Chapter 10
RETURN TO TIBEATS—IMPOSSIBILITY OF PLEASING HIM—HE ATTACKS ME WITH A HATCHET—THE STRUGGLE OVER THE BROAD AXE—THE TEMPTATION TO MURDER HIM—ESCAPE ACROSS THE PLANTATION—OBSERVATIONS FROM THE FENCE—TIBEATS APPROACHES, FOLLOWED BY THE HOUNDS—THEY TAKE MY TRACK—THEIR LOUD YELLS—THEY ALMOST OVERTAKE ME—I REACH THE WATER—THE HOUNDS CONFUSED—MOCCASIN SNAKES—ALLIGATORS—NIGHT IN THE "GREAT PACOUDRIE SWAMP"—THE SOUNDS OF LIFE—NORTH-WEST COURSE—EMERGE INTO THE PINE WOODS—THE SLAVE AND HIS YOUNG MASTER—ARRIVAL AT FORD'S—FOOD AND REST.
RETURN TO TIBEATS. IMPOSSIBLE TO PLEASE HIM. HE ATTACKS ME WITH A HATCHET. THE STRUGGLE OVER THE BROAD AXE. THE TEMPTATION TO MURDER HIM. ESCAPE ACROSS THE PLANTATION. WATCHING FROM THE FENCE. TIBEATS APPROACHES, FOLLOWED BY THE HOUNDS. THEY PICK UP MY TRAIL. THEIR LOUD YELLS. THEY ALMOST CATCH ME. I REACH THE WATER. THE HOUNDS LOSE THE TRAIL. MOCCASIN SNAKES. ALLIGATORS. NIGHT IN THE "GREAT PACOUDRIE SWAMP". THE SOUNDS OF LIFE. HEADING NORTHWEST. I EMERGE INTO THE PINE WOODS. THE SLAVE AND HIS YOUNG MASTER. ARRIVAL AT FORD'S. FOOD AND REST.
At the end of a month, my services being no longer required at Tanner's I was sent over the bayou again to my master, whom I found engaged in building the cotton press. This was situated at some distance from the great house, in a rather retired place. I commenced working once more in company with Tibeats, being entirely alone with him most part of the time. I remembered the words of Chapin, his precautions, his advice to beware, lest in some unsuspecting moment he might injure me. They were always in my mind, so that I lived in a most uneasy state of apprehension and fear. One eye was on my work, the other on my master. I determined to give him no cause of offence, to work still more diligently, if possible, than I had done, to bear whatever abuse he might heap upon me, save bodily injury, humbly and patiently, hoping thereby to soften in some degree his manner towards me, until the blessed time might come when I should be delivered from his clutches.
After a month, Tanner no longer needed my services. I was sent back across the bayou to my master, whom I found building the cotton press. The press stood some distance from the great house, in a fairly secluded place. I began working with Tibeats again, and most of the time I was completely alone with him. I remembered Chapin's words, his precautions, and his advice to beware of Tibeats. He had warned me that Tibeats might hurt me when I least expected it. His words were always on my mind, and I lived in constant anxiety and fear. I kept one eye on my work and the other on my master. I resolved to give him no reason to take offense and, if possible, to work even harder than before. I would humbly and patiently endure whatever abuse he might heap on me, short of physical injury. I hoped this would soften his manner toward me somewhat, until the blessed time came when I would be freed from his clutches.
The third morning after my return, Chapin left the plantation for Cheneyville, to be absent until night. Tibeats, on that morning, was attacked with one of those periodical fits of spleen and ill-humor to which he was frequently subject, rendering him still more disagreeable and venomous than usual.
On the third morning after my return, Chapin left the plantation for Cheneyville. He would not return until night. That morning, Tibeats fell into one of his frequent fits of bitterness and bad temper. It made him even more disagreeable and venomous than usual.
It was about nine o'clock in the forenoon, when I was busily employed with the jack-plane on one of the sweeps. Tibeats was standing by the work-bench, fitting a handle into the chisel, with which he had been engaged previously in cutting the thread of the screw.
It was about nine in the morning, and I was busy using a jack-plane on one of the sweeps. Tibeats stood by the workbench, fitting a handle into the chisel. He had been using the chisel to cut the thread of the screw.
"You are not planing that down enough," said he.
