Why is you trying to
make dis ole world better? I spits on the world! Come out from it. Seek
Jesus. Heaven is my home! Is it yo's?" "Yes," groaned the multitude. His
arm shot out and he pointed straight at Zora.
"Beware the ebil one!" he shouted, and the multitude moaned. "Beware of
dem dat calls ebil good. Beware of dem dat worships debbils; the debbils
dat crawl; de debbils what forgits God."
"Help him, Lord!" cried the multitude.
Zora stepped into the circle of light. A hush fell on the throng; the
preacher paused a moment, then started boldly forward with upraised
hands. Then a curious thing happened. A sharp cry arose far off down
toward the swamp and the sound of great footsteps coming, coming as from
the end of the world; there swelled a rhythmical chanting, wilder and
more primitive than song. On, on it came, until it swung into sight. An
old man led the band--tall, massive, with tufted gray hair and wrinkled
leathery skin, and his eyes were the eyes of death. He reached the
circle of light, and Zora started: once before she had seen that old
man. The singing stopped but he came straight on till he reached Zora's
side and then he whirled and spoke.
The words leaped and flew from his lips as he lashed the throng with
bitter fury. He said what Zora wanted to say with two great differences:
first, he spoke their religious language and spoke it with absolute
confidence and authority; and secondly, he seemed to know each one there
personally and intimately so that he spoke to no inchoate throng--he
spoke to them individually, and they listened awestruck and fearsome.
Pages:
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399