Yours ever J. Brown.
This letter is written in the soft language and in the apparently consecrated spirit that is characteristic of Brown's domestic and social correspondence. But the beauty of his lines is marred, and the sincerity of his purpose in putting them forth, as well as his claims to a Christian character, are discredited by the falsehoods contained in the opening paragraph. Brown was not seriously hurt at Harper's Ferry. He received two wounds, a light dress-sword cut, on the neck and head, and a sword thrust in the body[480] and these he received, not after he had been taken prisoner, but while he was yet bravely fighting. Evidence of what he was doing, when he was struck down, appears in a letter which he wrote November 29th, to Mr. J. G. Anderson concerning one of his captains. He said:[481]
Jeremiah G. Anderson was fighting bravely by my side at Harper's Ferry up to the moment when I fell wounded, and I took no further notice of what passed for a little time....
Brown may have written "the truth concerning his own spirit and composure, in this his first letter from the jail to his family,"[482] but he did not write the truth concerning the character of his wounds, and the conditions under which he received them.
With the freedom of correspondence that was granted to him came Brown's great opportunity, and the masterful manner in which he quickly turned it to his advantage is one of the marvels of this history. Equipped with a vocabulary of devotional phrases and an ample magazine of biblical quotations, this caged soldier of fortune, the would-be Catiline of his generation, stormed the heights of public opinion; and disarming righteousness of its opposition to wrong, won a moral victory as marvelous as it was triumphant. These beautifully devotional letters, that stand as monuments, certifying to an humble Christian character, like flights in oratory, were written with regard for the effect which he desired to accomplish, but without regard for the truth of what he uttered.
The opinion that the letters, which crowned Brown's character with a dignity akin to sanctity, were artfully written, and were not characteristic of him, is not based merely upon a vulgar suspicion. It finds ample justification in the reckless disregard for the truth which prevails throughout the entire series; and in direct evidence. The invasion had failed. Wounded, and a prisoner in irons, with the gallows for his portion, Brown had the opportunity which solitude affords, to contemplate the terrible disaster which had befallen him: the wreck of his hopes; the ruin of his family; their utter wretchedness, and the shame and humiliation which they suffered because of him. In his extremity, he planned how best to meet the problems of his environment; and, substituting the mightier pen for the sword of the great Frederick, which had been stricken from his hand, he began a systematic campaign for a martyr's crown, and for pecuniary assistance for his family, whenever a favorable opportunity presented itself.
November 10th, he disclosed to his wife the plan of this, his final conception: "I have been whipped as the saying is," he said, "but I am sure I can recover all the lost capital occasioned by the disaster; by only hanging a few moments by the neck; & I feel determined to make the utmost possible out of a defeat. I am dayly & hourly striving to gather up what little I may from the wreck."[483]
In reply to a letter from a kinsman, the Rev. Dr. Humphrey of Pottsfield, Massachusetts, he wrote November 25th:[484]
I discover that you labor under a mistaken impression as to some important facts which my peculiar circumstances will in all probability prevent the possibility of my removing; and I do not propose to take up any argument to prove that any motion or act of my life is right. But I will here state that I know it to be wholly my own fault as a leader that caused our disaster....
If you do not believe I had a murderous intention (while I know I had not) why grieve so terribly on my account? The scaffold has but few terrors for me. God has often covered my head in the day of battle, and granted me many times deliverances that were almost so miraculous that I can scarce realize the truth; and now, when it seems quite certain that he intends to use me shall I not most cheerfully go? I may be deceived, but I humbly trust that he will not forsake me "till I have showed his favor to this generation and his strength to every one that is to come...."