nothing, and if there is none you are fools indeed.' Such is the
old man's plain argument.

One of them, a harum-scarum young physician, is taken specially
under charge by John Brown. Before retiring Brown desires him to
pray. 'I can't pray,' he says, with an oath. 'What, did your
mother never teach you?' asks Brown. 'Oh yes,' he replies; 'but
that was a long time ago.' 'Well, you still remember the prayer
she taught you?' continued Brown. 'Yes,' is the answer. 'Say
that for want of a better,' is the order. Then, to the amusement
of all, the poor doctor repeats the rhyme:

And now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

Said the young doctor after he was released, 'John Brown knows
more about religion than any man I ever met. He never used harsh
language; we were treated like gentlemen; we shared food with
them. Only it went against the grain to be guarded by niggers.'

Thus the journey proceeds. As they get farther north there is
more bark than bite about the opposition they encounter. In the
street at one town where they are sheltered, Brown strolls alone
and finds a champion of slavery haranguing the crowd and
denouncing Brown as a reckless, bloody outlaw, a coward who
skulked and would never fight in the open. Warming to a climax
the orator proclaims, 'If I could get a sight of him I would
shoot him on the spot; I would never give him a chance to steal
any more slaves.' 'My friend,' says a plain-looking countryman--
no other than John Brown himself--on the outskirts of the throng,