"You aren't planing that down enough," he said.
"It is just even with the line," I replied.
"It's exactly level with the line," I replied.
"You're a d—d liar," he exclaimed passionately.
"You're a damned liar," he exclaimed angrily.
"Oh, well, master," I said, mildly, "I will plane it down more if you say so," at the same time proceeding to do as I supposed he desired. Before one shaving had been removed, however, he cried out, saying I had now planed it too deep—it was too small—I had spoiled the sweep entirely. Then followed curses and imprecations. I had endeavored to do exactly as he directed, but nothing would satisfy the unreasonable man. In silence and in dread I stood by the sweep, holding the jack-plane in my hand, not knowing what to do, and not daring to be idle. His anger grew more and more violent, until, finally, with an oath, such a bitter, frightful oath as only Tibeats could utter, he seized a hatchet from the work-bench and darted towards me, swearing he would cut my head open.
"Oh, well, master," I said gently, "I will plane it down more if you say so." At the same time, I began doing what I thought he wanted. But before I had removed a single shaving, he cried out. He said I had planed it too deep, that it was too small, and that I had ruined the sweep entirely. Then he began cursing and swearing. I had tried to do exactly as he directed, but nothing would satisfy the unreasonable man. I stood silently beside the sweep in dread, holding the jack-plane in my hand. I did not know what to do, and I did not dare stand idle. His anger grew more and more violent. Finally, he swore a bitter, frightening oath, the kind only Tibeats could utter. He grabbed a hatchet from the workbench and rushed toward me, swearing he would cut my head open.
It was a moment of life or death. The sharp, bright blade of the hatchet glittered in the sun. In another instant it would be buried in my brain, and yet in that instant—so quick will a man's thoughts come to him in such a fearful strait—I reasoned with myself. If I stood still, my doom was certain; if I fled, ten chances to one the hatchet, flying from his hand with a too-deadly and unerring aim, would strike me in the back. There was but one course to take. Springing towards him with all my power, and meeting him full half-way, before he could bring down the blow, with one hand I caught his uplifted arm, with the other seized him by the throat. We stood looking each other in the eyes. In his I could see murder. I felt as if I had a serpent by the neck, watching the slightest relaxation of my gripe, to coil itself round my body, crushing and stinging it to death. I thought to scream aloud, trusting that some ear might catch the sound—but Chapin was away; the hands were in the field; there was no living soul in sight or hearing.
It was a moment of life or death. The sharp, bright blade of the hatchet glittered in the sun. In another instant, it would be buried in my brain. Yet in that instant, I reasoned with myself. A man's thoughts come quickly in such a terrifying situation. If I stood still, I would surely die. If I fled, there was a nine-in-ten chance he would throw the hatchet and strike me in the back. His aim was deadly and unerring. There was only one thing to do. I sprang toward him with all my strength and met him halfway. Before he could strike, I caught his raised arm with one hand and seized his throat with the other. We stood looking into each other's eyes. I could see murder in his eyes. I felt as if I had a serpent by the neck. It was watching for the slightest loosening of my grip, ready to coil around me, crushing and stinging me to death. I thought of screaming, hoping someone might hear me. But Chapin was away, the hands were in the field, and no living soul was close enough to see or hear me.
The good genius, which thus far through life has saved me from the hands of violence, at that moment suggested a lucky thought. With a vigorous and sudden kick, that brought him on one knee, with a groan, I released my hold upon his throat, snatched the hatchet, and cast it beyond reach.
The good spirit that had saved me from violence throughout my life gave me a lucky idea at that moment. I kicked him suddenly and hard, bringing him to one knee with a groan. I let go of his throat, snatched the hatchet, and threw it out of reach.
Frantic with rage, maddened beyond control, he seized a white oak stick, five feet long, perhaps, and as large in circumference as his hand could grasp, which was lying on the ground. Again he rushed towards me, and again I met him, seized him about the waist, and being the stronger of the two, bore him to the earth. While in that position I obtained possession of the stick, and rising, cast it from me, also.
Frantic with rage and beyond control, he grabbed a white oak stick lying on the ground. It was perhaps five feet long and as thick as his hand could grasp. He rushed at me again, and again I met him. I seized him around the waist and, being stronger, forced him to the ground. While we were on the ground, I got hold of the stick. Then I stood up and threw it away too.
