And I mean to say to any such from
henceforth, 'Here's your chance,--go in, and win, if you can,--and
anybody be damn'd that stops you!'"
"Blow away, Jim," laughed the Captain, "I like to hear you; and it's
good talk if you don't mean it."
"I'll be blamed if I don't."
"Come, you're talking now,--you're saying a lot more than you'll live up
to,--you know that as well as I. People always do when they're gassing."
"Well, blow or no blow, it's truth, whether I live up to it or not." And
he, evidently with not all the steam worked off, began to gather sticks
and build a fire to fry his bit of pork and warm the cold coffee.
Just then they heard the plash of oars keeping time to the cadence of a
plantation hymn, which came floating solemn and clear through the
night:--
"My brudder sittin' on de tree ob life,
An' he yearde when Jordan roll.
Roll Jordan, roll Jordan, roll Jordan, roll,
Roll Jordan, roll!"
They both paused to listen as the refrain was again and again repeated.
"There's nigger for you," broke out Jim, "what'n thunder'd they mean by
such gibberish as that?"
The Captain laughed. "Come, Given, don't quarrel with what's above your
comprehension. Doubtless there's a spiritual meaning hidden away
somewhere, which your unsanctified ears can't interpret."
"Spiritual fiddlestick!"
"Worse and worse! what a heathen you're demonstrating yourself! Violins
are no part of the heavenly chorus.
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