“Phebe,” said Uncle Jesse, early that morning, “I don’t believe you’d best go up to church to-day. I don’t believe there’ll be many women there, for I reckon they all would leave the town last night.”
“And I don’t believe dar’ll be no men, nor no church nuther; fo’ Eldah Jackson bein a Legislatur man, an’ a Radical, ’ll have to streak it, yo’ may be sho; fo’ of co’se de white folks has beat de niggahs, as dey allus does.”
“Well, now, it’s queer; but I never did thought about the Elder last night? For certain they’ll be after him; for there’s a political side to this ’ere fuss. Now you git breakfast just as quick as you can, and I’ll go over and see.”
“I’m afeared to have yo’ go.”
“But somebody ought to see after Elder Jackson.”
“Dat’s so; I wish I could go wid yo’.”
“No, no. Maybe I shall have to escape myself, and it’s a heap easier to escape on horseback, than it would be in a wagon, and two of us.”
“Hadn’t yo’ best git Den Barden to go ’long, Jesse?” asked his wife as he arose from his hasty breakfast.
“No, Phebe, I’m just agoing to leave the Laud Jesus Christ here, to take care of you and the children, and get God Almighty to go ’long with me, and see after me; and I’m going to go without anybody else at all.”
So after reading with much needful moderation, and not without verbal errors, the 69th Psalm, he knelt with his little family upon the cottage floor, and repeated the same sentiments from a full heart.