Next to Alexandria, Shepherdstown is perhaps the oldest important settlement in the Potomac valley. It is one of the few old towns in the country that has not been defaced by too much present day progress. Shepherdstown has always been a substantial prosperous place and does not affect the gewgaws of the new rich municipality. In some respects it resembles Concord, Massachusetts. Its streets have many features in common with the thoroughfares of the old-time New England towns. In many of the residences are preserved some of the most striking characteristics of chaste colonial architecture.

It was a restful place to spend Sunday and in the evening we joined the villagers in a stroll through the shady streets and out on the bluff overlooking the Potomac. Here on the edge of the cliffs on a natural base of limestone rock is an imposing shaft lately erected to the memory of James Rumsey, Shepherdstown pioneer and inventor of the steamboat. Rumsey, you know, was the Langley of steam navigation. While Prof. Langley originated the idea of the heavier than air system of aeronautic transportation, his aeroplane, upon which experiments were made on this same Potomac river, was not perfected to the point of standing the practical test. Two bicycle mechanics in Dayton, Ohio, were destined to make a crowning achievement where the scientist had failed. Posterity will demand that the Wright brothers share their fame with Langley.

Although Robert Fulton is popularly credited with the invention of the steamboat, he only perfected the work which was started by Rumsey in the waters of the Potomac at Shepherdstown in September, 1784. In the presence of George Washington a boat which ascended the stream by mechanical appliances was exhibited by Rumsey 23 years before Fulton's Clermont made its memorable voyage on the Hudson.

The house in which Rumsey lived is one of the historic landmarks of Shepherdstown. The inventor went to Europe and built a new boat which made a successful trip on the Thames in December, 1792. A few weeks later sudden death in the very prime of life cut short Rumsey's career.

In the Civil War Shepherdstown endured the agony but shared little of the glory of battle. It is about eight miles north of Harper's Ferry and less than four miles west of Antietam. Skirmishes took place here early in the war and in September, 1862, it saw Stonewall Jackson's famous foot cavalry sprint through this corner of Jefferson county in his encircling movement for the capture of Harper's Ferry. A week later echoes of the guns engaged in the bloody work at Antietam reverberated against the hills around Shepherdstown and on the afternoon of that 17th day of September hundreds of mutilated men were carried into the village and committed to the care of the townspeople.

The wounded were Confederate soldiers and from the majority of homes in Shepherdstown had gone fathers, sons, brothers to fight under Lee or Jackson. Marie Blunt, one of the heroic women who assisted caring for the wounded, in describing that melancholy day, said:

"We went about our work with pale faces and trembling hands, yet trying to appear composed for the sake of our patients, who were much excited. We could hear the incessant explosions of artillery, the shrieking whistling of the shells, and the sharper, deadlier, more thrilling roll of musketry: while every now and then the echo of some charging cheer would come, borne by the wind, and as the human voice pierced that demoniacal clangor we would catch our breath and listen, and try not to sob, and turn back to forlorn hospitals, to the suffering at our feet and before our eyes, while imagination fainted at the thought of those other scenes hidden from us beyond the Potomac.

"On our side of the river there were noise, confusion, dust; throngs of stragglers; horsemen galloping about; wagons blocking each other, and teamsters wrangling; and a continued din of shouting, swearing and rumbling, in the midst of which men were dying, fresh wounded arriving, surgeons amputating limbs and dressing wounds, women going in and out with bandages, lint, medicines, food. An everpresent sense of anguish, dread, pity, and, I fear, hatred—these are my recollections of Antietam."

A walk through the town and the national cemetery brought us to the Hagerstown pike which parallels the battle lines on the northern half of the field. Threatening weather called for haste and I was obliged to forego the pleasure of a ramble to familiar scenes around the picturesque Burnside bridge which I had photographed 11 years before. We were interested in two parts of the field—the line of Anderson's Confederate division and the position occupied by Hooker on the Union right. In locating the former we soon found ourselves in Piper's lane and walked down to the gray stone barn which stands as solid today as on that Wednesday afternoon when Hill and Sumner struggled for the mastery of this blood-drenched farmstead.

