“As he uttered the last word his feet slipped from under him and he fell at full length on his back. The north side of the roof was covered with a white frost, which caused the young man’s feet to slip. The building was three stories high; and from the ground to the eaves was nearly forty feet. The young man was standing near the top of the roof, and as he uttered the sentence, he stepped over on the north side to get a hammer that he had left there, when he fell flat on his back; his body darted toward the edge of the roof like a lump of ice gliding down the mountain side. At the very brink of the roof, a nail caught in his clothes and stopped him. His legs were hanging over the edge while his body lay back on the shingles. The ground near the foundation of the house was covered with innumerable large stones, with hundreds of sharp corners and edges, which every one knew would cause the young man’s death, if he fell on them. There the man’s body swung forty feet above the ground—only held by a little number four nail. The slightest movement might send his soul across the dark river. I have heard many people pray, but such a prayer as that young man uttered then and there I have never heard before or since. The most solemn promises of reformation were made, the most earnest appeals to God for help. A ladder was quickly brought from an adjoining hook and ladder company’s quarters, and the young man was saved. If any of my friends have a desire to know the name of this young man, go to all the churches in Memphis and hear all the Christians pray—then select the one that prays longest and loudest—that’s he.
“But I crave your pardon, my friends, for this digression, and will return to my story. We left Grenada at 8.50 sharp. The night was unusually dark; heavy clouds overspread the horizon and a steady patter of rain-drops could be heard falling against the windows of the coach. Harry and myself were the only occupants, and the train consisted of the engine, tender, and a single car in which we rode. Occasionally I would hoist the sash of the window in order to let the cold damp atmosphere cool my burning cheeks—for I felt as if my blood were boiling hot. As the head-light of the engine cast its bright rays on the trees along the road, I could see that we were dashing on with lightning speed. I occupied a seat on the left side of the coach, while Harry sat on the right, and immediately opposite the one where I was. When the windows were all down, there was an overpowering feeling of suffocation that was unbearable; and when they were up, the wind came dashing in accompanied by streams of rain. I would close the window and endure the oppressive closeness as long as I could; then hoist the sash again, letting the wind and rain pour in until my face would be cooled. I had borrowed Harry’s watch, and sat with it open in my hand, counting every second of time, which seemed to linger unusually long. A mental question kept presenting itself to my mind: Will I ever see Lottie again? Will she be dead before I get there? What is to be my fate in the future? Can I consent to drag out a long, miserable existence, after my darling has gone to Heaven? I made a solemn vow to God that I would not rebel against His will, but that I would humbly submit to, and bear without complaint, such punishment as He, in His great wisdom, might send upon me. I earnestly begged for Lottie’s life. No one ever prayed more humbly and sincerely than I did on that occasion; and I believe Harry did the same—though he sat silently in his seat, apparently buried in his own sad thoughts. Sometimes he would turn his face toward me and point to the watch which I held in my hand—this I understood to be an inquiry as to the time. The only answer I made was to hold the watch close to his eyes. He would glare at it, then lean back in his seat, without uttering a word.
“Every now and then the wind would dash in through the window, scattering the falling rain over my face, causing the lamp to flare up and spatter; then for an instant the feeble light would flicker and struggle as if in the last agonies of dissolution. After an unusual gust had dashed in, bringing with it a copious shower of rain, I was compelled to close the window to prevent the lamp from being totally extinguished. As soon as I had excluded the air, the same feeling of suffocation that had annoyed me so often came upon me with redoubled severity. I could not get enough air into my lungs notwithstanding I was struggling to do so. I felt as I suppose one feels when dying; in fact, I do not believe that the actual pains of dissolution could have increased my sufferings.
“Harry made a sign signifying a wish to know the time. I managed to hold the face of the watch so he could see it.
“‘9.20,’ he whispered, as he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. The lamp now began to sing and sputter, spitting the oil up through the chimney, making a dozen different sounds. It would dart a bright blaze nearly to the top of the chimney, then sink down so low that no light could be seen. It would whine like a young child, then sing; at times it would sputter—then pop, pop, pop, like the cracking of a small whip; anon it would whistle—and blaze up, casting a dazzling light all over the seats—then drop back to its usual dim dimensions. After it had performed a dozen such strange freaks, it gave one long shriek and suddenly expired. We were left in total darkness; a darkness as black as blindness itself. A ton’s weight seemed to be pressing on my breast; I felt that my last moment had come. I sank down on the seat without the strength to hold up my head; I was in a swoon. The first sensation I experienced, after my reason returned, was that of the most delicious pleasure. The strangest, but most exquisite, feeling of happiness seemed to steal over me; the most mysterious influence appeared to surround me. The smothering sensation was gone, and a delightful absence of pain was in its stead, and at once the coach seemed to be filled with the most delicious perfume, such as I had so often enjoyed while with Lottie in her flower garden. ‘What does it mean?’ I asked myself. ‘How could the coach be filled with such delightful odor when all the windows were closed?’
“‘Harry, what in Heaven’s good name does this mean?’ I at last managed to ask.
“‘Hush, Ed,’ he whispered, ‘some one is in this coach—it is a lady; I felt her skirts brush past my knees!’
“‘Lottie!’ I exclaimed, as I sprang to my feet.
“‘What do you mean?’ whispered Harry, as he caught me by the arm, while he was trembling like one in an ague fit.
“‘Lottie, darling, is it you?’ I gasped, while Harry still held me by the arm.