Abolition

by Tim Black

“Seems a bit over the top,” Victor commented.

  Mr. Greene shrugged in response.

  They could not find unoccupied seats when they entered the courtroom and they were forced, as were hundreds of local citizens, to stand and witness the court proceedings. People were packed elbow to elbow and Victor sensed that this was probably the biggest thing that ever happened to the backwater town of Charles Town, Virginia.

  A hush went over the crowd when a group of soldiers carried John Brown into the courtroom on a cot, placing the cot before the bar of justice where sat several magistrates and the presiding judge. The clerk of court read the lengthy indictments by the Grand Jury and the judge asked John Brown to plea to the charges.

  Theatrically, Old Osawatomie rose from the cot and faced the judge. He said, “I did not ask for any quarter when I was taken. I did not ask to have my life spared. The Governor of the State of Virginia tendered me that I would have a fair trial. If you seek my blood, you can have it any moment, without the mockery of a trial. I have no counsel. If we are forced with a mere form—a trial for execution—you might spare yourself the trouble. I am ready for my fate. I do not ask for a trial. I ask again to be excused from the mockery of a trial.”

  Responding to John Brown’s assertion that he had no counsel, the judge assigned two lawyers to defend the abolitionist: Lawson Botts and Thomas C. Green. The latter’s name caused Mr. Greene to whisper to his students, “no relation to me.”

  Heck of a lot of Greens, Victor mused. Whichever way it was spelled.

  John Brown agreed to the attorneys, and after consulting with his new client, Lawson Botts addressed the court and made a motion that the trial be delayed for a few days as Brown was still recovering from his wounds. The facial cuts delivered to John Brown’s face by Lieutenant Green’s sword were clearly visible. But the judge quickly denied Botts’ request and announced that John Brown would be the first of the raiders to be tried. John Brown smiled slightly and returned to his cot where he laid down and closed his eyes. Was he meditating? Victor wondered. He was stoic.

  Minerva winced when she saw a spectator spit tobacco juice on the floor of the courtroom. Gross! she thought, surprised that no one chided that man for his transgression. In fact, his expectoration seemed to be contagious as several other Southerners spat the noxious nicotine on the floor. Next, Minerva heard the crunching, which sounded to her like a spectator had stepped on a few Florida cockroaches. But they weren’t roaches, they were peanut shells. People were peeling goobers and depositing the shells on the floor along with the tobacco spit. The atmosphere to Minerva was more a circus than a trial. Judge Judy would never put up with such disrespectful nonsense, Minerva told herself.

  Like Victor, Minerva watched John Brown. After hearing a statement, the old rascal opened his eyes. How was he so calm? she wondered. This was a matter of his life or his death. She was impressed by his calmness and then she realized: John Brown was ready to die. John Brown wanted to die. John Brown was a devout Christian. Christ died for all men. John Brown was willing to die for black men. Was John Brown a saint? Minerva wondered. But what type of saint kills innocent people? Minerva didn’t know, but her reverie was ended when a cloud of cigar smoke was blown her way. Dozens of men among the six hundred people in the courtroom lit cigars and began to puff away. Smoke began to fill the courtroom and the bailiff announced that smoking was not permitted in the courtroom. The cigars were stubbed out on numerous boot heels but were lit again within the hour and the puffing resumed. The bailiff did not respond, and the courtroom stunk of smoke.

  An endless parade of witnesses took the stand for the prosecution. Many of the men testified that John Brown had treated his prisoners well and had not threatened any of them. They also swore that the liberated slaves acted under duress and most slaves were uneasy and were fearful that they would be sold into the deep South, away from their families.

  Victor listened to the Southerners justify their “peculiar institution.” The slaves were happy and did not want freedom because they were too simple-minded to embrace liberty. An exception was one of Lewis Washington’s slaves who had fought alongside John Brown and his companions and was bayonetted by a marine during the takeover of the engine-house.

  When Lewis Washington took the stand, the courtroom drew quiet. As Washington spoke, he seemed in awe of John Brown and he testified, “John Brown was the coolest customer and firmest man I ever saw defying danger and death. With one son dead by his side, and another shot through, he felt the pulse of his dying son with one hand and held his rifle with the other, and commanded his men with the utmost composure, encouraging them to be firm and to sell their lives as dearly as they could.”

  Victor noticed a few sketch artists hard at work as Lewis Washington testified. Their drawings would be reproduced in magazines such as Harper’s Weekly in the weeks that followed. Photography for magazines was decades away from development.

  Finally, the trial adjourned for the day and Mr. Greene led the students back to the classroom. When they arrived there the teacher announced, “We are going to get there as soon as the courtroom doors open so we can obtain seats. Victor, no one noticed you, but to be on the safe side tomorrow I want you to go in the closet and pick one of my fake beards to wear. I don’t want the name Victor Bridges to appear in the official record.”

