The Gilded Age | Page 8

(at least in
simplicity and broad and comprehensive ignorance,) and the remarks
they made about the river were in keeping with the character; and so
awed were they by the grandeur and the solemnity of the scene before
then, and by their belief that the air was filled with invisible spirits and
that the faint zephyrs were caused by their passing wings, that all their
talk took to itself a tinge of the supernatural, and their voices were
subdued to a low and reverent tone. Suddenly Uncle Dan'l exclaimed:
"Chil'en, dah's sum fin a comin!"
All crowded close together and every heart beat faster.
Uncle Dan'l pointed down the river with his bony finger.
A deep coughing sound troubled the stillness, way toward a wooded
cape 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 niggah. 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