154



FROM SUMMER LAND



With all these ghosts of the
past in our minds, we reached
picturesque Harper's Ferry, and as
we crowded out on our car plat-
form to look about us, one of our
party exclaimed, with feeling voice,
"This is Harper's Ferry, where
that great and good man John
Brown made his noble stand for
freedom."

Near us was a small group of
men, one of whom looked up in
a quick, nervous manner, and re-
plied at once with a tone like the
ping of a rifle : "Sir, I feel sorry
for you if you can call Brown a

good man ; he was the

rascal God Almighty ever put
breath into. He came here and



TO SUMMER



155



tried to steal our property ; and,
right over there, within thirty rods
of us, he shot down innocent men
in cold blood."

This sudden aspect of a totally
different view of things was abso-
lutely ludicrous. The seriousness
of the fact that such views do
exist was as nothing. The words
were hailed with a roar of laugh-
ter from all sides. Then, after a
blank silence of surprise, there
was some more talk pro and con.
It was soon all over.
I confess that I felt some sym-
pathy with my well-knit, firmly set
old mountaineer from Virginia, as
he hurled back in his calm rage
his last shot : " Why didn't you



156 FROM SUMMER LAND

buy our slaves from us and not
rob us of everything we had?"
There the hardy old fellow stood,
defiant looking and yet gentle-
manly. He had in his hands a
superb bouquet of mountain aza-
lea, which seemed to emphasize the
finer side of his nature, even while
his clear eye flashed lightning.
