the blood of Brown when, overpowered,
he was wounded
with a cutlass and thrust down with a
strong hand.
There was a curved red streak and a few
long hairs
where the gashed head of the old man
had been rubbed
against the whitened bricks. The
superintendent of the
rifle-works was a cautious official. He
took a member
of the Legislature of Pennsylvania and
myself in his
carriage, and putting on a belt with
two revolvers we
were driven along a good turnpike
through a pleasant
country to the county seat, where Brown
was tried and
was the next day to be executed. By the
roadside there
were marks of fire, the burning of
stacks, and the ex-
planation, "The niggers have
burned the stacks of one
of the jurors who found Brown
guilty." There was no
reference to the fact that the
superintendent took his
pistols with him for a daylight drive
over seven miles
of turnpike through a highly cultivated
country. That
was taken as a matter of course. There
was greater
alarm among the people of Virginia than
could be ac-
counted for by comparison with the
experience of com-
munities into which the slave element
did not enter.
It was doubtless that deep sense of
insecurity that
widened into awful alarms at the
suggestion of slave
insurrections - the fact that society
was permeated
292
Ohio Arch. and Hist. Society Publications.
with stories of West-Indian wars of
races, especially
the traditions, more terrible than
history, of the San
Domingo horrors. The town, then and
always to be
distinguished as the place of the trial
of John Brown,
and his death, was crowded with the
troops of Virginia,
and there was a marked absence of the
people of the
surrounding country. The uniforms of
the militia of
Virginia were as various as the
companies were nu-
merous. There was no uniformity of
dress or weapons.
There were a troop of cavalry, a
battery of field guns,
and about two thousand infantry, the
whole under the
command of General Taliaferro, whose
headquarters
were at the Washington House. There was
the pal-
pable excitement of conscious
history-making, and tri-
fling incidents magnified by common
consent.
The fact about myself best known was
that I had a
letter from Dr. Dandridge to Colonel
Lewis Washington
and one from George H. Pendleton to the
Harper's
Ferry superintendent. My connection
with an "aboli-
tion newspaper" was quite
subordinated, but there were
many inquiries as to my
"views" of the John Brown
raid, and I did not insist upon
attempting to vindicate
the old farmer, so suddenly and
strangely a world's
hero. Indeed, the close contact with
the events of the
raid made it difficult to resist the
impression that Brown
was an unbalanced man, one whose
exaltation was akin
to insanity. The philosophy, the
philanthropy, the mar-
tyrdom, the religion of humanity, the
spiritual sanctifi-
cation, and immense, romantic and
tragic interpretations
placed upon the raid of "The Man
of Osawatomie" by
Victor Hugo and Ralph Waldo Emerson,
the latter de-
claring that "the gallows was made
glorious like the
cross," had in the immediate
presence of the miserable
The Execution of John Brown 293
skirmishing and the shedding of the
blood of men who
were, by all the customary tests,
kindly disposed to be
orderly, neighborly, humane, become
obscure, belonging
to the sentimental, the imaginative,
and the impossible.
Late in the evening Mrs. Brown arrived
in a dingy
hack, escorted by the horsemen who
became known in
the war that was on two years later as
"The Black Horse
Cavalry." As the carriage
approached the jail the
artillery, which had been arranged on
either side of the
door, was trundled across the street
and turned about,
the muzzles open-mouthed upon the
prison. There was
much parade and shuffling of military
figures in the ex-
ecution of this maneuver, and then Mrs.
Brown was
taken to her husband's cell, when he
was reported to
have repeated to her often the
admonition, "My dear,
you must keep your sperrets up" -
"sperrets" pro-
nounced as here spelled; but a very
strict and close guard
was kept upon the pair.
As the evening wore on, General
Taliaferro was
seated surrounded by his staff, in the
public room of the
hotel. A young man, tall and lithe, and
wearing a mil-
itary dress, rushed up to him and said
hurriedly in my
hearing: "General, I am told, sir,
and believe, that
Henry Ward Beecher is coming here
tomorrow to pray
on the scaffold with old Brown, and I
pledge you my
word if he does he shall be hanged
along with Brown."
The General stared coldly and said with
deliberation and
severe dignity: "If Mr. Beecher
comes, as you say, I
pledge my word of honor, sir, that
while I live not a
hair of his head shall be harmed, sir;
not one hair of his
head shall be harmed."
On the morning of the execution the
troops were
early stirring. The murmur of camps
filled the air.
294
Ohio Arch. and Hist. Society Publications.
There were no visitors trailing along
the roads, to be
witnesses of the solemn function. It
was forbidden.
The people far and near were ordered to
be alert at
home. Therefore, when the hollow square
of the mili-
tary companies was formed about the
scaffold there was
not even a fringe of civil spectators. There were re-
porters, surgeons, three or four
politicians of distinc-
tion, and one woman on the roof of a house
nearly a
quarter of a mile distant. The Hon.