He likewise arose and ran for the broad-axe, on the work-bench. Fortunately, there was a heavy plank lying upon its broad blade, in such a manner that he could not extricate it, before I had sprung upon his back. Pressing him down closely and heavily on the plank, so that the axe was held more firmly to its place, I endeavored, but in vain, to break his grasp upon the handle. In that position we remained some minutes.
He also got up and ran for the broad-axe on the workbench. Fortunately, a heavy plank lay across its broad blade. He could not pull the axe free before I sprang onto his back. I pressed him firmly down on the plank, holding the axe even more securely in place. I tried to break his grip on the handle, but I could not. We stayed in that position for several minutes.
There have been hours in my unhappy life, many of them, when the contemplation of death as the end of earthly sorrow—of the grave as a resting place for the tired and worn out body—has been pleasant to dwell upon. But such contemplations vanish in the hour of peril. No man, in his full strength, can stand undismayed, in the presence of the "king of terrors." Life is dear to every living thing; the worm that crawls upon the ground will struggle for it. At that moment it was dear to me, enslaved and treated as I was.
There have been many hours in my unhappy life when I found comfort in thinking of death. It seemed an end to earthly sorrow, and the grave a resting place for my tired, worn-out body. But such thoughts vanish in a moment of danger. No man in his full strength can face the "king of terrors" without fear. Life is precious to every living thing. Even the worm crawling on the ground will struggle to live. At that moment, life was precious to me, despite my enslavement and the way I was treated.
Not able to unloose his hand, once more I seized him by the throat, and this time, with a vice-like gripe that soon relaxed his hold. He became pliant and unstrung. His face, that had been white with passion, was now black from suffocation. Those small serpent eyes that spat such venom, were now full of horror—two great white orbs starting from their sockets!
Unable to loosen his hand, I seized him by the throat again. This time, my grip was like a vise, and he soon let go. He went limp and weak. His face had been white with rage, but now it was black from suffocation. His small, serpent-like eyes, which had spat such venom, were now full of horror. They were two great white orbs bulging from their sockets!
There was "a lurking devil" in my heart that prompted me to kill the human blood-hound on the spot—to retain the grip on his accursed throat till the breath of life was gone! I dared not murder him, and I dared not let him live. If I killed him, my life must pay the forfeit—if he lived, my life only would satisfy his vengeance. A voice within whispered me to fly. To be a wanderer among the swamps, a fugitive and a vagabond on the face of the earth, was preferable to the life that I was leading.
There was "a lurking devil" in my heart that urged me to kill the human bloodhound on the spot. It urged me to keep my grip on his cursed throat until he was dead! I dared not murder him, and I dared not let him live. If I killed him, I would pay with my life. If he lived, only my life would satisfy his vengeance. A voice inside me whispered to run away. Wandering through the swamps as a fugitive and a vagabond on the face of the earth was better than the life I was leading.
My resolution was soon formed, and swinging him from the work-bench to the ground, I leaped a fence near by, and hurried across the plantation, passing the slaves at work in the cotton field. At the end of a quarter of a mile I reached the wood-pasture, and it was a short time indeed that I had been running it. Climbing on to a high fence, I could see the cotton press, the great house, and the space between. It was a conspicuous position, from whence the whole plantation was in view. I saw Tibeats cross the field towards the house, and enter it—then he came out, carrying his saddle, and presently mounted his horse and galloped away.
I quickly made up my mind. I swung him from the workbench to the ground, leaped over a nearby fence, and hurried across the plantation. I passed the slaves working in the cotton field. I reached the wood pasture a quarter of a mile away, having run the distance in very little time. I climbed a high fence and could see the cotton press, the great house, and the space between them. It was an exposed position, with a view of the whole plantation. I saw Tibeats cross the field toward the house and go inside. Then he came out carrying his saddle. Soon he mounted his horse and galloped away.
I was desolate, but thankful. Thankful that my life was spared,—desolate and discouraged with the prospect before me. What would become of me? Who would befriend me? Whither should I fly? Oh, God! Thou who gavest me life, and implanted in my bosom the love of life—who filled it with emotions such as other men, thy creatures, have, do not forsake me. Have pity on the poor slave—let me not perish. If thou dost not protect me, I am lost—lost! Such supplications, silently and unuttered, ascended from my inmost heart to Heaven. But there was no answering voice—no sweet, low tone, coming down from on high, whispering to my soul, "It is I, be not afraid." I was the forsaken of God, it seemed—the despised and hated of men!
