Chapter XIII: The John Brown Men

The subjoined correspondence was published in the _Republican_, J. K. Rukenbrod, editor, at Salem, Ohio, Wednesday, December 28, 1859. The beautiful spirit of self-sacrifice, the lofty devotion to the sublime principles of universal liberty, and the heroic welcome to the hour of martyrdom, invest these letters with intrinsic historic value.

LETTER FROM EDWIN COPPOCK TO HIS UNCLE JOSHUA COPPOCK.

CHARLESTON, VA., December 13, 1859.

MY DEAR UNCLE: I seat myself by the stand to write for the _last_
time, to thee and thy family. Though far from home, and overtaken
by misfortune, I have not forgotten you. Your generous
hospitality toward me during my short stay with you last Spring
is stamped indelibly upon my heart; and also the generosity
bestowed upon my poor brother, at the same time, who now wanders
an outcast from his native land. But thank God he is free, and I
am thankful it is I who have to suffer instead of him.

The time may come when he will remember me. And the time may come
when he will still further remember the _cause in which I die_.
Thank God the principles of the cause in which we were engaged
_will not die with me and my brave comrades_. They will spread
wider and wider, and gather strength with each hour that passes.

The voice of truth will echo through our land, bringing
conviction to the erring, and adding numbers to _that glorious
Army who will enlist under its banner_. The cause of everlasting
truth and justice will go on "conquering and to conquer," until
our broad and beautiful land shall rest beneath the banner of
freedom. I had hoped to live to see the dawn of that glorious
day. I had hoped to live to see the principles of the Declaration
of our Independence fully realized. I had hoped to see the dark
stain of slavery blotted from our land, and the _libel_ of our
boasted freedom erased; when we can say in truth that our beloved
country is "the land of the free, and the home of the
brave."--But this cannot be. I have heard my sentence passed, my
doom is sealed. But two brief days between me and eternity. At
the expiration of those two days, I shall stand upon the scaffold
to take my last look at earthly scenes. But that scaffold has but
little dread for me; for I honestly believe I am innocent of any
crime justifying such punishment.

But by the taking of my life, and the lives of my comrades,
Virginia is but hastening on that glorious day, when the slave
will rejoice in his freedom; when he can say that _I too am a
man_, and am groaning no more under the yoke of oppression. But I
must now close. Accept this short scrawl as a remembrance of me.
Remember me to my relatives and friends. And now Farewell.

From thy nephew,
EDWIN COPPOCK.

P. S. I will say for I know it will be a satisfaction to all of
you, that we are all kindly treated, and I hope the North will
not fail to give Sheriff Campbell and Captain Avis due
acknowledgment for their kind and noble actions.

E.

LETTER FROM EDWIN COPPOCK TO THOMAS WINN.

MY DEAR FRIEND THOMAS WINN: For thy love and sympathy, and for
thy unwearied exertion in my behalf, accept my warmest thanks. I
have no words to tell the gratitude and love I have for thee. And
may God bless thee and thy family, for the love and kindness thee
has always shown towards my family and me. And when life with
thee is over, may we meet on that shore where there is no
parting, is the farewell prayer of thy true friend.

EDWIN COPPOCK.

* * * * *

THAT LETTER.

The following is the letter from Edwin Coppock, seized upon by the Virginia authorities as a pretence for not commuting his sentence. The offensive remark consisted alone wherein he spoke of the chivalry as "the enemy." There certainly is nothing in this communication that could justify a Government in taking the life of a man whom it otherwise considered not guilty of a capital crime, but whose greatest offence was that of being found, as Wise claimed, in bad company. We give the letter entire:

EDWIN COPPOCK TO MRS. BROWN.

CHARLESTON JAIL, VIRGINIA, November --, 1859.

MRS. JOHN BROWN--Dear Madam: I was very sorry that your request
to see the rest of the prisoners was not complied with. Mrs. Avis
brought me a book whose pages are full of truth and beauty,
entitled "Voice of the True-Hearted," which she told me was a
present from you. For this dear token of remembrance, please
accept my thanks.

