My marster an' me was boff members of it, but he loved
money bad, an' I was to be free when I got to be twenty-five years ole,
accordin' to de will of his Quaker fader, dat left me to him. Las'
Sunday night dey had a long class-meetin' dar, an' when nobody was leff
in de church but my marster an' me, he says to me, 'Rodney, le's you an'
me have one more prayer togedder befo' you put out dat las' lamp. You
pray, Rodney!' I knelt an' prayed for marster after I must leave him to
be free next year, an', while I was prayin' loud, people crept in de
church an' tied me, and marster was gone."
"He sold you fur life to them kidnappers, boy, becaze you was goin' to
be free next year. Don't your Bible tell you to watch _an'_ pray?"
"Yes, marster."
"Well, then, boys, it's all watch to-night and no more praying," cried
Jimmy Phoebus, cheerily. "Here are four men, loving liberty, bound to
have it or die. Thar's one of' em with a knife, an' the first kidnapper
that crosses that sill, man or woman--fur we'll trust no more women,
Samson--gits the knife to the hilt! The blessed light that shone onto
Calvary an' Bunker Hill is a gleamin' on the blade. Work off your irons,
if you kin; I'll git you rafters outen this roof to jab with if you
can't do no better. Are you all with me?"
"I am, Jimmy," answered Samson, quietly.
"I'll die with ye, too," exclaimed the praying man, with rekindled
spirit.
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