I was desolate, but thankful. I was thankful that my life had been spared, but desolate and discouraged by what lay ahead. What would become of me? Who would befriend me? Where could I flee? Oh, God! You gave me life and placed in my heart a love of life. You filled my heart with emotions like those of other men, your creatures. Do not forsake me. Have pity on the poor slave. Do not let me die. If you do not protect me, I am lost, lost! Such silent, unspoken prayers rose from my deepest heart to Heaven. But no voice answered. No sweet, low voice came down from above, whispering to my soul, "It is I, do not be afraid." It seemed that God had forsaken me, and that men despised and hated me!
In about three-fourths of an hour several of the slaves shouted and made signs for me to run. Presently, looking up the bayou, I saw Tibeats and two others on horse-back, coming at a fast gait, followed by a troop of dogs. There were as many as eight or ten. Distant as I was, I knew them. They belonged on the adjoining plantation. The dogs used on Bayou Bœuf for hunting slaves are a kind of blood-hound, but a far more savage breed than is found in the Northern States. They will attack a negro, at their master's bidding, and cling to him as the common bull-dog will cling to a four footed animal. Frequently their loud bay is heard in the swamps, and then there is speculation as to what point the runaway will be overhauled—the same as a New-York hunter stops to listen to the hounds coursing along the hillsides, and suggests to his companion that the fox will be taken at such a place. I never knew a slave escaping with his life from Bayou Bœuf. One reason is, they are not allowed to learn the art of swimming, and are incapable of crossing the most inconsiderable stream. In their flight they can go in no direction but a little way without coming to a bayou, when the inevitable alternative is presented, of being drowned or overtaken by the dogs. In youth I had practised in the clear streams that flow through my native district, until I had become an expert swimmer, and felt at home in the watery element.
About forty-five minutes later, several of the slaves shouted and gestured for me to run. Soon I looked up the bayou and saw Tibeats and two others on horseback, riding fast. A pack of eight or ten dogs followed them. Even at that distance, I recognized the dogs. They belonged to the adjoining plantation. The dogs used on Bayou Bœuf to hunt slaves are a kind of bloodhound, but far more savage than those found in the Northern States. At their master's command, they will attack a negro and cling to him as a common bulldog clings to a four-legged animal. Their loud baying is often heard in the swamps. People then speculate about where the runaway will be caught. They do so just as a New-York hunter stops to listen to hounds racing along the hillsides. The hunter suggests to his companion where the fox will be caught. I never knew a slave to escape from Bayou Bœuf with his life. One reason is that slaves are not allowed to learn to swim. They cannot cross even the smallest stream. In flight, they cannot go far in any direction without coming to a bayou. Then they inevitably face a choice between drowning and being caught by the dogs. In my youth, I had practiced in the clear streams of my native district until I became an expert swimmer. I felt at home in the water.
I stood upon the fence until the dogs had reached the cotton press. In an instant more, their long, savage yells announced they were on my track. Leaping down from my position, I ran towards the swamp. Fear gave me strength, and I exerted it to the utmost. Every few moments I could hear the yelpings of the dogs. They were gaining upon me. Every howl was nearer and nearer. Each moment I expected they would spring upon my back—expected to feel their long teeth sinking into my flesh. There were so many of them, I knew they would tear me to pieces, that they would worry me, at once, to death. I gasped for breath—gasped forth a half-uttered, choking prayer to the Almighty to save me—to give me strength to reach some wide, deep bayou where I could throw them off the track, or sink into its waters. Presently I reached a thick palmetto bottom. As I fled through them they made a loud rustling noise, not loud enough, however, to drown the voices of the dogs.
I stood on the fence until the dogs reached the cotton press. A moment later, their long, savage howls told me they were on my trail. I jumped down and ran toward the swamp. Fear gave me strength, and I ran with all my might. Every few moments, I could hear the dogs yelping. They were gaining on me. Each howl came closer than the last. At any moment, I expected them to leap onto my back and sink their long teeth into my flesh. There were so many dogs that I knew they would tear me to pieces and quickly kill me. I gasped for breath and choked out a half-spoken prayer to the Almighty. I prayed that he would save me and give me strength to reach a wide, deep bayou. There I could throw the dogs off my trail or sink beneath the water. Soon I reached a low area thick with palmettos. As I ran through them, they rustled loudly, but not loudly enough to drown out the dogs.
