| Memoirs of a Texan: War Sample |
Sam Payne, New York Herald Reporter, interviews Thomas Wentworth Higginson, a leading
Abolitionist.
Friday, December 2, 1859 10 AM
Gallows outside Charles Town, Virginia
December 2, 1859
We stood immediately behind the gallows with howitzers on the right and left positioned a
little behind so as to sweep the field. Two units flanked us, the Richmond Grays and
Company F of the Virginia Militia. Other companies covered the field. Cavalry troops stood
two and three deep serving as sentinels. Two riders, one on a black horse and the other on
a white stallion, paced around the enclosure. Other companies outside the enclosure acted
as scouts. Several infantry companies guarded the jail.
Our march to the gallows had been pleasant. Cheering crowds lined our path. Pretty girls
smiled and blew kisses to the cadets who surreptitiously smiled and waved back. Now
everyone seemed glum.
Shortly before eleven o'clock, a squad of soldiers took Brown from the jail and the funeral
cortege started toward the gallows. First came three companies, then the condemned's
wagon, drawn by two large white horses. John Brown sat stiffly on his coffin. Sheriff
Campbell and John Avis accompanied him.
The VMI cadets stood on one side of the gallows with the Virginia Militia on the other side.
A light breeze slowly furled the state and federal flags mounted on the gallows on an
unseasonably warm December day.
Major Jackson and his adjutant marched to the front of the cadets. “Company, attench –
hut! Order – arms!” and then “parade rest!”
We snapped to like a rope drawn taut, boot heels clicking together. Simultaneously, we
seized our rifles with the left hand near the upper band and detached them from the
shoulder with the right hand, reseized the rifle with the right hand above the lower band with
the little finger in rear of the barrel and the rifle butt four inches from the ground and the
right hand against the hip. In the next motion, we dropped the left hand to the side and let
the rifle slip through the right hand to the ground.
Without pause, each grasped the rifle between thumb and forefinger two inches from the
right shoulder with the rammer in front and the butt toe against and inline with the right foot,
barrel perpendicular. Then, with “parade rest” command, we spread our feet out evenly and
leaned back slightly.
I felt proud of our performance as I stood with the cadets and awaited John Brown.
The wagon came into view. Brown sat on a blanket atop his casket. His lined, weathered tan
face already haunted me. Brown’s pale gray eyes still blazed in defiance. He wore the same
rumpled black frock-coat and trousers he wore since being captured. His elbows were tied
tightly behind him and his hands hung at his side as soldiers pulled him from the wagon.
Appearing calm and dignified in the face of his impending death, Brown mounted the steps
to the gallows and handed a note to the hangman, John Avis. Brown cocked his head to
allow the noose to be placed over his neck.
Sheriff Campbell asked Brown if he should give a private signal before dropping him.
He replied in a calm voice, “No matter to me, but do not keep me waiting long." He was kept
waiting. The troops forming his escort filed into their positions while John Brown stood ten or
fifteen minutes blindfolded, rope around his neck, and his feet on the treacherous platform
awaiting execution. He stood like a soldier at attention.
Avis placed a white linen hood over Brown’s head. I watched intently for any sign of shirking,
but there was none. Once his knees seemed to tremble, but it was only the wind blowing his
loose trousers.
Finally, Colonel Smith called out, “We are all ready, Mister Campbell.” Sheriff Campbell
turned to John Avis who was reading the note John Brown handed him on the scaffold.
Colonel Smith repeated his announcement in a louder voice. Sheriff Campbell nudged Avis,
who quickly stuffed the note in his pocket, descended the gallows steps, and severed the
rope that held the trap door under Brown’s feet. An audible gasp erupted from the cadets
as John Brown dropped through the platform opening. Brown’s arms instinctively flew
upward from where they were tied at the elbows. His feet jerked and his body thrashed and
then still for several moments, swinging gently in the breeze.
A delayed gasp on my left startled me and I turned my eyes to the tear-stained face of Ken
Johnson. Ken’s lips moved as if in prayer. At the same time, I heard a low chuckle behind
me. Pete leaned over and whispered, “Bet he shits his pants.”
I shook my head and whispered, “Shh. Major Jackson will hear you.”
