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Chapter 4: In caucus and camp.
In caucus.
The first time that I heard of Old Brown was in connection with a caucus at the town of Ossawattomie.
1 It was shortly after his arrival in the
Territory.
The politicians of the neighborhood were carefully pruning resolutions so as to suit every variety of anti-slavery extensionists; and more especially that class of persons whose opposition to slavery was founded on expediency — the selfishness of race, and caste, and interest: men who were desirous that
Kansas should be consecrated to free white
labor only, not to Freedom for all and above all. The resolution that aroused the old man's anger declared that
Kansas should be a free
white State, thereby favoring the exclusion of negroes and mulattoes, whether slave or free.
He rose to speak, and soon alarmed and disgusted the politicians by asserting the manhood of the negro race, and expressing his earnest, anti-slavery convictions with a force and vehemence little likely to suit the hybrids
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then known as Free State Democrats.
There were a number of emigrants from
Indiana, I was told, whom his speech so shocked that they went over and remained in the pro-slavery party.
This was
John Brown's first and last appearance in a public meeting in
Kansas.
Like most men of action, he underrated discussion.
He secretly despised even the ablest anti-slavery orators.
He could see “no use in this talking,” he said.
“Talk is a national institution, but it does no manner of good to the slave.”
He thought it an excuse very well adapted for weak men, with tender consciences.
Many abolitionists, too cowardly to fight, and yet too honest to be silent, deceived themselves with the belief that they faithfully discharged their duties to the slave by fiercely denouncing his oppressors.
His ideas of duty were far different.
The slaves, in his eyes, were prisoners of war; their tyrants, he held, had taken the sword, and must perish by it.
His political creed.
Here let me speak of his political affinities.
It has been asserted that he was a member of the Republican party.
It is false.
He despised the Republican party.
It is true that, like every abolitionist, he was opposed to the extension of slavery ; and, like the majority of anti-slavery men, in favor, also, of organized political action against it. But he was too earnest a
man, and too devout a Christian, to rest satisfied with the only action against slavery consistent with one's duty as a
citizen, according to the usual Republican interpretation of the
Federal Constitution.
That teaches us that we must content ourselves with resisting the extension of
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slavery.
Where the Republicans said, Halt;
John Brown shouted, Forward!
to the rescue!
He was an abolitionist of the Bunker Hill school.
He followed neither
Garrison nor
Seward,
Gerritt Smith nor
Wendell Phillips: but the
Golden Rule, and the
Declaration of Independence, in the spirit of the Hebrew warriors, and in the God-applauded mode that they adopted.
“The
Bible story of Gideon,” records a man who betrayed him, “had manifestly a great influence on his actions.”
He believed in human brotherhood and in the God of Battles; he admired
Nat Turner, the negro patriot, equally with
George Washington, the white American deliverer.
He could not see that it was heroic to fight against a petty tax on tea, and war seven long years for a political principle; and wrong to restore, by force of arms, to an outraged race, the rights with which their Maker had endowed them, but of which the
South, for two centuries, had robbed them.
The old man distrusted the republican leaders.
He thought that their success, in 1860, would be a serious check to the anti-slavery cause.
2 His reason was, that the people had confidence in these leaders, and would believe that by their action in Congress they would peacefully and speedily abolish slavery.
That the people would be deceived; that the Republicans would become as conservative of slavery as the Democrats themselves, he sincerely and prophetically believed.
Apathy to the welfare of the slave would
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follow; and hence, to avert this moral and national calamity, he hurried on to
Harper's Ferry.
He was no politician.
He despised that class with all the energy of his earnest and determined nature.
He was too large a man to stand on any party platform.
He planted his feet on the
Rock of Ages-the
Eternal Truth — and was therefore never shaken in his policy or principles.
My first journey south.
A few days after the sacking of
Lawrence, a startling rumor reached us. A messenger from any stated that a Southern squatter from Pottawattomie had arrived there with despatches for the
Governor, which announced that five pro-slavery settlers had been murdered, at midnight, and their bodies shockingly disfigured and mutilated, by a party of Free State men. He brought a request for a body of troops to protect the pro-slavery people there; who, up to this time, had ruled that region with a rod of iron.
This fact caused every one to doubt the truth of the report.
It was regarded as a pretext for hurrying down the troops to arrest
Captain John Brown, Junior, and the
Free State force that he commanded.
While the people of
Lawrence were discussing the news, a body of troops from any passed the town, and it was discovered that they Were destined for Ossawattomie.
Not a moment was to be lost if
John Brown, the younger, and his boys, were to be warned of their coming and design.
I was urged to go down and inform him of the approach of the troops.
A horse was hired for me, and I started on the mission at once.
Already the troops were several miles ahead, and I was not
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familiar with the road; for this was my first journey to the country south of the Wakerusa.
My first object was to overtake the troops; the second, to pass them, and defeat their design.
Of every one whom I met I inquired if; and where, they had seen the soldiery.