Continuing my course due south, as nearly as I can judge, I came at length to water just over shoe. The hounds at that moment could not have been five rods behind me. I could hear them crashing and plunging through the palmettoes, their loud, eager yells making the whole swamp clamorous with the sound. Hope revived a little as I reached the water. If it were only deeper, they might lose the scent, and thus disconcerted, afford me the opportunity of evading them. Luckily, it grew deeper the farther I proceeded—now over my ankles—now half-way to my knees—now sinking a moment to my waist, and then emerging presently into more shallow places. The dogs had not gained upon me since I struck the water. Evidently they were confused. Now their savage intonations grew more and more distant, assuring me that I was leaving them. Finally I stopped to listen, but the long howl came booming on the air again, telling me I was not yet safe. From bog to bog, where I had stepped, they could still keep upon the track, though impeded by the water. At length, to my great joy, I came to a wide bayou, and plunging in, had soon stemmed its sluggish current to the other side. There, certainly, the dogs would be confounded—the current carrying down the stream all traces of that slight, mysterious scent, which enables the quick-smelling hound to follow in the track of the fugitive.
Continuing as nearly due south as I could judge, I finally came to water just over my shoes. The hounds could not have been more than five rods behind me. I could hear them crashing and plunging through the palmettoes. Their loud, eager cries filled the whole swamp with noise. My hope revived a little when I reached the water. If it were only deeper, the dogs might lose the scent. Their confusion might give me a chance to escape them. Luckily, the water grew deeper as I went on. It rose over my ankles, then halfway to my knees. At one point I sank to my waist, then soon came out into shallower water. The dogs had not gained on me since I entered the water. They were clearly confused. Their fierce cries grew more and more distant, assuring me that I was leaving them behind. Finally, I stopped to listen, but their long howl boomed through the air again. It told me I was not yet safe. The dogs could still follow my trail from one bog to another where I had stepped, though the water slowed them. At last, to my great joy, I came to a wide bayou. I plunged in and soon made my way against its slow current to the other side. Surely the dogs would be confused there. The current would carry downstream all traces of that faint, mysterious scent that lets a keen-nosed hound follow a fugitive.
After crossing this bayou the water became so deep I could not run. I was now in what I afterwards learned was the "Great Pacoudrie Swamp." It was filled with immense trees—the sycamore, the gum, the cotton wood and cypress, and extends, I am informed, to the shore of the Calcasieu river. For thirty or forty miles it is without inhabitants, save wild beasts—the bear, the wild-cat, the tiger, and great slimy reptiles, that are crawling through it everywhere. Long before I reached the bayou, in fact, from the time I struck the water until I emerged from the swamp on my return, these reptiles surrounded me. I saw hundreds of moccasin snakes. Every log and bog—every trunk of a fallen tree, over which I was compelled to step or climb, was alive with them. They crawled away at my approach, but sometimes in my haste, I almost placed my hand or foot upon them. They are poisonous serpents—their bite more fatal than the rattlesnake's. Besides, I had lost one shoe, the sole having come entirely off, leaving the upper only dangling to my ankle.
After crossing the bayou, the water became too deep for me to run. I was now in what I later learned was the "Great Pacoudrie Swamp." It was filled with enormous sycamore, gum, cottonwood, and cypress trees. I am told the swamp stretches to the shore of the Calcasieu river. For thirty or forty miles, no one lives there except wild beasts. These include bears, wildcats, tigers, and great slimy reptiles that crawl everywhere through the swamp. Long before I reached the bayou, the reptiles surrounded me. In fact, they were around me from the time I entered the water until I came out of the swamp on my return. I saw hundreds of moccasin snakes. Every log and bog was alive with them. So was every fallen tree trunk I had to step or climb over. They crawled away as I approached, but sometimes, in my haste, I nearly put my hand or foot on them. They are poisonous snakes, and their bite is more deadly than a rattlesnake's. Besides, I had lost one shoe. Its sole had come off completely, leaving only the upper part dangling from my ankle.
