USA > Connecticut > Litchfield County > Torrington > History of Torrington, Connecticut, from its first settlement in 1737, with biographies and genealogies > Part 41
Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35 | Part 36 | Part 37 | Part 38 | Part 39 | Part 40 | Part 41 | Part 42 | Part 43 | Part 44 | Part 45 | Part 46 | Part 47 | Part 48 | Part 49 | Part 50 | Part 51 | Part 52 | Part 53 | Part 54 | Part 55 | Part 56 | Part 57 | Part 58 | Part 59 | Part 60 | Part 61 | Part 62 | Part 63 | Part 64 | Part 65 | Part 66 | Part 67 | Part 68 | Part 69 | Part 70 | Part 71 | Part 72 | Part 73 | Part 74 | Part 75 | Part 76 | Part 77 | Part 78 | Part 79 | Part 80 | Part 81 | Part 82 | Part 83 | Part 84 | Part 85 | Part 86
I recently received a letter from my wife, from near Philadelphia, dated Nov. 22, by which it would seem that she was about giving up the idea of seeing me again. I had written her to come on if she felt equal to the under- taking, but I do not know that she will get my letter in time. It was on her own account chiefly that I asked her to stay back. At first I had a most strong desire to see her again, but there appeared to be very serious objections ; and should we never meet in this life, I trust that she will in the end be satisfied it was for the best at least, if not most for her comfort.
I am waiting the hour of my public murder with great composure of mind and cheerfulness, feeling the strong assurance that in no other possible way could I be used to so much advantage to the cause of God and of humanity, and that nothing that either I or all my family have sacrificed or suffered will be lost. The reflection that a wise and merciful, as well as just and holy, God rules not only the affairs of this world, but of all worlds, is a rock to set our feet upon under all circumstances - even those more severely trying ones into which our own feelings and wrongs have placed us. I have now no doubt but that our seeming disaster will ultimately result in the most glorious success. So, my dear shattered and broken family, be of good cheer, and believe and trust in God with all your heart, and with all your soul, for he doeth all things well.
52
410
HISTORY OF TORRINGTON.
Do not feel ashamed on my account, nor for one moment despair of the cause, or grow weary of well doing. I bless God I never felt stronger confidence in the certain and near approach of a bright morning and glorious day than I have felt, and do now feel, since my confinement here. I am endeavoring to return like a poor prodigal as I am, to my Father, against whom I have always sinned, in the hope that he may kindly and forgivingly meet me, though a very great way off.
O, my dear wife and children ! would to God you could know how I have been travailing in birth for you all, that no one of you may fail of the grace of God through Jesus Christ ; that no one of you may be blind to the truth and glorious light of his Word, in which life and immortality are brought to light. I beseech you, every one, to make the Bible your daily and nightly study, with a child-like, honest, candid, teachable spirit of love and respect for your husband and father. And I beseech the God of my fathers to open all your eyes to the discovery of the truth. You cannot imagine how much you may soon need the consolations of the Christian religion. Circumstances like my own, for more than a month past, have convinced me beyond all doubt of my own great need of some theories treasured up when our prejudices are excited, our vanity worked up to the highest pitch. O, do not trust your eternal all upon the boisterous ocean without even a helm or compass to aid you in steering ! I do not ask of you to throw away your reason ; I only ask you to make a candid, sober use of your reason.
My dear young children, will you listen to this last poor admonition of one who can only love you? O, be determined at once to give your whole heart to God, and let nothing shake or alter that resolution. You need have no fears of regretting it. Do not be vain and thoughtless, but sober-minded ; and let me entreat you all to love the whole remnant of our once great family. Try and build up again your broken walls, and to make the utmost of every stone that is left. Nothing can so tend to make life a blessing as the consciousness that your life and example bless and leave others stronger. Still, it is ground of the utmost comfort to my mind to know that so many of you as have had the opportunity, have given some proof of your fidelity to the great family of men. Be faithful unto death ; from the exercise of habitual love to man it can- not be very hard to love his Maker.