James M. Ashley
was in the town with Col. Henderson of
Kansas, and
introduced him as "the worst of
the border ruffians," an
announcement usually received with
approbation of the
humor in it and of the fact also.
Ashley had just
dropped in from the West, and was held
to be of those
interested in the care of Mrs. Brown
and her Quaker
escort from Philadelphia. A story has
been largely cir-
culated that as Brown left the jail he
kissed a colored
child, and there are paintings and
poetry to that effect.
When he stepped out of the prison there
was not a group
other than military in sight. I was not
on the spot at
the moment, but saw the street before
the jail filled with
guns and soldiers and horses, staff
officers and officials,
and no one else during the morning. I
had walked,
before Brown came out, to the vicinity
of the scaffold
where the militia companies were
marching into the
positions assigned them. The most
striking horseman
on the field, Turner Ashby, galloped
around bearing
orders and giving directions, mounted
on a spotted stal-
lion with a wonderful mane and tail,
flowing like white
silk from neck and rump, almost
sweeping the ground.
The Colonel and his horse -and the
horsemanship of
the Colonel was worthy his steed - were
a gallant
show. Ashby was killed in battle,
defending for his
The Execution of John Brown 295
state the Valley of the Shenandoah.
There seemed to
be no attainable end of the evolution
of the troops in
preparation for the ceremony. I
distinctly remember in
the movement the gaunt, severe figure
of an officer
whose command was a company of bright
boys. It was
the contrast between the stern man and
the gay youths
that formed a picture for me, and I
heard the word as
they passed - "Lexington
Cadets." The man was Prof.
Jackson, later the Confederate hero,
"Stonewall."
The day was extremely beautiful and
mild. The
highly cultivated farms, the village,
the broad landscape,
browned by the frosts of November,
framed in the
ranges of the Blue Ridge -blue indeed,
a daintily de-
fined wall, of a blue shade more
delicate than the sky.
Though it was "the day of
Austerlitz" as the days of
the season are marked, the clover in
the stubble was
green, and the ground so warm and dry
the reporters
reclined upon it with comfort and
exchanged observa-
tions in the spirit of levity with
which the representa-
tives of the press relieve, when
witnesses of true trag-
edies, the strains upon their vitality.
The procession from the jail to the
scaffold was bril-
liant. The General commanding had a staff
more re-
splendent than that of Field Marshal
Moltke and King
William, when they rode together over
their battlefields
in France. Old John Brown was seated on
his coffin in
the bed of a wagon, of the fashion
farmers call a wood
wagon, an open body and no cover. He
wore a battered
black slouch hat, the rim turned
squarely up in front,
giving it the aspect of a cocked hat.
This was that his
vision might not be impeded, and he
looked with evident
enjoyment upon the country, saying it
was the first time
he had the pleasure of seeing it. His
words were re-
296 Ohio Arch. and Hist.
Society Publications.
peated at the time. The man I saw as he
was in the
wagon and as he was helped upon the
scaffold - he
had about a dozen steps to ascend - his
arms pinioned
by ropes at the elbows, tied firmly, so
that his hands
were free while the upper arms were
bound at his waist.
He wore a baggy brown coat and
trousers, and red car-
pet slippers over blue yarn socks, and
stood firmly but
in an easy attitude on the trap-door,
which was sustained
by a rope. Then a stout white cord of
cotton, provided
by some cotton planters who thought
there was pro-
priety in it- something symbolical in
it - was placed
over the iron-gray, sturdy head, the
noose dropped
easily around his neck and tightened so
that it would
not slip, but so as not to give
physical discomfort. The
face of the old man was toward the
east, the morning
light on it, and the figure perfectly
in dress and pose,
and all appointments, that of a typical
western farmer
- a serious person upheld by an idea of
duty - the ex-
pression of his features that of a
queer mingling of the
grim, and, to use a rural word, the
peart. The white
cap was pulled down, and still the
troops were moving,
falling into a hollow square - a formation
that had not
been rehearsed. This became tedious.
Brown asked
that there should be no delay. The
suspense was dis-
tressing, and from the ascent of the
scaffold to the fall
of the trap and the sharp jerk upon the
white cord, the
time was nearly eighteen minutes. This
was not, though
often stated, with the purpose of
torture, but the delay
of the military to get into assigned
places. Brown's
hands gave the only sign of emotion
that possessed him.
He was rubbing his thumbs hard but
slowly on the in-
side of his forefingers, between the
first and second
joints, as one braces himself with a
nervous grasp upon
The Execution of John Brown 297
the arms of a dentist's chair when a
tooth is to be drawn.