Less than a mile beyond is the little whitewashed Dunker church which marks the key to Stonewall Jackson's position. It stands in the woods at the west side of the Hagerstown pike at the intersection of the Smoketown road. On the east side of the pike was the famous cornfield where the Union soldiers under Hooker and Mansfield engaged in deadly combat with Jackson's men. In an area covering a few acres the losses on both sides in less than four hours' fighting on the morning of September 17th probably exceeded 5,000 killed and wounded.

All the important positions occupied by the troops on both sides have been marked by tablets erected by the Federal government and many memorials have been placed by the various states. One of the most interesting monuments is that of the State of Maryland to her sons—Union and Confederate—who perished at Antietam. It stands on a knoll a short distance east of the pike opposite the Dunker church.

At 11 o'clock on Tuesday morning, July 25, our motor having been pronounced "cured," we slipped "Sometub's" moorings and after adieus to hospitable friends in Shepherdstown, started on the second half of our journey. A mile and a half below the town we passed the ford over which Lee's army retreated from Antietam and saw the cliff where the Corn Exchange regiment came to grief in its pursuit of the Confederates. A little farther on we noted what we supposed was the site of Camp McAuley where the One Hundred and Fifty-fifth Pennsylvania regiment from Pittsburgh spent many a chilly bivouac in the autumn of 1862.

The scenery on the canal between Shepherdstown and Harper's Ferry is not rivaled anywhere in the country for its variety, abounding in pastoral beauty, historic interest and sublime grandeur. Our motor, being on its good behavior, the trip was uneventful. Across the river among the trees we descried the little hamlet of Falling Waters where occurred one of the first conflicts of the Civil War. We glided over Antietam creek through a picturesque aqueduct and continued for miles on through the trees at the base of the lofty cliffs of Maryland Heights.

After several stops to catch the pictures that presented themselves at every turn, we reached the lock opposite Harper's Ferry about 4 o'clock in the afternoon. We threw "Sometub's" line to a picket fence beside the canal and hastened across to the town to call at the postoffice to receive an accumulation of 10 days' mail that had been forwarded from point to point all the way from Hancock.

This is a late day to describe Harper's Ferry. Thomas Jefferson more than 100 years ago wrote a description of the place and stole the thunder from his successors for all time to come. In October, 1859, old John Brown in a different manner gave fresh fame to the locality, and on a gallows over the hills at Charles Town paid the penalty with his life. Harper's Ferry got into the headlines soon after Fort Sumter was fired upon and kept in the limelight till the very close of the war. Since that time the Baltimore and Ohio railroad has appropriated the old town, mountains, rivers, scenery, historic associations and all and has overlooked no opportunity to exploit its beauty and its traditions.

We had expected to have a veritable field day here with our camera, but when we came from the postoffice clouds rolled down from the mountains like great avalanches of snowy feathers, the village grew misty and rain began to fall. With no immediate prospect of clear weather we decided to continue our voyage. It would be heresy, however, not to present a picture of Harper's Ferry, and we are indebted to Mr. J. Hampton Baumgartner, of the Baltimore and Ohio railroad, for the one presented here. The railroad has acted the pious antiquarian in preserving this historic shrine and the fame of the sacred spot is perpetuated largely through the services of this corporation. Railroads more frequently are ruthless vandals in their treatment of historic landmarks, but not so with the Baltimore and Ohio. This portion of the railroad is itself a talisman of history worthy of every patriotic American's interest and study.

Rain was falling in torrents when we unleashed "Sometub" from the picket fence and started through the lock. By the time the one-armed locktender had opened the gates and we chugged out under the Baltimore and Ohio bridge at the entrance of the Maryland Heights tunnel the storm had grown to the proportions of a cloudburst. We found ourselves in a canyon of concrete with a sharp curve ahead. It was a perilous place to meet a canal boat and we continued on through the blinding storm. At the end of the canyon we moored to the towpath bank for a time, but with darkness approaching and the rain continuing unabated, we resolved to resume the voyage.

At dusk we reached Brunswick. Everything above board on the boat, including ourselves was drenched. Scrambling out on the towpath I waded through the mud to inquire of the locktender for a place to tie up. Despite the rain, we had decided to spend the night on "Sometub." We had become so attached to the little craft by this time that it seemed like ingratitude to go to a comfortable hotel and leave it out there in the storm and the night.

But this was not to be.