 | John Brown, and the heroes of Harper's Ferry |  |
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IX.—THE ENGINE-HOUSE, HARPER'S FERRY.
Brown, Watson, his Son; Coppie, Brewer, and the Rest.Brewer.
Your terms are not accepted.
Brown.
I could have burnt the town. My son is killed;
My men, carrying out flags of truce,
Are shot like dogs. I spared the place;
I could have burnt it; all I ask for, now,
Is the permission to retreat as far
As the Potomac bridge; then a free fight.
Brewer.
Mercy is not the password of this day!
It was a horrid deed, the death of Thompson.
Young Hunter, maddened with his uncle's death,
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His arms pinioned, he cannot resist;
Many stand round and Thompson in their midst.
Hunter with four men, armed with guns, half-mad,
Insisting on his blood; when there rushed forth
To him, Foulke's sister; threw herself before him
And held her arms, her form, to shelter him.
“Shoot, if you will,” she says, “you kill me first!
For shame to murder him, a helpless prisoner,
Tied, and in cold blood,—you dirty cowards!”
They dragged him forth, and ere he went, he said,
“You may kill me, but there remains behind
A countless race, who must avenge my death,—
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Forced him upon the bridge, ho'ding their guns
Closely to his side, and through him fired six balls.
Then dashed him from the truss, into the stream,
Where, slowly sinking, now he lies a ghastly corse.
This is the answer to your flag of truce!
Brown.
And what of Stevens?
Brewer.
I went, as I had leave, and helped him up,
Fearfully wounded,—three balls in his head,
Two in his breast, another in his arm,—
And brought him to the tavern, nearly dead.
When they had finished Thompson, then they cried,
“Another of the cursed fiends! This one
Shot Turner and Barley! Kill the ruffain!”
Another, “No, let him die as he is,
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Let's go and make a mark of the dead nigger,
And fire at him!” Such is the talk I heard.
Watson.
Father, my pain is awful! Put an end
To my dread agony. Oh, in mercy,
Kill me! These torments rend my soul.
Brown.
My son, strive to endure in patientness.
These wounds may be a crown of glory to you.
The lives we give to free the slave, a hope
To suffering millions!
Fitzmiller.
(A hostage.)
You brought it on yourselves; you shot our men,
Murdered the citizens without a cause,
Even the slightest; sent a panic thro'
A peaceful, sleeping town; and all for what?
When Cross went out, Thompson was sacrificed.
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And so was shot himself. Then, on your terms,—
Simply, they are preposterous!
(Enter Colonel Simms.)
Simms.
“Over the bridge!” Give terms like that to you!
The thought is madness!
Brown.
My son, who lies here dead, was just shot down
When bearing out a flag of truce. My men
Are killed like dogs.
Simms.
If you take arms in such a cause as this,
Like dogs you must expect to be shot down.
Brown.
We fight not, unless they fight against us.
Coppie.
And fight I must, as long as life be left,
Or but my rifle goes, to sell my blood
As dearly as I may, at the highest price.
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Beckham was shot by some of you, unarmed
(The mayor of the town, a peaceful man),
Perchance this bragging youngster, a foolish boy.
Brown.
Our prisoners do not fear us, but outside
That drunken crowd, shooting at friend or foe.
This night in strength we may be re-enforced;
Then must we storm a path; now let us pass
To the Potomac bridge,—you not on us,
We not to fire on you. I might have gone
Ere noon, but wished to spare the town.
Simms.
Useless is debate, such terms are never given
In regular warfare, and much less in this:
A traitorous insurrection, in cold blood,
Planned by yourselves on countrymen in peace.
[Goes.
Byrne.
Captain, you see how much you took by that;
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It had been cheaper for you to have moved
By ten this morning, or surrendered since.
Your youngest boy lies dead across the floor;
His brother dying, Kagi and Leeman killed,
And Thompson butchered. That was a brave girl!
(They say she did it, though, to save her carpet.)
Brown
(feeling his son's pulse, and firing).
You thought of that yourself (in open fields
A bloody corpse looks bad); but, gentlemen,
You know not of the past; my sufferings
In Kansas,—children slain, their houses burnt,
Their trembling wives doomed to a speechless fate,—
Watson, do not move, nor try to shoot.
Your pulse is failing; he needs some water.
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Now drink it up; I trust you may yet live,
And bless this hour of precious sacrifice.
(At a later hour.)
Allstadt.
You have been farther South?
Brown.
Once, to the other border of the State;
I marked the kind of country and the slaves,
How to dispose my men, how move.
Allstadt.
And all you came for was to free the slave?
Brown.
Not more nor less; absolutely that!
Allstadt.
'T is now you see the end; your plans have failed.
Had you surrendered earlier, so far well.
Byrne.
Two of your men have fallen at the door
Since night;—'t is now most five, and soon
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Why not surrender now? When morning comes,
Then Lee moves his marines at once upon us,
And just as certain his attack succeeds.
Brown.
When the assault is made, be sure keep low.
The troops will aim at us, not injure you.
Washington.
Insensate leader of a senseless band!
Your scheme has failed, and but five men remain,
And one a negro,—and you still resist!
Brown.
Such are the rules of war. Our terms were fair;
I offered them, they were refused; our lives
We now must sell as dearly as we may.
Byrne.
Why, what's the good? You calculated wrong.
The slaves have slept most of their time in peace;
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A pistol in the hand were worth full seven.
Brown.
I had no proper field to try their worth.
The present moment fails, if fail it must,
But not for all. Within the brief and thin
Arrangements of one mortal day
Sleep the grand fortunes of the coming time,—
When universal freedom pours its beams,
Its brightening radiance, o'er man's fettered soul.
(Later.)
Byrne.
I hear the roll-call, Brown! They come.
Brown.
So far so good; let them come. Who is it cries,
“I will surrender”? Do, then, as you please;
I cannot undertake your safety further.
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Hallo, men! here's one surrenders,—
Cry Dangerfield, cry surrender!
Coppie.
Get down upon your knees, unless you need
Your head blown off.
Brown.
Now, men, fire!
(The door is burst open, guns fired, Anderson and one of the marines fall dead. Brown surrenders; is struck thrice over the head with a sabre while on the floor.)
| John Brown, and the heroes of Harper's Ferry | |