The Sun.
London, England, 1866-12-29 00:00:00

THE SUN, 1.46N1J0N, SATURDAY EVENING, DECEMBER 29, 1866.

he was one of the first to offer his beautiful yacht
to the United States Government as a war vessel,
and was appointed and commissioned a lieutenant
in the navy. The New York Herald, under the
inspiration of Mr. Bennett, has ever advocated a
sea voyage as the surest test of the sea-qualities of
the various yachts who have competed for distinc-
tion in the various Regattas. Several of his oppo-
nents, and too many out of jealousy, have been
unwilling to accord him that credit to which
he is entitled. Sufficient that on his own Yacht, in
this month, when the barometer is most uncertain,
when old Boreas breathes no 2Eolian murmurs or
whispers, when the clouds lower and grow heavy
and dark, when the waves beat madly one against
the other, when they overleap and crash in a white-
foamed death-struggle for each toppling turn, when
the sun is cold with the chilly breath of the North,
and when the wide Atlantic offers no half-way
house, gallantly, bravely, and heroically across that
tossing sea, when he and his captain and gallant
crew and his noble vessel sped onward, and while
all England was in the communion of family love,
while those who had been severed through the
dreary months of a long year were enjoying them-
selves beneath the pearl-crowned mistletoe, and
when the holly decorated the walls with its coral
beads. This brave young New Yorker, the repre-
sentative of the American press, after a splendid
struggle with his worthy compeers the Vesta and
the Fleetwing, safely anchored his vessel not far
from where England's Queen holds Court, and if
every English heart beats honest, then we all may
say, God bless this brave young nation. _ _

A. R.

P.S.—The details of the voyage of the different
yachts having been so fully and ably reported, your
Commissioner find nothing else to amuse his pen
till next week. A. R.
YACHT HENRIETTA, Friday, 10 a.m.
___ _

. .
The dinner last night was a complete success.

The enthusiasm at the mere mention of our Ame-
rican representatives was received with unbounded
applause.
We believe that the Queen will receive the
officers and gentlemen representing the New York
Yacht Club early this afternoon. The hospitality
extended is unbounded, and the difficulty and deli-
cacy is what to accept amid the universal hospita-
lity that meets us from every portion of this com-
munity.

Mr. Bennett intends to Challenge Europe for £20,000,
to be deposited at Baring, Brothers, London.
___ __

The HENRIETTA sails on Monday, and, according to
general arrangements, the FLEETWING and VESTA
Will jointly sail for Cherbourg.
To-morrow night the grand dinner takes place, when I
will send you a full report for next week. We have re-
ceived a telegram from London that a dinner will bo
offered to us in the metropolis.
Be assured Americans appreciate this courtesy.

The Story of John Brown and His Death.

BY MAJOR A. R.

I Dave often wondered since I have been sojourn-
ng in England how many of all those who listen

to the air and sing the words of " John Brown "
have any idea of the individual to whom it refers.
It is popular in the theatre and the concert-hall,
you will hear it at Brighton and Scarborough, at
Wiesbaden and Boulogne. Military bands in
Prussia and Austria, in Saxony and Bavaria, have
alike added it to their repertoire. Far off in India,
in China, and Japan that pathetic tune has
become as familiar as household words, the
very itinerant organ-grinders have taught it to
the masses, so that every little child that can
whistle or sing a note must needs give vent to their
musical inspiration by singing—
" John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave."
I have heard it sung with a terribly earnest mean-
ing by thousands of Northern soldiers as they
marched to the battle-field. Confederates and
Federals alike adopted the air, but to entirely dis-
similar words. Around the camp fire at night, in
the death-destroying trenches, and in the flush of
victory, that air could be either made grave or gay,
solemn or joyous, song or hymn. Whether Jeff
Davis or poor Lincoln was to be hung " on a sour
apple tree " time alone could determine, but that
millions gave expression to their wishes by adapt-
ing the air of John Brown there can be no doubt.
I remember once, just before the Northern or
Union army moved on Manassas, being in
Washington preparing to depart for the front as
soon as orders were given for a forward movement.
Troops were pouring in by thousands, infantry,
cavalry, and artillery filled Pennsylvania Avenue
(that broad avenue that sweeps between the marble
capitol and the White House). All night and all
day the long baggage trains went rumbling on as
though there were no end. One morning it rained
a miniature deluge ; the liquid mud was something
wonderful, it was an unbroken sea, and yet around
this river and through this mud, ancle deep, a
Massachusetts regiment of volunteers, who had just
arrived, marched along as steadily as Grenadiers,
and though they were going to face death's dark
valley, " from whence no traveller returns," from
a thousand voices, loud, solemn, and grand, rose
the chorus of John Brown, while the band lent
effect to the whole ; and now as I walk along the
streets, the alleys and bye-lanes, and hear this
chorus, I wonder how many can tell me
who John Brown was, whether those many
singers can tell me the history of the man,
the eventful life he led, or call to mind the tragic
termination of his career, and the terrible results
which eventually ensued in consequence of his exe-
cution.

