that jetted into the stream a mile distant. All in an instant a fierce
eye of fire shot out froth behind the cape and sent a long brilliant
pathway quivering athwart the dusky water. The coughing grew louder and
louder, the glaring eye grew larger and still larger, glared wilder and
still wilder. A huge shape developed itself out of the gloom, and from
its tall duplicate horns dense volumes of smoke, starred and spangled
with sparks, poured out and went tumbling away into the farther darkness.
Nearer and nearer the thing came, till its long sides began to glow with
spots of light which mirrored themselves in the river and attended the
monster like a torchlight procession.
“What is it! Oh, what is it, Uncle Dan’l!”
With deep solemnity the answer came:
“It’s de Almighty! Git down on yo’ knees!”
It was not necessary to say it twice. They were all kneeling, in a
moment. And then while the mysterious coughing rose stronger and
stronger and the threatening glare reached farther and wider, the negro’s
voice lifted up its supplications:
“O Lord’, we’s ben mighty wicked, an’ we knows dat we ‘zerve to go to de
bad place, but good Lord, deah Lord, we ain’t ready yit, we ain’t ready–
let dese po’ chilen hab one mo’ chance, jes’ one mo’ chance. Take de ole
niggah if you’s, got to hab somebody.–Good Lord, good deah Lord, we
don’t know whah you’s a gwyne to, we don’t know who you’s got yo’ eye on,
but we knows by de way you’s a comin’, we knows by de way you’s a tiltin’
along in yo’ charyot o’ fiah dat some po’ sinner’s a gwyne to ketch it.
But good Lord, dose chilen don’t b’long heah, dey’s f’m Obedstown whah
dey don’t know nuffin, an’ you knows, yo’ own sef, dat dey ain’t
‘sponsible. An’ deah Lord, good Lord, it ain’t like yo’ mercy, it ain’t
like yo’ pity, it ain’t like yo’ long-sufferin’ lovin’ kindness for to
take dis kind o’ ‘vantage o’ sick little chil’en as dose is when dey’s so
many ornery grown folks chuck full o’ cussedness dat wants roastin’ down
dah. Oh, Lord, spah de little chil’en, don’t tar de little chil’en away
f’m dey frens, jes’ let ’em off jes’ dis once, and take it out’n de ole
nibgah. HEAH I IS, LORD, HEAH I IS! De ole niggah’s ready, Lord,
de ole—-”
The flaming and churning steamer was right abreast the party, and not
twenty steps away. The awful thunder of a mud-valve suddenly burst
forth, drowning the prayer, and as suddenly Uncle Dan’l snatched a child
under each arm and scoured into the woods with the rest of the pack at
his heels. And then, ashamed of himself, he halted in the deep darkness
and shouted, (but rather feebly:)
“Heah I is, Lord, heah I is!”
There was a moment of throbbing suspense, and then, to the surprise and
the comfort of the party, it was plain that the august presence had gone
by, for its dreadful noises were receding. Uncle Dan’l headed a cautious
reconnaissance in the direction of the log. Sure enough “the Lord” was
just turning a point a short distance up the river, and while they looked
the lights winked out and the coughing diminished by degrees and
presently ceased altogether.
“H’wsh! Well now dey’s some folks says dey ain’t no ‘ficiency in prah.
Dis Chile would like to know whah we’d a ben now if it warn’t fo’ dat
prah? Dat’s it. Dat’s it!”
“Uncle Dan’l, do you reckon it was the prayer that saved us?” said Clay.
“Does I reckon? Don’t I know it! Whah was yo’ eyes? Warn’t de Lord
jes’ a cumin’ chow! chow! CHOW! an’ a goin’ on turrible–an’ do de
Lord carry on dat way ‘dout dey’s sumfin don’t suit him? An’ warn’t he a
lookin’ right at dis gang heah, an’ warn’t he jes’ a reachin’ for ’em?
An’ d’you spec’ he gwyne to let ’em off ‘dout somebody ast him to do it?
No indeedy!”
“Do you reckon he saw, us, Uncle Dan’l?
“De law sakes, Chile, didn’t I see him a lookin’ at us?”.