262 A MIGHTY RUSH OF MELODY. in yer room, he went to de war, an' was shot in ole Car❜lina, an' buried wid his sojers. Miss Lucy an' little Courty bof done died when de war begin, an' dey was buried in Liberty Hill. De ole place is all done broke up, an' de colored folks go jes' whar dey please no passes now. no passes now. Oh, de Lor' He do jes' right, if you only gib Him time enough to turn Hisself." The meeting commenced by the singing of a hymn. It was a song and chorus. The leader, a good singer, stood in the centre of the room, and sang alone the first two lines: "I see de angels beck'nin'-I hear dem call me 'way, I see de golden city, an' de eberlastin' day!" And then the whole congregation rose to their feet, and with a mighty rush of melody, and an astonishing enthusiasm, joined in the inspiring chorus: "Oh, I'm gwine home to glory - won't yer go along wid me, Whar de blessed angels beckon, an' de Lor' my Saviour be?" The leader was a good improvisatore as well as singer, and long after the stock of ready-made verses was exhausted, he went on and on, adding impromptu and rough rhymes, and the congregation came in, promptly and with ever-rising enthusiasm, with the oft-repeated chorus. All sang with closed eyes, thus shutting out all external impressions, and abandoned themselves to the ecstasy of the hour. The leader gesticulated violently, swinging his arms around his head, uplifting his hands, and clasping them tightly and pointing into space; while his companions swayed slowly to and fro, beating time to the music with their feet. At last the swaying became wild and dizzy gyra SCENE OF WILD EXCITEMENT. 265 tions, which were interspersed with quick, convulsive leaps from the floor. Accompanying all this was a general hand-shaking, in which we white people were included. One powerful Maryland woman nearly toppled me from the elevated and precarious seat which I had selected, the better to look down on the congregation, so fervent was her hand-clasping. All of us were glad when this exercise was ended, for our hands ached. After this followed a prayer. Never have I heard a prayer of more pathos and earnestness. It appealed to God, as Infinite Justice, and with confidence that the wrongs of the slave would be redressed. "You know, O Lor' King," said the kneeling supplicant, "how many a time we've been hongry, and had noffin to eat,- how we've worked all day and night in de cotton and 'bacca fields, and had no time to sleep and take care of our chillen, and how we've bin kep' out in de frost and de snow, and suffered many persecutions. But now, O King, you've brought us up hyar under de shadder o' de Linkum army, and we 'pend on Thee for de rest. We're gwine to wait for Thee, O King, to show us de way." With the utmost fervor he prayed for the Union army that "the Lor' would smother its enemies," and for "Massa Linkum, who was doing de good Lor's will." And to both these petitions the whole audience added a tempest of supplicatory responses. Finally, after specifying every distressed class of which they had any knowledge, they begged the Lord to "pardon the damned out o' hell, if so be de good Lor' could do it." During this prayer a dozen of half-grown mulatto 266 "BRESS MY POOR JIM!" boys had entered the rear of the room, who were not imbued with the seriousness of the great congregation. After a few moments they became uneasy, and began to frolic. Once or twice one of the number made some comment to his companions, in an audible tone of voice, and several times they broke down in a suppressed giggle. They were remembered by a venerable negro who prayed next, in this ingenuous fashion: "O Lor', bress us all poor sinners. Bress dese yer boys, O Lor'; dey'se got so many blessin's, dey dunno what to do wid 'em; dey'se like de hogs under de 'simmons trees, eating 'simmons,-dey dunno whar dey come from. O Lor', bress us all poor sinners, an' bress my poor Jim," who now laughed outright "'case he's a berry bad boy, Lor'; he's a badder boy dan you know for; he swars; he swars more dan you know about; he swars more in de tent dan he does outdoors. Now, Lor', bress us all, an' stan' by me, an' I'll stan' by you, sartin." A prolonged exhortation followed this prayer. It was mainly devoted to the case of one of their number who had died two nights before, who was a notorious thief, and who, the speaker unhesitatingly declared, "was in hell." "An' now, chillen, whar Wednesday night, the hour at which you 'spect uncle Jim done gone? chillen, at half past ten o'clock," the man died, — “uncle Jim done gone to hell. Now he roll about on de red-hot sheet-iron floor thar, an' he clim' up de red-hot walls, an' fall back agin”— and so on. I confess I felt quite reconciled to uncle Jim's unpleasant predicament, in consideration of their prayer that God would pardon the damned. Other scenes, speeches, and prayers followed, but |