I saw also many alligators, great and small, lying in the water, or on pieces of floodwood. The noise I made usually startled them, when they moved off and plunged into the deepest places. Sometimes, however, I would come directly upon a monster before observing it. In such cases, I would start back, run a short way round, and in that manner shun them. Straight forward, they will run a short distance rapidly, but do not possess the power of turning. In a crooked race, there is no difficulty in evading them.
I also saw many alligators, large and small, lying in the water or on pieces of driftwood. The noise I made usually startled them, and they moved off and plunged into the deepest water. Sometimes, though, I would come upon a monster before I noticed it. Then I would jump back and run a short way around it to avoid it. Alligators can run quickly in a straight line for a short distance, but they cannot turn. If you run a winding course, you can easily escape them.
About two o'clock in the afternoon, I heard the last of the hounds. Probably they did not cross the bayou. Wet and weary, but relieved from the sense of instant peril, I continued on, more cautious and afraid, however, of the snakes and alligators than I had been in the earlier portion of my flight. Now, before stepping into a muddy pool, I would strike the water with a stick. If the waters moved, I would go around it, if not, would venture through.
Around two in the afternoon, I heard the hounds for the last time. They probably did not cross the bayou. Wet and tired, I continued on, relieved that I was no longer in immediate danger. But I was more cautious and more afraid of snakes and alligators than I had been earlier in my flight. Now, before stepping into a muddy pool, I would strike the water with a stick. If the water moved, I would go around the pool. If it did not, I would venture through.
At length the sun went down, and gradually night's trailing mantle shrouded the great swamp in darkness. Still I staggered on, fearing every instant I should feel the dreadful sting of the moccasin, or be crushed within the jaws of some disturbed alligator. The dread of them now almost equaled the fear of the pursuing hounds. The moon arose after a time, its mild light creeping through the overspreading branches, loaded with long, pendent moss. I kept traveling forwards until after midnight, hoping all the while that I would soon emerge into some less desolate and dangerous region. But the water grew deeper and the walking more difficult than ever. I perceived it would be impossible to proceed much farther, and knew not, moreover, what hands I might fall into, should I succeed in reaching a human habitation. Not provided with a pass, any white man would be at liberty to arrest me, and place me in prison until such time as my master should "prove property, pay charges, and take me away." I was an estray, and if so unfortunate as to meet a law-abiding citizen of Louisiana, he would deem it his duty to his neighbor, perhaps, to put me forthwith in the pound. Really, it was difficult to determine which I had most reason to fear—dogs, alligators or men!
At last the sun went down, and night gradually spread its dark cloak over the great swamp. Still I staggered on. At every moment, I feared the dreadful bite of a moccasin or the crushing jaws of a disturbed alligator. I now feared them almost as much as the hounds pursuing me. After a while, the moon rose. Its gentle light crept through the spreading branches, which were heavy with long, hanging moss. I kept going until after midnight, hoping all the while to reach a less desolate and dangerous place. But the water grew deeper, and walking became harder than ever. I realized I could not go much farther. Even if I reached a home, I did not know whose hands I might fall into. I had no pass, so any white man could arrest me and put me in prison. I would remain there until my master should "prove property, pay charges, and take me away." I was a stray. If I was unlucky enough to meet a law-abiding citizen of Louisiana, he might think it his duty to his neighbor to put me straight in the pound. Really, it was hard to decide what I had most reason to fear: dogs, alligators, or men!
After midnight, however, I came to a halt. Imagination cannot picture the dreariness of the scene. The swamp was resonant with the quacking of innumerable ducks! Since the foundation of the earth, in all probability, a human footstep had never before so far penetrated the recesses of the swamp. It was not silent now—silent to a degree that rendered it oppressive,—as it was when the sun was shining in the heavens. My midnight intrusion had awakened the feathered tribes, which seemed to throng the morass in hundreds of thousands, and their garrulous throats poured forth such multitudinous sounds—there was such a fluttering of wings—such sullen plunges in the water all around me—that I was affrighted and appalled. All the fowls of the air, and all the creeping things of the earth appeared to have assembled together in that particular place, for the purpose of filling it with clamor and confusion. Not by human dwellings—not in crowded cities alone, are the sights and sounds of life. The wildest places of the earth are full of them. Even in the heart of that dismal swamp, God had provided a refuge and a dwelling place for millions of living things.
