It was very hard to ask permission to hold prayers with them in such a hostile atmosphere, but it is our duty to "sow beside all waters," so we proffered our request.
"Yer kin ef yer mines ter. I haint er carin'," was the ungracious reply.
But what a change now. The woman's face glows with a light that only comes from the "light of the world." "God's been mighty good ter we uns," she says. "Ef hit hedn't ben fer Him we'd er died. An' we uns air bound ter do ez near right ez we kin, an' serve ther Lord, ther hull lot on us."
Does it not make our own hearts glow to hear such words, and see the wonders God hath wrought? And with thanksgiving we read and pray with them, and strengthen their faith with God's Word. After noting their needs, and promising to supply them from the articles sent us by generous Northern friends, we go on to the next house.
We find the same sad state of affairs; fever-worn men and women, wasted children, and starvation and want staring them in the face. But we find also the same great change. God's Spirit has been working among them, and hearts are softened and lives changed by His power. So we go from hut to hut, until the way becomes too steep to ride, and we leave our horses and climb, on foot, the lofty, rocky ridges.
We find men who were reckless and bad ready to listen to God's Word, and in broken voices asking for prayers. We find women who have lived lives of open shame penitent and contrite, showing by their abandonment of their evil ways that they are sincere when they say, oh so earnestly, "We uns air tryin' ter do right."
But all is not so encouraging. We must visit homes where vice reigns supreme; where women are lost to shame, and glory in their sin; where even the children have the "trail of the serpent" upon their young faces; where the men are brutal and beastly, and even sickness does not touch them.
[pg 105]
Let us call at this old log house as we pass; nestled under a high cliff, with the creek flowing past, it looks like some ugly blot on the "face of nature." But it is a school-house. There is no window, no chimney, only a hole in the side of the house, opening into a sort of pen of rocks, in which the fire is built; an admirable arrangement to send all the heat out of doors, and the smoke into the house. Several rough benches (that do not invite to ease or comfort) and an ancient chair complete the furniture of the room. Several boards painted black form the "blackboards." Here we find two tattered urchins and three tiny girls, whose faces have evidently not made the acquaintance of soap and water for some days.