It was about two o'clock in the afternoon when I arrived at the plantation. I immediately recommenced the issue of goods, which was suspended so hastily three days before. From two o'clock until dark the overseer and myself were busily engaged, and distributed about two-thirds of our remaining stock. Night came. We suspended the distribution and indulged in supper. After giving the overseer directions for the morrow, I recollected an invitation to spend the night at the house of a friend, three miles away, on the road to Natchez.
I ordered my horse, and in a few moments the animal was ready, at the door. I told the overseer where I was going, and bade him good-night.
"Where are you going, Mr. K----?" said the negro who had brought out the horse, as he delivered the bridle into my hands.
"If any one calls to see me," said I, "you can say I have gone to Natchez."
With that I touched a spur to my horse and darted off rapidly toward my friend's house. A half-dozen negroes had gathered to assist in saddling and holding the horse. As I sprang into the saddle I heard one of them say:
"I don't see why Mr. K---- starts off to Natchez at this time of night."
Another negro explained the matter, but I did not hear the explanation. If he gave a satisfactory reason, I think he did better than I could have done.
Immediately after my departure the overseer went to bed. He had been in bed about fifteen minutes when he heard a trampling of horses' feet around the house. A moment later there was a loud call for the door to be opened. Before the overseer could comply with the request, the door was broken in. A dozen men crowded into the house, demanding that a light be struck instantly. As the match gave its first flash of light, one of the visitors said:
"Well, K----, we've got you this time."
"That," said another, "is no K----; that is Walter Owen, who used to be overseer on Stewart's plantation."