Thereupon he shouted lustily for help. He continued his unavailing cries for some minutes, and then sank back to his seat.
“Parson,” he said, as if by a sudden thought, “Parson, kin you pray?”
“I’ve been praying all along, Eben,” was the quiet reply.
“Mebbe it’ll do some good,” Eben rejoined, “I hain’t never ben much on it meself—not ez much ez I otter ’a’ ben, but my pap he was powerful in prayer.”
He was silent a moment, and added regretfully, “Oh, don’t I wish he was here now!”
“You are not afraid to die, are you?” asked Dawson.
“Most any other way, I’m not,” was the answer. “But I don’t like drownin’, an’ I don’t make no bones about it. Our family hes allus gone be apoplexy, an’ I had an idee I’d go that way, too. All this here comes so sudden. Oh, Parson, it’s sech an onrastless, oncertain way o’ goin’, a-washin’ roun’ like this fer hours. Ef it ’ud stop after we was gone, I wouldn’t min’ so much, but to keep on a-washin’ an’ bobbin’ roun’ this ole river—Parson, Parson, pray agin.”
The old man leaned forward and clasped his companion’s hand.
“Pray agin, Parson, pray agin!” he cried.
A flash of lightning lit up the river. Just ahead Dawson saw a broad rock. As they were going they would sweep by it. He sprang forward over the seats until he reached the bow. Then he leaped into the water, still keeping a fast hold with one hand on the side of the boat. A few strong strokes and the clumsy craft turned her head. The swimmer’s feet touched the shelving stone, and he reached out blindly till he felt a jagged bit of rock. The stern of the boat swung around and it tugged hard to release itself from the firm grasp that had checked its wild career.