I must yet insert the reason for my firm belief in the divine inspiration of the Bible, notwithstanding I am, perhaps, naturally sceptical ; certainly not credulous. I wish all to consider it most thoroughly when you read that blessed book, and see whether you cannot discover such evidence yourselves. It is the purity of heart, filling our minds as well as work and actions, which is everywhere insisted on, that distinguishes it from all the other teachings, that commends it to my conscience. Whether my heart be willing and obedient or not, the inducement that it holds out is another reason of my convictions of its truth and genuineness ; but I do not here omit this my last argument on the Bible, that eternal life is what my soul is panting after this moment. I mention this as a reason for endeavoring to leave a valuable copy of the Bible, to be carefully preserved in remembrance of me, to so many of my posterity, instead of some other book at equal cost.
I beseech you all to live in habitual contentment with moderate circumstances and gains of wordly store, and earnestly to teach this to your children and children's children after you, by example as well as precept. Be determined to know by experience, as soon as may be, whether Bible instruction is of divine origin or not. Be sure to owe no man any thing, but to love one another. John Rogers wrote to his children, " Abhor that arrant whore of
4II
BIOGRAPHIES.
Rome." John Brown writes to his children to abhor, with undying hatred also, that sum of all villanies - Slavery. Remember, he that is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city. Remember also, that they, being wise, shall shine, and they that turn many to righteousness, as the stars forever and ever.
And now, dearly beloved family, to God and the work of his grace I com- mend you all.
Your affectionate husband and father.
JOHN BROWN.
And here too should stand, though earlier in date, that famous speech of Brown's in court, November 2, 1859. He was not allowed to address the people before his execution, December 2, 1859.
JOHN BROWN'S LAST SPEECH.
I have, may it please the Court, a few words to say.
In the first place, I deny every thing but what I have all along admitted - the design on my part to free the slaves. I intended certainly to have made a clean thing of that matter, as I did last winter, when I went into Missouri, and there 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 have done 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 be- half of any of their friends, either father, mother, brother, 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.
This 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 unto 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 yet 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 sub- mit ; so let it be done.
Let me say one word further.
I feel entirely satisfied with the treatment I have received on my trial. Con- sidering all the circumstances, it has been more generous than I expected. But I feel no consciousness of guilt. I have stated from the first what was my in- tention and what was not. I never had any design against the life of any per- son, nor any dispositiou to commit treason, or excite slaves to rebel, or make
412
HISTORY OF TORRINGTON.
any general insurrection. I never encouraged any man to do so, but always discouraged any idea of that kind.
Let me say, also, a word in regard to the statements made by some of those connected with me. I hear it has been stated by some of them that I have in- duced 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 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.
No, brave and generous old friend ! when you uttered those words you had not " done," you had only begun. "On the day of his translation " said Thoreau, " I heard, to be sure, that he was hung, but I did not know what that meant ; I felt no sorrow on that account. But not for a day or two did I even hear that he was dead, and not after any number of days shall I believe it. Of all the men who were said to be my contemporaries, it seemed to me that John Brown was the only one who had not died. I meet him at every turn. He is more alive than ever he was. He has earned immortality. He is not confined to North Elba nor to Kansas. He is no longer working in secret. He works in public, and in the clearest light that shines on this land." And what a work he has accomplished already, in the few brief years since his body was carried from the scaffold in Charlestown to its resting place beside the great rock at North Elba ! Like " the rock Etam," upon which Samson dwelt, his grave became his strong hold, while " his soul went marching on." Those who, unlike Thoreau, had mourned his death, now finding him risen and triumphant, were ready to chant, with Milton's Hebrews, after that "last victory of Samson " which Brown had foretold for himself.1
" All is best, though we oft doubt What the unsearchable dispose Of highest wisdom brings about, And ever best found in the close. Oft He seems to hide his face. But unexpectedly returns, And to His faithful champion hath in place Borne witness gloriously, whence Gaza mourns, And all that band them to resist His uncontrollable intent ; His servants he, with new acquist Of true experience, from this great event, With peace and consolation hath dismissed, And calm of mind, all passion spent."
I See page 95.
413
BIOGRAPHIES.
THE BURIAL OF JOHN BROWN.
BY WILLIAM E. CHANNING.
