There is something solemn about a sleeping town. The solitude of the swamp and wood is solemn; but the ghostly stillness of a town, where all its inhabitants lie buried in sleep, and no sign or sound proclaims the presence of life in man or beast, is of so weird a character as to produce a sensation of awe, akin to fear. The shadows that enwrapped them as they came beneath the buildings, and the fitful gleams of moonlight that fell upon them when streets were crossed, seemed not lights and shadows at all, but strange, intangible things. And when at length they reached the outer limit of the village, and the distant woods were seen by the moon's rays, our travellers felt as if they had been wandering in a graveyard, where the tombs were houses, and they wished they were in the swamp again, where such uncanny fancies never troubled them. When the toad and lizard, snakes and other loathsome things, crawled around their swampy bed, they cared nothing; but the dead silence of a cloudless night, brooding over a swarm of their fellow-beings, brought with it a feeling they could not account for or understand; and therefore it was with a sense of great relief they found themselves at the outer edge of the town.
Their satisfaction, however, was somewhat moderated when, at a sudden turn of the road, they abruptly came upon a man and a boy, who were picking their way with such velvety tread that the two parties were face to face before either was aware of the proximity of the other. The strangers appeared to be the more alarmed, for they were just making a secret and rapid detour with the view of debouching into a side street, when, feeling sure that none but fugitives would be so anxious to escape an interview, Glazier hailed them:
"Don't be uneasy, boys! We're friends! We're Yankees!"
His conjecture proved correct. The strangers were Captain Bryant, of the Fifth New York Cavalry, and a friend. "They had," says Captain Glazier, "a negro guide, who was to secrete them in a hut until the next night, when they were to proceed, as we had done, and reach the line of freedom by the nearest route."
The interview was brief, the parties differing as to which was the most expedient route, and the discussion terminated by each taking the one he thought best. Glazier and his comrade made off to a swamp, and upon securing a safe resting-place, were overjoyed to find a venerable sow and her litter approaching. They greeted the porcine mother, says our friend, "otherwise than did wandering Æneas the alba sus lying under the hollow trees of ancient Italy," for, "enticing them with crumbs of hoe-cake," they both in unison struck a juvenile porker on the head with a heavy stick, and a mammoth knife, the gift of Uncle Zeb, came into requisition, and did good service. Over the embers of a fire kindled in a hole in the ground, they roasted the little fellow, and made a delicious meal.
They had scarcely finished their unexpected feast, when the thud of an axe in the distance smote on their ears, and Glazier crept cautiously out to reconnoitre. The wood-cutter proved to be a colored lad, and having a vivid recollection of their scampering friend of "chicken" fame, he hailed him in this wise: "Hello, Sambo!"
This manner of salute left the party addressed, in doubt as to the colors under which the young white stranger served. Off went his hat, therefore, and he stood grinning and waiting to hear more. Our hero walked quickly up to him, and frankly explained the situation, concluding, as usual, with a request for information and aid. Both were promptly tendered, and shortly after, the fugitives were concealed in a corn-fodder house. Here, in the evening, a motley and humorous delegation of darkies waited upon them and after ventilating their sage opinions upon the conduct of the war, organized a prayer-meeting; and, if the fervor of human prayer availeth, they doubtless damaged the cause of Secession materially that evening.
The topographical knowledge of these well-meaning friends appears to have been at fault for had Glazier followed the route they advised, instead of striking the railroad running from Charleston to Augusta, on the west side of Aiken, which would have enabled them, by pursuing it to the westward, to reach Augusta, they would have struck it on the east side, and consequently by mistake have followed it towards Charleston, precisely the place to which they did not want to go.
"How far is it, my boy, by this road, to Drainside?" asked a mud-splashed traveler of a shrewd lad by the roadside.
"If you keep on the way you are heading, and can manage the Atlantic and Pacific on horseback," replied the boy, "it is 23,999 miles. If you turn your horse's head and go right back, it is one mile."