Speech of Theodore Tilton, December 2, 1859—12 p.m.*

I HAVE listened to the striking of your city bell! Who knows but it marked the very hour and moment when the gate of Heaven was opened, and the spirit of a new martyr passed in! To-day the nation puts to death its noblest citizen! (Cheers and hisses.) What was his crime? Guilty of what? Guilty of loving his fellow-men too well! (Applause and hisses.) Guilty of a heart of too great human kindness! Guilty of too well "remembering them that are in bonds as bound with them!" Has the brave old man still a few moments more of life? Then, though he cannot hear our words, let us say, "God bless him, and farewell!" (Applause and hisses.) But if the last sad moment is already passed, what then remains? I know not what remains for you, but as for me, I feel like throwing roses upon that scaffold and that coffin! (Mingled applause and hisses, which continued for some moments, during which the speaker advanced to the edge of the platform, and folded his arms.) Honor! thrice honor to the good Christian who to-day dies in the faith! It is the hour not of his defeat, but of his triumph! Our hearts are large for him to-day!

But what can I say? This is a time for silence rather than for words. We are standing by the old man's open grave, waiting for his body to be buried. When friends gather together to speak of a good man who has departed, every one has some word to utter which is peculiar to himself; some word which best expresses what is each man's most grateful and endearing memory of him who has gone. My own tribute to John Brown, which I offer on this day of his death, is gratitude for the influence which his heroism, his fortitude, and his faith have exerted upon my religious life. I have been made a better Christian by that man's life and death. His own great faith has strengthened mine. His own great courage has quickened mine. His Christian example of unwavering heroism and patience—in prison, under his wounds, in prospect of the gallows—all this has inspired me to a higher religious life. It has kindled within my heart a greater love to God and to my fellow-men. This is a tribute to his memory which I cannot to-day withhold.

I do not judge him merely by his last great act. John Brown was a Christian long before the great eye of the world was set on him; for, from his sixteenth year to his fifty-ninth, he has been a true and honored member of the Church of Christ. The world has not watched all that long career, but it has seen enough in a few days in his prison to make it wonder and admire.

You remember how he received the Governor of Virginia. He stood in his presence as Paul stood before Agrippa, not wishing to exchange places, but only holding out his hand and saying, " I would that thou wert altogether as I am, save these bonds!" (Applause.) You remember how he received his sentence. When the Earl of Argyle who, with his own hands put upon the head of Charles II, the crown of England, was afterwards condemned to death by the same king, the stern old Presbyterian, on hearing his fate, arose in court, and said, "The king honors me with a speedy gratitude; for while I helped him only to a crown which must shortly perish, he hastens me to a crown that is incorruptible, and that fadeth not away." So that other stern old Presbyterian, who dies this day in Virginia, arose in court and uttered a speech of equal heroism and moral grandeur — a speech that will go down to the end of time with all the grand words of all the world's heroes. (Applause and hisses.)

I cannot look upon his steadfastness without first marvelling, and then thanking God. John Brown was a Puritan — the sixth in descent from the band of Pilgrims who stepped on Plymouth Rock. I think of him and go back to old Bishop Hooper of English history — the first Puritan, the father of the Pilgrim Fathers who, when he was condemned to death for conscience' sake, wrote in his cell at Newgate, "I have spoken the truth with my lips; I have written it with my pen; I am ready to confirm it, by God's grace, with my blood!" John Brown's letters, written in his cell at Charlestown, bear in every line the same heroic testimony to God's truth! (Applause, mingled with loud hisses.) It is this high and grand faith in God that has sustained him in the long hours of his imprisonment, from its beginning until to-day that now ends it.

I have no fear how he mounted that scaffold. I have heard no news, but I believe in my soul that when the telegraph shall flash the story, it will tell of no faltering, no tremulous step, no recantation — nothing but faith, constancy, cheerfulness, heroism! When the great Marquis of Montrose, who suffered in Scotland for the cause of Church and King, was led to execution, it was a day of dark skies and threatening storms, but as he approached the scaffold the sun for a moment broke through the clouds and shone full upon his head as if the Divine glory had come to crown the saint before the martyr! And he mounted the ladder, as if it had been the ladder which Jacob saw, and walked straightway up into Heaven. So to-day, amid the greater clouds and shadows that have fallen upon our sad hearts, I believe that a light brighter than the sun has shone upon the old man who has this day gone to the gallows, and that, as he looked up for the last time toward the heavens over his head, —

"God's glory smote him on the face!"

(Cheers and hisses.)

