“Me-is-ta-ah Che-a-ase a sittin’ on de tree ob life,
Me-is-ta-ah Che-a-ase a sittin’ on de tree ob life,
Roll, Jordan, roll;
Me-is-ta-ah Che-a-ase a sittin’ on de tree ob life,
Roll, Jordan, roll.
Me-is-ta-ah Che-a-ase a sittin’ on de tree ob life,
Roll, Jordan, roll,
Roll, Jordan, roll,
Ro-o-oll, Jordan, ro-o-oll.”
The chorus was sung with a vehemence that pierced the ears, and swayed the leaflets of the live-oaks above our heads; while picaninnies crowed, and their mothers smiled, and there was a general bustle in the crowd, and all fixed beaming eyes—who has not admired the deep, liquid ox-eye of the Southern negro?—upon the embarrassed Chief Justice, whom they were establishing, in all his avoirdupois, on the identical limb where Doctor Fuller and General “Saxby” were already perched. And then a plain, bald-headed, middle-aged, black preacher, who had, doubtless, a few years back, been at least “a twelve-hundred-dollar nigger,” came reverently forward and commenced a prayer. The congregation devoutly bowed their heads, a few interrupted with an occasional “Amen,” or “Glory,” but the most kept respectful silence. The prayer was simple, full of repetitions, abounding in Scripture language, not always appropriately used; and, on the whole, I was in doubt whether either speaker or congregation understood all of it. There was no mistaking the sincerity of the devotion; but it seemed to be mainly emotional, rather than intellectual, and might, therefore, well give rise to inquiries as to what effect this abounding religion had on the matter of stealing sweet-potatoes, or taking care of their wives and children, during the week.[[19]]