lam not going to write an extended biography,
neither do I desire to give the history of this man's
whole life, but his last days and death will and must
ever be of interest, as they were the beginning of
that mighty war, which for four long years shook
the American Continent to its centre. The remem-
brance of that insurrection, of John Brown's de-
fence and capture, his trial and death, are as vividly
depicted on my mind as though I were now, as I was
then, an eye-witness, and I have thought an account
of his last days might prove of interest to those who
sing the song of "John Brown."

I was a Special Correspondent, and, though blessed
with all those comforts which should lead one to
seek home and ease, yet from early youth the love
of novelty and excitement were so strong that I
thought nothing of travelling two or three thousand
miles for a sensation, and my position necessarily
required me to be ready to start anywhere where
there might be food for the newspaper. I was ever
on the move--to-day at a political convention at
Charleston, the next at a grand fair at the West ;
they down South to the races in New Orleans, per-
haps in another week among the manufactories of
the East, where there was a universal strike ; then
off again on a pleasant trip, celebrating the opening
of some railway in the West ; then back to New
York, to accompany the Japanese or the Prince of
Wales on an extended tour. Such is the life of a
summer trip across the Lakes,
Special Cmoosrrte
es pn
joonydaebnite.
I remember I had just returned from a three
ara, through the Canadas and the various
bwlnNetrihiansg'g places, and was engaged in the American
occupation of loafing in the hotel at which I so-
journed. One evening every one was thrown into a
state of wondrous excitement by the newsboys.
" Here's the 'xtra Ilerabl—got the great 'surrection
at Harper's Ferreee!" Thus they shouted. Having
purchased a paper it took but a few seconds to per-
ceive the gist of the news. There was an insurrec-
tion at Harper's Ferry, on the borders of Virginia,
and blood had been shed. It was headed by a man
named John Brown, and his declared intention was
to set all the negroes free. I comprehended the
full danger such a movement threatened to the
South ; but, of course, with the vague information
at hand, it was impossible to tell how extensive or
formidable it was. The mere fact of their having
seized the Armoury looked ominous enough. With-
out much preparation I started off by the night
train for Washington. In passing through Balti-
more early in the morning I perceived soldiers were
hurrying through the streets, and, while changing
cars, I managed to secure a morning paper, which
gave more full particulars. It appeared those en-
gaged in the plot at present were few in number ;
that in the evening, when the smiths had vacated
the Armoury, they had rushed through the gate,
seized the master armourer and one or two assist-

