DESSALINES' PRAYER
"‘The heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament sheweth his handiwork!’"
"Great God! Great Jehovah, look Thou this night upon thy laboring creature. Even as this ship strives on through the black darkness of the night, reaching for the goal she cannot see, even so do I, omnipotent Lord, strive on blindly groping, my course directed by the compass of Thy word. Grant me strength, O Jehovah! Grant me wisdom; grant me patience in adversity, and beyond all, O Thou whose myriad subject universes blaze now before my awe-struck eyes, grant me a pure soul, a clean heart, to lead my people out of the shadow!"
He fell upon his knees. His great forearms resting on the rail pillowed the massive head; the recumbent body was torn with convulsive sobs.
For an hour he prayed, an uncouth, huddled mass; prayed aloud, while the awe-struck negro behind him listened shivering. Fragments of frenzied eloquence, carried on the flaws of wind to the bridge, sent quivers down the spine of the hardened adventurer in command of the vessel. The night passed its perehelion; the first rosy lights of the swift tropic dawn began to glow; the phosphorescence paled, then departed sullenly.
Dessalines' prayer was over, had given way to a deep and peaceful meditation; slowly his transfigured soul descended from its exalted heights. The wheel and lookout had been relieved. A new negro was at the elbow of the Haytian; the vicious, boyish mate had relieved the captain.
"La-and Oh-o!" sang the lookout suddenly. Dessalines started, raised his head, stared out across the lightening sea.
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