“Don’t worry. Elder Jackson is probably prayin’ for John Brown’s soul. Once the war starts,
he’ll likely run off and join a Presbyterian monastery.”
Before I could explain Presbyterians do not have monasteries, Major Jackson heard the
talking and ordered, “Silence in the ranks!”
Colonel Smith said the final words of John Brown’s hanging. “So perish all such enemies of
Virginia. All such foes of the Union. All such foes of the human race.”
He left the platform. Sheriff Campbell walked over to Avis who was rereading the note and
angrily asked, “What were you doing that was so important you ignored the Colonel’s
order?”
Avis handed him the note. “Read it yourself.”
Campbell snatched the paper from Avis and read it.
He crumpled the note and threw it down. After the Sheriff stomped off the gallows, Avis
picked it up, straightened the crumpled paper, put it in his wallet, and later showed it to me.
I, John Brown, am now quite certain that the crimes of this guilty land will never be purged
away but with blood. I had vainly flattered myself that without very much bloodshed, it might
be done.
Boston, Massachusetts, Home of Reverend Thomas Wentworth Higginson,
Tuesday, December 6, 1859
I became captivated with the Reverend Thomas Wentworth Higginson since Horace Greeley
ordered me to end my series on the John Brown Raid with him. I researched Higginson -
scholar, Unitarian Pastor, active supporter of Brown in Kansas. He seemed to be a follower
of Emerson, Thoreau, Fuller and others who dabbled in muddled New England Transcen-
dentalism. He was old Boston in heritage and outlook. His study had an appropriate musty,
upper New England look. Rather than facing each other across a desk, Higginson and I sat
informally in opposing chairs. I had my writing pad to take notes.
“Thank you for allowing this interview,” I said.
Higginson sat primly in his chair sipping tea. He put down his cup and replied, “As you well
know, it’s difficult to say no to Horace Greeley.”
“You’re right. I’ve not had any success with it.” I hoped to build up an informal relation with
Reverend Higginson, but he dismissed opening pleasantries.
“I’m here to answer your questions, Mister Payne. Fire away.”
“Following John Brown’s raid, I accompanied Lieutenant Jeb Stuart and the Marines to the
home he rented across the river in Maryland. While there, I saw a briefcase filled with
documents that named you and five other leading Abolitionists as supporters of the raid. I
purposely did not report any of Brown’s support until it came out in the trial. A Senate
Committee was formed to investigate what is termed ‘Brown’s Insurrection’. Do you expect to
be contacted by the Senate Committee and, if so, what will be your response?”
“John was always meticulous. In this case, it works against me and the others named in his
documentation. To answer your question, I’ve not heard from the Senate. But, if I do, I plan
to ignore their summons.”
“You would defy the U S Senate?” I asked.
“Young man, if it has escaped your notice, we’re nearly at war with the slaveholders. One
spark and it will begin. Brown, the raid, me, and the others will soon be forgotten in the
firestorm. This investigation will fall apart before anyone’s called in for questioning.”
Higginson treated me like a student, but no matter. He answered my questions intelligently
and gave me what I needed for my final report on the “Brown Insurrection”.
“How would you describe John Brown?” I asked.
“Let me reverse the question, Mister Payne. You interviewed John Brown several times. How
would you describe him?” Until now, I did not know Higginson had read my articles.
“The most moral and courageous man I’ve ever met. Hawk faced with gray eyes that see
right through you. He was, at the same time, exasperating and alluring. I may never meet his
moral equal again.”
Higginson smiled. “There’s little I can add to your description. Human nature’s quirky. Some
would call him stubborn. I prefer to describe John Brown as perseverant and committed to
the Cause.”
“His raid on the Harper’s Ferry armory seems foolhardy in retrospect. How did it seem to you
and the other backers when it was planned?” I asked.
“None of us supported it. None. There was only one reason the raid was carried out. John
Brown.”
“To many, John Brown and his raid was a quixotic failure. How do you see it?”
“The opposite. It’s as if we’re dealing in two dimensions. All of the material facts of the raid
are as you described. But, spiritually? It’s far different. Brown’s raid and execution have
energized the Abolitionist Cause and brought moral sympathy to us as nothing else could. A
clear call to arms.”
