Tom Strong, Lincoln's Scout

by Percy Keese Fitzhugh

  CHAPTER I

  TOM RIDES IN WESTERN MARYLAND--HALTED BY ARMED MEN--JOHN BROWN--THE ATTACK UPON HARPER'S FERRY--THE FIGHT--JOHN BROWN'S SOUL GOES MARCHING ON.

  On a beautiful October afternoon, a man and a boy were riding along acountry road in Western Maryland. To their left lay the Potomac, itswaters gleaming and sparkling beneath the rays of the setting sun. Totheir right, low hills, wooded to the top, bounded the view. They hadleft the little town of Harper's Ferry, Virginia, an hour before; hadcrossed to the Maryland shore of the Potomac; and now were looking forsome country inn or friendly farmhouse where they and their horses couldbe cared for overnight.

  The man was Mr. Thomas Strong, once Tom Strong, third, and the boy washis son, another Tom Strong, the fourth to bear that name. Like thethree before him he was brown and strong, resolute and eager, with asmile that told of a nature of sunshine and cheer. They were looking forland. Mr. Strong had inherited much land in New York City. The growth ofthat great town had given him a comfortable fortune. He had decided tobuy a farm somewhere and a friend had told him that Western Maryland wasalmost a paradise. So it was, but this Eden had its serpent. Slavery wasthere. It was a mild and patriarchal kind of slavery, but it had leftits black mark upon the countryside. Across the nearby Mason and Dixon'sline, Pennsylvania was full of little farms, tilled by their owners, andof little towns, which reflected the wealth of the neighboring farmers.Western Maryland was largely owned by absentee landlords. Its towns weretiny villages. Its farms were few and far between. The free State wasbriskly alive; the slave State was sleepily dead.

  The two riders were splendidly mounted, the father on a big baystallion, Billy-boy, and the son on a black Morgan mare, Jennie.Billy-boy was a descendant of the Billy-boy General Washington had givento the first Tom Strong, many years before. Jennie was a descendant ofthe Jennie Tom Strong, third, had ridden across the plains of the greatWest with John C. Fremont, "the Pathfinder," first Republican candidatefor President of the United States.

  "We haven't seen a house for miles, Father," said the boy.

  "And we were never out of sight of a house when we were riding throughPennsylvania. There's always a reason for such things. Do you know thereason?"

  "No, sir. What is it?"

  "The sin of slavery. I don't believe I shall buy land in Maryland. Ithought I might plant a colony of happy people here and help to makeMaryland free, in the course of years, but I'm beginning to think theright kind of white people won't come where the only work is done byslaves. We must find soon a place to sleep. Perhaps there'll be a housearound that next turn in the road. Billy-boy whinnies as though therewere other horses near."

  Billy-boy's sharp nose had not deceived him. There were other horsesnear. Just around the turn of the road there were three horses. Threearmed men were upon them. Father and son at the same moment saw andheard them.

  "You stop! Who be you?"

  The sharp command was backed by uplifted pistols. The Strongs reined intheir horses, with indignant surprise. Who were these three farmers whoseemed to be playing bandits upon the peaceful highroad? The boy glancedat his father and tried to imitate his father's cool demeanor. He feltthe shock of surprise, but his heart beat joyously with the thought:"This is an adventure!" All his young life he had longed for adventures.He had deeply enjoyed the novel experience of the week's ride with thefather he loved, but he had not hoped for a thrill like this.

  Mr. Strong eyed the three horsemen, who seemed both awkward and uneasy."What does this mean?" he asked.

  "Now, thar ain't goin' to be no harm done you nor done bub, thar,neither," the leader of the highwaymen answered, with a note almost ofpleading in his voice. "Don't you be oneasy. But you'll have to comewith us----"

  "And spend Sunday with us----" broke in another man.

  "Shet up, Bill. I'll do all the talkin' that's needed."

  "That's what you do best," the other man grumbled.

  "Well, Tom," said Mr. Strong, turning with a smile to his son, "we seemto have found that place to spend the night." He faced his captors."This is a queer performance of yours. You don't look like highwaymen,though you act like them. Do you mean to steal our horses?" he added,sharply.

  "We ain't no hoss thieves," replied the leader. "You've got to come withus, but you needn't be no way oneasy. You, Bill, ride ahead!"

  Bill turned his horse and rode ahead, Mr. Strong and Tom riding behindhim, the other two men behind them. It was a silent ride, but not a longone. Within a mile, they reached a rude clearing that held a couple oflog huts. The sun had set; the short twilight was over. Firelightgleamed in the larger of the huts. The prisoners were taken to it. A manwho was lounging outside the door had a whispered talk with the threehorsemen. Then he turned rather sheepishly; said: "Come in, mister; comein, bub;" opened the door, called within: "Prisoners, Captin' Smith,"and stepped aside as father and son entered.

  There were a dozen men in the big room, farmers all, apparently. Theywere all on their feet, eyeing keenly the unexpected prisoners. Theireyes turned to a tall man, who stepped forward and held out his hand,saying:

  "Sorry the boys had to take you in, but you and your hosses are safe andwe won't keep you long. The day of the Lord is at hand."