That day, I mind it well, we buried him, There, in our heart of hearts ! From city's wall, From depth of deepest woods, came up the moan, The weariness, the wail, all that was grief, Or could be, in a world all pain and woe. Gone and forever gone ! the good, the just, The patriot fervid, he who lived - to die,
As he had lived to act,- for the oppressed, the weak. A shining stone shall be engraved for him, Thereon a martyr's name, the last and best, Not Rose, not Lancaster, but " For the Slave," Hapless and helpless, for his breaking heart, He stood, truest and best, that hero-soul, Old Ossawatomie !
Slow tolled those bells ! Slow and how far away, and yet too near ! Where grey Monadnoc lifts a forest front Over low Jeffrey's pass, sunk in the vale, (Or what seems such, to them who climb that mount), And wide Quonaticut, the Indian's stream, And those White hills that bend their brows in heaven ; By seas and farthest lands, and sky and shore, Slow tolled the weary peal, John Brown is dead ! Gone - in his prime of good and thought, and hope. Stabbed to his heart so foully by the men, Who wore the Southern Madness in their souls. Yes ! like a falling star, thro' twilight's depth, He sank in Heaven, his words were like the hues Some gentlest eve imprints with Zephyr's touch, And overlays the ripples of the stream, In her last glory soothing earth to tears. And yet that knell, his form this fatal hour, Is swinging on the scaffold ! " Never I planned, To kill or ravage, torture or destroy, Not in rebellion, not to slay their foes Incite the slave, solely to loose his cords. 'Do unto me as ye would have me do, And in my bonds be bound, even as myself,' By that, as far as in me I have done, God hath not parted persons in his law. Father ! if by thy will, I came to be What now I am, if ever in my heart, From my first recollection, still I felt Thy guiding hand, be still to me, the same,
414
HISTORY OF TORRINGTON.
This lovely hour all gentleness and peace, Ere the faint dawn has painted the dim sky, And all her beauty sleeps upon the world. I am at peace with all men, in my heart I feel the quiet of thy morn, O give Me strength of hope, and power of faith to meet This sacrifice, I make for man, myself A poor and sinful creature, worn and weak. Unfailing God, our friend, O give me strength, Truly uplift in love, renew my prayer, Father ! pardon what I have done amiss, These deeds were sad, they wore a troubled look, Yet for that principle alone, of right, I forward moved, then sanctify these acts. May they upon the future, throw their light, As yonder rising orb who paints the morn, With beauteous tints of life ; let them awake The hearts of a great people, who have moved Too sluggishly in freedom's cause, and let My name if vain, unnoticed, be the word To lift a struggling race, and free the Slave ! O God ! my Savior, my redeemer too, Receive me to thyself, now that the day Has dawned, when I must die, and those I leave That poor and scattered remnant on the hills, Of my contentment something breathe in them. And let their weeping souls be filled with light, And from their breaking hearts be heaven in view, Seeing that they, who try for duty, so to live, However weak, and so to die for it, May with thee be received -"
Mild was that morn, and peaceful was the day, When forth from his last prison, stepped this man, Who made the Union sacred, and renewed By heavenly deeds, the early patriot's faith,- Forth from his cell, a wounded dying saint, Far from his home, far from his loved-ones aid, But closest in their hearts,- with step unshaken, And firmly went he forth ! and as he went, A poor devoted slave, a mother stood, One of the race that Christ came down to love, Bearing upon her breast, an infant-slave, There, by the prison-gate, his blessing craved, Softly, with angel-voice, he blessed her there, One of his children, for whose good he lived, His mind on heaven, his heart still loving earth !
Then, forth, that tread of soldiers with bright arms,
415
BIOGRAPHIES.
