What
brings you, a white man, at the head of murderous savages?"
"Israel would not hearken, so I turned to the Gentiles," said he.
"And what are you going to make of your Gentiles? Do you think you've
put much Christianity into the heart of the gentry that were watching
your antics last night?"
"They have glimmerings of grace," he said.
"Glimmerings of moonshine! They are bent on murder, and so are you, and
you call that the Lord's commands. You would sacrifice your own folk to
the heathen hordes. God forgive you, John Gib, for you are no
Christian, and no Scot, and no man."
"Virginia is an idolatrous land," said he; but he could not look up at
me.
"And are your Indians not idolaters? Are you no idolater, with your
burnt offerings and heathen gibberish? You worship a Baal and a Moloch
worse than any Midianite, for you adore the devils of your own rotten
heart."
The big man, with all the madness out of him, put his towsy head in his
hands, and a sob shook his great shoulders.
"Listen to me, John Gib. I am come from your own country-side to save
you from a hellish wickedness, I know the length and breadth of
Virginia, and the land is full of Scots, men of the Covenant you have
forsworn, who are living an honest life on their bits of farms, and
worshipping the God you have forsaken.
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