“John Brown told me his backers were from the Peace Party wing of the Abolitionist Cause.
Would you describe yourself and the Secret Six as pacifists?” I was unsure of Higginson’s
role in the raid and wanted to draw him out.
“No. We’ve changed. The struggle in Kansas proved there’s no moral suasion or reasoning
with the slaveholders. John Brown was right all along. Freedom of the slaves cannot be won
except by bloodshed. We’re about to see it.”
“At the beginning of my assignment, Horace Greeley told me I must interview you before I
concluded. I think he was telling me you are, perhaps, the clearest voice of the Abolitionist
movement. The New York Tribune has worldwide readership. What do you want them to
know of the Abolitionist Cause?”
Higginson paused. He seemed to appreciate the opportunity I offered and thought the
question over a minute before responding. “As children, we think in absolutes. Sweet sour.
Friendly unsociable. Safe threatening. Good bad. As we grow older we learn gradations.
Things become gray instead of black or white. Then there is the issue of slavery. Our
Declaration of Independence states unequivocally that all men are created equal. Certainly,
the Gospel extends to all people of all races everywhere. And yet, we have slavery nestled
into the fabric of our nation.”
“Is there any moral basis for slavery? I’ve read the arguments of the slaveholders and find
them specious. They condemn the Negro as an inferior because they have made him an
inferior by denial of basic human rights. No. Elimination of slavery’s a moral imperative. No
equivocation. No gradations.”
“Would you characterize John Brown’s raid as a provocation to war?”
“It struck at the slaveholders’ worst fear – a slave uprising. I’m not sure failure of the raid
and his execution have quieted their fears or that it should.”
Abolitionist.
Friday, December 2, 1859 10 AM
Gallows outside Charles Town, Virginia
December 2, 1859
We stood immediately behind the gallows with howitzers on the right and left positioned a
little behind so as to sweep the field. Two units flanked us, the Richmond Grays and
Company F of the Virginia Militia. Other companies covered the field. Cavalry troops stood
two and three deep serving as sentinels. Two riders, one on a black horse and the other on
a white stallion, paced around the enclosure. Other companies outside the enclosure acted
as scouts. Several infantry companies guarded the jail.
Our march to the gallows had been pleasant. Cheering crowds lined our path. Pretty girls
smiled and blew kisses to the cadets who surreptitiously smiled and waved back. Now
everyone seemed glum.
Shortly before eleven o'clock, a squad of soldiers took Brown from the jail and the funeral
cortege started toward the gallows. First came three companies, then the condemned's
wagon, drawn by two large white horses. John Brown sat stiffly on his coffin. Sheriff
Campbell and John Avis accompanied him.
The VMI cadets stood on one side of the gallows with the Virginia Militia on the other side.
A light breeze slowly furled the state and federal flags mounted on the gallows on an
unseasonably warm December day.
Major Jackson and his adjutant marched to the front of the cadets. “Company, attench –
hut! Order – arms!” and then “parade rest!”
We snapped to like a rope drawn taut, boot heels clicking together. Simultaneously, we
seized our rifles with the left hand near the upper band and detached them from the
shoulder with the right hand, reseized the rifle with the right hand above the lower band with
the little finger in rear of the barrel and the rifle butt four inches from the ground and the
right hand against the hip. In the next motion, we dropped the left hand to the side and let
the rifle slip through the right hand to the ground.
Without pause, each grasped the rifle between thumb and forefinger two inches from the
right shoulder with the rammer in front and the butt toe against and inline with the right foot,
barrel perpendicular. Then, with “parade rest” command, we spread our feet out evenly and
leaned back slightly.
I felt proud of our performance as I stood with the cadets and awaited John Brown.
The wagon came into view. Brown sat on a blanket atop his casket. His lined, weathered tan
face already haunted me. Brown’s pale gray eyes still blazed in defiance. He wore the same
rumpled black frock-coat and trousers he wore since being captured. His elbows were tied
tightly behind him and his hands hung at his side as soldiers pulled him from the wagon.
Appearing calm and dignified in the face of his impending death, Brown mounted the steps
to the gallows and handed a note to the hangman, John Avis. Brown cocked his head to
allow the noose to be placed over his neck.
