'“Why didn't ye run?” somebody asked the victor.
'“Didn't dast,” said he. “Run once when he tackled me an I've been lame ever since.”
“How did ye manage to lick him?” said the other.
'“Wall,” said he, “I hed to, an' I done it easy.”
'That's the way it goes,' said the immortal president, 'ye do it easy if ye have to.
He reminded me in and out of Horace Greeley, although they looked no more alike than a hawk and a handsaw. But they had a like habit of forgetting themselves and of saying neither more nor less than they meant. They both had the strength of an ox and as little vanity. Mr Greeley used to say that no man could amount to anything who worried much about the fit of his trousers; neither of them ever encountered that obstacle.
Early next morning I took a train for home. I was in soldier clothes I had with me, no others—and all in my car came to talk with me about the now famous battle of Bull Run.
The big platform at Jersey City was crowded with many people as we got off the train. There were other returning soldiers—some with crutches, some with empty sleeves.
A band at the further end of the platform was playing and those near me were singing the familiar music,
'John Brown's body lies a mouldering in the grave.