Read Midnight Rising: John Brown and the Raid That Sparked the Civil War Hardcover – Bargain Price Online

Authors: Tony Horwitz

Tags: #John Brown, #Abolition, #Civil War Period (1850-1877)

Midnight Rising: John Brown and the Raid That Sparked the Civil War Hardcover – Bargain Price (2 page)

BOOK: Midnight Rising: John Brown and the Raid That Sparked the Civil War Hardcover – Bargain Price
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The Road to Harpers Ferry
He was a stone,
A stone eroded to a cutting edge
By obstinacy, failure and cold prayers.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
,
“John Brown’s Body”
School of Adversity
 
 
 
J
ohn Brown was born with the nineteenth century and didn’t launch his attack on Virginia until he was nearly sixty. But almost from birth, he was marked in ways that would set him on the road to rebellion at Harpers Ferry.
Brown was named for his grandfather, a Connecticut farmer and Revolutionary War officer who marched off to fight the British in 1776. Captain John Brown died of dysentery a few weeks later, in a New York barn, leaving behind a pregnant widow and ten children. One of them was five-year-old Owen, who later wrote: “for want of help we lost our Crops and then our Cattle and so became poor.”
Owen was forced “to live abroad” with neighbors and nearby relations, and went to work young, farming in summer and making shoes in winter. As a teenager he found religion and met a minister’s daughter, Ruth Mills, pious and frugal like himself. Soon after their marriage, Ruth gave birth to “a very thrifty forward Child,” a son who died before turning two. The Browns moved to a clapboard saltbox in the stony hills of Torrington, Connecticut, and had another son. “In 1800, May 9th John was born,” Owen wrote, “nothing very uncommon.”
A portrait of Owen Brown in later years depicts a thin-lipped, hawk-beaked man with penetrating eyes: an antique version of his famous son. Owen also bestowed on John his austere Calvinism, a faith ever vigilant against sin and undue attachment to the things of this world. In his late
seventies, after rising from childhood penury to become a prosperous landowner and respected civic leader known as Squire Brown, Owen wrote a brief autobiography for his family. It began: “my life has been of but little worth mostly fild up with vanity.”
John Brown’s birthplace, in Torrington, Connecticut
 
 
JOHN BROWN ALSO WROTE a short autobiography, in his case for a young admirer. Two years before the uprising at Harpers Ferry, while seeking money and guns for his campaign, he dined at the home of George Luther Stearns, a wealthy Massachusetts industrialist. Stearns’s twelve-year-old son, Henry, was inspired by Brown’s antislavery fervor and donated his pocket money (thirty cents) to the cause. In return—and after some prodding from Stearns senior—Brown wrote Henry a long letter describing his own youth in the early 1800s.
The letter was didactic in tone, doubtless intended to impress Henry’s wealthy father as much as the boy himself. But it was nonetheless a telling
account, delivered in the direct, emphatic, and grammatically irregular voice that distinguished so much of Brown’s speech and writing.
“I cannot tell you of anything in the first Four years of John’s life worth mentioning,” Brown wrote, narrating his story in the third person, “save that at that
early age
he was tempted by Three large Brass Pins belonging to a girl who lived in the family &
stole them
. In this he was detected by his Mother; & after having a full day to think of the wrong; received from her a thorough whipping.”
If Brown’s earliest memory was of sin and chastisement, his next was of dislocation. When he was five, his family moved by oxcart to northeast Ohio. This territory, Connecticut’s “Western Reserve,” was pioneered by New Englanders seeking to extend their godly settlement. “I came with the determination,” Brown’s father wrote, “to build up and be a help in the seport of religion and civil order.” He and his neighbors formed communities centered on Congregational churches and village greens, much like the world they left behind.
Young John’s experience of Ohio was very different. When he was a boy, he wrote, the Western Reserve seemed a wondrously untamed place, “a wilderness filled with wild beasts, & Indians.” He rambled in the woods, wore buckskins, learned to live rough (a skill that would serve him well in later years), and dressed the hides of deer, raccoons, and wolves. Those first few years in Ohio were the happiest and freest of his life.
“But about this period he was placed in the School of
adversity
,” Brown wrote of himself, “the beginning of a severe but
much needed course
of dicipline.” First, an Indian boy gave him a yellow marble, which he treasured but lost. Then he nursed and tamed a bobtail squirrel and grew to dote on his pet. “
This too he lost,
” and “for a year or two John was
in mourning
.” At the age of eight, he suffered a much greater trauma: the death of his mother in childbirth.
This loss “was complete & permanent,” Brown wrote. Though his father quickly remarried “a very estimable woman,” John “never
adopted her in feeling
; but continued to pine after his own Mother for years.” The early loss of his mother made him shy and awkward around women. It also magnified the influence of his formidable father, who would marry a third time in his sixties and sire sixteen children.
From an early age, John hewed closely to his father’s example of hard work and strict piety. He was prone to fibbing and “
excessively
fond of the
hardest & roughest
kind of plays,” such as wrestling and snowball fights, but gave no sign of rebelliousness. A tall, strong boy, he was educated at a log school and went to work young, “ambitious to perform the full labour of a man.” At twelve, he drove his father’s cattle a hundred miles, on his own, and soon took up Owen’s trade of leather tanning. He also became “a firm believer in the divine authenticity of the Bible,” and briefly studied for the ministry. John “never attempted to dance,” he wrote, never learned any card games, and “grew to a dislike of vain & frivolous
conversation & persons
.”
John followed Owen in family matters, too. At twenty, “led by his own inclination &
prompted also
by his Father,” Brown wrote, “he married a
remarkably plain
; but industrious & economical girl; of excellent character; earnest piety; & good practical common sense.” Dianthe Lusk was nineteen, the daughter of Brown’s housekeeper. A son was born a year after their marriage—the first of a brood that would grow, like Owen’s, to almost biblical proportions.
Brown also raised animals, displaying a particular skill and tenderness with sheep. “As soon as circumstances would enable him he began to be a practical
Shepherd
,” Brown wrote, “
it being
a calling for which
in early life
he had a kind of
enthusiastic longing
.” But here, too, loss haunted him. One of the first creatures he tended, apart from his pet squirrel, was “a little Ewe Lamb which did finely till it was about Two Thirds grown; & then sickened and died. This brought another protracted
mourning season
.”
Brown ended his brief autobiography with his entrance into manhood. At twenty-one, he was already a tannery owner, a family man, and, as some of his peers saw it, a bit of a prig. He quickly fell out with Dianthe’s brother, who was only able to visit on Sundays. Brown disapproved of this. His church reserved the Sabbath for religious observance; even “worldly” conversation, visiting friends, and making cheese on Sunday were violations of Christian duty. (The church also excommunicated a deacon who “did open his house for the reception of a puppet show.”) Brown required his tannery workers to attend church and a daily family
worship. One apprentice later described his employer as sociable, so long as “the conversation did not turn on anything profane or vulgar.” Scripture, the apprentice added, was “at his tongues end from one end to the other.”
While demanding of others, Brown was hardest on himself. In his autobiographical letter, he wrote of young John’s “haughty obstinate temper” and inability to endure reproach. He “
habitually expected to succeed
in his undertakings” and felt sure his plans were “right in themselves.” This drive and confidence impressed elders he esteemed, which in turn fed his vanity. “He came forward to manhood quite full of self-conceit.” Brown wrote that his younger brother often called him “a King against whom there is no rising up.”
These traits—arrogance, self-certitude, a domineering manner—would bedevil Brown as he navigated the turbulent economy of the early nineteenth century. But they would also enable his late-life reincarnation as Captain John Brown, a revolutionary who took up arms in the cause of freedom, as his namesake had done two generations before him.
 