My comrade, J. E. Cook, and myself, deeply sympathize with you in
your sad bereavement. We were both acquainted with Anna and
Martha. They were to us as sisters, and as brothers we sympathize
with them in the dark hour of trial and affliction.

I was with your sons when they fell. Oliver lived but a few
moments after he was shot. He spoke no word, but yielded calmly
to his fate. Watson was shot at 10 o'clock on Monday morning, and
died about 3 o'clock on Wednesday morning. He suffered much.
Though mortally wounded at 10 o'clock, yet at 3 o'clock Monday
afternoon he fought bravely against the men who charged on us.
When the enemy were repulsed, and the excitement of the charge
was over, he began to sink rapidly.

After we were taken prisoners, he was placed in the guard-house
with me. He complained of the hardness of the bench on which he
was lying. I begged hard for a bed for him, or even a blanket,
but could obtain none for him. I took off my coat and placed it
under him, and held his head in my lap, in which position he died
without a groan or a struggle.

I have stated these facts thinking that they may afford to you,
and to the bereaved widows they have left, a mournful
consolation.

Give my love to Anna and Martha, with our last farewell.

Yours truly,
EDWIN COPPOCK.

* * * * *

COOK'S LAST LETTER TO HIS WIFE.

CHARLESTOWN JAIL, Dec. 16, 1859.

MY DEAR WIFE AND CHILD: For the last time I take my pen to
address you--for the last time to speak to you through the tongue
of the absent. I am about to leave you and this world forever.
But do not give way to your grief. Look with the eyes of hope
beyond the vale of life, and see the dawning of that brighter
morrow that shall know no clouds or shadows in its sunny
sky--that shall know no sunset. To that eternal day I trust,
beloved, I am going now. For me there waits no far-off or
uncertain future. I am only going from my camp on earth to a home
in heaven; from the dark clouds of sin and grief, to the clear
blue skies, the flowing fountains, and the eternal joys of that
better and brighter land, whose only entrance is through the vale
of death--whose only gateway is the tomb.

Oh, yes! think that I am only going home; going to meet my
Saviour and my God; going to meet my comrades, and wait and watch
for you. Each hour that passes, every tolling bell, proclaims
this world is not our home. We are but pilgrims here, journeying
to our Father's house. Some have a long and weary road to wander;
shadowed o'er with doubts and fears, they often tire and faint
upon life's roadside; yet, still all wearied, they must move
along. Some make a more rapid journey, and complete their
pilgrimage in the bright morn of life; they know no weariness
upon their journey, no ills or cares of toil-worn age. I and my
comrades here are among that number. Our pilgrimage is nearly
ended; we can almost see our homes. A few more hours and we shall
be there.

True, it is hard for me to leave my loving partner and my little
one, lingering on the rugged road on which life's storms are
bursting. But cheer up, my beloved ones; those storms will soon
be over; through their last lingering shadows you will see the
promised rainbow. It will whisper of a happy land where all
storms are over. Will you not strive to meet me in that clime of
unending sunshine? Oh! yes, I know you will; that you will also
try to lead our child along that path of glory; that you will
claim for him an entrance to that celestial city whose maker and
builder is God. Teach him the way of truth and virtue. Tell him
for what and how his father left him ere his lips could lisp my
name. Pray for him. Remember that there is no golden gateway to
the realms of pleasure here, but there is one for the redeemed in
the land that lies starward. There I hope we may meet, when you
have completed your pilgrimage on the road of life. Years will
pass on and your journey will soon be ended. Live so that when
from the verge of life you look back you may feel no vain
regrets, no bitter anguish for mis-spent years. Look to God in
all your troubles; cast yourself on Him when your heart is dark
with the night of sorrow and heavy with the weight of woe. He
will shed over you the bright sunshine of His love, and take away
the burden from your heart.