Just at twilight I rode up a hill; and, on the opposite side of the brush, heard the noise of the tramp of horses.
I rode through it, and found myself in camp.
The dragoons were preparing to dismount and remain there for the night.
There were two or three civilians of the ruffian-breed along with them, who, after eyeing me with fierce looks, went and spoke to the captain.
He, like the majority of the army officers in
Kansas, was an ultra pro-slavery man. He looked steadily at me, and I returned the stare; but, knowing his character, I did not salute him. Without speaking to any one, I rode out of camp.
In five minutes, it was already dark; and I had not gone half a mile ere I heard two men riding up behind me. I stopped my horse at once; turned off the road; and, with my pistol ready for service, halted till they came up to me. They also were heavily armed; but their pistols were in their belts.
I inquired of them the way to
Prairie City; one, in giving directions, tried to ride outside of me. It was no time, I felt, for too tender a regard for the forms of etiquette; so I rode still farther out, slightly raising my pistol as I did so. We understood each other at once.
I rode with them a little distance; and then, they having separated, I halted until both were out of sight.
Prairie City, according to their directions, was to be reached by an
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Indian trail, which, difficult enough to trace in the daylight, it was impossible for a stranger to find or follow at night.
I rode on to a hamlet of half a dozen log houses, dignified with the name of the
City of Palmyra; and there, at the cabin of a moderate pro-slavery man, rested till the following morning, when I found that my horse had been stolen, and that my host had suffered with me in the loss of an Indian pony.
H. Clay Pate and his friend
Coleman, the murderer, were supposed to be encamped in the neighborhood, and were with reason suspected of having committed this theft.
After the
battle of Black Jack, and not till then, the horses were discovered and returned.
I walked over to
Prairie City,--a municipality which consisted of two log cabins and a well,--and from there, having told my errand, a messenger was instantly despatched to inform
John Brown, Junior, of the approach and supposed design of the
Federal troops.
I remained in
Prairie City several days, to ascertain and describe the condition of the country.
I found that, in this region, when men went out to plough, they always took their rifles with them, and always tilled in companies of from five to ten; for, whenever they attempted to perform their work separately, the
Georgia and
Alabama bandits, who were constantly hovering about, were sure to make a sudden descent on them, and carry off their horses and oxen.
Every man went armed to the teeth.
Guard was kept night and day. Whenever two men approached each other, they came up, pistol in hand, and the first salutation invariably was: Free State or Pro-Slave?
or its
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equivalent in intent: Whar ye from?
It not unfrequently happened that the next sound was the report of a pistol.
People who wished to travel without such collisions, avoided the necessity of meeting any one, by making a circuit or running away on the first indication of pursuit.
And why this condition of things?
Because the
North had consented to compromise with the deadly crime of Southern slavery; because it had been taught that this stupendous and organized iniquity
could have any other right than to be crushed under the feet of Christian freemen.
arrest as A horse Thief.
On the afternoon of my first day at
Prairie City, I was sitting reading a book at the door of the cabin, when, unexpectedly, I saw a company of the dragoons approaching.
They were riding, in double file, up to where I sat; but I did not look at them again until the horse of the captain was about to tread on me. 1 knew that it was designed, in revenge for my indifference, on the captain's part; and to anger him still more, as soon as I stepped aside, instead of saluting him or looking at his men, I reopened my book and recommenced my reading.
In a voice of stifled anger, he asked me if my name was
Redpath?
I told him that it was. “Then, sir, you are my prisoner!”
he said.
“Indeed!”
I responded.
“Why? Where is your warrant?”
“I have none,” he answered angrily.
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“Then how can you arrest me?
This is said to be a country of law.”
“We won't discuss that, sir,” he said, savagely; “but you must go with me to my camp.
If you are not guilty, you need have nothing to fear.”
“I don't fear,
Captain,” I interrupted; “I know enough of law to know that Federal troops dare not punish citizens.”
His eyes snapped.
I had been trying to provoke him, without giving him an excuse for violence, and I saw that I had thus far been successful in hitting the most sensitive part of dragoon pride — the superiority of the civil Bench over the military Saddle.
“But what is my offence?”
I asked.
“You are suspected of stealing horses!
You came into our camp last night, acted very strangely, never spoke to any one, and, half an hour after you were gone, two of our best horses were missing.”
I angered the vain dragoon still more by laughing heartily at the accusation, and explaining my reason for sympathizing with him, as well as my willingness to go to his camp, if only to have so good a chance to write an amusing letter.
This intimation did not restore him to good humor.
“Well, sir, I hope you are innocent,” he said, and then put his men into marching order.
I found that the strongest evidence against me was the fact they had discovered, that, on the previous evening, I had anxiously asked of every one where the soldiers were!
Such is circumstantial evidence!
Returning in less than half an hour from the camp
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of the soldiery, to which the horses, traced by a squatter, had been returned, I sat down and wrote a description of the adventure, which I entitled the Confessions of a Horse Thief.
Now, how to send it?
