The Sword by Gilbert Morris

“How many do you think are inside now?”
    “Not too many, Colonel. Half a dozen, maybe.”
    Lee nodded then turned away, his eyes sharp, his face intent. He looked up behind them, he looked around, and he studied the engine house itself for a long time. Then decisively he said, “Lieutenant Stuart, I want you to carry to the engine house a written demand for surrender. If the raiders refuse, a party of marines will rush the doors. We want to avoid killing them, so we’ll use bayonets only.”
    Lee found a place where he could write and took some time to compose the message to Brown. He handed it to Stuart and said,“Can you read this, Stuart?”
    The dawn was breaking, but the light was still weak. Jeb narrowed his eyes, scanned the paper, and said, “Yes, sir.”
    “Very well. Lieutenant Stuart, you will go to the engine house and relay the terms to John Brown. If he refuses to surrender, wave your hat. That will be the signal for attack. Lieutenant Green, please pick twelve marines to make the attack and twelve marines to be held in reserve.”
    The marines ran to the engine house and lined the walls in the front.
    Jeb simply walked up to the door, banged on it, and called, “John Brown! Lieutenant Jeb Stuart here. Please come to the door.”
    It cracked slightly, and a carbine, cocked, was shoved through and pointed right at Jeb’s belly. Behind it in the half-light, Jeb saw Old Osawatomie Brown.
    Unconcernedly Jeb read:
    “Colonel Lee, United States Army, commanding the troops sent by the president of the United States to suppress the insurrection at this place, demands the surrender of the persons in the Armory buildings.
    If they will peaceably surrender themselves and restore the pillaged property, they shall be kept in safety to await the orders of the president. Colonel Lee represents to them, in all frankness, that it is impossible for them to escape; that the armory is surrounded on all sides by troops; and that if he is compelled to take them by force, he cannot answer for their safety.”
    Brown was silent as Jeb read the note, but as soon as Stuart finished, he began to talk. He made demands, he argued, he wanted this, and he demanded that.
    From inside someone called, “Ask for Colonel Lee to amend his terms.”
    And another voice shouted, “Never mind us! Fire!”
    Robert E. Lee was standing at least forty feet away, by a masonrypillar, but even at that distance he recognized the voice of Colonel Lewis Washington. “The old revolutionary blood does tell,” he said.
    Finally Brown shouted, “Well, Lieutenant, I see we can’t agree. You have the numbers on me, but you know that we soldiers aren’t afraid of death. I would as leave die by bullet than on the gallows.”
    “Is this your final answer, Mr. Brown?”
    “Yes.”
    Stuart stepped back and waved his hat.
    The marines looked up at Colonel Lee, who raised his hand. The marines battered in the door and rushed in with Lieutenant Green.
    Colonel Washington stepped up and said coolly, “Hello, Green.” The two men shook hands, and Washington pulled on a pair of green gloves. The sight of such finery was in odd contrast to his disheveled appearance.
    Firing began, lasting for no more than three minutes. When it ended, a marine lay at the entrance of the engine house, clutching his abdomen. Old John Brown lay on the floor, unconscious from blows from the broad side of a marine’s sword.
    Lieutenant Stuart went in just as the firing stopped and the raiders were captured. He reached down and snatched Old Brown’s bowie knife to keep as a souvenir.
    During the night, some congressmen and several reporters had come to Harpers Ferry. The leading men of Virginia quizzed Brown, who refused to incriminate others. He was perfectly calm and made no attempt to try to defend himself.
    Finally one reporter asked, “What brought you here, Brown?”
    “Duty, sir.”
    “Is it then your idea of duty to shoot down men upon their own hearthstones for