Читать книгу The Untold Story of Shields Green - Louis A. Decaro Jr. - Страница 10

A young man named Shields Green, who went down with [Frederick Douglass], staid and joined in the attack.

Rochester Democrat and Chronicle, 18751

According to the conventional narrative, Shields Green was a young black man who broke the chains of slavery and fled northward in the late 1850s. A widower, he left a young son behind in South Carolina and was smuggled on a ship traveling northward along the Atlantic coast. Upon reaching the North, Green, who liked to call himself Emperor, made his way to Rochester, New York, where he met Frederick Douglass, the abolitionist orator. Through involvement with Douglass, Green eventually came into contact with John Brown, who sought to enlist him for his imminent liberation effort in Virginia. Despite Douglass’s opposition, Green decided to join Brown’s small “army” of little more than twenty men in seizing the town and federal armory at Harper’s Ferry, Virginia, on Sunday night, October 16, 1859.

Although the raid initially went well, Brown’s tactical misjudgments, especially his long delay in town, proved his undoing. By late morning the next day, the tide of advantage turned against him, and his men were now being shot down in the streets—in some cases, captured and murdered outright by angry townsmen. As things fell apart, Brown retreated into the armory’s fire engine house with several of his raiders, including his sons Watson and Oliver, as well as some enslaved men and a group of hostage slaveholders.

The narrative continues that Shields Green was yet outside when Brown had taken refuge in the engine house. Admonished to flee by another raider, instead Green chose to go down into Harper’s Ferry to join the “Old Man.” The raider who had urged him to escape, Osborne Anderson, made it safely back to Canada by means of the underground railroad, and likely Green would have done the same. But the path he chose led him back down into Harper’s Ferry, to John Brown, and the gallows.

The raiders withstood a major siege on Monday afternoon and continued to exchange fire from the engine house until night fell. By all accounts, Green was courageous throughout the ordeal, although it was evident that Brown and his men were at an impasse. At first, the Old Man attempted to negotiate terms that would even out the odds of escape, but authorities had no intention of negotiating with one they considered a meddling abolitionist and insurrectionist. To Virginia, along with the rest of the South, the presence of armed abolitionists from the North was as outrageous as it was unprecedented, and Governor Henry Wise was determined to crush these insurgents with the support of President James Buchanan in Washington. The next morning, Tuesday, October 18, a contingent of marines arrived from the capital under the command of Colonel Robert E. Lee. When Brown refused Lee’s demand for unconditional surrender, the marines stormed the engine house, taking heavy fire, and finally broke through.

Along with their leader, four captured raiders including Emperor were given hasty trials and sentenced to death. Brown was the first to be executed, being hanged on Friday, December 2. On December 16, four of his men, John Cook, John Copeland, Edwin Coppic, and Shields Green, followed him to the gallows.2 Although the deaths of these four young men made news throughout the country, most of the nation’s attention was focused upon Brown’s martyrdom and its aftermath. Rescue plans had been discussed here and there by allies and sympathizers, but the abolitionist leader disdained any such notion, holding that his death would prove best for the antislavery cause. Shortly, the growing number of militia men stationed in Charlestown made any thought of rescue utterly impossible. While Governor Wise of Virginia rejected any notion of commuting Brown’s death sentence, some Northerners hoped that perhaps a measure of clemency would be shown to his young followers. After all, Virginia had slain the old lion. Surely, a people purportedly steeped in the Christian faith might have spared his whelps. But those who thought this way could not have understood the implacable spirit that possessed the South.

One man knew better, not only having experienced the depths of slavery’s depravity, but also the impact that “Old Brown” and his men had made upon the entirety of the South. “The efforts of John Brown and his brave associates,” wrote Frederick Douglass in 1860, “have done more to upset the logic and shake the security of slavery, than all other efforts in that direction for twenty years.” Furthermore, as Douglass recognized, throughout Brown’s occupation of Harper’s Ferry, he had not once acted with malice toward his opponents, but rather had shown uncommon concern for the feelings of the townsmen and had made every effort to shield his hostages. Yet this meant nothing to the Virginians, he concluded. “Slaveholders are as insensible to magnanimity as to justice, and the measure they mete out must be meted to them again.”3

While he suffered no wounds in the hour of defeat, perhaps Green was the most despised of Brown’s captured men, not only because he had proven bold in action and clever in defeat but also because he was the darkest man and thus the least sympathetic to whites. It was typical of reports and observations at the time to not only list whites and blacks separately, but also to distinguish light-skinned and “mulatto” from dark-skinned blacks. During the trials of Brown’s men, there was a slight amount of sympathy in the court for John Copeland, a light-skinned raider, but none for Emperor, who was typically described in terms of his dark skin color. Indeed, while Brown and his men were all rushed through the formalities of a slaveholders’ court and sentenced to death, the least covered and most easily overlooked by the press was Shields Green—“quite a black negro,” as one newspaper report described him. After the executions, some forlorn efforts were made to save the bodies of the black raiders, but more so in the case of Copeland, who had heartfelt support from family and friends in Oberlin, Ohio. Ultimately, neither of the black raiders’ remains were honorably interred. However, John Copeland’s surviving daguerreotype, correspondence, and legacy in Oberlin have at least sustained his memory in a manner unlike that of Emperor, whose identity and body have nearly been lost to history. What remains is only a skeleton-thin account, almost a legend of a black man who fled the South, was befriended by the abolitionist orator Frederick Douglass, and then was enlisted by the militant John Brown.