* * * * *

And now farewell. May that all-wise and eternal God, who governs
all things, be with you to guide and protect you through life,
and bring us together in eternal joy beyond the grave. Farewell,
fond partner of my heart and soul. Farewell, dear babe of our
love. A last, long farewell, till we meet in heaven.

I remain, in life and death, your devoted husband.
JOHN E. COOK.

* * * * *

FUNERAL OF JOHN E. COOK.

The funeral of Capt. Cook took place at Brooklyn on the 20th, from the residence of Mrs. S. L. Harris. The services were conducted by the Rev. Mr. Caldicott, of the Lee Avenue Dutch Reformed Church, and at the Cypress Hills Cemetery by the Rev. Wm. H. Johnson. Of the body the day previous, the _Tribune_ says:

Owing to the length of time that elapsed between the decease and
the time the body was delivered into the charge of Dr. Holmes,
the process of embalming has been somewhat difficult, and
consequently the appearance of the remains is not so natural as
it otherwise would have been. Last evening the body was placed
in an erect position, in order to allow the injected fluid to
settle in the veins and arteries, so as to give to the face a
more natural appearance. The swelling has entirely disappeared
from the neck and face, and the decomposition which had set in
had been checked. The remains will not be enshrouded until this
morning, when they will be placed in the coffin, enclosed in a
white merino robe with a satin collar, satin cord about the
waist, and a black neckerchief about the neck.

Yesterday afternoon the father, sisters, and wife of the deceased
were permitted to view the remains. His wife removed the
breast-pin and a miniature of their child from about his neck,
which she had placed there but a few days previous to his
execution. She is but eighteen years of age, and has an infant
four months old. She is from Harper's Ferry, Va., where she was
married about seventeen months since. She, as well as the other
relatives, was overwhelmed with sorrow, and it was some moments
before they were sufficiently recovered to be enabled to leave
the body. The refusal of the Consistories of the Lee Avenue and
Fourth Reformed Dutch Churches to permit the services to be held
in their edifices has given rise to the expression of much
feeling, and many of the friends of the deceased infer that this
refusal is made from a fear of censure on the part of some of the
members of their congregations, in allowing a Christian burial to
the remains.

* * * * *

In the little burial-ground at Oberlin, Lorain County, Ohio, there is a monument dedicated to the memory of three of the John Brown Men, as follows:

L. S. Leary, died at Harper's Ferry, Oct. 20, 1859,
aged 24 years.
S. Green, died at Charlestown, Virginia, Dec. 2, 1850,
aged 28 years.
J. A. Copeland, died at Charlestown, Virginia, Dec. 2, 1859,
aged 25 years.

The monument bears the following inscription:

These Colored citizens of Oberlin, the heroic associates of the
Immortal John Brown, gave their lives for the Slave.

* * * * *

THE NEGRO ARTIST OF THE STATUE OF LIBERTY ON THE CAPITOL.

When the bronze castings were being completed at the foundry of Mr. Mills, near Bladensburg, his foreman, who had superintended the work from the beginning, and who was receiving eight dollars per day, struck, and demanded ten dollars, assuring Mr. M. that the advance must be granted him, as nobody in America, except himself, could complete the work. Mr. M. felt that the demand was exorbitant, and appealed in his dilemma to the slaves who were assisting in the moulding. "I can do that well," said one of them, an intelligent and ingenious servant, who had been intimately engaged in the various processes. The striker was dismissed, and the negro, assisted occasionally by the finer skill of his master, took the striker's place as superintendent, and the work went on. The black master-builder lifted the ponderous, uncouth masses, and bolted them together, joint by joint, piece by piece, till they blended into the majestic "Freedom," who to-day lifts her head in the blue clouds above Washington, invoking a benediction upon the imperilled Republic!

Was there a prophecy in that moment when the slave became the artist, and with rare poetic justice, reconstructed the beautiful symbol of freedom for America?[143]

FOOTNOTES:

[143] Washington Correspondent of the New York Tribune, December 2, 1863.