A strange occurrence happened at the execution of John Brown. No citizens were permitted to watch. Public viewings of hangings were commonplace in the 19^th century. People clamored to witness the execution of a convicted criminal who had transgressed local law. Hangings attracted crowds like sporting events.

Not so on December 2, 1859, in Charles Town. As the Baltimore Sun reported, “Everything was conducted under the strictest military discipline, as if [Charles Town] was under siege.”

Nearly 2,000 witnessed Brown’s hanging, but they were soldiers—Virginia militiamen called into action by Governor Henry Wise to guard against a feared last-minute rescue of Brown by his abolitionist allies. “Information from every quarter leads to the conviction that there is an organized plot to harass our whole slave-border at every point,” the paranoid governor declared.

One soldier called to duty was Maj. Thomas Jonathan Jackson, commanding the artillery brought from the Virginia Military Institute. Jackson stationed his cannon at each prominent entrance into Charles Town, daring any would-be rescuers to defy his defenses. No liberation attempt occurred, permitting Jackson to turn his attention toward the gallows. 

“Brown rode on the head of his coffin,” Jackson wrote to his wife. “He was dressed in carpet slippers of predominating red, white socks, black pants, black frock coat, black vest, & black slouch hat. . . . The open wagon in which he rode was strongly guarded on all sides.” (The “open wagon” still exists. It is the featured artifact in the Jefferson County Museum in Charles Town).

Jackson continued, “I was much impressed with the thought that before me stood a man, in the full vigor of health, who must in a few minutes be in eternity. . . . I hope that he was prepared to die.”

Brown was prepared. “I am waiting the hour of my public murder with great composure of mind, and cheerfulness,” he comforted his wife in a letter written two days before his execution. “I have now no doubt but that our seeming disaster will ultimately result in the most glorious success.”

Convinced God had chosen him to rid the slavery scourge, Brown lectured a local newspaper journalist: “I feel no shame on account of my doom. Jesus of Nazareth was doomed in like manner. Why should not I be?”

Brown’s impending execution generated trepidation from moderate Northerners. “To hang a fanatic is to make a martyr of him,” warned the New York Journal of Commerce (predecessor of the Wall Street Journal). “Monsters are hydra-headed, and decapitation only quickens vitality and its power of reproduction.”

Despite pleas to incarcerate Brown in a penitentiary and “make of him a miserable felon,” plans for the execution proceeded. December 2 was warmer than usual; as Brown prepared to ascend the scaffold, he viewed the nearby Blue Ridge Mountains and complimented the majesty of the Shenandoah Valley: “This is a beautiful country. I never had the pleasure of seeing it before.”

He also handed a scribbled note to his jailor, John Avis, who had no time to read it then. The designated time, 11:30 a.m., fast was approaching.

“Brown had his arms tied behind him, and ascended the scaffold with apparent cheerfulness,” Jackson observed. “The sheriff placed the rope around his neck, threw a white cap over his head, and asked him if he wished a signal when all should be ready—to which he replied that it made no difference, provided he was not kept waiting too long.”

“He behaved with unflinching firmness,” marveled Jackson.

The rope severed at the prescribed moment. “John Brown was hanging between heaven and earth,” commented J. T. L. Preston, commandant of the Virginia Military Institute. His sharp voice suddenly sliced the silence: “So perish all such enemies of Virginia! All such enemies of the Union! All such foes of the human race!” chorused Preston.

The last words—everlasting words—belonged to Brown. Remember the note he gave to his jailor? Avis retrieved it from his frock coat pocket soon after the execution. This is the prophesy he read: “I, John Brown, am now quite certain that the crimes of this guilty land: will never be purged away; but with Blood.”

Sixteen months later, the nation crashed into the Civil War—America’s bloodiest conflict.