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Dixon, Thomas, 1864-1946

"The Southerner A Romance of the Real Lincoln"

Ye can flee ter the mountain top, an' hit'll dive right up
froo de air an' git ye dar. Ye kin go down inter de bowels er de yearth
an' hit'll dive right down dar atter ye. Ye kin take de wings er de
mornin' an' fly ter de ends er de yearth--an' de Divers is dar. Dey kin
dive anywhar!
"An' what ye gwine ter do when dey git ye? I axe ye dat now? What ye
gwine ter do when hit's forever an' eternally too late? Dese doctors
roun' here kin cure ye o' de whoopin'-cough--mebbe--I hain't nebber seed
'em eben do dat--but I say, mebbe. Dey kin cure ye o' de measles, mebbe.
Er de plumbago or de typhoid er de yaller fever sometimes. But I warns
ye now ter flee de wrath dat's ter come when dem Divers git ye! Dey
ain't no doctor no good fer dat nowhar--exceptin' ye come ter de Lord.
For He heal 'em er all sorts er diseases an' de wust er all de
complaints called de Divers!
"Come, humble sinners, in whose breast er thousand thoughts revolve!"
John Vaughan turned away with a smile and a tear.
"In God's name," he murmured thoughtfully, "what's to become of these
four million black children of the tropic jungles if we win now and set
them free! Their fathers and mothers were but yesterday eating human
flesh in naked savagery."
He walked slowly back to his tent through the solemn starlit night.


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