  “Justin Bieber,” Victor replied, correcting his teacher. “I introduced myself as Justin Bieber. Bette was a Kardashian back at Gettysburg,” Victor said, trying to shift the blame to his classmate.

  “Hey, don’t get me involved with your nonsense, Bridges,” Bette snapped.

  Mr. Greene merely rolled his eyes in response. Then, when all his students were quiet, he said. “Ralph Waldo Emerson said about John Brown during the trial, ‘he will make the gallows as glorious as the cross.’ It might have been a bit of hyperbole, but after John Brown’s execution, many in the North compared him to Jesus. A martyr for the slaves, he died trying to set them free. Like Christ, John Brown sacrificed himself. That’s what Emerson was saying.”

  “I would hardly equate John Brown with Jesus, Mr. Greene,” Minerva said, a bit offended by Emerson’s remark.

  “I don’t know, Minerva,” Bette interjected. “Brown lived with African Americans. There was not an ounce of racism in the man. Why, future black leaders like DuBois and Malcolm X and Dr. King spoke highly of him, as if he was a saint. Frederick Douglass said, ‘I could speak for the slave. John Brown could fight for the slave. I could live for the slave, John Brown could die for the slave.’ Heck, Brown realized his value was in his death. In a letter, he wrote, ‘I am worth now infinitely more to die than to live.’ Had they sentenced John Brown to life in prison, he would probably have been forgotten.”

  “Emerson, Thoreau and the other Transcendentalists had a great deal to do with enlarging John Brown’s public image,” Mr. Greene went on. “For better or worse. In the South, after the execution, John Brown was viewed as a villain, who represented all the Northerners. Say what you will, one thing is certain to me: John Brown helped bring on the Civil War. In fact, he was prophetic. His last words were written on a note he handed his executioner, before the noose was slipped around his neck. It read. ‘I, John Brown, am now quite certain that the crimes of this guilty land can never be purged away but with blood.’ Let’s jump ahead to the conclusion of the trial.”

  Arriving early for the last day of the trial, the verdict and the sentencing, Mr. Greene and the students found seats not far from the defendant’s table. As John Brown was led into the courtroom under guard, he made eye contact with the now bearded Victor Bridges. A puzzled expression came over his face when his eyes drifted toward Mr. Greene. The cot was gone now, and John Brown sat down at the defendant’s table, took out a pencil and began writing a note, which he gave to one of his attorneys with instructions. Mr. Botts walked over to Mr. Greene and gave him the note. Brown watched as the teacher took the missive.

  “Did we not meet in Kansas?” the n
ote asked.

  Mr. Greene smiled and nodded slightly, causing John Brown to smile as well. Then he mouthed the words, “Thank you for coming” to Mr. Greene. Victor looked around. He was surprised. No one seemed to notice the exchange. He did not see the sketch artist from Harper’s Weekly at work on a drawing.

  After final arguments Judge Parker ordered the all-male jury to retire and reach a verdict in the case. In less than an hour they returned and declared John Brown guilty on all charges. Judge Parker asked John Brown if he wanted to say anything before the judge pronounced sentence.

  John Brown stood up and declared, “I have, may it please the court, a few words to say. In the first place, I deny everything but what I have all along admitted—the design on my part to free slaves. I intended certainly to have made a clean thing of that matter, as I did last winter, when I went into Missouri and 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 do 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.

  “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, 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.

  “The 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 to 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 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. I feel no consciousness of my 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 any kind.

  “Let me say also, a word in regard to the statements made by some to those connected with me. I hear it has been said 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 of them 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.”

  And that was the last thing John Brown would say in the court in Charles Town. Judge Parker sentenced John Brown to hang by the neck until he was dead. Then he dismissed the court and John Brown was led back to his jail cell under guard.

  Mr. Greene and the students left the courtroom and returned to the classroom. “We have one last jump to do here in Charles Town. We will watch the parade to his execution. A penny to the first one of you who spots either Thomas, later Stonewall, Jackson or Lincoln’s future assassin, John Wilkes Booth. Of course, neither of the gentlemen had any foreknowledge of their illustrious and infamous futures. Jackson is a college professor and a militia officer and Booth is a successful actor and enlisted man in his Richmond militia unit.”

  After a short hop, they arrived on the day of John Brown’s execution. A horse-drawn wagon pulled up outside the jail. A coffin was slid into the back of the wagon and two guards led John Brown from the prison. He climbed in the wagon and sat upon his casket.

  Mr. Greene and the group went ahead. It was a crisp, cool December morning and the gallows was erected on a hill, which had a fine view of the mountains. It was as good a day to die as any, Victor thought, as they approached gallows hill. Hundreds of soldiers were amassed for the execution. In fact, there were so many different companies and regiments that the soldiers delayed the execution, because they were not in their assigned locations.

