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' sich little chil'en as dese is, when dey's so many grown folks chuck full o' cussedness dat wants roastin' down dah. 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 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 reconnoissance 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-comin' chow! chow chow! an' a-goin' on tumble; 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 gwine to let 'em off 'dout somebody ast him to do it? No, indeedy'"
