“Man to man, likely I could he’p some po’r sinner see as much as I can see. If I could kind of get ’em to see what this big, old riveh is like! Hit’s carryin’ a leaf er a duck, an’ steamboats an’ shanty-bo’ts; hit carries the livin’ an’ hit carries the daid; hit begrudges no man it’s he’p if he comes to it to float down a log raft er a million bushels of coal. If Ole Mississip’ll do that fo’ anybody, suttin’ly hit’s clear an’ plain that God won’t deny a sinner His he’p! Yas, suh! Now I’ve shore found a handle to keep hold of my religion!”
Peace of mind had come to him, but not the peace of indolence and neglect. Far from that! He saw years of endless endeavour opening before him, but not with multitudes looking up to him as he stood, grand and noble, in the bright light of a thousand pulpits, circuit riding the earth. Instead, he would go to a sinning man here, a sorrowing woman there, and perhaps sit down with a little child, to give it comfort and instruction.
People were too scattered down the Mississippi to think of congregations. All days were Sunday, and for him there could be no day of rest. If he could not do big work, at least he could meet men and women, and he could get to know little children, to understand their needs. He knew it was a good thought, and when he looked across the Mississippi, he saw night coming on, but between him and the dark was sunset.
The cold white glare changed to brilliant colours; clouds whose gray-blue had oppressed the soul of the mountain man flashed red and purple, growing thinner and thinner, and when he had gazed for a minute at the glow of a fixed government light he was astonished by the darkness of night—only the night was filled with stars. 121
Thus the river, the weather, the climate, the sky, the sandbars, and the wooded banks revealed themselves in changing moods and varying lights to the mountain man whose life had always been pent in and narrowed, without viewpoint or a sense of the future. The monster size of the river dwarfed the little affairs of his own life and humbled the pride which had so often been humbled before. At last he began to look down on himself, seeing something of the true relation of his importance to the immeasurable efforts of thousands and millions of men.
The sand clouds carried by the north wind must ever remain an epoch in his experience. Definitely he was rid of a great deal of nonsense, ignorance, and pride; at the same time it seemed, somehow, to have grounded him on something much firmer and broader than the vanities of his youth.
His eyes searched the river in the dark for some place to begin his work, and as they did so, he discovered a bright, glaring light a few miles below him across the sandbar at the head of which he had anchored. He saw other lights down that way, a regular settlement of lights across the river, and several darting firefly gleams in the middle of the stream which he recognized were boats, probably small gasolene craft.
In forty minutes he was dipping his sweep blades to work his way into the eddy where several small passenger craft were on line-ends from a large, substantial craft which was brightly lighted by lanterns and a big carbide light. Its windows were aglow with cheeriness, and the occupants engaged in strange pastimes.
“Come, now, come on, now!” someone was crying in a sing-song. “Come along like I said! Come along, now—Seven—Seven—Seven!”
Parson Rasba’s oar pins needed wetting, for the 122 strain he put on the sweeps made them squeak. The splash of oars down the current was heard by people on board and several walked out on the deck.