Like wild beasts in their lair.”
On we pressed, amid the wild voices of the dark cane forest. Our progress was slow. By-and-by, as we came upon a mossy log, we tarried and tried to rest our aching heads. We soon fell asleep, being overcome by fatigue. I dreamed of my loved ones at home—of watchful eyes and praying voices in our behalf. I saw the old familiar hill-slope before my cottage door, the orchard, the fields, and, better than all, the friends of other days, and myself among them—all happy at the old homestead in free Ohio. Some hovering angel must have come and held the picture before my eyes, for I was in raptures of delight! Suddenly I was aroused from my slumbers by the tread of some animal, I knew not what. As I stirred, it hastened into the dark foliage and was gone. I awakened my comrade and told him it was morning. He was surprised to think he had slept so long, and both of us were greatly refreshed. Again we prayed and pressed onward for home and friends, and for a sight of the Stars and Stripes. We had decided on keeping steadily on in a south-easterly course until we reached some point on the sea-coast then in our possession. The sun beamed hotly over our heads. We traveled as fast as possible all day, hoping that we might find some negro—none else in that region were human beings—and through the aid of slaves get something to eat, for we were actually starving. We captured a frog that day, and divided the precious morsel between us, with thanksgiving. At night we lay down, but hunger and faintness prohibited repose. We longed for morning. We gazed upward to the twinkling stars, praying them to speed faster through the firmament, and let the sun arise. At length the blushing morn appeared. I hailed it as the dawn of an eventful day, for now we must seek and obtain food, or perish in the swamp. The idea of falling into the hands of our enemies chilled our very souls. We thought to die alone, and “let the dead bury the dead” in the wilderness, rather than suffer ourselves to be recaptured and tortured to death by inches, to gratify the jeering, jabbering multitudes. But the day was come when something more must be ventured for life’s sake. At last dawn came, and again we fell upon our knees and asked for wisdom and direction in the hour of need. Rising comforted and strengthened, we changed our course, and pressed forward, expecting to emerge from the cane-brake and find a plantation where there were slaves. The undergrowth was so dense that we could with difficulty make about one mile per hour. The day was fast passing away, and so was our strength. At about three o’clock in the afternoon, we sat down, almost in despair, and held a council, when we decided that nothing but the hand of the Lord could deliver us. Again we bowed ourselves before Him, and rose refreshed both in mind and body. Our steps were elastic—our hearts gladdened, and we hurried onward, under the conscious protection of God.
Suddenly, I heard the barking of a dog not far distant. We paused and listened. It was not a bloodhound. Collins, being a little deaf from the effects of terrific artillery-firing at Shiloh, did not, at first, catch the sound. Now we knew that help was near. We quickened our pace, and in a few minutes heard the voices of some negro men. A few steps farther, and we came in sight of a cotton-field, which we approached by walking in the water of a small brook that flowed in that direction. With great caution, we neared the field, in which there were twenty-five negroes at work ploughing cotton. Most of the men looked old and toil-worn. While we were reconnoitering our ground, I observed an old, gray-haired man nearing the fence with his furrow, and when he paused a moment to scrape his plough, before returning across the field, I rapped on a rail, which instantly drew his attention. When I caught his eye, I beheld an intellect and a sympathy languaged there which gave me hope. I approached the old man with trembling step and faltering voice, I know, for there was danger of communicating with some excitable and treacherous slave—although such are rare cases—yet I ventured to speak to my wondering auditor. I approached that cotton-field, half famished as I was, with many of my Virginia prejudices against the negroes, for I had been taught to regard them as unreliable and stupid. But I felt that death was in the swamp, and life might be in the cotton-field.
“Well, uncle,” said I, “I am traveling through your country, and I am very ragged, as you see. I don’t wish to call on white folks in this condition, and I am very hungry. Could you get me something to eat?”
“Oh, yes, massa! God bless you! all you want; but go back! go back!” he continued, waving his hand, as if to hurry me back to our hiding-place; “go back, massa! they’s after you wid de houns and de horses! Do you see dat ole cabin up dar, in dat field? To-night, just at ’leven o’clock, come to dat cabin, massa, and I’ll gin you all de supper you want. Now, go back! go back, massa!”
“Uncle, you won’t bring anybody with you, will you?”
“Why, God bless you, massa. I knows you! I knows you!”
“Now, uncle, what do you know about me?”
“Why, you’s one of dem Yankees dat broke away from Macon prison, massa. I knows you! God bless you!”
“Well, uncle, don’t tell that to anybody, will you?”