Sheriff Campbell asked Brown if he should give a private signal before dropping him.
He replied in a calm voice, “No matter to me, but do not keep me waiting long." He was kept
waiting. The troops forming his escort filed into their positions while John Brown stood ten or
fifteen minutes blindfolded, rope around his neck, and his feet on the treacherous platform
awaiting execution. He stood like a soldier at attention.
Avis placed a white linen hood over Brown’s head. I watched intently for any sign of shirking,
but there was none. Once his knees seemed to tremble, but it was only the wind blowing his
loose trousers.
Finally, Colonel Smith called out, “We are all ready, Mister Campbell.” Sheriff Campbell
turned to John Avis who was reading the note John Brown handed him on the scaffold.
Colonel Smith repeated his announcement in a louder voice. Sheriff Campbell nudged Avis,
who quickly stuffed the note in his pocket, descended the gallows steps, and severed the
rope that held the trap door under Brown’s feet. An audible gasp erupted from the cadets
as John Brown dropped through the platform opening. Brown’s arms instinctively flew
upward from where they were tied at the elbows. His feet jerked and his body thrashed and
then still for several moments, swinging gently in the breeze.
A delayed gasp on my left startled me and I turned my eyes to the tear-stained face of Ken
Johnson. Ken’s lips moved as if in prayer. At the same time, I heard a low chuckle behind
me. Pete leaned over and whispered, “Bet he shits his pants.”
I shook my head and whispered, “Shh. Major Jackson will hear you.”
“Don’t worry. Elder Jackson is probably prayin’ for John Brown’s soul. Once the war starts,
he’ll likely run off and join a Presbyterian monastery.”
Before I could explain Presbyterians do not have monasteries, Major Jackson heard the
talking and ordered, “Silence in the ranks!”
Colonel Smith said the final words of John Brown’s hanging. “So perish all such enemies of
Virginia. All such foes of the Union. All such foes of the human race.”
He left the platform. Sheriff Campbell walked over to Avis who was rereading the note and
angrily asked, “What were you doing that was so important you ignored the Colonel’s
order?”
Avis handed him the note. “Read it yourself.”
Campbell snatched the paper from Avis and read it.
He crumpled the note and threw it down. After the Sheriff stomped off the gallows, Avis
picked it up, straightened the crumpled paper, put it in his wallet, and later showed it to me.
I, John Brown, am now quite certain that the crimes of this guilty land will never be purged
away but with blood. I had vainly flattered myself that without very much bloodshed, it might
be done.
Boston, Massachusetts, Home of Reverend Thomas Wentworth Higginson,
Tuesday, December 6, 1859
I became captivated with the Reverend Thomas Wentworth Higginson since Horace Greeley
ordered me to end my series on the John Brown Raid with him. I researched Higginson -
scholar, Unitarian Pastor, active supporter of Brown in Kansas. He seemed to be a follower
of Emerson, Thoreau, Fuller and others who dabbled in muddled New England Transcen-
dentalism. He was old Boston in heritage and outlook. His study had an appropriate musty,
upper New England look. Rather than facing each other across a desk, Higginson and I sat
informally in opposing chairs. I had my writing pad to take notes.
“Thank you for allowing this interview,” I said.
Higginson sat primly in his chair sipping tea. He put down his cup and replied, “As you well
know, it’s difficult to say no to Horace Greeley.”
“You’re right. I’ve not had any success with it.” I hoped to build up an informal relation with
Reverend Higginson, but he dismissed opening pleasantries.
“I’m here to answer your questions, Mister Payne. Fire away.”
“Following John Brown’s raid, I accompanied Lieutenant Jeb Stuart and the Marines to the
home he rented across the river in Maryland. While there, I saw a briefcase filled with
documents that named you and five other leading Abolitionists as supporters of the raid. I
purposely did not report any of Brown’s support until it came out in the trial. A Senate
Committee was formed to investigate what is termed ‘Brown’s Insurrection’. Do you expect to
be contacted by the Senate Committee and, if so, what will be your response?”
“John was always meticulous. In this case, it works against me and the others named in his
documentation. To answer your question, I’ve not heard from the Senate. But, if I do, I plan
to ignore their summons.”
