He had cast scarcely a glance at his dying sons in the Engine House. He had not tried to minister to them. His hand was tightly gripped on his carbine.
His grim soul now rose to its first long flight of religious ecstasy. He saw that the Southerner's reverence for Law and Order would make his execution inevitable. His dark spirit shouted for joy. His own blood, if he could succeed in playing the role of martyr, would raise the Blood Feud to its highest power. No statesman, no leader, no poet, no seer could calm the spirit of the archaic beast in man, which this martyrdom would raise if skillfully played. He was sure he could play the role with success.
The one man in the North who saw with clear vision the thing which
Brown's failure had done was the Worcester clergyman.
Higginson was a preacher by accident. He was a born soldier. From the first meeting with Brown his fighting spirit had answered his cry for blood with a shout of approval. Higginson not only refused to run, but also groaned with shame at the fears of his fellow conspirators. His first utterance was characteristic of his spirit.
"I am overwhelmed with remorse that the men who gave him money and arms could not have been by his side when he fell."
He stood his ground in Worcester and dared arrest. He did not proclaim his guilt from the housetop. But his friends and neighbors knew and he walked the streets with head erect.
He did more. He joined with John W. LeBarnes and immediately organized a plot to liberate Brown by force. He raised the money and engaged George H. Hoyt to go to Harper's Ferry, ostensibly to appear as his attorney at the trial, in reality to act as a spy, discover the strength of the jail and find whether it could be stormed and taken by a company of determined men.
At his first interview with Brown the spy revealed his purpose.
"I have come from Boston to rescue you," he whispered.
The old man's face was convulsed with anger. He spoke in the tones of final command which had always closed argument with friend or foe.