Jesse was a slave on the Miller estate, about four miles northwest of Harper's Ferry. Near this plantation was another owned and occupied by John Engle, a pious, God-fearing man, some of whose children are yet alive. As far as we know there are two—Mr. James Engle and his sister, Mrs. Margaret Moler. When these were very young children, their father owned or hired a colored girl to whom our hero, Jesse, desired to pay attentions and with this view, often visited Mr. Engle's house. Mr. Engle, however, positively forbade those visits on account of Jesse's very bad reputation. It was supposed that our hero was deeply offended at this exclusion from the company of his lady-love, and secretly vowed vengeance, although his countenance and general bearing towards the Engle family did not betray his real feeling. One day he visited the house, ostensibly to convey some message from his master. While he was waiting for a return message, Margaret, the five year old daughter of Mr. Engle, who is now the widow of a Mr. John Moler, passed close to him. The negro patted the child and appeared to have a desire to ingratiate himself with her, but the little girl screamed wildly as soon as his hand touched her, and she showed the utmost horror of him. Her screams continued until she got into fits and the greatest difficulty was experienced in restoring her temporarily to her normal condition. But the little one was not the same from that time. Day by day she failed, lost appetite and could not get natural sleep. In a month she was reduced from a hale, hearty and lively child to a mere spiritless skeleton, and hope of her recovery was almost abandoned. At that time regular physicians were not as plentiful as they are now, and old mammies of either color were mostly depended on, especially in cases of ailing children. The Engle family were then, as they are now, among the most respectable in Jefferson county, and, from regard for them as well as for natural sympathy, every mother in the neighborhood and every skillful woman aided in trying to restore the poor child, but in vain. When the little tot was almost exhausted somebody remembered that across the Potomac, in Maple swamp, a place inhabited in a great measure by half-breeds descended from the Indians, lived a certain Mrs. Mullin, whose fame for occult knowledge was wide-spread. Indeed, she was a power even among the professors themselves. To her as a last resort the parents of the child appealed. The benevolent old lady responded at once, and crossed the Potomac on her mission of charity. She took the child on her knee, without the least repugnance on the part of the little girl. What mystic words or rites the old lady used, tradition does not say, but she took from her pocket a pair of scissors and with deliberation clipped the nails from the fingers of the child—from all but one finger—and herein lies the wonder, for the child at once began to improve and, as we have before mentioned, is still alive and hearty at an advanced age, with the full use of all her limbs, except that one finger, the nail of which Mrs. Mullin failed to clip. That finger is crooked and that one alone. It has never been straight since that day, about seventy-five years ago, when Mrs. Mullin, either by accident or design, failed to treat it as she treated its fellows. It never pains her, however, and merely gives a sign of something designed to be a mystery. Mrs. Mullin, as far as we know, never tried to rectify the omission or make any explanation.
THE REMORSEFUL DOG.
About half way between Duffield's and Shenandoah Junction, on the south side of the B. & O. railroad, and very close to it, is to be seen the grave of General Darke, heretofore mentioned as one of the famous men of the Revolution, who once lived in that region which is embraced in the present county of Jefferson, and whose homes were very close to Harper's Ferry. General Darke is the hero of the neighborhood, and many of the best people of Jefferson county, are proud of the kinship to him, which they claim. His personal history would, indeed, read like a romance, but our proposed limits forbid us the pleasure of giving it in detail. We will merely relate one of his adventures and a curious tale told of a dog belonging to him that figured in connection with his master's story. We have but the general's own words to prove the truth of most of the tale, but he was a man of undoubted veracity and, besides, he had no motive for inventing the story. We have heretofore given an account of great sagacity manifested by a dog owned by Colonel Lewis Washington and, as the farms on which the dogs were born are but a short distance apart, it is probable that General Darke's dog was a remote ancestor of that of Colonel Washington, and that the extraordinary intelligence they both displayed was a family trait. The exact period of our legend is unknown, but it probably was a few years after the Revolution.
