I soon after came to an old field, where I obtained an abundant supply of blackberries, which not only served to check the gnawings of hunger, but also to allay my intolerable thirst. I reflected that this day was the holy Sabbath, but it brought neither rest to my weary frame, nor composure to my agitated and excited mind. Like Salathiel, the Wandering Jew, the word March! was ringing in my ears. Onward! was my motto; Liberty or death! my watchword. About ten o’clock I came to an open country, and sought out a ditch, in which to conceal myself. Here I fell into a troubled sleep. I saw, in dreams, tables groaning under the weight of the most delicious viands, and brooks of crystal waters, bubbling and sparkling as they rushed onward in their meandering course; but when I attempted to grasp them, they served me as they did Tantalus, of olden time, by vanishing into thin air, or receding beyond my reach. While lying here, I was now and then aroused by the trampling of horses grazing in the field, which I feared might be bringing on my pursuers. And once the voices of men, mingled with the sounds of horses’ feet upon a little bridge, some twenty feet distant, induced me to look out from my hiding-place, and lo! two cavalry-men—perhaps hunting for my life!—rode along.
When the sun had reached the zenith, I was again startled by voices, which approached nearer and nearer my place of concealment, till at length the cause was discovered. Several children, both black and white, had come from a farm-house, about a quarter of a mile distant, to gather blackberries along the margin of the ditch. They soon discovered me, and seemed somewhat startled and alarmed at my appearance. I soon saw them gazing down upon me, in my moist bed, with evident amazement and alarm. Pallid, haggard, unshaven, and covered with mud, I must have presented a frightful picture.
As soon as the children passed me, fearing the report they would carry home, I arose from my lair, and hurried on, though I had to pass in sight of several houses. After travelling three or four miles through an open champaign country, I came to a dense woods, bordering a stream which had ceased running, in consequence of the great drought that had, for a long time, prevailed throughout this section of Mississippi. The creek had been a large one, and in the deep holes, some water still remained, though warm, and covered with a heavy scum, and mingled with the spawn of frogs. I drank it, however, from sheer necessity, tepid and unhealthy as it was. It did not allay my thirst, but created a nausea, which was very unpleasant.
About four o’clock P. M., I was startled by the baying of bloodhounds behind me, and apparently on my track. Before escaping from jail, I had been advised by the prisoners to obtain some onions, as these, rubbed on the soles of my boots, would destroy the scent. They could only be procured, however, by a visit to some garden-patch, and I feared to go so near a house. I had left no clothes in prison from which the hounds could obtain the scent in order to find my track, and my starting in a southwest direction was an additional precaution against bloodhounds. Their baying soon became alarmingly distinct. Having heard them almost every night for years, as they hunted down the fugitive slave, I could not mistake the fearful import of their howling. I could devise no plan for breaking the trail. Dan Boone, when pursued by Indians, succeeded in baffling the hounds by catching at some overhanging branches, and swinging himself forward. Negroes often destroy the scent by carrying matches, and setting the leaves on fire. One negro of whom I heard, ran along the brink of a precipice, and dug a recess back from the narrow path. Crawling into it, he remained till the hounds reached that point, when he thrust them from the path. They fell and were dashed to pieces on the jagged rocks below.
None of these plans were practicable to me, and I supposed death imminent, either from being torn to pieces by the hounds, or by being shot by the cavalry, who were following them. Climbing a tree, I resolved to await the arrival of the cavalry, and having determined to die rather than be taken back again to Tupelo, I would refuse to obey any summons to descend. O, how I wished for my navy repeater, that I might sell my life as dearly as possible! that I might make some secessionist bite the dust ere I was slain! I often thought of the couplet in the old song—
“The hounds are baying on my track,
Christian, will you send me back?”
A feeling of strong sympathy arose in my bosom for the poor African, who, in his endeavour to escape from the Iron Furnace of Southern slavery, often encountered the bloodhounds, and was torn to pieces by them. “A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.”
I had remained but a short time in the tree, when I ascertained that the hounds were bearing eastward, and they soon passed at a distance. They were on the track of some other poor fugitive, and I rejoiced again in the hope of safety. Coming to a corn-field, I plucked two ears of corn, and ate them raw, having no matches wherewith to kindle a fire, which, indeed, would have increased my peril, as the smoke might advertise my presence to bitter and unrelenting foes.
Toward night I lay down in the woods, and fell asleep. Visions of abundance, both to eat and drink, haunted me, and every unusual sound would startle me. A fly peculiar to the South, whose buzz sounded like the voice of an old man, often awoke me with the fear that my enemies were near. As soon as Ursa Minor appeared, I took up my line of march. The night was very dark, and I became somewhat bewildered. At length I reached a crossroads, and as I was emerging from the wood, I saw two pickets a few yards from me. Stooping down, I crawled on my hands and knees back into the woods. As I retired, I heard one picket say to the other, “Who is that?”
He replied, “It is the lieutenant of the guard.”