* * *

Over the past few years, interest in the Harper’s Ferry raiders has been on the upswing among writers, although in this case, artistic interest preceded scholarly effort by two decades. In 1996 Shields Green and the Gospel of John Brown, a screenplay by Kevin Willmott, was purchased by filmmaker Chris Columbus, but the project failed in pre-production.4 Besides this disappointed effort, a number of other artistic ventures have been written for the stage and screen over the years about the black men who followed John Brown to Harper’s Ferry. More recently, the sculptor Woodrow Nash has been preparing busts of Brown and his five black raiders to be installed in the John Brown House in Akron, Ohio; and the visual artist Peter Cizmadia’s Invisibles exhibit at the Harpers Ferry National Historical Park featured twenty-four commemorative portraits of the men and women who supported John Brown, including his five black raiders.5 Leading up to and following the sesquicentennial of the Harper’s Ferry raid in 2009, a number of notable works about John Brown were published, but it was legal historian Steven Lubet who single-handedly produced two definitive biographies of Brown’s men—John Brown’s Spy (2012), the story of raider John Cook, and The “Colored Hero” of Harper’s Ferry (2015), the story of raider John Anthony Copeland. In 2018 Eugene L. Meyer’s Five for Freedom was published, a work exclusively focused upon the lives of Brown’s black raiders. In the same year it was announced that Mark Amin’s Sobini Films had once more taken up the story of Shields Green for the big screen in the film Emperor, based upon a screenplay co-written by Amin and Pat Charles and starring Dayo Okeniyi in the role of Green and James Cromwell as Brown. Shields Green also figures among Brown’s men in the SHOWTIME adaptation of James McBride’s historical fiction, The Good Lord Bird, featuring Ethan Hawke as John Brown and Quentin Plair as Emperor.6

After I heard news of Amin’s film project in late 2018, it occurred to me to search through my own files, simply to see what I might find about Emperor. Having studied John Brown the abolitionist for twenty years, I thought that perhaps I might even be able to write one of those “real story behind the movie” pieces. However, when I began to cull my sources, I started to find little bits and pieces that I had never noticed before, prompting me to revisit the short but conventional narrative of Shields Green that has been passed down by older authors. As I did, questions arose that prompted me to look for more evidence until I found myself doing research with the intention of writing something more than an article about this fascinating but somewhat mysterious figure.

Unfortunately, even after my own scratching and digging, it seems that what can be confidently stated about Emperor remains limited. Indeed, it seems that Emperor has all but slipped away from us, historically speaking, and even with research it seems that key questions may never be answered without some fortuitous discovery. When I made initial inquiries into Emperor’s background in South Carolina, a helpful researcher provided what she could unearth, concluding that it is a complicated thing, “trying to track down someone who likely didn’t want to be tracked down.” Perhaps this is the case with Shields Green, for it seems likely that he did not want to be found after he fled from the South. After all, he had escaped oppression and was all too aware that authorities in his day had the ability to reach to the very border of Canada and snatch him back into bondage and degradation. When he did go south with John Brown in 1859, Emperor was quite aware that he had placed himself, as he put it, back into “the eagle’s claw.”

On the other hand, I remain hopeful that some small trail into the past may yet be discerned, and that this work, despite its real limitations, may encourage someone else in the effort to further research the life of this Harper’s Ferry raider, so well-remembered yet so little-known. To be sure, preparing this work has been obstinate and challenging for me in a manner that I have not known in previous biographical projects. In the most obvious sense, there simply is not enough material to write a substantive biography of Shields Green, while yet the available fragments suggest that it may be possible to get beyond the mere record as it stands.

