The hamlet where they lived was situated
on a wide point of land, around which the Miramichi made an unusually
bold sweep. Micah's Grove partly skirted it on the north.
From the Grove to the river, the forest-trees had been cleared,
leaving the open space dotted with the houses of the settlers. The
fire pressed steadily on toward the Grove. The destruction of that
forest fane, consecrated so recently to the worship of God, and the
burning of their homes and earthly goods seemed inevitable. The
people, with pale, excited faces, awaited this heart-rending
spectacle.
Just at this moment, the tornado, coming from the North, with terrific
fury, drawing flames, trees, and every movable object in its wake,
whirling forward with gigantic power, suddenly turned in its path,
veered towards the east, swept past the Grove and past the settlement,
leaving them wholly untouched, and took its destructive course onward
to the ocean. The people were dumb with amazement. Ruin had seemed so
sure that they scarcely trusted the evidence of their senses.
They dared not even think they had been saved from so much misery. For
a time, not a word was uttered, not a muscle moved.
Mr. Mummychog was the first to-recover his voice.
"'Tis a maracle! and nuthin' else", he exclaimed, "and we've jest got
to thank Captin' Norton for it. He's been a prayin' ut we might be
past by, all 'long and 'tis likely the Lord has heerd him. 'Tain't on
eour own acceounts, my worthy feller-sinners, that we've been spared.
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