Madison's aged head whitened by eighty-two winters was lifted erect upon his broad shoulders; and a mild August breeze coming in from the lake and gently circling around the little cove, bore upon its wings his sweetly modulated thanks 'to the Almighty God for his many mercies.'
For a while we sat silent in deep thought, and then he said, "Let's go now, Mr. Jamison. I feels secure that Mr. Jack Felden and his wife down thar under the sand and water, will sleep undisturbed."
I rowed out of the cove, the old negro keeping his sad eyes riveted upon the fatal rock. We turned the point which hid it from the lake; he seized an oar and working manfully, uttered not a word until we drew up under the village.
The mental and bodily strain, however, had been too much for the old man. I was compelled to call for aid to support his tottering steps to our room. He staggered and fell upon his bed; his massive form gave way, like a glass shattered by a blow.
His mind and speech remained unimpaired. He positively refused to have a physician called, declaring if it was the Lord's will he should go, he would obey the will of the Lord. He lay for several days without a murmur or a complaint. One night I was awakened by a deep groan; hurrying to his bedside, a single glance told me his end was nearly come. For several hours he lay in a dull stupor, his labored breathing alone showing that life was still in his breast. His breathing grew fainter and fainter, until just as the rising sun poured through the window, it seemed to die away. I hastened to his side to close the tired faithful eyes in their last long sleep, when the wan lips opened to whisper, "Good-bye Mr. Jamison, good-bye"! and then as if by mere will power he sat erect on his bed and cried in a loud voice "Bress de Lord! I see Mars John! Diner! Jim's gwine home;" and then he died.
Two Finns, fresh immigrants in the land, rowed me with the body to the cove. There on the shore in a spot shadowed at evening by the Big Rock we buried him. The sun hovering above the whispering maples lighted the last sad rites to the end. The waves from the lake stealing into the cove in mild ripples, sang with mysterious cadence a sweet, loving requiem. The dying day, the whispering breeze, the sighing wavelets and the solitude seemed to my over-wrought senses to promise a fulfillment of the negro's prophecy; that the sleepers below would rest undisturbed until summoned on the last and final call; that until then "The Big Rock would keep its sad secret."
In giving this story to the world, I feel guiltless of violating any pledge of secrecy. There is nothing in the names mentioned to enable any one to probe the mystery of John ——. The terrible events of the war about his old home, scattered its residents, and to-day the places that knew them know them no more.
A RACE WITH THE SUN.
Round the World in Sixteen Months