 | John Brown, and the heroes of Harper's Ferry |  |
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IV.—KENNEDY FARM, MARYLAND, NEAR HARPER'S FERRY.
Annie, Martha, Brown, Stevens, and Others.Martha.
This is a lovely world.
Annie.
The hills are charming, and more green and warm
Than the vast mountains which we live beside,—
Home of the free. 'T is quiet here, so still,—
The people well-disposed; I fear that father
Goes, alone, too often to the Ferry.
Martha.
At least, he does not mind it.
Annie.
And Watson, too, is often there.
Martha.
They do not love concealment.
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Since we came first, we had a pleasant time;
The boys are kind and gentle, such as grace
A hunter's camp. There must be temper in them,
If they live an unexpected life
(I know dear father cannot bear an oath),—
Noble heart! Oh, why upon these heated days
Of strife and madness, and o'ermastering fate,
Should his wise, gentle character thus fall?
He should have safely spent his life in peace,
Like yonder level sunlight that smiles down
The trees, petting the shadows; and his heart,
Soft as your own, had better heard the bells
Sounding for early church, or faithful prayer
Said o'er the good man's grave; but this,—this blow,—
This agony of fate, of possible death,—
Oh, God, if that must be!
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Yes, that indeed. This duty ours, meanwhile,
To cheer the patience of the nervous boys,
Keep their dress whole, answer their modest wants,—
Why, Annie! I believe you're baking bread
The whole long day; and as for me, my needle
Must not rust.
Annie.
And it is safer so, with them thus leagued,—
Thou and thy husband, and my heart with both.
May not a woman be, more to her love,
More to her vow, than a soft ornament,—
A toy, a thing thrown off, and only worn
Like a quick hurried dream, all smiles or tears?
Enter Stevens, Coppie, Anderson.
Stevens.
I fear you girls will pine in this dull camp.
It's true we keep you company, by shares,
But feel you never timorous here alone?
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Annie.
We carry that upon us might prove dear
For Southern folks to purchase. Who are they?
Ignorant all, they not suspect our plans.
As Unseld, many a time upon his horse,
Will sit below the porch and gossip there,
Till the grave mastiff grumbles at his chaff;
They are quite friendly toward us.
Stevens.
Yes! but a single breath would blast this spark
Of friendliness, to one all blazing fury.
Is Cook a prudent man, so often gone,—
And then his wife,—there at the Ferry?
Annie.
I do not dream who is, or is not, safe;
Father controls the movements of the band.
Stevens.
And Coppie, that's a reckless lad, hot heart,
Wild as a mountain brook, as quick to rise.
Anderson.
The tramp was tough.
We're hungry, girls.
Here comes our father.
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Brown.
The arms arrive all safe, the pikes and all.
You girls must be sent off. How nobly, too,
Your hearts and hands have helped us in this cause.
Never can we forget your charities.
Annie, I think your mother's heart has made
Within your own a sphere all like itself;
And Martha, you were fit to mate with one
Who never yet betrayed in deed or thought.
But days may come upon us, far from these;
Forced marches, or a camp 'mid mountain-pines,
Where the slow-moving shades contract the heart
To fibres like their own, bred on the granite;
Biding aloof from men the tides of fate,
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In its unspoken faintness, the dim sign
Of human life in sleeping villages.
Annie.
Father, since first I can recall my thoughts,
You have been always to me a sweet thought,
Oh, so dear! I rest upon thy love,
As if it were a cradle for the sleep
Of a frail infant;—father, must we part?
I know I am a woman, yet I shared
Your ambush, and the fortress on the hills,
For am I not thy daughter, even thy child?
To this thing, the freeing of the slave, is not
My life, even as thine own, forever given?
Anderson.
Annie, dear child, we soon might call thee back;
But now, in these dread days, our fate is blind.
Coppie.
You are a noble girl; for me, I feel,
I kept you with me if I held the dice;—
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Your step as perfect as the prairie doe's.
Brown.
When we have raised our mountain camp, perchance
You may return, and with your sisters too;
While Martha goes to cheer and bless the cot
We love on Elba's side,—there where the Whiteface,
That bold eminence, uplifts the mind from earth.
Annie.
Yet, if we part, bethink you is there aught
We leave undone,—something your comfort asks,—
Some brief design, a word or thought of home
For those you love, and leave thus far away?
And we must, too, seem like them, when we go!
But always shall our hearts still comfort you,
True guardian spirits,—firm, immovable,
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Must bear this vast design!
Brown.
Annie, this is a labyrinth that leads,
We know, to danger, if the issue hides.
Be what the persons may, planters or slaves,
We trust that God sees an equal service
We can do;—bringing these out of bondage;
Opening the eyes of those to read the right.
Christ's children to be sold! What then! Is crime,
Because decreed by legal formulas, less crime
Against God's precious words, his firm decrees?
Annie.
Father, never the hour shall pass, we will
Not think of all thy noble deeds, thy hopes,
Thy fixed reliance on the holy faith
That moves the good man's will.
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And may these tears unite us, my dear husband!
Must I, then, leave thee, such a girl as I,—
Scarce sixteen fleeting summers on my head,—
Slight as some bending reed by the brook's side?
To part, it may be ne'er to see thee more.
No more thy well-loved smile, thy cheerful voice;
Perchance, instead, there, in that silent grave;
There,—all to perish with me, at one blow,—
Mother and wife and child, and thee! all there!
Brown.
Poor child! God's blessing on thy tender heart!
Martha.
And yet for this, even for this cause, I give,—
Yes, give thee and myself. For faith is more
Than my affliction, even if the breath of life
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There must be sacrifice and hearts must break!
Brown.
My children! come to your father's arms.
This day is nearly done,—my children dear,
There is another life,—no more we part!
| John Brown, and the heroes of Harper's Ferry | |