Prisoners of Chance

The full truth flashed across my mind--our comrade had in that moment been changed from a helpless, beaten prisoner into an object of superstitious worship. By the magic of a word, the alchemy of a thought, he had become to these superstitious savages a mysterious visitant from the Sun, and for once, at least, he might fervently bless Nature, who had bestowed upon him so rich a coloring of hair. Whether or not the fellow comprehended the meaning of that uproar, of those wildly dancing figures in his front, I could never determine; but, before the woman could in any way interfere, the sectary plumped down upon his knees, and, with head bent so low that every separate hair caught the reflection of the ruddy flames, began pouring forth a petition in sturdy English, and with a volume of voice that shook the whole interior. It was not such a bad play, I take it, although he was desperately in earnest. Very plainly he compared his worshipping auditory to certain scriptural characters, in a way that would not have proven flattering to them could they have interpreted his language.

"Oh, Lord God!" he roared, rolling his eyes upward and interjecting many a deep groan after each sentence. "Infinite Jehovah, for some just reason of Thy own, Thou hast seen fit to lead Thy most humble servant into this den of iniquity. Thou hast placed me in the fiery furnace of tribulation, it may be in the test of that faith which was delivered unto the saints, yet will I not bow down in the tents of the idolaters, nor profane Thy Holy Name by the worship of their false gods. Here in the midst of the ravening lions I uplift my eyes unto Jerusalem, and my lips unto the throne of grace, beseeching Thee to give unto me the salvation of these heathen, even as brands plucked from the burning. Quench the fire on this altar of Baal, O Lord, by the outpouring of Thy Spirit, and give unto this people a manifestation of Thy mighty power, redeeming them from their manifold sins. Yea, Lord, give ear unto the words of my petition, and as of old times thou didst send a message of fire unto Thy prophet Elijah, so come down even now to visit these unbelieving and mocking hearts with the terror of Thy just wrath. Make bare Thy arm of infinite power that this abomination of heathendom may be purged of its vain idolatry, and that Thy Israel may triumph over the hosts of the sinful. Even as Thou didst scatter the forces of the Egyptians in the waters of the Red Sea, even so, O Lord, visit now Thy wrath upon those who mock Thee and degrade Thy image. Save us from the snare of this scarlet woman, this proud harlot of Babylon, and forgive Thy servant for thus seeming to obey her will. Thou knowest, O Lord, that it is only that I may the better serve Thee, and thus overcome the wiles of the Wicked One. Give unto me in this hour the strength of Samson that I may overturn the pillars of this temple of abominations, even though we all perish in its destruction. Yea, visit us with power and righteousness, and scatter Thy enemies over the face of the earth. O Lord! I am as nothing, a mere worm of the dust: smite me if Thou wilt, yet I but wrestle with Thee in prayer that through me the heathen may be brought low, and led to see the error of their way."