WHEN I WAS STILL young–Chynna and Bryee-Annon were yet to be the proverbial old twinkles in the eye, and the other children just toddlers-- we went up and down the eastern coast of the United States every summer. We’re from Florida, but Dennis has always had a huge family in Massachusetts, so we traveled that path constantly. My children will remember those drives along the coast all of their lives.
Now, anyone who has been up and down I-95 knows that sometimes, you must veer off. We first found the Shenandoah Valley and the Blueridge. On one trip, we had wound up in Pennsylvania–completely unable to book lodging. It turned out that we had stumbled into Gettysburg on the eve of the battle re-enactment. We spent the night in our old Volvo, naturally, in the best parking lot we could find. That was the Sheraton parking lot. They had the best bathrooms for us to sneak into the next morning to clean up. And they were sympathetic to the fact that there simply were no rooms at any of the old inns.
Then we saw a re-enactment, a bit of history more stunning than any book could ever portray. And we prowled the campsites and met the people who were still keeping history alive. From that moment on, we were hooked. We started following the Civil War trail.
And we discovered Harpers Ferry for the first time.
There’s a wonderful old hotel high on a hill in Harpers Ferry, and when you go down the hill, you’re pretty much so imbedded in history. Nowadays, the National Park Service owns many of the buildings on the quaint street that leads to the center of the park, but many are still privately owned. Then, a gentleman owned the hotel, which has since been sold (but still retains so much charm.) He told us stories, played pool with my little sons, and told us about Harpers Ferry.
And her old buildings.
Just about all are haunted.
Naturally.
From the night we met the gentleman who owned the hotel, we were smitten. On the Civil War trail–and on the ghost trail. This man sent us down to see Shirley.
The town, certainly, is a place that lends itself to spirits. (Both kinds–a lot of moonshining went on in the area!)
The little firehouse from which John Brown staged his immortal raid is in the National Park. During the Civil War, Harpers Ferry changed hands constantly. The old structures are haunted by both Union and Confederate forces.
If you haven’t been, you should go.
It is one of those places that just has an aura, a feel. The stores are charming, the National Park personnel work very hard, and, hopefully, Shirley--or one of her children or grandchildren-- is still leading the “Myths and Legends” tour.
Shirley was wonderful. I’m not sure how old she was the first time I saw her; as I said, I was very young then, so old in my mind was certainly relative. She was a grandmother then, so I’ll leave it at that. For her tours, she wore in simple period dress, nothing fancy, just a long skirt and appropriate blouse. She carried a lantern. She knew her stories like the back of her hand. In all my many years of ghost tours since, with many a great guide, I have yet to meet anyone who could tell a story and enchant a crowd quite like Shirley.
To begin with, Harpers Ferry is beautiful. Here, the Potomac River meets the Shenandoah and the mountains rise around the juncture. Virginia, West Virginia, and Maryland meet. There’s an Indian legend about the rivers; they were formed from the tears of a maiden who had lost her brave, and so, in the mist, she still haunts the rivers. When the fog comes sweeping in and the son falls, its very easy to believe in legends.
One of my favorite stories has to do with the two churches. Up on the hill, there was an Episcopal church, and a Catholic church. Confederate General Robert E. Lee needed to take Harpers Ferry; there was the arsenal, for one, and the strategic location for another. From Harpers Ferry, Lee would move on to the Battle of Antietam, or Sharpsburg–the bloodiest battle of the Civil War. In all, fifty-thousand men would perish in a single day. But before the tragedies of Antietam and Gettysburg could take place, there was fierce fighting in Harpers Ferry. Canon balls flew.
The reverend at the Episcopal Church was an Englishman. And as he watched the canon balls fly, he came up with a brilliant idea. He hoisted the English flag.
The troop leaders, seeing the English flag, ceased to fire near the church, not wanting to cause an International incident. His church was spared. The other was not.
To this day, the good reverend is occasionally seen walking the path to his church. Tourists have met him, and asked for information, which he gives, before disappearing into the walls of the church. Legend has it that he has remained all these years, protecting his church, and his flock. The fine gentleman is definitely a good ghost.
John Brown was hanged in Jefferson County, and became a martyr. Now, his intentions may have been good, but the man had murdered many people–against the law–in his pursuit of his good intentions. This was 1859. Two of the people called upon to put down John Brown’s rebellion would latter surface heavily in history; the Federal government sent out Colonel Robert E. Lee to head the marines who would end the skirmish. With him–then also a Federal officer–was Jeb Stuart, soon to be famed for his cavalry skill and dash on the Confederate side of the great divide as well.
John Brown lost a son in the battle, was injured himself, and arrested. He was condemned to death and hanged in December of 1859. He had hoped to free the slaves in Harpers Ferry and with them, create a rebellion that would force change. An abolitionist, his intention of making all men equal was certainly admirable. But, again, in his pursuit of his ideal, he committed cold blooded murder. Ironically, the first man killed at Harpers Ferry was a free black man. He is known to still haunt the alley where he died.
But one haunt has been most curious. Visitors to the National Park are often intrigued by a gentleman with a frockcoat and a dark beard. They naturally assume he is one of the park service’s guides; he’s so knowledgeable and always an excellent actor, telling the story of the raid with passion and indignation. Visitors ask him to be in pictures with them.
Many of those visitors have sent their pictures to the government. The John Brown look-a-like happily poses.
He never appears in the pictures once the film has been developed. So . . . is John Brown haunting the misted valley where he made his last stand? When the light of day dims and the fog begins to swirl, it certainly seems possible.
There’s another little twist to the John Brown story.
Years later, another John Brown lived in Harpers Ferry. He was a man convinced that he would come back to life after death. To that end, he arranged for a glass-domed, vertical coffin, so that he could literally stand in his grave with his head, encased in glass, above the ground. He paid a young fellow to watch over him for several days after his death, to guard him, until he came back to life.
He didn’t come back to the life.
And the young man ceased to watch over him.
In time, the glass broke.
In time, the head disconnected from the body.
Children and teens, traversing the graveyard to and from home, were known to play kick ball with the head.
It became known that “John Brown’s” head was bouncing around Harpers Ferry. An official tried to return it to the widow, who insisted that John Brown’s head was with his body, in Elvira, New York.
Finally, to the best of known legend, the head was returned to the body of the right John Brown.
Another story centers around a young Rebel drummer boy. He was captured by the Union soldiers–who loved him. But it was war, and when he was imprisoned on the main street, they couldn’t help but taunt and tease the boy. He was so young that they could literally throw him back and forth. They did so, while teasing him. He was so young as well that, when tormented, he would cry for his mother.
They usually ceased, only to tease him again on another day.
Still tossing him back and forth.
One day, a Union soldier missed.
The little drummer boy went right out the window, and fell to his death.
Naturally, on a dark night, you can still hear him on the street, futilely calling to his mother for help.
“Screaming” Jenny was hit by a train.
You can still hear her scream.
If you’re ever able, go to Harpers Ferry. There is so much more there than I have written here.
And if you’re into ghosts, you have to take the tour. A friend just told me that she looked it up. Shirley’s family and friends are still giving the tours.
I’m sure she taught them, and that she taught them well–and that she’s still supervising!
Oh, a little footnote.
The first night, we met Shirley weaving her tales of truth and legend.
The next morning, we met her again–she was saying the Rosary when we attended service at the Catholic church.
I will never forget the privilege of getting to know her!
© Heather Graham 2006