The mails were not safe ; the country was covered with guerillas;
Leavenworth was in the hands of the ruffians; to send it from
Lawrence was impossible.
I heard of an old preacher, who lived a few miles off, and who was going to
Kansas City in
Missouri.
I went to find him. His house was situated on the southern side of a creek, which is two or three miles from
Prairie City.
I was advised to seek the cabin of
Captain Carpenter; and there, where armed men were constantly on guard, they would lead me to “Old Moore, the minister.”
In camp.
The creeks of
Kansas are all fringed with wood.
I lost my way, or got off the path that crosses the creek above alluded to, when, suddenly, thirty paces before me, I saw a wild-looking man, of fine proportions, with half a dozen pistols of various sizes stuck in his belt, and a large
Arkansas bowie-knife prominent among them.
His head was uncovered; his hair was uncombed; his face had not been shaved for many months.
We were similarly dressed — with red-topped boots worn over the pantaloons, a coarse blue shirt, and a pistol belt.
This was the usual fashion of the times.
“Hullo!”
he cried, “you're in our camp!”
He had nothing in his right hand — he carried a water-pail in his left; but, before he could speak again, I had drawn and cocked my eight-inch
Colt.
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I only answered, in emphatic tones, “Halt!
Or I'll fire!”
He stopped, and said that he knew me; that he had seen me in
Lawrence, and that I was true; that he was
Frederick Brown, the son of old
John Brown; and that I was now within the limits of their camp.
After a parley of a few minutes, I was satisfied that I was among my friends, put up my pistol, and shook hands with Frederick.
He talked wildly, as he walked before me, turning round every minute, as he spoke of the then recent affair of Pottawattomie.
His family, he said, had been accused of it; he denied it indignantly, with the wild air of a maniac.
His excitement was so great that he repeatedly recrossed the creek, until, getting anxious to reach the camp, I refused to listen to him until he took me to his father.
He then quietly filled his pail with water; and, after many strange turnings, led me into camp.
As we approached it, we were twice challenged by sentries, who suddenly appeared before trees, and as suddenly disappeared behind them.
I shall not soon forget the scene that here opened to my view.
Near the edge of the creek a dozen horses were tied, all ready saddled for a ride for life, or a hunt after Southern invaders.
A dozen rifles and sabres were stacked against the trees.
In an open space, amid the shady and lofty woods, there was a great blazing fire with a pot on it; a woman, bareheaded, with an honest, sun-burnt face, was picking blackberries from the bushes; three or four armed men were lying on
red and
blue blankets on the grass; and
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two fine-looking youths were standing, leaning on their arms, on guard near by. One of them was the youngest son of Old Brown, and the other was “Charley,” the brave
Hungarian, who was subsequently murdered at Ossawatomie.
Old Brown himself stood near the fire, with his slirt-sleeves rolled up, and a large piece of pork in his hand.
He was cooking a pig. He was poorly clad, and his toes protruded from his boots.
The old man received me with great cordiality, and the little band gathered about me. But it was for a moment only; for the
Captain ordered them to renew their work.
He respectfully but firmly forbade conversation on the Pottawattomie affair; and said that, if I desired any information from the company in relation to their conduct or intentions, he, as their
Captain, would answer for them whatever it was proper to communicate.
In this camp no manner of profane language was permitted; no man of immoral character was allowed to stay, excepting as a prisoner of war. He made prayers in which all the company united, every morning and evening; and no food was ever tasted by his men until the Divine blessing had been asked on it. After every meal, thanks were returned to the
Bountiful Giver.
Often, I was told, the old man would retire to the densest solitudes, to wrestle with his God in secret prayer.
One of his company subsequently informed me that, after these retirings, he would say that the
Lord had directed him in visions what to do; that, for himself, he did not love warfare, but peace,--only acting in obedience to the will of the
Lord, and fighting God's battles for His children's sake.
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It was at this time that the old man said to me: “I would rather have the small-pox, yellow fever, and cholera all together in my camp, than a man without principles.
It's a mistake, sir,” he continued, “that our people make, when they think that bullies are the best fighters, or that they are the men fit to oppose these Southerners.
Give me men of good principles; God-fearing men men who respect themselves; and, with a dozen of them, I will oppose any hundred such men as these
Buford ruffians.”
I remained in the camp about an hour.
Never before had I met such a band of men. They were not earnest, but earnestness incarnate.
Six of them were
John Brown's sons.
I left this sacred spot with a far higher respect for the Great Struggle than ever I had felt before, and with a renewed and increased faith in noble and disinterested champions of the right; of whose existencesince I had seen so much of paltry jealousy, selfishness, and unprincipled ambition among the
Free State politicians — I was beginning to doubt, and to regard as a pleasant illusion of my youth.
I went away, thoughtful, and hopeful for the cause; for I had seen, for the first time, the spirit of the
Ironsides armed and encamped.
And I said, also, and thought, that I had seen the predestined leader of the second and the holier
American Revolution.
