TUESDAY, JULY 4TH
At McClure Street, a block before the whitewashed fence of Fort Frick, Emlyn turned toward the river landing. He heard the voices of the pickets before he saw them. As he walked down the grade to the river, Emlyn made out forms of men clustered together on the muddy shore. As he reached the open bank, several men on the landing turned to face him. One of them held a rifle; another, a lantern.
"Who goes there?" shouted one of them.
"A citizen of the town," said Emlyn.
"Come over here and let us see you," said the one holding the lantern.
As Emlyn got closer, one of the men drawled, "Well, if it ain't Em-Lyn, formerly of O.H.2."
"The same," said Emlyn. "How is patrol going, Virgil?"
"So far, so good," Virgil replied. "Ain't seen hide nor hair of any black sheep or police trying to come ashore--not that they won't try sooner or later." He spat in the mud, then added, "How are things up there in Fort Frick?"
"I wouldn't know," said Emlyn. "They sent the office workers away last week. We have no idea what's going on with management. Your guess is as good as mine."
"I'd guess," said the man with the rifle, "that right now Frick is scheming to bring in sheriff's deputies or Pinkertons to man the Fort. We aim to stop them." He shot the bolt on the rifle to emphasize his point. "The company broke the contract, and we're going to make damn sure they comply with the law. We ain't going to be whipped into submission by any hirelings sent by Frick."
Emlyn looked out at the swiftly flowing river, where the outline of the strikers' steam launch was visible through the fog.
"It looks like you have the river well covered," said Emlyn.
"We do, and damn any mercenary who tries to come ashore," said the man with the gun. He lowered the rifle, and the group turned their attention back to the river.
"Good night," Emlyn said, starting back toward town.
"Hey, Em-Lyn," said Virgil. "I'd advise against any further nocturnal ramblings around these parts. In this soup, someone might take a pot shot at you, thinking you're a scab or Pinkerton."
"I'll be careful," Emlyn said. He walked slowly up the ramp and onto McClure Street. As he passed by a tenement building, he thought he heard someone singing. He stopped and listened. A man's low baritone voice came from the yard of the building.
I believe in being ready,
I believe in being ready
I believe in being ready,
when this world comes to an end
Oh sinners do get ready,
oh sinners do get ready
Oh sinners do get ready,
for the time is drawing near
Oh there'll be signs and wonders,
oh there'll be signs and wonders
Oh there'll be signs and wonders,
when this world comes to an end
Emlyn crept closer to get a better view into the yard. In the shelter of a porch overhang, a black man was sitting on the stoop, singing, while another accompanied him on guitar.
Oh the sun she will be darkened,
oh the sun she will be darkened
Oh the sun he will be darkened,
when this world is at its end
Oh the moon it will be bleeding,
oh the moon it will be bleeding
Oh the moon it will be bleeding,
when this world comes to its end.
Oh the stars they will be falling,
oh the stars they will be falling
Oh the stars they will be falling,
when this world comes to its end
Emlyn moved closer, stopping beside a tree on the edge of the yard.
Brothers, sisters, do get ready,
brothers, sisters, do get ready
Mothers, fathers, do get ready,
for the time is drawing near.
Oh there'll be signs and wonders,
oh there'll be signs and wonders
Oh there'll be signs and wonders,
when this world comes to an end
"A-men, Brother," said the guitarist to the singer as they finished, raising his right hand. The other man slapped it, and they both stood up and went inside.
As Emlyn walked the remaining blocks to the house, emotion roiled in him. He had never heard a song, or hymn, or whatever it was, like that before.
Back in his room, he started to get into bed, but stopped. Instead, he lowered himself to his knees beside the bed, as he had done every night until the quarrel with his father.
Head lowered, hands folded, he knelt there, but could not formulate his thoughts into prayer. Instead, the song kept running through his mind, over and over.
Oh there'll be signs and wonders,
when this world comes to an end
Listen
Tim O'Brien - When This World Comes To An End
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