The Public Life of Captain John Brown

James Redpath was a journalist and abolitionist who composed anti-slavery articles for Horace Greeley's New-York Tribune. His work brought him into contact with John Brown, whom he interviewed days after the massacre at Pottawatomie Creek, Kansas, in 1856. Unaffected by the ambivalence that would characterize other sympathetic observers, Redpath became Brown's most fervent defender. He moved to Boston soon after to generate support for a southern slave insurrection. After Brown’s 1859 attack on Harpers Ferry, Virginia, and subsequent hanging, a New York publisher asked Redpath to pen a biography of Brown that could be used as Republican campaign material. Redpath refused, writing instead for a publisher who “believed in John Brown,” “wished to do him justice,” and “desired to assist his destitute family.” Although Redpath used hundreds of documents for The Public Life of Capt. John Brown (1860), including newspaper articles, books, correspondence, and “conversations,” he admitted in the book’s preface that “much” of his evidence came from “the record of my personal knowledge.” Redpath, who shared the royalties for the book with Brown’s family, also relied on family lore as reliable sources. Redpath characterized Brown’s actions as “exclusively defensive.” He insisted that Brown had been falsely accused of the Potawatomie massacre and, in any case, dismissively referred to it as “one of those stern acts of summary justice with which the history of the West and every civil war abounds.” In this excerpt, Redpath defended Brown’s actions on the basis of a law higher than Congress as well as the principles of the American founding.[1]

James Redpath, The Public Life of Capt. John Brown (Boston: Thayer and Eldridge, 1860), 7-8, 337-43, on Internet Archive, accessed December 1, 2016, https://archive.org/details/publiclifecaptj01redpgoog.

When the news of the arrest of John Brown reached Boston, I could neither work nor sleep; for I loved and reverenced the noble old man, and had perfect confidence in his plan of emancipation. I knew him to be one of earth’s worthiest souls—the last of the Puritans. I think that John Brown did right in invading Virginia and attempting to liberate her slaves. I hold God in infinitely greater reverence than Congress, and His holy laws than its enactments. I would as soon think of vindicating Washington for resisting the British Government to the death, as to apologize for John Brown in assailing the Slave Power with the only weapons that it fears.

The Verdict

Alas! for the honor of the Union, whom Virginia thus disgraced in the eyes of the world, the brave old man was too feeble to stand. “He sat up in his bed when the Jury entered,” writes ... [a] vindictive Virginia journalist, “and, after listening to the rendition of the [guilty] verdict, lay down very composedly, without saying a word.” The writer adds, intending thereby to eulogize the Virginians, “There was no demonstration of any kind whatever.” Thus thoroughly does Slavery corrupt the heart, that the spectacle of an heroic old man, feeble from the loss of blood poured out in behalf of God’s despised poor, unable to stand unsupported on his feet, and yet condemned to die on the scaffold, shocked no one Southern conscience—excited “no demonstration of any kind whatever.”

Condemned to Die

Says an eye-witness, “... John Brown was brought in from jail to be sentenced. He walked with considerable difficulty, and every movement appeared to be attended with pain, although his features gave no expression of it. It was late, and the gaslights gave an almost deathly pallor to his face. He seated himself near his counsel, and, after once resting his head upon his right hand, remained entirely motionless, and for a time appeared unconscious of all that passed around–especially unconscious of the execrations audibly whispered by spectators: ‘D—d black-hearted villain! heart as black as a stove-pipe!’ and many such. While the Judge read his decision on the points of exception which had been submitted, Brown sat very firm, with lips tightly compressed, but with no appearance of affectation of sternness. He was like a block of stone. When the clerk directed him to stand and say why sentence should not be passed upon him, he rose and leaned slightly forward, his hands resting on the table. He spoke timidly–hesitatingly, indeed–and in a voice singularly gentle and mild. But his sentences came confused from his mouth, and he seemed to be wholly unprepared to speak at this time. Types can give no intimation of the soft and tender tones, yet calm and manly withal, that filled the Court room, and, I think, touched the hearts of many who had come only to rejoice at the heaviest blow their victim was to suffer.”

John Brown’s Last Speech

This is what he said:

I have, may it please the Court, a few words to say.

In the first place, I deny every thing but what I have all along admitted—the design on my part to free the slaves. I intended certainly to have made a clear thing of that matter, as I did last winter, when I went into Missouri, and there took slaves without the snapping of a gun on either side, moved them through the country, and finally left them in Canada. I designed to have done the same thing again, on a larger scale. That was all I intended. I never did intend murder, or treason, or the destruction of property, or to excite or incite slaves to rebellion, or to make insurrection.[1]

I have another objection: and that is, it is unjust that I should suffer such a penalty. Had I interfered in the manner which I admit, and which I admit has been fairly proved–(for I admire the truthfulness and candor of the greater portion of the witnesses who have testified in this case)–had I so interfered in behalf of the rich, the powerful, the intelligent, the so-called great, or in behalf of any of their friends, either father, mother, brother, sister, wife or children, or any of that class, and suffered and sacrificed what I have in this interference, it would have been all right, and every man in this Court would have deemed it an act worthy of reward rather than punishment.

This Court acknowledges, as I suppose, the validity of the Law of God. I see a book kissed here which I suppose to be the Bible, or, at least, the New Testament. That teaches me that all things ‘whatsoever I would that men should do unto me I should do even so to them.’ It teaches me further, to ‘remember them that are in bonds as bound with them.’ I endeavored to act up to that instruction. I say, I am yet too young to understand that God is any respecter of persons. I believe that to have interfered as I have done, as I have always freely admitted I have done, in behalf of His despised poor, was not wrong, but right. Now, if it is deemed necessary that I should forfeit my life for the furtherance of the ends of justice, and mingle my blood further with the blood of my children, and with the blood of millions in this slave country whose rights are disregarded by wicked, cruel, and unjust enactments –I submit: so let it be done.

Let me say one word further.

I feel entirely satisfied with the treatment I have received on my trial. Considering all the circumstances, it has been more generous than I expected. But I feel no consciousness of guilt. I have stated from the first what was my intention and what was not. I never had any design against the life of any person, nor any disposition to commit treason, or excite slaves to rebel, or make any general insurrection. I never encouraged any man to do so, but always discouraged any idea of that kind.

Let me say, also, a word in regard to the statements made by some of those connected with me. I hear it has been stated by some of them that I have induced them to join me. But the contrary is true. I do not say this to injure them, but as regretting their weakness. There is not one of them but joined me of his own accord, and the greater part at their own expense. A number of them I never saw, and never had a word of conversation with, till the day they came to me, and that was for the purpose I have stated.

Now I have done.

Was ever such a speech delivered in America—so fearless, yet so gentle; so manly, modest, wise, God’s heart-imbued?