Rifles in long derision at his side, Flashed on December sunshine, like a pall O'er all that speechless world, cutting the cold And hard rapacity of civil lines Across God's sky of light,- on, with his cheerful thoughts, That patriot fared, and sitting on the bier, That soon should hold his silent form, he said : " This is a country beautiful, and first With pleasure have I seen it now." Serene, And clear, modest and sensible, He passed along, eyeing in peace the hills, That urge the steep Potomac on its flight, By old romantic wood and cliff tower tall,- Blue as the skies above them, far away O'er drear Virginia's vales,-soft russet shades The earth, and some few trees, leafless this day, Recalling in their grace more vernal bliss. O had the might been present in that hour ! To lift his sinking form and bear him on With the dark race he fondly rushed to save ! O had the soul, the power acquitted then, Its future to the world ? (his name is graved, First on the Capitol, his figure shines Above the highest, who holds the nation's heart) ; And now he asked : " Why are not all within the field, Not only soldiers, but the citizens ?" Faithful to freedom in this cruel hour. Why were ye faithless, heavens? Shall yon chill sky, Wherein December's sun gleams sadly forth, Fail to prefer one pitying look on him, Who dies to liberate the down-trod race, From stripes and crime, and legal butcheries, Inexpiable, untold woes, the stake, the lash,- Not tears, not pity, mercy, no remorse, In those who stand around, to slay this man, (They called him brave; " That was my mother's lesson)," So mild and pure, an infant without guile !--- 'Twas o'er, 'twas done, the noble, generous soul, Now more than martyr, met a felon's doom .-- He went To death !- death for a multitude, whose hearts Were wrung with time-worn suffering, all one pang, And torn, like desolation's corses chill, Across some mountain-chain, where hungry wolves Gnaw the still quivering flesh, and reek their thirst On hearts, quick with life's pulses, went to death, After those words spoke on Judea's mount, The text of love, no wild revenge or hate : " I could have moved,
416
HISTORY OF TORRINGTON.
But there were prisoners, within my charge, I did not fire, this came we for alone, But this, no more, to free the Slave, 'tis right, The poorest and the weakest, these we aid." He stood, he could not fly, His children fell, that loss was on his soul, He spared the lives of them, who sought his own, Weak as a dying infant spake great words, Soft as an angel's voice, they clearly fall ; " I think my friends ! you wrong both God and man, And such as interfere in this respect,
Must act for right, to break man's galling chains," They answered, -- " Yes,"
They felt it in their hearts, knew in their minds, A voice sprang back from the dark centuries' folds, " Father forgive them, they know not what they do." They could have wept, bound up the brave man's wounds, And set him on a throne, a hero's throne, And triumphed him to Alabama's shores,
- Or where the hot Caribbean melts her wave Of fire and silver on the Texan's coast, O'er Carolina's sands and rice-bound marsh, And proud Virginia, once of Washington. That could not be ! God's hand was on the hour,- it must not be ! Never since human breath had moulded sound, Or given words to sense, more awful truths, Were stretched across the strands of Fate, than those, From that poor, simple, dying, tender soul. It could not be ! by camp and tower, and ford, By crashing cannon tearing down the glen, In the lone forest, up dark mountains hoar, On sea and land, and graves on earth and wave, Sons, fathers falling, doomed without a shrift, Unburied not unknelled, came forth that voice From the cold armory of Harper's vale, A prophecy of woe, " Prepare, prepare, The soonest - best, the settlement will come, The end's not yet," a voice of woe and war,- Where thro' their valleys dash the liberal streams, And at day's dying hour, the purple hills Smile in their forests at the bounteous heavens.
His seat, is vacant now
The son is gone ; his mother folds her hands, Her hair is gray, " Yes, he was mine, 'tis just ! I gave him for the slave, that hour was God's, The negro's blood was ours, he died for him, (All that I loved sat in his empty chair),
417
BIOGRAPHIES.
Died for the mother weeping o'er her child, Torn from her bleeding arms; the scourging lash Striping her naked flesh, because she wept For her young infant's life, sold on the block- Sold ? God in heaven, yes, for her, he died !" (Their barren fields dry shrinking in the sun, The city's pomp is o'er, the grass grows green Along the siient mart, the drooping flag Fades in the hot glare of that Southern tomb).
Here, in these quiet fields, John Brown came forth, Cradled in peace and modest competence ; In pleasant Torrington, drew first his breath, Where swift a gleaming wave, darts Naugatuck, And the calm hills stretch off to Wolcott's side, Soft in their laurel clumps 'neath towers of pine, Birthplace of kindred thought all purely reared, Where mellow Alcott spake and fetched that strain Of sweet, melodious converse. O ye hills ! And groves, and charming greensward meads, Of rural Torrington, never had yet, A more devoted soul emerged to life, Among the baffling shades that sepulchre, This large, afflictive, unwound web of time, Than him, I vainly speak of.