ants, locked them up as prisoners, leaving one man
to guard them ; they then sallied down the railroad
which passed by the place, stopped the train by
signals, and ordered it back, firing a pistol ball at
the engine-driver to let him know they were in
earnest. Continuing their proceedings they next
visited the residence of Col. John A. Washington, a
short distance off, awoke him, and then made him
a prisoner. John Brown took the pistols which
Frederick the Great had given to General George
Washington, and which had descended to Colonel
Washington, his grand-nephew ; these he strapped
round his waist, evidently believing he had a good
omen in their possession. Such was the account I
read while journeying on to Washington. Arrived
there I found the Government were alarmed, while
the Southerners were boiling over with fear, indig-
nation, and at the same time threatening venge-
ance. The reports were so varied and exagge-
rated it was impossible to know whether there was
an army, or only a few crazy fools engaged in it.
Statements of the wildest character flew from mouth
to mouth. The Governor of Virginia had called
out all the militia, and also the volunteers, ordering
them to hasten to the scene of action, in order to
prevent the spread of a revolt which was taking
hold of the negroes, and might result in such a con-
flagration of passion and madness as would shock
the world.
I obtained strong letters from the proper parties
to those whom it was supposed would be in com-
mand when I proceeded to the field of action, and,
having proved myself conservative, was permitted
to start on the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, which
by this time had been taken possession of by the
military. Up to this period of my life I had never
smelt gunpowder as connected with bullets, the
agents of death. I had played soldier on a small
scale, but as to seeing human beings quietly popped
at as targets that was as yet a novelty. On our
journey we stopped at various villages and towns,
and from each we received additions of armed men,
all of whom were " spothing for a fight," " bound
to kill something or somebody." My companions
were decidedly sanguinary, and curses loud and deep
were uttered against everything that emanated from
the North. This was the beginning of the end !
At last we arrived within a quarter of a mile of the
scene of operations ; and here I must request the
reader to allow me to diverge for a short time while
I relate a few of the antecedents of John Brown.
Some few years previous numerous conflicts occurred
between the partisans of the North and South, when
settling the question of the introduction or non-
introduction of slavery into the new territory of
Kansas in the West. Among the early settlers from
the East or Yankee States were John Brown and
his sons. He was imbued with the principles of
Abolitionism, and was determined, if possible, that
slavery should not be introduced into the territory.
He took an active and leading part in support of
his views, and the result was terrible scenes were
enacted, the midnight assassin and the torch of the
incendiary filled the land with mourning. They

were shot dead at their doors, they were found
dead by the roadside and in the field ; every day some
new tale of horror added itself to the already ex-
tended catalogue. At last they had a miniature
battle at a place called Ossawotamie, and here
John Brown lost two of his sons. It is said he was
victorious over the Southern partisans, and as a
result he was named Ossawotamie Brown. The loss
of his sons seems to have made an indelible impres-
sion on his mind, and, it is supposed, even affected
his brain. Brooding over his supposed wrongs, he
determined ou revenge when the opportunity offered,
and believing the surest means of obtaining it would
be to raise an insurrection among the slaves against
their masters, he immediately formed his plans.
Having communicated his views to a few confede-
rates, named Stevens, Cook, and Coppie, as well as
having obtained the co-operation of two very clever
free negroes, he started at once for Virginia. Here,
close to Harper's Ferry, which nestled itself beneath
the heights of Maryland and the hills of Virginia,
and not far from the banks of the Potomac and
Shenandoah River, he engaged a house and small
farm, and busily set to work. At the time of the

insurrection he had already manufactured 3,000
pikes, besides having guns, ammunition, &c. He
had drawn up a constitution for the Southern Re-
public, and had proclamations innumerable ready to
issue. So convinced was he of the success which
would attend the mere announcement of his pro-
gramme that he made no preparations to retreat in
case of failure. Eleven men actually filled the
whole South with alarm, and cost the State of Vir-
ginia £50,000. And now I will continue my narra-

