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strokes of lightning
strokes of lightning
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seems to me that the Homeric question is one that is reserved for a
higher criticism than it has often obtained. We are not by nature intended
to know all things; still less, to compass the powers by which the
greatest blessings of life have been placed at our disposal. Were faith no
virtue, then we might indeed wonder why God willed our ignorance on any
matter. But we are too well taught the contrary lesson; and it seems as
though our faith should be especially tried touching the men and the
e
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den! Dad blame it, why doan' he _talk_ like a man? You answer
me _dat_!”
I see it warn't no use wasting words--you can't learn a nigger to argue.
So I quit.
CHAPTER XV.
WE judged that three nights more would fetch us to Cairo, at the bottom
of Illinois, where the Ohio River comes in, and that was what we was
after. We would sell the raft and get on a steamboat and go way up the
Ohio amongst the free States, and then be out of trouble.
Well, the second night a fog begun to come on, and we made for a towhead
to tie to, for it wouldn't do to try to run in a fog; but when I paddled
ahead in the canoe, with the line to make fast, there warn't anything
but little saplings to tie to. I passed the line around one of them
right on the edge of the cut bank, but there was a stiff current, and
the raft come booming down so lively she tore it out by the roots and
away she went. I see the fog closing down, and it made me so sick and
scared I couldn't budge for most a half a minute it seemed to me--and
then there warn't no raft in sight; you couldn't see twenty yards. I
jumped into the canoe and run back to the stern, and grabbed the paddle
and set her back a stroke. But she didn't come. I was in such a hurry
I hadn't untied her. I got up and tried to untie her, but I was so
excited my hands shook so I couldn't hardly do anything with them.
As soon as I got started I took out after the raft, hot and heavy, right
down the towhead. That was all right as far as it went, but the towhead
warn't sixty yards long, and the minute I flew by the foot of it I shot
out into the solid white fog, and hadn't no more idea which way I was
going than a dead man.
Thinks I, it won't do to paddle; first I know I'll run into the bank
or a towhead or something; I got to set still and float, and yet it's
mighty fidgety business to have to hold your hands still at such a time.
I whooped and listened. Away down there somewheres I hears a small
whoop, and up comes my spirits. I went t