hat ever this should be!
And the strong man wept, as wept had he never till that sad day.

"O Mars'er Bushie!" cried Burl, in a firm, even comforting voice, "don't
you cry for yo' pore ol' nigger. 'T won't be long 'fore he'll be turnin'
up all right in de kingdom. Soon or late, we mus' all come to de end uf
our journey; an' dis arter all's but a short cut to glory. Ef you eber
slips de clutches uf dese wretches, Mars'er Bushie, an' libes to git
back home, tell eb'rybody good-by fur me. Tell Miss Jemimy her ol'
nigger never forgot, de longes' day he eber libed, how much she wanted
to give him his freedom. An' tell Sinar, my wife, how her ol' man tried
to die like a Chrischun gwine to glory. An' tell her, too, when de time
will come fur her to cross de Jordan water she'll fin' her ol' man
waitin' to meet her on de odder side, wid a cabin snug an' ready, all
happy an' safe in de promis' lan'."

Here, as if the closing words had suggested it to his mind, the poor old
fellow lifted up his powerful and melodious voice and began singing a
simple negro hymn, which, with a plaintive melody, had for its burden
the following words:

An' I hope to gain de promis' lan',
Halle--halleluyah!
An' I hope to gain de promis' lan',
Yes, I do!
Glory, glory, halle--halleluyah!
Glory, glory! Yes, I do!

The death-pile kindled, the smoke of its burning in dense black volumes
enveloped the victim. Linked in a horrible circle around it, whooping
and yelling and singing their war-songs, leaping and whirling and
dancing their war-dance, clashing together their hatchets and war-clubs,
waving above them the scalps of their foemen, went the barbarians merry
as demons. And strong and clear, with never a quaver, still was heard
above the confusion the hymning voice of the smoke-hid victim. But
louder and higher than all, it is coming, ringing from far like the
blast of a trumpet--a voice so stern, abrupt, and imperious that
forthwith ceases the fiendish fandango. Up dashes a warrior mounted on
horseback, leaps to the ground, and now at the death-pile seizes the
fagots and scatters them broadcast, stamping upon them with moccasined
feet to smother the flames till all is extinguished.

The savages--erst so active and lively--taken aback at his sudden
appearance, now stood sullenly huddled together, somewhat apart in the
gloom of the dingle. The fire extinguished, the chieftain--for such his
dress and bearing bespoke him--wrat