tive.. John Brown seems to have wasted the most
precious moments of his time. Whether he ex-
pected large bodies of men would come to his assist-
ance will never be known ; an examination of his
papers showed no such intention, and yet it seems
impossible that he could ever have launched into
such an enterprise without some expectation of the
kind. His seizure of Harper's Ferry, with all the
Government arms, would certainly seem as if he
had chosen that spot as most useful, seeing that he
could arm all those who flocked to his banners.
Those who could clear up these surmises are beyond
recall—they paid the penalty of their temerity on
the gallows.
The time which had been wasted by John Brow
and his companions had been of sufficient duration
to alarm the country. The conductor of the train
which they had stopped telegraphed at once the
state of affairs, and before long the conspirators
saw their scheme was chimerical and futile. No
negroes flocked to his banners, and, upon the first
approach of any troops, many of his companions
deserted him. There was no organisation ; but
still, once embarked in the enterprise, John Brown
was of that peculiar indomitable temperament
which does not give way to despondency. They
had shot the Mayor and two or three citizens
without any apparent motive or object, and then
they betook themselves, in company with their
prisoners, to the Engine House, where they bar-
ricaded themselves in. This Engine House com-
manded, from its four sides, all the approaches, and
was so situated that even the platform where the
train took in water was completely exposed to the
rifles of those in this improvised citadel. The
negroes were set to work loopholing the brick
walls ; and, when all were ready, they informed
the prisoners they intended to sell their lives as
dearly as possible, and that, in case of any attempt
to smash in the doors, they should place them in
such a position as to receive the first volley. The
military were constantly arriving by the trains until
theirinfantry increased to nearly 3,000, besides artil-
lery. They crowned the height, they surrounded the
whole of the exterior of the Armoury, they swarmed
through the village. But they were in a dilemma.
Inside that Engine House were men who knew they
had to die, they knew they could expect no mercy,
they had prisoners with them. If the military fired
they might kill friend as well as foe • then if John
Brown lost any of his men might he not retaliate
upon those who were at his mercy. Then, again,
it was no use attempting to parley, for the appear-
ance of any human figure was the signal for a
volley from the little fortress. Never were three
thousand impatient soldiers in such a position.
There were counsels of war, plans were proposed
and rejected. Flank movements were found of no
avail, and all was doubt and confusion. Two or
three poor wretches who had gone up into the Vir-
ginia hills were driven down and hunted like wild
beasts into the river ; here they were terribly riddled
with bullets. But John Brown was fortified, and
waiting to be attacked in his stronghold. At last,
after nearly two days, the hour of trial was at
hand. Lieutenant Green arrived with thirty of the
regular Marines; he soon comprehended the state
of affairs, and informed the wise Generals who had
been assembled so long in conclave that he would
only ask for fifteen minutes to settle the affair. He
asked for a ladder, and then for volunteers in his
squad to man it. At the given word they, using
the ladder as a ram, rushed with full force
against the door ; it quivered, but did not
give, while one Marine fell dead and

another was wounded by the deadly fire from
within, quickly retreating and preparing; the com-
manding officer gave the command " Forward,"
and then bang went the door, and it almost flew from
its hinges. John Brown was wounded, one of his
sons was killed, and it was only by the imperative
command of the officer that they were not all bayo-