  There was a grim murmur of approval from the other men. The Lord's day,as Sunday is sometimes called, was at hand, for it was then the eveningof Saturday, October 15, 1859. But that was not what the speaker meant.He was not what his followers called him, Captain Smith. He was JohnBrown, of North Elba, New York, of Kansas ("bleeding Kansas" it wascalled then, when slaveholders from Missouri and freedom-lovers underJohn Brown had turned it into a battlefield), and he was soon to be JohnBrown of Harper's Ferry, Virginia, first martyr in the cause of Freedomon Virginian soil. To him "the day of the Lord" was the day when he wasto attack slavery in its birthplace, the Old Dominion, and that attackhad been set by him for Sunday, October 16. His plan was to seizeHarper's Ferry, where there was a United States arsenal, arm the slaveshe thought would come to his standard from all Virginia, and so compassthe fall of the Slave Power. A wild plan, an impossible plan, the planof an almost crazy fanatic, and a splendid dream, a dream for the sakeof which he was glad to give his heroic life.

  He had rented this Maryland farm in July, giving his name as Smith andsaying he expected to breed horses. By twos and threes his followers hadjoined him in this solitary spot, until now there were twenty-one ofthem. The few folk scattered through the countryside had begun to besuspicious of this strange gathering of men. All sorts of wild storiescirculated, though none was as wild as the truth. The men themselveswere tense under the strain of the long wait. They feared discovery andattack. For the three days before "the day of the Lord" they hadpatrolled the one road, looking out for soldiers or for spies. Tom andhis father had been their sole captives.

  John Brown was one of Nature's noblemen and among his friends inMassachusetts and New York were some of the foremost men of their time,so he had learned to know a real man when he met one. He soon foundout that Mr. Strong was a real man. He told him of his plans, and urgedhim to join in the projected foray on Harper's Ferry. But when Mr.Strong refused and tried to show him how mad his project was, the firesof the fanatic blazed within him.

  JOHN BROWN]

  "Did not Joshua bring down the walls of Jericho with a ram's horn?" heshouted. "And with twenty armed men cannot I pull down the walls of thecitadel of Slavery? Are you a true man or not? Will you join me or not?Answer me yes or no."

  "No," was the response, quiet but firm.

  "You shall join me; you and your boy," thundered the crusader, hammeringthe table with his mighty fist. "Here, Jim, put these people under guardand keep them until we start."

  * * * * *

  Tom and his father were well-treated, but they were kept under guarduntil the next night and were then taken along by John Brown's "army,"which trudged off into the darkness afoot, while Billy-boy and Jennieand the other horses in th
e corral whinnied uneasily, sensing, asanimals do, the stir of a departure which is to leave them behind. Inthe center of the little column the two captives marched the five milesto Harper's Ferry and started across the bridge that led to that tinytown.

  A brave man, one Patrick Hoggins, was night-watchman of the bridge. Heheard the trampling of many feet upon the plank-flooring. He hurriedtowards the strange sound.

  "Halt!" shouted somebody in the column.

  "Now I didn't know what 'halt' mint then," Patrick testified afterwards,"anny more than a hog knows about a holiday."

  But he had seen armed men and he turned to run and give an alarm. Abullet was swifter than he, but not swifter than his voice. He fell, buthis shouts had alarmed the town. There were two or three watchmen at thearsenal. They came forward, only to be made prisoners. The few citizenswho had been aroused could do nothing. The "army" seized the arsenalwithout difficulty.

  Five miles from Harper's Ferry lived Col. Lewis W. Washington,gentleman-farmer and slave-owner, great-grand-nephew of anothergentleman-farmer and slave-owner, George Washington. At midnight,Colonel Washington was awakened by a blow upon his bedroom door. Itswung open and the light of a burning torch showed the astonishedSoutherner four armed men, one of them a negro, who bade him rise anddress. They were a patrol sent out by Brown. Their leader, Stevens,asked:

  "Haven't you a pistol Lafayette gave George Washington and a swordFrederick the Great sent him?"

  "Yes."

  "Where are they?"

  "Downstairs."

  His four captors tramped downstairs with him. Pistol and sword werefound.

  "I'll take the pistol," said Stevens. "You hand the sword to thisnegro."

  John Brown wore this sword during the fighting that followed. It is nowin the possession of the State of New York. While its being sent GeorgeWashington by Frederick the Great is doubtful--the story runs that thePrussian king sent with it a message "From the oldest general to thebest general"--its being surrendered by Lewis Washington to the negro istrue.

  Lewis was then on the staff of the Governor of Virginia, and hadacquired in this way his title of Colonel. He was put into his owncarriage. His slaves, few in number, were bundled into a four-horsefarm-wagon. They were told to come and fight for their freedom. Tooscared to resist, they came as they were bidden to do, but they did nofighting. At Harper's Ferry they and their fellow-slaves, seized at aneighboring plantation, escaped back to slavery at the first possiblemoment. Not a single negro voluntarily joined John Brown. He hadexpected a widespread slave insurrection. There was nothing of the sort.By Monday morning he knew he had failed, failed utterly.

