John Brown: War Stories

Boston, February 18, 1857, addressing members of the Massachusetts legislature

“We can never conquer Evil with Evil,” a nattily dressed young legislator declared, proudly promoting the paralyzing power of his cherished notions of virtue. “To succeed without violence, we must overwhelm our opponents with our good will and our numbers.”

I must not laugh out loud at the proclamations of potential supporters. And I appreciated their decency and their commitment to abolition. As a younger man I, too, had preferred gentle means. But I knew better now. I wondered if these fresh-cheeked legislators were ready to hear from an adult.

Franklin introduced me. “I present to you a patriot with the blood of the Puritans and the Revolutionary generation in his veins.” At this I again had to suppress a laugh. My blood felt like cold vinegar.

Some committee members applauded vigorously. A few raised arms high. Others declined to clap. Franklin forced up his smile and encouraged me forward.

As I approached the front of the room, unexpected fear split my chest. I must allow this audience only glimpses, only hints of the hot river flowing within me. Full exposure would likely ravage my attempt at worldly persuasion.

Be modest, I counseled myself. Sound sane. Almost certainly these dewy legislators saw me as a human being such as they were…a helpful illusion I ought to promote.

For this earthly performance I would present a “good” John Brown, one who echoed the righteous hero that so many people had cobbled together in their imaginations. Let them dream! Let them believe they would be giving the money to some moderate, well-focused, and reasonable fellow intent on actions aligned with their timid notions. Hah!

Fortunately, despite my conflicted condition, my intellect continued to serve me. I was able to carefully and reasonably outline how the corrupt President Franklin Pierce enabled the flow of vast sums to spill the blood of the righteous and to appease the demands of the depraved. And that James Buchanan—who, through God’s unknowable workings and some baffling fluke of electoral politics, was about to take the office of President—must be compelled to find his spine and his conscience.

“We must drive the proslavery forces from Kansas Territory. We must stop the spread of the scourge. I am prepared to go to battle. For this, I need your material support.”

No hint of my true plan to attack the beast at the federal arsenal at Harpers Ferry escaped my lips.

Many committee members applauded. As I returned to my chair, some legislators were congratulating “John Brown,” pumping his hand, promising support. Some glared silently. I felt the burn of their gaze.