Old John Brown
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Walter Hawkins >> Old John Brown
His only cause of agitation in the prison was the intrusive
ministration of certain pro-slavery parsons. He refused to let
a man who 'had the blood of the slaves on his skirts' minister
to him. 'I respect you as a gentleman, but a HEATHEN
gentleman,' he would say. 'Don't let such go with me to the
scaffold,' he asked. 'I would rather have an escort of
barefooted, bareheaded, ragged slave boys and girls led by some
old grey-headed slave mother.'
A sculptor who had conceived a great admiration for the brave
old man was ambitious to execute a marble bust of him. He
applied to Mrs. Stearns--Brown's old wealthy supporter--to aid
him in his enterprise. She readily promised to supply all
funds, but, said she, 'You will have a vain journey for the
measurements. He will just say, "Nonsense; give the money to
the poor." You will then say, "Mr. Brown, posterity will want to
know what you looked like," and he will reply, "No consequence
to posterity how I looked; better give the money to the poor."
But go if you will and use my name.' And off went the eager
artist. With some difficulty he procured an interview with the
prisoner. But woman is far-sighted; sure enough the answer
came, 'Nonsense; give the money to the poor.' But the artist
pleaded, 'Posterity will want to see what you were like.' Said
the man who longed that his work rather than his memory should
live, 'No consequence to posterity how I looked; give the money
to the poor.' However, the name of Mrs. Steams prevailed at
last, and with a thankful look he said, 'She must have what she
desires; take the measurements.'
The day of execution, December 2, 1859, drew near. Excitement
increased, and for the first time in the history of the Union
the passport system was introduced by the State Government of
Virginia, and was maintained during the last eight days of
Brown's life, lest haply aid from the North should be organized.
Troops were present to the number of 3,000, around the scaffold
at Charlestown, when he was carried forth to die. Rumour
alleged that he had on the way to the scaffold taken a slave
child from its mother's arms and kissed it. But, credible as it
may have been to many, those who were present knew he was too
closely pinioned and guarded for it to be possible. He had
little to say--only one word of the glory of the surrounding
scenery, for he was a true son of Nature to the last. He had
placed in an official's hands a slip of paper with the following
words upon it: 'I, John Brown, am now quite certain that the
crimes of this guilty land will never be purged away but with
blood. I had, as I now think vainly, flattered myself that
without very much bloodshed it might be done.'
Upon the scaffold he only bade them be quick, as he was quite
ready. Ready! Yes, he had been ready many a year, and it was
no unwilling victim that swung mid-air that December morning.
They carried his body to the old log-house he occupied at North
Elba, where it was buried upon the farm. That farm has been
recently purchased for a public park; and the grave, with the
big boulder upon it, forms a conspicuous feature. Thousands
approach it with reverent feet, not so much because of the body
which lies mouldering there, but for the sake of the soul which
is marching on. They had sung in Northern streets a grim ditty
during those days of suspense before his execution, with the
refrain, addressed to the Southerner:
And Old Brown, Osawatomie Brown,
May trouble you more than ever
When you've nailed his coffin down.
It contains a true word of prophecy. Says an American writer:
soon after, 'I meet him at every turn. John Brown is not dead;
he is more alive than ever he was.' As that same year the
Northern States gird themselves for the great Presidential
contest, determined that at length a thorough Abolitionist named
Abraham Lincoln shall tenant the White House, it is evident that
John Brown's soul is marching on.
When at length fierce civil war breaks out, and those same
Northern States month by month are brought to the sure
conviction that Freedom as certainly as Union is the cause for
which they fight, and as through long disappointment and
suspense, lavish effusion of blood, generous sacrifice of their
bravest sons they steadily press to victory under the ever-
patient, dogged leadership of President Lincoln and General
Grant, it is evident that John Brown's soul is marching on.
In the tramp of ten thousands of armed men, in the strains of
that grand old battle-hymn of the Republic, I hear the march of
his soul:
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are
stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible, swift
sword:
His truth is marching on.
Glory, glory, hallelujah, &c.
He hath sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call
retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgement-seat;
Oh, be swift, my soul! to answer Him; be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.
I have seen Him in the watchfires of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps;
His day is marching on.
In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:
As He died to make men holy, let us live to make men free!
While God is marching on.
When Lincoln's first Emancipation Decree (made necessary by the
fact that so many blacks belonging to the disloyal were fighting
for the Union), that all slaves in the Rebel States from New
Year's Day, 1863, shall be free, is promulgated; and when, two
years later, the Constitution is amended so as to forbid slavery
all through the Republic, now again united; when the nation
generously provides food, shelter, and education for the
emancipated; and when the freed bondmen greet their liberty-
loving President in Southern streets with shouts of gratitude
and cries of 'Father Abraham'--you may know that John Brown's
soul is marching on.
There in America and elsewhere it continues its march. Wherever
the swift cruiser speeds in pursuit of the infamous slave-ship,
in every heart-beat of the brave seamen who feel they are on a
righteous errand and will overhaul her in the King's--aye, in
God's--name, we hear the march of John Brown's soul.
When a nation of free men rises up in wrath at the issue of some
official document that seems to be couched in temporizing
language on this supreme subject, or at some government that has
tolerated conditions that approximate slavery, and will have
none of it, we know the old hero's soul is marching on.
Whenever in secret council the ambassador of a free people
negotiates a treaty, and, backed by the most sacred impulses of
those he represents, urges an anti-slavery clause, we know John
Brown's soul is on the march.
And march it shall, while nations learn to prize liberty as
God's great chartered right to every man, while they read the
shining letters of the Golden Rule, while they remember that God
made all men of one blood and that all are redeemed by the blood
of One.
While God looks down from His heaven and sees the distressed
face, or hears the piercing cry of the oppressed, and can turn
the hearts of men to fight His battles upon earth, the soul of
John Brown will be marching still.