  The wagon carrying John Brown rolled by and the condemned man seemed serene, sitting stoically atop his coffin.

  Bette was the first to earn a penny. “I see Jackson,” she said and pointed to a militia officer his sword raised in salute.

  “That’s him.”

  A few moments later Victor spotted the actor John Wilkes Booth, who he had chased across the stage at Ford’s Theater in his first time travel experience. Thankfully, he hadn’t caught Booth, but had had a good look at him and he never forgot that face. And there he was, rifle on his shoulder guarding the gallows of John Brown.

  “If you don’t mind, kids, I think I would like to skip the rest of this. I have no desire for another hanging on this trip, do you?”

  “No,” said the group in unison.

  “Let’s go catch up with Samuel and Heather and Mrs. Tubman,” said the teacher. Mr. Greene pivoted and began walking back to Charles Town and the classroom.

  Chapter 14

  While Mr. Greene and the older students were in Harper’s Ferry, Heather, Samuel and the ghost of historian Carl Bridenbaugh were traveling by train through Delaware with Harriet Tubman to rescue the abolitionist’s sister.

  As the train trundled along the rickety rails at nearly thirty miles per hour, the three travelers were separated according to race. As Carl Bridenbaugh floated atop her head, Heather sat in a “Whites Only” forward rail car while Samuel and Mrs. Tubman were relegated to the “Colored Only” car. The seats were misnomers for wooden benches bolted to the floor of the railroad car. The front car at least had cushions on its wooden seats; whereas, the rear car had not even that minimal amenity. Heather was annoyed that her pigmentation made it impossible for her to ride with the greatest conductor on the Underground Railroad. Samuel realized the myth of the “separate but equal” for what it was: a lie. And yet for decades after the Civil War, the court case Plessy v. Ferguson was the Supreme Court ruling that gave teeth to Jim Crow and segregation. There was nothing equal in the separation of the races. Until that fateful day that Rosa Parks was arrested for sitting in the white portion of the bus in Montgomery, Alabama, separation of the races in public travel was the norm.

  While the back car was crowded on the link from Philadelphia to Wilmington, after Wilmington there were few riders in the Colored car. Samuel knew that Delaware was a sparsely populated state whose only decent-sized urban area, even in antebellum America, was Wilmington, but he didn’t realize how thin the ranks of state residents were. On the other hand, after most of the riders left the train, Mrs. Tubman felt at liberty to speak freely.

  “Delaware is a strange, tiny state, Samuel. Nine out of ten colored folks in Delaware are free. They passed a law some years ago that any slave sold outside of Delaware was declared free. And then they based a gradual emancipation proclamation for any black child born after 1850. So, freedmen riding the trains in Delaware is not an uncommon site. And it is important for us to blend in, do you under
stand?”

  “Yes.”

  “We won’t be able to use the railroad after we rescue my sister. The slave catchers will be after us. But don’t be nervous, I have been through this a dozen times, Samuel,” she said. “You know the first time I tried to escape, I got so scared I came back to the plantation,” she said with a bit of a laugh. “I was wet behind the ears. When I finally escaped to the North, I took my mother’s name to honor her. She was the strongest woman I ever met. When the master wanted to sell my brother down to the deep South, she told him that the first person through the door to our cabin who tried to take my brother, she would hack to death with an axe. And my master realized she was serious and canceled the sale. My birth name was Araminta Ross and they called me Minty. I married a free Negro man named John Tubman and I wrote him after I reached freedom, but he would not come to me. Never do that to a woman, Samuel,” Harriet Tubman lectured. “Don’t break a girl’s heart.”

  “I won’t,” Samuel promised.

  “Good,” she said, patting his hand.

  “Tell me about your escape, Mrs. Tubman,” Samuel asked.

  “Well, it was ten years ago. I was on a plantation outside of Cambridge, Maryland, not far from the Choptank River, which was a route that was a favorite of escaped slaves because the river ran north. I followed the direction of the river, which led me into Delaware. That was simple. I mean you could follow the North Star, but not if it was a rainy or cloudy night. Like other fugitives I only moved at night. I hid in the woods during the day. I tried to find a hollowed-out tree. I looked for a nest of brown bats who would eat the mosquitoes, so I could get some sleep. I took food with me, dried muskrat. It ain’t tasty, but it got the job done. When the sun went down I took off under the cover of darkness. Delaware has many stations on the Underground Railroad. I even had a wagon ride from one station to the next. I had heard that Dover was a town to stay away from, because the folks there were nice to slave catchers, and slave catchers were a real threat to a fugitive on the open road. Unlike today, I could never have risked riding a train through the whole state of Delaware. Besides, I didn’t have the money for a ticket. From Cambridge to Philadelphia was ninety miles and it took me two weeks at night to walk the route.”