  Before Monday's sun set, Harper's Ferry was full of soldiers, UnitedStates regulars and State militia. Brown, his men and his whitecaptives, eleven of the latter, were shut up in the fire-engine house ofthe armory. The militia refused to charge the engine-house, saying thatthis might cost the captives their lives. Many of them were drunk; allof them were undisciplined; their commander did not know how to command.The situation changed with the arrival of the United States Marines ledby Lieut.-Col. Robert E. Lee, afterwards the famous chief of the army ofthe Confederate States.

  By this time Tom was beginning to think he had had enough adventure. Hehad enjoyed that silent tramp through the darkness beside his father. Hehad enjoyed it the more because they were both prisoners-of-war. Being aprisoner was an amazingly thrilling thing. He was sorry when bravePatrick Hoggins was shot and glad to know the wound was slight, butsharing in the skirmish, even in the humble capacity of a captive, hadexcited the boy immensely. Now that there was almost constant firingback and forth, when two or three wounded men were lying on the floor,and when his father and he and Colonel Washington were perforce riskingtheir lives in the engine-house, with nothing to gain and everything tolose, and when scanty sleep and little food had tired out even his stoutlittle body, Tom felt quite ready to go home and have his adored mother"mother" him. His father saw the homesickness in his eyes.

  "Steady, my son," said Mr. Strong. "This won't last long. No straybullet is apt to reach this corner, where Captain Brown has put us. Theonly other danger is when the regulars rush in here, but unless theymistake us for the raiders, there'll be no harm done then. Steady." Helooked through a bullet-hole in the boarded-up window and added: "Herecomes a flag of truce. Listen."

  The scattering fire died away. The hush was broken by a commandingvoice, demanding surrender.

  "There will be no surrender," quoth grim John Brown.

  At dawn of Tuesday, two files of United States Marines, using a longladder as a battering ram, attacked the door. It broke at the secondblow. The marines poured in, shooting and striking. The battle was over.John Brown, wounded and beaten to the floor, lay there among his men.The captives were free. Their captors had changed places with them.

  THE ATTACK ON THE ENGINE-HOUSE]

  Colonel Washington took Mr. Strong and Tom home with him, for a restafter the strain of the captivity. He was much interested when he foundout that Tom's great-grandfather had visited General Washington at MountVernon and Tom was intensely interested in seeing the home and home lifeof a rich Southern planter. The Colonel asked his guests to stay untilafter the trial of their recent jailer. They did so and Mr. Strong,after some hesitation, decided to take Tom to the trial and afterwardsto the final scene of all. He wrote to his wife: "Life is rich, my dear,in proportion to the number of our experiences and their depth.Ordinarily, I would not dream of taking Tom to see a criminal hung. ButJohn Brown is no ordinary criminal. He is wrong, but he is heroic. Hefaces his fate--for of course they will hang him--like a Roman. I thinkit will do Tom good to see a hero die."

  Whether or no his father was right, Tom was given these experiences. Hesat beside his father and Colonel Washington at the trial. He heard themtestify. He noted the angry stir of the mob in the court-room when Mr.Strong made no secret of his admiration for the great criminal.

  Robert E. Lee, who captured Brown, said: "I am glad we did not have tokill him, for I believe he is an honest, conscientious old man."Virginia, Lee's State, thought she did have to kill this invader of hersoil and disturber of her slaves.

  November 2, John Brown was sentenced to be hung December 2. The next dayhe added this postscript to a letter he had already written to his wifeand children:

  "P.S. Yesterday Nov. 2d I was sentenced to be hanged on Decem 2d next. Do not grieve on my account. I am still quite cheerful. God bless you all."

  Northern friends offered to try to help him to break jail. He put asidethe offer with the calm statement: "I am fully persuaded that I am worthinconceivably more to hang than for any other purpose."

  December 2, John Brown started on his last journey. He sat upon hiscoffin in a wagon and as the two horses paced slowly from jail togallows, he looked far afield, over river and valley and hill, and said:"This _is_ a beautiful country." He was sure he was upon the thresholdof a far more beautiful country. The gallows were guarded by a militiacompany from Richmond, Virginia. In its ranks, rifle on shoulder, stoodWilkes Booth, a dark and sinister figure, who was to win eternal infamyby assassinating Abraham Lincoln. Beside the militia was a trim lot ofcadets, the fine boys of the Virginia Military Institute. With them wastheir professor, Thomas J. Jackson, "Stonewall" Jackson, one of theheroic figures upon the Southern side of our Civil War.

  When the end came, Stonewall Jackson's lips moved with a prayer for JohnBrown's soul; Colonel Washington's and Mr. Strong's eyes were wet; andTom Strong sobbed aloud. Albany fired a hundred guns in John Brown'shonor as he hung from the gallows. In 1859 United States troops capturedhim that he might die. In 1899 United States troops fired a volley ofhonor over his grave in North Elba that the memory of him might live.Victor Hugo called him "an apostle and a hero." Emerson dubbed him"saint." Oswald Garrison Villard closes his fine biography of John Brownwith these words: "Wherever there is battling against injustice andoppression, the Charlestown gallows that became a cross will help men tolive and d
ie."