It is no wonder Brown asked the sheriff
about the wait-
ing. There was deep stillness as the
form of the victim
plunged six feet and the rope twanged
as its burden
lengthened a little and shivered. Then
the body began
to whirl as the cord slackened and
twisted, and the rapid
movement caused the short skirts of the
coat to flutter
as in a wind. About a quarter of an hour
was spent
by the surgeons climbing the stairs and
holding the sus-
pended body to their ears, listening to
see if the heart
continued to act. One of the reporters
was moved to
say, as if he had prepared a
deliverance and was getting
it off contrary to a better judgment,
"Gentlemen, the
honor of old Virginia has been
vindicated." There was
no response to the sentiment.
The road to Harper's Ferry was soon
filled with car-
riages at high speed. There was dust
flying. In the
yard of a farm-house were a half-dozen
lads playing
soldier, one beating a small drum. This
was the high-
way along which more than any other
surged to and fro
the armies of the Nation and the
Confederacy. Colonel
Washington, while on General Lee's
staff, was killed in
western Virginia by an Indiana
sharpshooter,* and I
remember well his stately presence, not
unworthy to
represent the name he bore, and his
courtesy and kind-
ness to one who represented a newspaper
and held there
was no cause more sacred in the world
than that of the
freedom of the Territories and the
extinction of slavery;
* It was not Colonel Lewis Washington,
as Mr. Halstead evidently
supposed, but Lieutenant Colonel John A.
Washington, great-great-grand
nephew of George Washington, who was
killed while serving on Gen-
eral Lee's Staff. - Ed.
298
Ohio Arch. and Hist. Society Publications.
and the death of Ashby, Pate and Wise*
seemed a griev-
ous sacrifice of manhood.
Something more than ten years later,
August, 1870,
in eastern France, I was with the
German invaders of
the fair land of Lorraine, and one day
as I looked upon
a division of the Grand Army of the Red
Prince, a mon-
strous mass of men with the spikes of
their helmets and
their bayonets glittering over them
under a vast tawny
cloud of dust, I heard with amazement a
deep-throated
burst of song in English, and it was:
"John Brown's body is moldering in
the ground,
But his soul is marching on.
Glory, Hallelujah!"
The German invaders often sang
magnificently
while marching. German soldiers in our
army in the
war of the States returning to the
Fatherland to fight
the French taught their comrades the
splendid march-
ing-song which the legions of the North
sang along the
historic highways of Virginia, that
Father Abraham's
boys were coming and the soul of John
Brown was
marching on. There is a bust of gold of
Brown, pre-
sented his widow by Victor Hugo, in the
State Museum
at Topeka, Kansas, shown by the
venerable superin-
tendent, with an apology, for it is a
bad portraiture of
the Hero of Osawatomie and martyr of
Harper's Ferry.
It is the only likeness of him giving
the chief character-
istic of his countenance of the morning
of his last day
that I have seen, except in the
sketches taken for Har-
per's Weekly on the spot, by Porte
Crayon. The French
makers of the golden bust must have
caught the keen
* Not Governor Wise, but his son, 0.
Jennings Wise, who entered
the Confederate service and was killed
at the battle of Roanoke Island.
- Ed.
The Execution of John Brown 299 lines of this artist's pencil, showing the weirdness that had crept into Brown's strong face when his eyes beheld unearthly scenes, his mind wandering in the regions on the boundary of two worlds - he must have seen cloud- capped domes not rounded by human hands - invisible by mortal eyes unless introspectively. One wonders whether the old farmer, as he waited on the scaffold, could have beheld as in a dream - as one sees at night in stormy darkness, when there is a flame of lightning, a misty mountain-top--a vision incredible, but not unsubstantial, of his own apotheosis and immortality. |
|
THE EXECUTION OF
JOHN BROWN.*
BY MURAT HALSTEAD
The execution of John Brown was on the
second of
December, 1859; the scene, in a field a
furlong south of
Charlestown, seven miles from Harper's
Ferry. The
sensation caused by the John Brown raid
was something
wonderful. The excitement of the whole
country was
out of all proportion to the material
incidents. The
shock was because the feeling of the
people that the
slavery question had reached an acute
stage and de-
manded uncompromising attention, was
general, and
there was apprehension that there were
conditions upon
the country of "unmerciful
disaster"--a public sensi-
bility that an immense catastrophe was
impending.
As a correspondent of the Cincinnati
Commercial,
to write the story of the hanging of
old John Brown, I
carried letters from Dr. Dandridge,
cousin of Colonel
Washington, to that gentleman, and from
the Hon.
George H. Pendleton, to the
superintendent of the Har-
per's Ferry rifle-works of the United
States. On the
journey I fell in with the Baltimore
police scouts, who
by command of the Governor of Virginia
had explored
"the abolition counties of
Ohio" in search of military
organizations, made up in violation of
the peace and
dignity of the United States, for
"another raid on
Virginia."
* Written for the New York
Independent. See Connelly's John
Brown, pages
384-393.
(290)