 
IN 1800, THE YEAR of Brown’s birth in the thin-soiled hills of Connecticut, the United States was just entering its adolescence. The Constitution turned thirteen that year. For the first time, a president took up residence in the newly built White House, and Congress convened on Capitol Hill. The young nation barely extended beyond the Appalachians; its largest city, New York, had sixty thousand people, equal to present-day Bismarck, North Dakota.
In many respects, daily existence at the time of Brown’s birth was closer to life in medieval Europe than modern-day America. Most people worked on farms and used wooden plows. Land travel moved at horse or foot speed on roads so awful that the carriage bringing First Lady Abigail Adams to Washington got lost in the woods near Baltimore. Crossing the ocean was a weeks-long ordeal. News wasn’t new by the time it arrived.
In this preindustrial society of five million people, almost 900,000 were enslaved, and not only in the South. Though northern states had
taken steps toward ending the institution, most of these measures provided for only gradual emancipation. Brown’s home state had almost a thousand slaves at the time of his birth, and New York twenty times that number.
Slavery was also safeguarded by the Constitution, albeit in convoluted language. The Revolution had raised an awkward question: how to square human bondage with the self-evident truth that all men are created equal and endowed with certain inalienable rights? The Framers answered this, in part, by employing a semantic dodge. They produced a forty-four-hundred-word document that did not once use the term “slave” or “slavery,” even though the subject arose right at the start.
Article I of the Constitution mandated that each state’s delegation to the House of Representatives would be based on the number of free people added to “three fifths of all other Persons”—meaning slaves. In other words, every fifty slaves would be counted as thirty people, even though these “other Persons” couldn’t vote and would magnify the representation of white men who owned them.
The Constitution also protected, for twenty years, the “importation of such Persons as any of the States now existing shall think proper.” “Such Persons,” of course, were African slaves. Furthermore, any “Person held to Service or Labour” who escaped to a free state—that is, any slave who ran away—had to be “delivered up” to his or her master.
These measures reflected the horse-trading needed to forge a nation from fractious states. Another deal, struck in 1790, led to the nation’s capital being located on the Potomac River, between the slave states of Virginia and Maryland. In all, slaveholders had deftly entrenched their “species of property,” as one South Carolina delegate euphemistically put it.
Even so, as the turn of the century approached, there were signs that slavery might wane. The exhaustion of the Chesapeake region’s soil by tobacco weakened the economic basis for slavery in Maryland and Virginia, home to half of all southern slaves. A growing number of owners in these states were freeing their slaves, driven in part by evangelical fervor and the Revolution’s emphasis on personal liberty. Other slave owners, such as Thomas Jefferson, acknowledged the “moral and political depravity” of the institution and expressed hope for its gradual end.
But all this would change markedly in the early decades of the nineteenth century, as John Brown came of age. The cotton gin, the steamboat, and the rapid growth of textile mills made it possible and hugely profitable to grow and ship millions of bales of what had previously been a minor crop. Andrew Jackson, himself a cotton planter, championed the policy of Indian “removal,” dislodging southern tribes and opening vast tracts of new land for cultivation. This expansion, in turn, created a vibrant market for the Chesapeake’s surplus slaves, who were sold by the thousands to gang-labor plantations in the Deep South.
Southerners also dominated government, largely because the three-fifths clause padded the representation of slave states in Congress and the electoral college, throughout the antebellum period. Southerners won thirteen of the first sixteen presidential contests, ruled the Supreme Court for all but eight years before the Civil War, and held similar sway over leadership posts in Congress.
BOOK: Midnight Rising: John Brown and the Raid That Sparked the Civil War Hardcover – Bargain Price
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