Minute by minute the excitement increased; faster the worshippers jumped, and louder they sang.

Through it all Brother Enoch Hines kept on with his sermon.
It was very difficult now to make himself heard, and the time for explanation or elucidation had long since passed; all he could do was to shout forth certain important and moving facts, and this he did over and over again, holding his hand at the side of his mouth, as if he were hailing a vessel in the wind.

Much of what he said was lost in the din of the jumpers, but ever and anon could be heard ringing through the church the announcement: "De wheel ob time is a turnin' roun'!" In a group by themselves, in an upper corner of the congregation, were four or five very old women, who were able to manifest their pious enthusiasm in no other way than by rocking their bodies backwards and forwards, and singing with their cracked voices a gruesome and monotonous chant.

This rude song had something of a wild and uncivilized nature, as if it had come down to these old people from the savage rites of their African ancestors.

They did not sing in unison, but each squeaked or piped out her, "Yi, wiho, yi, hoo!" according to the strength of her lungs, and the degree of her exaltation.