neted at once. It would have been well for the
South if they had, or that being on Government
ground they had been tried by court-martial and
shot by the tap of the drum.
The prisoners, of course, were liberated, and
seemed mad with delight ; the old fat armour-
bearer, by name Bull, embracing everybody and
cheering so long and lustily, it was a wonder apo-
plexy did not relieve him. Colunel Washington
with a generous nature pleaded for mercy for the
wounded. The combat was over, and now the
heroic troops came down from the Mountains ; they
spread themselves in every direction ; they gathered
pikes, sabres, and rifles as trophies of the campaign,
and then many of them dispersed to their homes.
Then came the trial ; of course the verdict was a
foregone conclusion—•the sentence was death.
The night before John Brown was hung I visited
Charleston, which is a few miles from Harper's
Ferry. The whole town was crowded with military,
and it was evident that the authorities of Virginia
intended to make the occasion as impressive as
possible. Walking into the hotel where the
commanding-general had his head-quarters, I
presented my credentials and requested to be
allowed to visit the prisoners who were to die.
General Talleperro, afterwards a General in the
Confederate army, but who was the commander
here, seemed evidently opposed to allow any news-
paper correspondents in the town at all ? The
town, I must state, was under martial law. It was
his belief that an attempt would be made to rescue
the prisoners daring the night. The General had a
typographical map of the country on the table, and
was pointing out to the officers the various ap-
proaches that might be used for an advance on the
town. A more absurd idea never entered the head
of man than that of supposing 10,000 men were
prepared to cross from Ohio over the bridge at
Wheeling. But he made his preparations : cavalry
were posted all over the country, and every
unfortunate traveller who could not give an account
of himself was marched off to the guard-house,
tatoo and the reveille were sounded as if in
organised camp, and orders were given to sound the
"long roll" at the first alarm. How little these
men who were playing the soldier then thought
that in two or three years at the least they would
be fighting to the death, and that their opponents
would use the name of John Brown as a rallying
cry. How many thousands and thousands of men
have marched over these grounds since then weary
with the havoc of war and the shedding of blood.
Having, after some trouble, succeeded in obtaining
the necessary permission, I at once proceeded to the
gaol, and in a few minutes found myself in the
presence of John Brown. He was a man of about
sixty, his hair white as snow, his face sharp and
stern (I might say moulded in an iron mould), his
eyes were grey—piercing grey, his figure thin ; and
I should think somewhat emaciated from the pros-
tration and illness consequent upon his wounds, of
which he still complained. He was calm, and did
not seem to fear death. He was taciturn, and evi-
dently not desirous of conversing. Upon the table
he had some manuscript. I believe he had been
writing his will. I told him I was sorry to see him
in such a position ; but, pah ! what sympathy can
you extend to a man in such a position ? I in-
tended to have conversed with him, but found my
tongue tied. The moment I entered his presence,
and shaking hands with him, I withdrew, for there
was another visit I learned which he was preparing
for. As I descended the steps I perceived, as far as
the eye could reach, the military drawn up in lines
on both sides of the street, while at the corners were
placed the artillery. The wife of John Brown had
arrived from the North, and was about to take a
last farewell of her husband. We had not long to
wait, for the "silence which was unbroken" was
evidence of something more than ordinary. I looked
up and down the long, serried phalanx, and won-
dered whether those bayonets now glistening in the
sun would ever he stained with blood, and why it
was necessary to strike terror into the soul of one
poor woman by such an array of force. Alas ! the
people of Virginia were merciless. The John Brown
bugbear was to them the skeleton in the house. The
poor wretches who were concerned in the insurrec-
tion were doomed before they were tried. Their
fate was a foregone conclusion. They were to be
made an example of. There was no fear of Execu-
tive clemency, no fear of pardon. Their execution
would strike terror into the hearts of any slaves
wavering in loyalty to their masters. A car-
riage approached down the road. Its occu-
pants were the Vice-President of the Eman-
cipation Society of the United States, an officer
of the Army, and the lady who was so soon
to be made a widow. The soldiers presented arms,
the citizens took off their hats as slowly passed this
more mournful than funeral cortege ; she could see
from her carriage window all the stern prepara-
tions, in the brass-mouthed cannon, the long lines
of muskets, and the cold pitiless eyes of the men.
I saw her face, pale yet calm and heroic, and soon
I saw her alight and ascend the steps of the prison.
Tn another hour a carriage whirled rapidly bye
and conveyed away to Harper's Ferry the sobbing
wife. How terribly sad must be these death-partings
before execution ! How many authors have en-
deavoured to describe the last scenes between those
who suffered for their political opinions on the
scaffold ? Sir John Maore and his daughter, Sir
William Russell and his wife, and hundreds of
others. I deem such scenes too sacred to be touched
upon ; it can only be one and the same story, a
story of agony, of embrace, of prayers and tears.
The morrow came, the nightmare of fear was still
on the soul of the Commanding-General. Pickets
were stationed for miles round the country, scouts
were on every road ready to announce to head-
quarters when the army of reserve made its appear-
ance. Not far from the prison the scaffold was
erected in the middle of a large field, skirted by
woods. The citizens of Charleston had received
orders not to stir from their houses ; none but the
military were to be present and a privileged few.
It was as lovely a day as the heart could wish ; the
sun shone brightly and glistened on the bayonets,
while the sky was as clear and blue as a turquoi.
It was autumn, and the woods were gorgeous in
gold and crimson, emerald and amber. The cavalry
in their red shirts, brigand-looking hats and ostrich
plumes, lent a picturesque aspect to the distance, as
they stood in bold outlines against the woods.
The infantry formed into a great square,
while at each angle a piece of ordnance
was placed in position loaded with grape in case of
any attempt at rescue or escape. There was Stone-
wall Jackson, a Professor in the Military Institute
of Virginia, and now in command of four guns. I
little knew then that the quiet, unpretending
gentleman in the slouched hat, sitting on a cannon
and almost unnoticed, -was to be the great hero of
a future war. There were Jack and Turner Ash-
by, who were afterwards to lead the Black ,Horse
Cavalry at Bull Run. They were mounted on
splendid stallions—the one white as a snow flake,
the other black as a raven's plume. Fine men they
were, brave they proved as Admirable Crichton, and
as courteous as Bayard. I remember, as Captain
Turner Ashby was about to mount his splendid
steed bolted, he had hold of the reins and his
mane with his left hand ; in a moment he vaulted
into the saddle, and in less than half a minute he
brought his steed on his haunches. Admirable
horsemen were the Ashbys. They have long since
fallen victims to the war upon their own soil.
Then there was Capt. Stuart, a very aristocrat was
he, who afterwards became the great Cavalry
General in Lee's army. But amid all the crowd of
men who were to appear prominently in the great
contest of the future there was one man to whom
history will consign a not very enviable place. In
his appearance and manners he gave me the idea of
a man who could have written Edgar A. Poe's
Raven. There was a " Nevermore" look about
him, strikingly handsome, with his black curly
hair, black eyes and moustache, his pale, well-
chiselled features, and his perfectly regular teeth.
Yet his face always wore a melancholy smile. I
noticed in his conversation he ever spoke bitterly of
John Brown's Raid, as he called it, and cursed the
Abolitionists with no measured tongue ; yet he was
good-natured, humorous, and most companionable,
in his manners, fascinating in the highest
degree. Yet when his face was in calm repose
it wore that sad smile. That man was Booth, the