After midnight, however, I stopped. No one could imagine how dreary the scene was. The swamp rang with the quacking of countless ducks! In all probability, no human foot had ever ventured so deep into the swamp since the earth began. It was no longer oppressively silent, as it had been when the sun was shining. My midnight intrusion had awakened the birds, which seemed to crowd the swamp in hundreds of thousands. Their noisy throats made countless sounds. Wings fluttered, and heavy splashes sounded in the water all around me. I was frightened and appalled. All the birds of the air and all the creeping things of the earth seemed to have gathered there. They seemed to have come together to fill that place with noise and confusion. The sights and sounds of life are not found only near human homes or in crowded cities. The wildest places on earth are full of them. Even in the heart of that gloomy swamp, God had provided a refuge and a home for millions of living things.
The moon had now risen above the trees, when I resolved upon a new project. Thus far I had endeavored to travel as nearly south as possible. Turning about I proceeded in a north-west direction, my object being to strike the Pine Woods in the vicinity of Master Ford's. Once within the shadow of his protection, I felt I would be comparatively safe.
The moon had risen above the trees when I decided on a new plan. Until then, I had tried to travel as nearly south as possible. I turned and headed northwest, hoping to reach the Pine Woods near Master Ford's. Once under his protection, I felt I would be relatively safe.
My clothes were in tatters, my hands, face, and body covered with scratches, received from the sharp knots of fallen trees, and in climbing over piles of brush and floodwood. My bare foot was full of thorns. I was besmeared with muck and mud, and the green slime that had collected on the surface of the dead water, in which I had been immersed to the neck many times during the day and night. Hour after hour, and tiresome indeed had they become, I continued to plod along on my north-west course. The water began to grow less deep, and the ground more firm under my feet. At last I reached the Pacoudrie, the same wide bayou I had swam while "outward bound." I swam it again, and shortly after thought I heard a cock crow, but the sound was faint, and it might have been a mockery of the ear. The water receded from my advancing footsteps—now I had left the bogs behind me—now I was on dry land that gradually ascended to the plain, and I knew I was somewhere in the "Great Pine Woods."
My clothes were in rags. My hands, face, and body were covered with scratches from the sharp knots of fallen trees. I had also been scratched climbing over piles of brush and floodwood. My bare foot was full of thorns. I was covered in muck, mud, and the green slime that had gathered on the surface of the still water. Many times during the day and night, I had been submerged in that water up to my neck. Hour after hour, I trudged on toward the northwest. The hours had become truly tiresome. The water began to grow shallower, and the ground beneath my feet became firmer. At last I reached the Pacoudrie, the same wide bayou I had swum while "outward bound." I swam across it again. Shortly afterward, I thought I heard a rooster crow, but the sound was faint. My ears might have been playing tricks on me. The water grew shallower as I walked on. Now I had left the bogs behind me. Now I was on dry land that gradually rose to the plain, and I knew I was somewhere in the "Great Pine Woods."
Just at day-break I came to an opening—a sort of small plantation—but one I had never seen before. In the edge of the woods I came upon two men, a slave and his young master, engaged in catching wild hogs. The white man I knew would demand my pass, and not able to give him one, would take me into possession. I was too wearied to run again, and too desperate to be taken, and therefore adopted a ruse that proved entirely successful. Assuming a fierce expression, I walked directly towards him, looking him steadily in the face. As I approached, he moved backwards with an air of alarm. It was plain he was much affrighted—that he looked upon me as some infernal goblin, just arisen from the bowels of the swamp!
Just at daybreak, I came to a clearing, a kind of small plantation I had never seen before. At the edge of the woods, I came upon two men catching wild hogs. One was a slave, and the other was his young master. I knew the white man would demand my pass. Since I could not show him one, he would take possession of me. I was too tired to run again and too desperate to be taken. So I tried a trick that worked perfectly. Putting on a fierce expression, I walked straight toward him, staring him in the face. As I approached, he backed away, looking alarmed. He was plainly terrified. He looked at me as if I were some devilish goblin, just risen from the depths of the swamp!
"Where does William Ford live?" I demanded, in no gentle tone.
"Where does William Ford live?" I demanded harshly.
"He lives seven miles from here," was the reply.
