At noon we reached a cleared piece of ground containingthree or four acres. Upon it was a small， unpainted， woodenhouse， a corn crib， or， as we would say， a barn， and a logkitchen， standing about a rod from the house. It was thesummer residence of Mr. Martin. Rich planters， havinglarge establishments on Bayou Boeuf， are accustomed tospend the warmer season in these woods. Here they findclear water and delightful shades. In fact， these retreatsare to the planters of that section of the country whatNewport and Saratoga are to the wealthier inhabitants ofnorthern cities.
We were sent around into the kitchen， and suppliedwith sweet potatoes， corn-bread， and bacon， while MasterFord dined with Martin in the house. There were severalslaves about the premises. Martin came out and took alook at us， asking Ford the price of each， if we were greenhands， and so forth， and making inquiries in relation tothe slave market generally.
After a long rest we set forth again， following the Texasroad， which had the appearance of being very rarelytraveled. For five miles we passed through continuouswoods without observing a single habitation. At length，just as the sun was sinking in the west， we enteredanother opening， containing some twelve or fifteen acres.
In this opening stood a house much larger than Mr.
Martin’s. It was two stories high， with a piazza in front.
In the rear of it was also a log kitchen， poultry house，corncribs， and several negro cabins. Near the house was a peach orchard， and gardens of orange and pomegranatetrees. The space was entirely surrounded by woods， andcovered with a carpet of rich， rank verdure. It was aquiet， lonely， pleasant place —literally a green spot in thewilderness. It was the residence of my master， WilliamFord.
As we approached， a yellow girl—her name wasRose—was standing on the piazza. Going to the door， shecalled her mistress， who presently came running out tomeet her lord. She kissed him， and laughingly demandedif he had bought “those niggers.” Ford said he had， andtold us to go round to Sally’s cabin and rest ourselves.
Turning the corner of the house， we discovered Sallywashing—her two baby children near her， rolling on thegrass. They jumped up and toddled towards us， looked atus a moment like a brace of rabbits， then ran back to theirmother as if afraid of us.
Sally conducted us into the cabin， told us to lay downour bundles and be seated， for she was sure that we weretired. Just then John， the cook， a boy some sixteen yearsof age， and blacker than any crow， came running in，looked steadily in our faces， then turning round， withoutsaying as much as “how d’ye do，” ran back to the kitchen，laughing loudly， as if our coming was a great joke indeed.
Much wearied with our walk， as soon as it was dark，Harry and I wrapped our blankets round us， and laid downupon the cabin floor. My thoughts， as usual， wanderedback to my wife and children. The consciousness of my real situation； the hopelessness of any effort to escapethrough the wide forests of Avoyelles， pressed heavilyupon me， yet my heart was at home in Saratoga.
I was awakened early in the morning by the voice ofMaster Ford， calling Rose. She hastened into the houseto dress the children， Sally to the field to milk the cows，while John was busy in the kitchen preparing breakfast.
In the meantime Harry and I were strolling about theyard， looking at our new quarters. Just after breakfasta colored man， driving three yoke of oxen， attached to awagon load of lumber， drove into the opening. He was aslave of Ford’s， named Walton， the husband of Rose. Bythe way， Rose was a native of Washington， and had beenbrought from thence five years before. She had neverseen Eliza， but she had heard of Berry， and they knew thesame streets， and the same people， either personally， orby reputation. They became fast friends immediately， andtalked a great deal together of old times， and of friendsthey had left behind.
Ford was at that time a wealthy man. Besides hisseat in the Pine Woods， he owned a large lumberingestablishment on Indian Creek， four miles distant， andalso， in his wife’s right， an extensive plantation and manyslaves on Bayou Boeuf.
Walton had come with his load of lumber from themills on Indian Creek. Ford directed us to return withhim， saying he would follow us as soon as possible. Beforeleaving， Mistress Ford called me into the storeroom， and handed me， as it is there termed， a tin bucket of molassesfor Harry and myself.
Eliza was still ringing her hands and deploring the lossof her children. Ford tried as much as possible to consoleher—told her she need not work very hard； that she mightremain with Rose， and assist the madam in the houseaffairs.
Riding with Walton in the wagon， Harry and I becamequite well acquainted with him long before reachingIndian Creek. He was a “born thrall” of Ford’s， and spokekindly and affectionately of him， as a child would speakof his own father. In answer to his inquiries from whenceI came， I told him from Washington. Of that city， he hadheard much from his wife， Rose， and all the way plied mewith many extravagant and absurd questions.
On reaching the mills at Indian Creek， we foundtwo more of Ford’s slaves， Sam and Antony. Sam， also，was a Washingtonian， having been brought out in thesame gang with Rose. He had worked on a farm nearGeorgetown. Antony was a blacksmith， from Kentucky，who had been in his present master’s service about tenyears. Sam knew Burch， and when informed that he wasthe trader who had sent me on from Washington， it wasremarkable how well we agreed upon the subject of hissuperlative rascality. He had forwarded Sam， also.
On Ford’s arrival at the mill， we were employed inpiling lumber， and chopping logs， which occupation wecontinued during the remainder of the summer.