He died no dishonorable death. Did you notice, in his late letter, which Dr. Furness read, the little line to his wife, "Think not that any ignomy has fallen upon you or upon your children, because I have come to the scaffold!" Ah! the scaffold is sometimes a throne greater than a king's. They who suffer upon it rule the world more than emperors!

You heard Mr. Hale's lecture last night. He said, "The highest province of history is to vindicate a good man from obloquy and reproach." To that impartial history which vindicates the martyrs and turns their martyrdom into glory, we commend to-day the name and memory of the martyr, John Brown! (Applause and hisses.) The deed of this day will not die! It will live in history as long as there shall be a history for heroes! Said Latimer to Ridley, when the blaze of martyrdom was wrapping them both around like a garment, "Be of good comfort, Master Ridley; we have this day lighted a candle in England which, by God's grace, no man shall ever put out." To-day God looks down from heaven on a martyrdom whose light shall shine over the world brighter than any blazing fire that ever gilded fagot or stake! This scaffold in Virginia shall stand as long as the world shall stand! No man can ever strike it down, or put it away! It will abide forever, as the monument of a Christian man who lived a hero and died a martyr, and whose name, to-day bequeathed to history, shall go down through the world gathering increasing honor through all coming time! (Great clapping and hissing.) I recall at this hour of noon those beautiful words of the New Testament, in the story of Saul, the persecutor of the prophets, struck down on his way to Damascus — "At midday, O king, I saw in the way a light from Heaven above the brightness of the fun!" He fell to the ground, blinded and terrified! He rose to his feet, converted and transformed! I pray God that at this hour of midday, at this solemn and awful moment of death, this nation may be struck down upon its knees, by the sudden glory of God bursting out of Heaven — and that it may be humbled in the dust until it shall rise repentant, and the scales shall fall from its eyes, and the whole nation shall stand at last in the light and liberty of the sons of God! (Applause and hisses, during which Mr. Tilton took his seat.)

_______________

* Delivered at noon of the 2d of December, at a public meeting of the friends of John Brown's cause in Philadelphia. As the speaker rose to address the audience the clock struck twelve.

SOURCE: James Redpath, Editor, Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, pp. 93-7

Frederick Douglass to Theodore Tilton, October 15, 1864

Rochester, Oct . 15, 1864.

My Dear Mr. Tilton:

I am obliged by your favor containing a copy of your recent speech in Latimer halL I had read that speech in the Tribune several days ago, and in my heart thanked you for daring thus to break the spell of enchantment which slavery, though wounded, dying and despised, is still able to bind the tongues of our republican orators. It was a timely word wisely and well spoken, the best and most luminous spark struck from the flint and steel of this canvass. To all appearance we have been more ashamed of the negro during this canvass than those of '56 and '60. The President's “To whom it may concern,” frightened his party and his party in return frightened the President. I found him in this alarmed condition when I called upon him six weeks ago — and it is well to note the time. The country was struck with one of those bewilderments which dethrone reason for the moment. Every body was thinking and dreaming of peace — and the impression had gone abroad that the President's antislavery policy was about the only thing which prevented a peaceful settlement with the Rebels. McClellan was nominated and at that time his prospects were bright as Mr. Lincoln's were gloomy. You must therefore, judge the President's words in the light of the circumstances in which he spoke. Atlanta had not fallen; Sheridan had not swept the Shenandoah —and men were ready for peace almost at any price. The President was pressed on every hand to modify his letter “To whom it may concern”— How to meet this pressure he did me the honor to ask my opinion. He showed me a letter written with a view to meet the peace clamour raised against him. The first point made in it was the important fact that no man or set of men authorized to speak for the Confederate Government had ever submitted a proposition for peace to him. Hence the charge that he had in some way stood in the way of peace fell to the ground. He had always stood ready to listen to any such propositions.

The next point referred to was the charge that he had in his Niagara letter committed himself and the country to an abolition war rather than a war for the union, so that even if the latter could be attained by negotiation, the war would go on for Abolition.

