The master raised the ugly whip, and as he looked at Jack's back, all lacerated, he could find no new place to strike, and said:—
"Why do you do it, Jack? You know that as surely as you go off preaching Sunday, I will whip you most to death the next day. No one pays you anything for it. All you get is a terrible flogging, which is taking your life from you."
"Yer ax me, mas'r, what I'se doin' it fer. I'll tell you, mas'r. I'se goin' ter tak all dos stripes an' all dos scars, mas'r, up to Jesus, by an' by, to show him how faithful I'se been, 'cause he loved you an' me, mas'r, an' bled an' died on the cross for you an' me, mas'r."
The whip dropped, and that master could not strike another blow. In a subdued tone he said:—
"Go down in the cotton-field."
Do you think Jack went away cursing his master, saying, "O Lord, punish him for all his cruelty to me"?
No, no! His prayer was, "Lord, forgive him, for Jesus Christ's sake."
About three o'clock, a messenger came down to the cotton-field, crying:
"Mas'r dyin'! Mas'r's dyin'! Come quick, Jack. Mas'r's dyin'!"
In his private room, Jack found his master on the floor in agony, crying:
"O Jack, I'm sinking down to hell! Pray for me! Pray for me!"
"I'se been prayin' for you all de time, mas'r. You mus' pray for yourse'f."