“The tother tree to which its root had been clingin’ war one o’ them as had falled into the river, takin’ the fox-grape along wi’ it. It war that had gin the pluck I feeled when descendin’ from the neest.
“I looked below. The river had changed its channel. Instead o’ runnin’ twenty yurds from the spot it war surgin’ along clost to the bottom o’ the cyprus. I seed that in another minuit the cyprus itself mout topple over into the stream, an’ be whirled along, or swallowed in the frothin’ water.
“For me to git to the ground was plainly unpossible. I ked only do so by jumpin’ forty foot in the clur, an’ I knew that to do so wud a shivered my ole thigh-bones, tough as they mout be.
“I ked do nothin’ but stay whar I war—nothin’ but wait and watch—listenin’ to the screamin’ o’ the eagles—as skeeart as myself—to the hoarse roarin’ o’ the angry waters, an’ the crashin’ o’ the trees, as one arter another they fell victims to the underminin’ influence o’ the flood.”
I had by this time become fascinated by the narrative, Old Zeb’s thoughts, notwithstanding the patois in which they were expressed, had risen to the sublime; and although he paused for some minutes, I made no attempt to interrupt his reflections, but in silence I waited for him to continue his tale.
“Wal, strenger, what do ye suppose I did next?” was the interrogation with which my ears were soon after saluted.
“Really, I cannot imagine,” I replied, considerably surprised at Old Zeb’s question, abrupt as it was unexpected.
“Wal; ye don’t suppose I kim down from the tree?”
“I don’t see how you could.”
“Neyther did I. I kedn’t an’ I didn’t. I mout as well a tried to git down the purpendikler face o’ the Chicasaw bluff, or the wall o’ Lexin’ton Court-house. I seed I kedn’t make a descent o’ it no how, an’ thurfore I guv it up, an’ stayed whar I war, crosslegs on a branch o’ the tree.