Yet there would be a less striking contrast between Southern and New
England villages, if the former were as much in the habit of using white
paint as we are. It is prodigiously efficacious in putting a bright face
upon a bad matter.
There was one small shop which appeared to have nothing for sale. A
single man and one or two boys were all the inhabitants in view, except
the Yankee sentinels and soldiers, belonging to Massachusetts regiments,
who were scattered about pretty numerously. A guard-house stood on the
slope of the hill; and in the level street at its base were the offices
of the Provost-Marshal and other military authorities, to whom we
forthwith reported ourselves. The Provost-Marshal kindly sent a corporal
to guide us to the little building which John Brown seized upon as his
fortress, and which, after it was stormed by the United States marines,
became his temporary prison. It is an old engine-house, rusty and
shabby, like every other work of man's hands in this God-forsaken town,
and stands fronting upon the river, only a short distance from the bank,
nearly at the point where the pontoon-bridge touches the Virginia shore.
In its front wall, on each side of the door, are two or three ragged
loop-holes, which John Brown perforated for his defence, knocking out
merely a brick or two, so as to give himself and his garrison a sight
over their rifles.
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