From your force,
A child, he drew perpetual courage, Full rich in the love of a good mother, To life's adventure saintly and resigned, Taught to serve truth, seek God and do the right ! Yes ! must there move all blessings in this air Of dear Connecticut, o'er her green fields, Her lone romantic hills, her torrents bold, And yonder wave-fringed town, whence busy Yale Pours forth such learned rivers, o'er the States. And still, it stands, the home where he was born,- The homely house, domestic in its style, As he, who there first felt the wrench of time, With sloping roof behind, with windows quaint, And lavish chimney from its centre flung, Shaming the villa's brick. And here he played, A merry boy beneath the low stone wall, Or saw the sunset fade across the lines That suit yon happy fields. Here, as a child, Along the meadows, where the streamlet glides, No future condescension could reveal The boding years, and yet remain these things ; But he, who saw them so unconsciously Of days in store, he may not come again, When even the weeds and tall, neglected grass,
53
418
HISTORY OF TORRINGTON.
Whisper their fitful surmise to the breeze, That overtops their dreams ! Widely the day, On this uncumbered horizon falls in From those blue skies, a house standing so free, In its society of light and air. What tho' its casements rattle in the blast, Immortal deeds within them sprang to life ! Not long his hours among his household gods, For, far away, where bold Ohio's stream, Pours down her volume, past Kentucky's vales, And further yet, and in maturer years, He spent his strength upon that prairie fight For bleeding Kansas, when Missouri's crimes Burnt thro' a freeman's heart and lit its flames. There, came the sorrow o'er him, there his race Fell at the Southern rifle, there he fought, And with superior calmness, or swift guile Such as a woodman's creed sweetly allows, Thus preached a hero's truth, saintly if strong, Wise Ossawatomie !
He knew not that,- The day in Harper's vale. Never he heard, Those pealing strains ascend from camp and town, " We're marching on," unknown, unheard-of lived, Where the dark Adirondacs fling the pine, Up the unsounded ramparts of their chains, And lakes, whence the wild waterfall alone, Whirls thro' the steep-cut flume a curdling hymn. There, as a settler on the silent lands, Within his heart musing of many things, His children near, their mother by his side, (She, who walked truly with him to the end, Soothed his affliction, staunched his wounds with love), There, in that tranquil Elba, might have lived,- And all that is, not been ?
Most vain that thought ! Before him lay the laws, the swift reward, The spy, the bribe, the scoff, hunted from town To town, bearing a charmed life, for death Grimly prepared. And still that voice, a cry From breaking hearts, more wretched than his own. That simple, childlike, helpless, loving race,- Enough, he heard it still !
No, no, not rest, He knew no rest, sleeping or waking none ! Holding his plough across the fresh- broke swards, When fell his children in the prairie-fight, Or at the good man's burial from the church, In storm or calm, in danger or repose,
419
BIOGRAPHIES.
"Do ye for us, as we should do, for you, We are the poor, oppressed, and you - the strong." Nor aid he sought, nor force of arms nor men, But in his daring heart, and soldier's brain, Matched to heroic will with earnest prayers, And those few watchful souls who knew this man, As one, a bride, upon a summer morn, To some sweet sacrifice of all her dower, Devoted to the death for him she loves, He went, not all alone !
That race kept with him, The oppressed, the weak, those who him needed. The souls went too, of all the martyred good, Who died for men, stars that adorn the Past, And light the sky of ages, lamps of fame ! And one whom he had worshiped from his birth, The Savior ! Those too, him half-way welcomed, Fluent and loud, fixed pioneers of speech, Who poured forth abolition, and preferred Scant reconcilement in all human souls, To close companionship. And women, Of tried passion, who surprised man's fortitude, And off heir silvery lips loosed the shrill breath Of liberty into war's clarion keen, Shaping man's rancor.
With this host he passed, --- All that was acting on life's stage, he passed : Or crowding street, or miscellaneous wain, Towering with luxuries, the Mill whose bleach, Was spun from bloody thread ; the Court, the Church, Where never yet, that name of Slave was breathed, He knew them well, twas the loud treacherous world, He oft had dreamed of, masking Human Right, (Pouring envenomed death, thro' life and love) Till one man touch the cords and launch the bark, With loud acclaim, United Liberty !
Need help finding more records? Try our genealogical records directory which has more than 1 million sources to help you more easily locate the available records.