The President did not propose to take back what he had said in his Niagara letter but wished to relieve the fears of his peace friends by making it appear that the thing which they feared could not happen and was wholly beyond his power. Even if I would, I could not carry on the war for the abolition of slavery. The country would not sustain such a war and I could do nothing without the support of Congress. I could not make the abolition of slavery an absolute prior condition to the re-establishment of the union. All that the President said on this point was to make manifest his want of power to do the thing which his enemies and pretended friends professed to be afraid he would do. Now the question he put to me was “Shall I send forth this letter?” To which I answered “Certainly not.” It would be given a broader meaning than you intend to convey — it would be taken as a complete surrender of your antislavery policy — and do yon serious damage. In answer to your Copperhead accusers your friends can make this argument of your want of power — but you cannot wisely say a word on that point. I have looked and feared that Mr. Lincoln would say something of the sort, but he has been perfectly silent on that point and I think will remain so. But the thing which alarmed me most was this: The President said he wanted some plan devised by which we could get more of the slaves within our lines. He thought that now was their time— and that such only of them as succeeded in getting within our lines would be free after the war is over. This shows that the President only has faith in his proclamations of freedom during the war and that he believes their operation will cease with the war. We were long together and there was much said—but this is enough.

I gave my address, To the People of the U. S., to the Committee appointed to publish the Minutes of the Convention. It is too lengthy for a newspaper article though of course I should be very glad to see it noticed in the Independent. You may not be aware that I do not see the Independent now-a-days. It was discontinued several months ago. If you were not like myself taxed on every hand both by your own disposition to give and the disposition of others to ask I should ask you to send me the Independent for one year on your own account .

We had Anna Dickinson here on Thursday night. Her speech made a profound impression. Nothing from Phillips, Beecher or yourself could have been more eloquent, and in her masterly handling of statistics she reminded one of Horace Mann in his palmiest days. I never listened to her with more wonder. One thing however I think you can say to her, if you ever get the chance, for it ought to be said and she will hear it and bear it from you, as well or better than from most other persons, and that is Stop that waiting. She walked incessantly— back and forth — from one side the broad platform to the other. It is a new trick and one which I neither think useful or ornamental but really a defect and disfigurement. She would allow me to tell her so, I think, because she knows how sincerely I appreciate both her wonderful talents and her equally wonderful devotion to the cause of my enslaved race.

I am not doing much in this Presidential Canvass for the reason that Republican committees do not wish to expose themselves to the charge of being the "Niggar" party. The negro is the deformed child which is put out of the room when company comes. I hope to speak some after the election, though not much before, and I am inclined to think I shall be able to speak all the more usefully because I have had so little to say during the present canvass. I now look upon the election of Mr. Lincoln as settled.

When there was any shadow of a hope that a man of more decided antislavery convictions and policy could be elected, I was not for Mr. Lincoln, but as soon as the Chicago convention my mind was made up and it is made up still. All dates changed with the Domination of McClellan.

I hope that in listening to Mr. Stanton's version of my visit to the President you kept in mind something of Mr. Stanton's own state of mind concerning public affairs. 1 found him in a very gloomy state of mind, much less hopeful than myself, and yet more cheerful than I expected to find him. I judge from your note that he must have imparted somewhat of the hue of his own mind to my statements. He thinks far less of the President's honesty than I do, and far less of his antislavery than I do. I have not yet come to think that honesty and politics are incompatible. Well, here I am, my Dear Sir, writing you a long letter—needlessly taking up your precious time—and with no better expense for the impertinence than a brief not from you and a knowledge of your good temper and disposition toward me.

Make all the speeches of this Latimer Hall kind you can—They will look better after the election than now—though they bear with them the grace of fitness now. Please remember me kindly to Mrs Tilton—and all the Dear bright eyed little Tiltons—who sparkle like diamonds about your hearth—

Truly yours Always,

FREDERCK DOUGLASS.

P.S. I wish you would drop a line to John S. Rock Esqur asking him to send you advanced sheets of my address to the people of the United States.

He is at 6. Fremont Street—

Boston.

SOURCES: Descriptive Catalogue of the Gluck Collection of Manuscripts and Autographs in the Buffalo Public Library, p. 35-7; The Frederick Douglass Papers: Series III: Correspondence, Volume 2: 1853-1865, p. 460-3

Frederick Douglass to Theodore Tilton, October 15, 1864

Rochester, Oct. 15, 1864.

My Dear Mr. Tilton:

