“O come, angel band! Come, an’ aroun’ me stand! O bear me away on yo’ snowy wings To my immortal home; O bear me away on yo’ snowy wings To my immortal home.” At the conclusion of the song, for some reason, both Vinegar and Skeeter climbed out of the machine. Then Gannaway stepped forth, waved a dispersing hand, and exclaimed: “You niggers, get to hell away from here!” Nothing could have surprised the negroes more than the appearance of this white man. Up to that very moment they had never questioned that the machine belonged to the negro, Red Cutt. When they heard that voice of command and turned their startled eyes to Gannaway, they pushed backward in their fright and scattered across the prairie like so many chickens. Gannaway sprang lightly into the machine and started the engine. Three times in rapid succession the engine back-fired, and the sound was so similar to the explosion of a big army pistol that the negroes believed the white man was shooting at them. Then came the steady exhaust of the engine, cracking like a rapid-fire machine-gun, and every negro fell flat on his face to dodge the bullets he thought were flying all around him. The machine went hopping awkwardly across the long level stretch of ground, and the negroes raised their heads like so many black lizards, watching to see if the white man was shooting toward them. A moment later five hundred negroes gave utterance to an astounded “Ah!” Of that great crowd, Vinegar Atts and Red Cutt had seen the airplane land; if Skeeter Butts was not lying, he was the third of the crowd who had seen an airplane in the air. Not one of the others had ever witnessed such a flight, and this universal exclamation emerged from their throats when they saw the machine rise from the ground like a wild goose and go sailing over the tops of the trees. Five hundred negroes lying flat upon the ground, with their noses almost touching the dirt, put their hands on the feathers in their hats, to be sure that their insignia of office had not departed with the machine, and repeated their exclamation: “Ah!” Suddenly the entire forest seemed to become vocal and scream in fright. Thousands of birds rose from the trees and circled round and round in the air as if they were intoxicated. The smaller birds flew from tree to tree, moving in a straight line, all going in the same direction, as they do when fleeing before a cyclone. The pigeons and hawks shot straight up in the air and then tumbled over and over as they came down, as if both wings were broken. The great eagles rose like the fighting creatures they are and threshed madly about high up in the heavens, sending their ugly snarl-like cries down to the earth, while from countless pools in the swamp every sort of water fowl rose with hoarse croaking voices and added to the aerial tumult.