Pittsfield, Mass., Nov. 20, 1859.
Mr. John Brown.
My Poor Wounded And
Doomed Kinsman, — I should have written you before now if I had known
what to say. That we all deeply feel for you in your present extraordinary
circumstances you will not doubt. Most gladly would we fly to your relief, if
the sentence under which you lie had not put you entirely beyond the reach of
hope. All we can do is to pray for you. This we can do; and I am sure that
prayer is offered without ceasing for you, that you may be prepared for that
death from which I am persuaded nothing short of a miracle would save you. Oh,
that we had known the amazing infatuation which was urging you on to certain
destruction before it was too late! We should have felt bound to have laid hold
upon and retained you by violence, if nothing short would have availed. You
will not allow us to interpose the plea of insanity in your behalf; you insist
that you were never more sane in your life, — and indeed, there was so much “method
in your madness,” that such a plea would be of no avail. I do not intend to use
the word madness reproachfully. I am bound to believe that you were as
conscientious as Saul of Tarsus was in going to Damascus; and I am sure it was
in an infinitely better cause. But what you intended was an impossibility; and
all your friends are amazed that you did not see it. They can never believe
that if you had been John Brown of better days, — if you had been in your right
mind, — you would ever have plunged headlong, as you did, into the lion's den,
where you were certain to be devoured. Oh, that you would have been held back!
But, alas! these are unavailing regrets; it is too late; it is done. The
sentence is passed.
You have come almost to the foot of the scaffold, and I
presume you have no hope of escape. All that remains is to prepare for the
closing scene of the awful tragedy. Are you prepared? You have long been a
professor of religion. I take it for granted that you will now anxiously
examine yourself whether you are in the faith; whether you are a true child of
God, and prepared to die and go to the judgment. I do not believe you had
murder in your heart. Your object, as you say, was to liberate the slaves. You
wanted to do it without killing anybody. It is astonishing you did not consider
that it could not be done without wading in blood. The time has not come. It is
not the right way, and never will be. It is right to pray, “O Lord, how long?”
but not to run before and take the avenging sword into our own hands. You have
nothing more to do in this world. You have done with the Border Ruffians, who
hunted for your precious life. It becomes you prayerfully to inquire how far
you will be answerable at the bar of God for the blood which was shed at
Harper's Ferry, and for the fate of those who are to die with you. I judge you not;
but there is One that judgeth, with whom is mercy and plentiful forgiveness to
all who truly repent and savingly believe on him whose blood cleanseth from all
sin. There is a great deal more danger that we shall think too little of our
sins than too much. The time is now so short that it becomes you to spend it
mostly in prayer and meditation over your Bible. Oh, how precious is every
hour! I am sure you will welcome any pious friend who may visit you in prison;
and I hope there is some godly minister who may come to you with his warmest
sympathies and prayers. May God sustain you, my dying friend! Vain is the help
of man.
Christ can stand by you and carry you through. Other help
there is none. Oh, that there was a possibility that your life might be spared!
But, no! there is nothing to hang a hope on. Farewell, my wounded and condemned
friend. We shall not meet again in this world. Should I outlive you, it will
not be long. I have passed my fourscore years. We trust that many of our
kindred have gone to heaven. Oh, may we be prepared to meet, and to meet them
there, washed in the Redeemer's blood!
From your
affectionate and deeply affected kinsman,
H. Humphrey.
SOURCES: Franklin B. Sanborn, The Life and Letters
of John Brown, p. 602-3
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