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 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?”.

“Did you feel scared, Uncle Dan’l?”

“No sah!  When a man is ‘gaged in prah, he ain’t fraid o’ nuffin—­dey can’t nuffin tetch him.”

“Well what did you run for?”

“Well, I—­I—­mars Clay, when a man is under de influence ob de sperit, he do-no, what he’s ’bout—­no sah; dat man do-no what he’s ’bout.  You mout take an’ tah de head off’n dat man an’ he wouldn’t scasely fine it out.  Date’s de Hebrew chil’en dat went frough de fiah; dey was burnt considable—­ob coase dey was; but dey didn’t know nuffin ’bout it—­heal right up agin; if dey’d ben gals dey’d missed dey long haah, (hair,) maybe, but dey wouldn’t felt de burn.”