"He lives seven miles from here," came the reply.
"Which is the way to his place?" I again demanded, trying to look more fiercely than ever.
"Which way is his place?" I demanded again, trying to look fiercer than ever.
"Do you see those pine trees yonder?" he asked, pointing to two, a mile distant, that rose far above their fellows, like a couple of tall sentinels, overlooking the broad expanse of forest.
"Do you see those pine trees over there?" he asked, pointing to two trees a mile away. They rose far above the others, like two tall sentinels overlooking the vast forest.
"I see them," was the answer.
"I see them," came the reply.
"At the feet of those pine trees," he continued, "runs the Texas road. Turn to the left, and it will lead you to William Ford's."
"The Texas road runs by the base of those pine trees," he continued. "Turn left, and it will lead you to William Ford's."
Without farther parley, I hastened forward, happy as he was, no doubt, to place the widest possible distance between us. Striking the Texas road, I turned to the left hand, as directed, and soon passed a great fire, where a pile of logs were burning. I went to it, thinking I would dry my clothes; but the gray light of the morning was fast breaking away,—some passing white man might observe me; besides, the heat overpowered me with the desire of sleep: so, lingering no longer, I continued my travels, and finally, about eight o'clock, reached the house of Master Ford.
Without another word, I hurried on. No doubt he was as glad as I was to put as much distance between us as possible. When I reached the Texas road, I turned left, as directed. Soon I passed a large fire where a pile of logs was burning. I went over to dry my clothes, but the gray morning light was quickly fading. A passing white man might see me. Besides, the heat made me feel overwhelmingly sleepy. So I did not linger. I continued on my way and finally reached Master Ford's house at about eight o'clock.
The slaves were all absent from the quarters, at their work. Stepping on to the piazza, I knocked at the door, which was soon opened by Mistress Ford. My appearance was so changed—I was in such a wobegone and forlorn condition, she did not know me. Inquiring if Master Ford was at home, that good man made his appearance, before the question could be answered. I told him of my flight, and all the particulars connected with it. He listened attentively, and when I had concluded, spoke to me kindly and sympathetically, and taking me to the kitchen, called John, and ordered him to prepare me food. I had tasted nothing since daylight the previous morning.
The slaves were all away from their quarters, at work. I stepped onto the porch and knocked at the door. Mistress Ford soon opened it. My appearance had changed so much, and I looked so miserable and worn, that she did not recognize me. I asked if Master Ford was home. Before she could answer, that good man appeared. I told him about my escape and everything connected with it. He listened carefully, and when I finished, he spoke to me kindly and sympathetically. He took me to the kitchen, called John, and told him to prepare me some food. I had eaten nothing since daybreak the previous morning.
When John had set the meal before me, the madam came out with a bowl of milk, and many little delicious dainties, such as rarely please the palate of a slave. I was hungry, and I was weary, but neither food nor rest afforded half the pleasure as did the blessed voices speaking kindness and consolation. It was the oil and the wine which the Good Samaritan in the "Great Pine Woods" was ready to pour into the wounded spirit of the slave, who came to him, stripped of his raiment and half-dead.
After John set the meal before me, the madam came out with a bowl of milk and many delicious little treats. A slave rarely got to taste such things. I was hungry and tired, but food and rest gave me less than half the pleasure of those blessed voices offering kindness and comfort. Their kindness and comfort were the oil and wine that the Good Samaritan in the "Great Pine Woods" was ready to pour into the wounded spirit of the slave who came to him, stripped of his clothing and half dead.
They left me in the cabin, that I might rest. Blessed be sleep! It visiteth all alike, descending as the dews of heaven on the bond and free. Soon it nestled to my bosom, driving away the troubles that oppressed it, and bearing me to that shadowy region, where I saw again the faces, and listened to the voices of my children, who, alas, for aught I knew in my waking hours, had fallen into the arms of that other sleep, from which they never would arouse.
They left me in the cabin so I could rest. Blessed be sleep! It visits everyone alike, falling like dew from heaven on those in bondage and those who are free. Soon sleep settled into my heart, driving away the troubles that weighed on it. Sleep carried me to that shadowy place where I saw my children’s faces and heard their voices again. Alas, when I was awake, I had no way of knowing whether they had fallen into that other sleep, from which they would never wake.