“You would defy the U S Senate?” I asked.
“Young man, if it has escaped your notice, we’re nearly at war with the slaveholders. One
spark and it will begin. Brown, the raid, me, and the others will soon be forgotten in the
firestorm. This investigation will fall apart before anyone’s called in for questioning.”
Higginson treated me like a student, but no matter. He answered my questions intelligently
and gave me what I needed for my final report on the “Brown Insurrection”.
“How would you describe John Brown?” I asked.
“Let me reverse the question, Mister Payne. You interviewed John Brown several times. How
would you describe him?” Until now, I did not know Higginson had read my articles.
“The most moral and courageous man I’ve ever met. Hawk faced with gray eyes that see
right through you. He was, at the same time, exasperating and alluring. I may never meet his
moral equal again.”
Higginson smiled. “There’s little I can add to your description. Human nature’s quirky. Some
would call him stubborn. I prefer to describe John Brown as perseverant and committed to
the Cause.”
“His raid on the Harper’s Ferry armory seems foolhardy in retrospect. How did it seem to you
and the other backers when it was planned?” I asked.
“None of us supported it. None. There was only one reason the raid was carried out. John
Brown.”
“To many, John Brown and his raid was a quixotic failure. How do you see it?”
“The opposite. It’s as if we’re dealing in two dimensions. All of the material facts of the raid
are as you described. But, spiritually? It’s far different. Brown’s raid and execution have
energized the Abolitionist Cause and brought moral sympathy to us as nothing else could. A
clear call to arms.”
“John Brown told me his backers were from the Peace Party wing of the Abolitionist Cause.
Would you describe yourself and the Secret Six as pacifists?” I was unsure of Higginson’s
role in the raid and wanted to draw him out.
“No. We’ve changed. The struggle in Kansas proved there’s no moral suasion or reasoning
with the slaveholders. John Brown was right all along. Freedom of the slaves cannot be won
except by bloodshed. We’re about to see it.”
“At the beginning of my assignment, Horace Greeley told me I must interview you before I
concluded. I think he was telling me you are, perhaps, the clearest voice of the Abolitionist
movement. The New York Tribune has worldwide readership. What do you want them to
know of the Abolitionist Cause?”
Higginson paused. He seemed to appreciate the opportunity I offered and thought the
question over a minute before responding. “As children, we think in absolutes. Sweet sour.
Friendly unsociable. Safe threatening. Good bad. As we grow older we learn gradations.
Things become gray instead of black or white. Then there is the issue of slavery. Our
Declaration of Independence states unequivocally that all men are created equal. Certainly,
the Gospel extends to all people of all races everywhere. And yet, we have slavery nestled
into the fabric of our nation.”
“Is there any moral basis for slavery? I’ve read the arguments of the slaveholders and find
them specious. They condemn the Negro as an inferior because they have made him an
inferior by denial of basic human rights. No. Elimination of slavery’s a moral imperative. No
equivocation. No gradations.”
“Would you characterize John Brown’s raid as a provocation to war?”
“It struck at the slaveholders’ worst fear – a slave uprising. I’m not sure failure of the raid
and his execution have quieted their fears or that it should.”
| Virginia Governor Henry A Wise, 1856 - 60 |
| Colonel Francis Smith, West Point Virginia Military Institute Superintendent |
| John Brown Harpers Ferry, Virginia in 1858 Leader the Raid on a US Armory to start a hoped for Slave Rebellion in the South |
| Horace Greeley, New York Tribune Publisher, Abolitionist, and Political Force |
| New York Tribune Editorial Board, 1855 |
| Reverend Thomas Wentworth Higginson Leading Abolitionist, Union Officer, Mentor to Edna St Vincent Milay |
| Lt General Thomas J (Stonewall) Jackson, Army of Northern Virginia. Lee's most effective field general. Many consider Jackson the greatest American general. |
| Confederate President Jefferson Davis, 1861-65 |
| Union General George McClellan, Army of the Potomac. Mostly ineffective in dealing with Lee and the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia |
| Union Provost Marshals, 1866 |
| Jayhawkers raid Kansas town, 1858 |
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