CHAPTER VI THE RIVER The two men were strong, magnificently formed negroes, one middle-aged, one young. “It ain’t easy, marster,” said the first. “River’s on er rampage. Jes’ er-look how she’s swirlin’ an’ spittin’ an’ sayin’ things! An’ erbout every day now dar’s er crevasse! Yankees make them befo’ breakfast. When dishyer river tuhns sideways an’ shakes down de land a boat ain’ so safe as ef ’t was er mountain-top.” “Dat’s so!” said the other. “Hit’s wuth twenty-five dollars, Confederate money.” Edward produced and held between thumb and forefinger one gold dollar. “Git the oars, Daniel!” said the elder negro. “Yes, sah, we certainly will git you ercross an’ down the river the best we kin!” Out pushed the boat into the yellow, sullen river. It was running swift and rough. Edward sat with his chin in his hand, his eyes upon the farther shore, bathed in a golden, shimmering, spring-time light. It was slow rowing across this stream, and the shore far off. The negroes began to sing. “I’se gwine tell you ob de comin’ ob de Saviour! Far’ you well! Far’ you well! Dar’s er better day er comin’, Far’ you well! Far’ you well! When my Lord speaks ter his Father, Far’ you well! Far’ you well! Says, ‘Father, I’m tired of bearin’,’ Far’ you well! Far’ you well! ‘Tired of bearin’ fer pore sinners,’ Far’ you well! Far’ you well!—”