When John Brown cunningly surveyed the lines around those houses inKansas, observed the fastenings of their doors, marked the strength ofthe shutters, learned the names of their dogs, crept under the coverof darkness on his prey as a wild beast creeps through the jungle andhacked his innocent victims to pieces, we know that he was a criminalparanoiac pursuing a fixed idea under the delusion that God had senthim.
Yet on the eighteenth of July, 1861, Colonel Fletcher Webster\'sregiment, the Twelfth Massachusetts, marched through the streets ofBoston singing a song of glory to John Brown which one of its memberscomposed. They were also marching Southward to kill. The only differencewas they had a Commission.
War had been declared.
Why did the war crowd on the streets and in the ranks burst into song asthey marched to kill their fellow men?
To find the answer we must go back to the dawn of human history and seeman, as yet a savage beast, with but one impulse the dominant force inlife, the archaic impulse to slay.
All wars are not begun in this elemental fashion. There are wars ofdefense forced on innocent nations by brutal aggressors. But the joythat thrills the soul of the crowd on the declaration of war is alwaysthe simple thing. It is the roar of the lion as he springs on his prey.
In this Song to the Soul of John Brown there was no thought of freeinga slave. War was not declared on that ground. The President who calledthem had no such purpose. The men who marched had no such idea. Theysang "Glory, Glory Hallelujah! Glory, Glory Hallelujah!" because theysaw Red.
The restraints of Law, Religion and Tradition had been lifted. Theprimitive beast that had been held in check by civilization, rose witha shout and leaped to its ancient task. The homicidal wish--fancywith which the human mind had toyed in times of peace in dreams andreveries--was now a living reality.
Not one in a thousand knew what the war was about. And this one in athousand who thought he knew was mistaken. It had been made legal tokill. They were marching to kill. They shouted. They sang.
They were marching to the most utterly senseless and unnecessarystruggle in the history of our race. The North in the hours of sanitywhich preceded the outburst did not wish war. The South in her sanemoments never believed it possible. Yet the hell-lit tragedy of brothersmarching to slay their brothers had come. Nothing could dampen theenthusiasm of this first joyous mob.
On the night of the twentieth of July the Army of the North was encampedabout seven miles from Beaureguard\'s lines at Bull Run. The volunteerswere singing, shouting, girding their loins for the fray. They had heardthe firing on the first skirmish line. Fifteen or twenty men had beenkilled it was reported.
The Red Thought leaped!
At two o\'clock before day on Sunday morning, the order came to advanceagainst the foe. The deep thrill of the elemental man s............