For this reason, this work is presented as a kind of narrative inquiry in which the solid lines of the story are drawn out as much as possible, followed by the dotted lines reflecting the biographer’s effort to distinguish what merits further consideration from what should be dismissed. Most biographers encounter moments in the narratives of their subjects when questions are left unanswered and insufficient evidence leads to some degree of guesswork—the dotted lines that we draw when we can no longer draw solid lines. The problem with writing about Emperor is that there are fewer solid lines than in most biographical studies, and therefore a greater need to draw out the dotted lines of the story. Understandably, then, some may not be pleased with this work, reasonably questioning whether such an undertaking is worth the effort. My first response is that readers should be assured that there is neither presumption nor insistence on my part that this book is definitive. Indeed, as history goes, this work is provisional in that it is intended as a kind of narrative restart, and therefore both criticism and further research are invited—particularly because my goal is not to present a conclusive narrative as much as it is to push through the fragments of the past and rediscover the man known in antebellum newspapers as “Shields Green, alias Emperor.” Nevertheless, one might simply ask whether what we already know about him is enough. Are there not many other figures in African American history who merit our attention? Furthermore, John Brown had a small army of followers, and some of them have yet to receive biographical treatment even though it may be easier to locate them in the historical record. Why labor further in such a sparsely sown field? In response, I would argue that there are yet compelling reasons to look more closely at Shields Green.

First, he is deeply embedded in the narrative of the Harper’s Ferry raid because he is uniquely connected to and dependent upon both Frederick Douglass and John Brown. Often, when Douglass spoke of Brown, he also spoke of Shields Green. Second, Emperor was the only one of the Harper’s Ferry raiders who understood flight from the South. The other raiders were either white men or free black men living in the North, even if they had been in some way carried or transported from the South in youth. Green had fled from the South and made a life for himself in the free states and in Canada. His alliance with John Brown in some sense closed the loop of his own story by means of a perilous trek back into the South in 1859. Finally, Emperor is something of a paradox in the story of the Harper’s Ferry raid: he has only the slightest biographical profile and yet occupies some of the most dramatic moments of the story; his sketched visage is familiar to students of the raid although he is the only one of John Brown’s raiders not to have left a daguerreotype image of himself; and within the conventional record he is both the son of an unidentified father and the father of an unidentified son. Strangely, digging deeper into the record has added slight insight to both Green’s parentage and his son, and yet their identities still remain unknown. However, if there is a final reason—even a personal mandate—for my taking on this project, it has been in some sense to restore the life of Shields Green the man who lived, to represent an embodiment of the man whose actual body was stolen by the same racist society that tried to steal his labor, his freedom, and his humanity, and which ultimately stole his life and remains. I think Emperor is owed this much, and whether I have succeeded or failed, in so doing I have tried to follow Old Brown’s advice: “Everything worthy of being done at all is worthy of being done in good earnest, & in the best possible manner.”7

In the first chapter, before proceeding with his story, then, I thought it best to address some traditional assumptions about Shields Green, raising questions and suggesting possibilities where evidence permits. Readers who are familiar with the story may be surprised, for instance, to discover that Emperor may not have been a “runaway slave” in the conventional sense. In chapter 2, Green’s enlistment in John Brown’s cause is examined and a closer look is taken at the story that is singly preserved in Frederick Douglass’s familiar account, where Emperor famously told the abolitionist orator that he would “go wid de ole man.” At some points, however, there is little actual material about Emperor, and in such cases I have made an effort to provide a framework for the setting and context of which he was a part. This is especially the case in chapter 3, which discusses the circumstances in which Emperor and the other raiders lived together under John Brown’s roof in Maryland prior to the raid, and again in chapter 4, which includes consideration of a narrative of the Harper’s Ferry raid by Green’s black colleague, Osborne Perry Anderson. Chapter 5 recalls Emperor’s last days, from the Harper’s Ferry engine house to the gallows at Charlestown, and chapter 6 closes out this narrative inquiry by reflecting upon the surviving images of Emperor, particularly my effort to discern which of them best represents the man who lived. The epilogue thus reflects upon the absent body of Shields Green and the way in which he somehow pushed back into the realities of the post-Reconstruction era, and the legend of Emperor so bequeathed to us all. Finally, by way of style, the reader should note that in keeping with his own preferred self-designation, I refer to the subject throughout either as Shields Green or as Emperor.

In 1886, looking back at this antebellum drama, an aged Frederick Douglass declared that John Brown of Harper’s Ferry was “like all men born before their time, whose bleeding footsteps show us the cost of all reforms.”8 But Brown did not walk alone to Harper’s Ferry, nor were the gallows solely his penalty. Those who followed him shared in his suffering, some falling first at Harper’s Ferry and others being tried and hanged at Charlestown. Afterward, some who had escaped went on to risk their lives once more in opposing slavery during the Civil War—two of them even dying in the conflict.

It is my contention that the Harper’s Ferry raiders were among the best men that this nation could offer in the antebellum era. Indeed, they still represent something that should be admirable for every generation—particularly in their concern for overturning injustice and liberating the oppressed. A just and progressive reading of our nation’s history will not permit the Harper’s Ferry raid to be trivialized as a prequel to modern terrorism, nor restrict Brown and his young freedom fighters to the margins of our national narrative. John Brown’s raiders must be remembered, including Emperor, whose footsteps in history may be the hardest to trace among his brethren. Still, the path of freedom that he followed is certain and his sacrifice is without question. His soul, too, goes marching on.