I am obliged by your favor containing a copy of your recent speech in Latimer hall. I had read that speech in the Tribune several days ago, and in my heart thanked you for daring thus to break the spell of enchantment which slavery, though wounded, dying and despised, is still able to bind the tongues of our republican orators. It was a timely word wisely and well spoken, the best and most luminous spark struck from the flint and steel of this canvass. To all appearance we have been more ashamed of the negro during than those of '56 and '60. The President's "To whom it may concern," frightened his party and his party in return frightened the President. I found him in this alarmed condition when I called upon him six weeks ago — and it is well to note the time. The country was struck with one of those bewilderments which dethrone reason for the moment. Every body was thinking and dreaming of peace — and the impression had gone abroad that the President's antislavery policy was about the only thing which prevented a peaceful settlement with the Rebels. McClellan was nominated and at that time his prospects were bright as Mr. Lincoln's were gloomy. You must therefore, judge the President's words in the light of the circumstances in which he spoke. Atlanta had not fallen; Sheridan had not swept the Shenandoah —and men were ready for peace almost at any price. The President was pressed on every hand to modify his letter “To whom it may concern,” — how to meet this pressure he did me the honor to ask my opinion. He showed me a letter written with a view to meet the peace clamour raised against him. The first point made in it was the important fact that no man or set of men authorized to speak for the Confederate Government had ever submitted a proposition for peace to him. Hence the charge that he had in some way stood in the way of peace fell to the ground. He had always stood ready to listen to any such propositions. The next point referred to was the charge that he had in his Niagara letter committed himself and the country to an abolition war rather than a war for the union, so that even if the latter could be attained by negotiation, the war would go on for Abolition. The President did not propose to take back what he had said in his Niagara letter but wished to relieve the fears of hit peace friends by making it appear that the thing which they feared could not happen and was wholly beyond his power. Even if I would, I could not carry on the war for the abolition of slavery. The country would not sustain such a war and I could do nothing without the support of Congress. I could not make the abolition of slavery an absolute prior condition to the re-establishment of the union. All that the President said on this point was to make manifest his want of power to do the thing which his enemies and pretended friends professed to be afraid he would do. Now the question he put to me was "Shall I send forth this letter?" To which I answered "Certainly not." It would be given a broader meaning than you intend to convey — it would be taken as a complete surrender of your antislavery policy — and do yon serious damage. In answer to your Copperhead accusers your friends can make this argument of your want of power — but you cannot wisely say a word on that point. I have looked and feared that Mr. Lincoln would say something of the sort, but he has been perfectly silent on that point and I think will remain so. But the thing which alarmed me most was this: The President said he wanted some plan devised by which we could get more of the slaves within our lines. He thought that now was their time— and that such only of them as succeeded in getting within our lines would be free after the war is over. This shows that the President only has faith in his proclamations of freedom during the war and that he believes their operation will cease with the war. We were long together and there was much said—but this is enough.

I gave my address, To the People of the U. S., to the Committee appointed to publish the Minutes of the Convention. It is too lengthy for a newspaper article though of course I should be very glad to see it noticed in the Independent. You may not be aware that I do not see the Independent now-a-days. It was discontinued several months ago. If you were not like myself taxed on every hand both by your own disposition to give and the disposition of others to ask I should ask you to send me the Independent for one year on your own account.

We had Anna Dickinson here on Thursday night. Her speech made a profound impression. Nothing from Phillips, Beecher or yourself could have been more eloquent, and in her masterly handling of statistics she reminded one of Horace Mann in his palmiest days. I never listened to her with more wonder. One thing however I think you can say to her, if you ever get the chance, for it ought to be said and she will hear it and bear it from you, as well or better than from most other persons, and that is Stop that waiting. She walked incessantly — back and forth — from one side the broad platform to the other. It is a new trick and one which I neither think useful or ornamental but really a defect and disfigurement. She would allow me to tell her so, I think, because she knows how sincerely I appreciate both her wonderful talents and her equally wonderful devotion to the cause of my enslaved race.

I am not doing much in this Presidential Canvass for the reason that Republican committees do not wish to expose themselves to the charge of being the "Niggar" party. The negro is the deformed child which is put out of the room when company comes. I hope to speak some after the election, though not much before, and I am inclined to think I shall be able to speak all the more usefully because I have had so little to say during the present canvass. I now look upon the election of Mr. Lincoln as settled. When there was any shadow of a hope that a man of more decided antislavery convictions and policy could be elected, I was not for Mr. Lincoln, but as soon as the Chicago convention my mind was made up and it is made up still. All dates changed with the Domination of McClellan.

I hope that in listening to Mr. Stanton's version of my visit to the President you kept in mind something of Mr. Stanton's own state of mind concerning public affairs. I found him in a very gloomy state of mind, much less hopeful than myself, and yet more cheerful than I expected to find him. I judge from your note that he must have imparted somewhat of the hue of his own mind to my statements. He thinks far less of the President's honesty than I do, and far less of his antislavery than I do I have not yet come to think that honesty and politics are incompatible.

SOURCE: Buffalo Public Library, Descriptive Catalogue of the Gluck Collection of Manuscripts and Autographs in the Buffalo Public Library, p. 35-7