future assassin of Lincoln ? Is it not curious how
all the prominent men who figured in the John
Brown tragedy should have met their fate in the
war which was of his making? But to proceed.
The hour of twelve approached ; the solid, compact
square was formed; only one opening was left, and
that for death's procession. The scaffold had been
placed in such a position that whatever incendiary
doctrines John Brown might desire to preach upon
the gallows would be lost in consequence of the dis-
tance to any side of a square. It was determined
not to allow him to speak. If he had anything to
say he was to address the clergymen or the gaoler.
But, stop. I see the glistening bayonets in the
distance as they waver and move. There is no
" Dead March in Saul," no dirge to be played
for him, not even the ringing of a bell, but
silently they move along as if some village funeral
were taking place, and they were about to consign
some poor soul who had sunk to rest in a country
graveyard, beneath the willows and the yew trees.
They have entered the field, entered the fatal square,
and there is the victim. A common waggon, a pair
of grey horses and a driver ; in the middle is a coffin,
and on that coffin is seated John Brown ; he is
dressed in black, his arms are pinioned behind.
There is no sign of fear on that stern face ; he takes
in the whole scene ; who can read his thoughts?
To the last moment he believed he was right, that
he was actuated by lofty motives, and he prophesied
then that the slave would yet be free. The scaffold
was reached, with firm step he ascended to the
platform, and there prepared to meet his fate.
There was a short prayer by the chaplain, in
which John Brown joined, and then he was
led to the drop ; the cap was placed over his
head and face, the roped round his neck, and yet
for at least two minutes he stood on that drop with
nothing but a feeble plank between him and eternity.
The executioner asked him if he had anything to
say. He replied, " Nothing ; but do not keep me
unnecessarily long." It required a calm collected
mind to use such a phrase at such a time. But I
have never been able to understand why he was
subjected to that terrible suspense on the drop of
two minutes. At last there was a thud, and

"John Brown's body was a-dangling in the air."
The remains at the proper time were conveyed to
Harper's Ferry, and there delivered to his wife. I
have a lock of John Brown's hair, that was severed
after his death, and this was the memento that re-
called all I am relating.

"I hold it here, a link between the living and the dead."
The body of John Brown was taken to his native
hills in New Hamphire. On the long journey
and at New York thousands of those who believed
him a martyr thronged to see his remains.
Who could then have foreseen or prognosticated
that great armies would or should have fought to
the echo of that name, or that probably four
millions of slaves thould have traced their freedom
to the almost madman-like proceedings of- John
Brown ! What a mournful history has been traced
on the pages of time since then—what desolate
homes, what sorrowing hearts, what gloom has
filled the valleys and silent paths of that fair land-
scape ! Who may not hope that, as all bitter me-
mories fade and passion subsides, that modern
Eden, that matchless country, may bud and
bloom and blossom with the roseate hues of
summer-sunned days, and march hand in hand—
South and North—from Allentree billows to Pacific
sands, with the banner of progress high and aloft !
—Anglo-American Times.