General Darke then lived near the spot where he now rests from his life's work, surrounded by many of his veterans and relatives, by whom he was much revered. The general, like the great majority of men, was fond of a good dog, and was very jealous of the fame as well as careful of the bodies of his dumb favorites of that species, which he kept around him. One dog was his 'special pet. Tradition does not tell what breed he belonged to or his name, as it does in the case of Colonel Washington's "Bob"—neither does it inform us of his caudal advantages or deficiencies. Indeed, in the case of "Bob" there is no need, yet awhile, to question tradition, for we all, whose hair is gray, knew him, that is all of us who in 1859 were acquainted with the hospitable home of the colonel.
One day one of the general's neighbors complained to him that his—the neighbor's—meat house had frequently of late been robbed and that, having watched many nights for the thief, he had at last got ocular demonstration that the general's favorite dog was the culprit. The general would not deny the fact of the robbery, but he plainly denied the guilt of his dog and, although the complainant was a man of the utmost respectability, the general still stood up for his humble friend. An agreement was finally made that the general himself should watch—which he did and, besides, every night he barricaded the room in which the dog used to sleep, and left the animal not the least chance, as he thought, to leave the house without permission. The master kept listening, too, for any sound from the dog's room that would indicate an effort to escape, and for some nights he heard just enough noise to prove that the dog was in his proper place. One night, however, he thought the stillness unnatural, and his suspicion was aroused. He entered the dog's room and found it vacant. He also found a hole either in the wall of the room or at the foundation, through which it was easy to make a noiseless escape. The general at once started in pursuit and encountered the dog on the way from the neighbor's meat house whither the master's suspicions led him. The dog had a large piece of meat in his mouth, which he at once dropped on recognizing his owner, and then made a hasty retreat out of sight. Of course, the general made all the apologies due from him to his wronged friend, and the trouble between them was forever ended. The dog, however, was never again seen in that neighborhood.
In some years after General Darke had occasion to travel to Ohio. He made the journey on horseback, the only method at that time. One night he took lodging at a lonely inn among the wilds of the Alleghany Mountains. On alighting he noticed several suspicious-looking men lounging around, but the general was a brave man and, besides, he had no choice, so he remained at the house. He kept awake all night, however, but he was not molested. Next morning he started to continue his journey, but he had not advanced far before a very rough-looking man jumped from behind a fence and ordered him to halt. At the same time a dog bounded from the same direction to the road, and at once caught the assailant by the throat and dragged him to the ground, holding on with a death grip to that peculiarly dangerous part of the human anatomy to be seized by. Whether the man was killed or not tradition does not say, but he was rendered hors de combat. The general recognized in the dog his own former pet, but the dog again fled from before the face of his old master, by whom he was never again seen. The general returned to the inn, reported the affair to the landlord and made special inquiries about the dog. All he could learn was that the animal had appeared at the inn a long time before, and that, the family having taken a liking to the stray, it was allowed to remain. The dog was not to be seen at the inn at least, until the general departed finally, nor is it known that he ever did return and, as far as we know, he was never again seen by any of his old acquaintances.
Harper's Ferry has always been noted for the number of ministers of religion it has produced. It would be impossible to name all of them in view of the limit we have set for ourselves. A few, however, whom we ourselves have taught and prepared for learned professions, we feel justified in mentioning. They are Fathers Edward Tearney, James T. O'Farrell and John Bowler, of the Catholic church; the Reverend McFadden brothers—John, Harry and Frank; the Reverend C. B. Price and the Reverend A. S. Yantis—the last five of various Protestant denominations. We are proud of those boys, their genuine piety, their learning and the great good they are reported as doing. No bigots are they who can see no good in anybody that differs from them, but they found their belief and their life-practise on the glorious "Sermon on the Mount" and have a good word for everybody. This is the way to win souls to God, and they have found it.
Various eminent men, not natives of the place, however, have served in the ministry at Harper's Ferry. The Rt. Rev. J. J. Kain, the present Arch-Bishop of St. Louis, and the Rt. Rev. A. Vandevyver, Bishop of Richmond, were formerly priests in charge of the Catholic church there. The venerable Dr. Dutton of the Presbyterian church also served there and was the hero of a remarkable adventure in the great flood of 1870, which we have noted elsewhere. The last mentioned there were held in extraordinary honor. Many believe that the coming great man of the Catholic church in America is Bishop Vandevyver, of Richmond. He is certainly one of God's noblemen.