"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."
"Much you know about it! Hark,—they're at it again"; and again the voices and break of oars came through the night:—
"O march, de angel march! O march, de angel march!
O my soul arise in heaven, Lord, for to yearde when Jordan roll!
Roll Jordan, roll Jordan, roll Jordan, roll."
"Well, I confess that's a little bit above my comprehension,—that is. Spiritual or something else. Lazy vermin! they'll paddle round in them boats, or lie about in the sun, and hoot all day and all night about 'de good Lord' and 'de day ob jubilee,'—and think God Almighty is going to interfere in their special behalf, and do big things for them generally."
"It's a fact; they do all seem to be waiting for something."
"Well, I reckon they needn't wait any longer. The day of miracles is gone by, for such as them, anyway. They ain't worth the salt that feeds them, so far as I can discover."
Through the wash of the waters they could hear from the voices, as they sang, that their possessors were evidently drawing nearer.