My resolution was soon formed， and swinging himfrom the work-bench to the ground， I leaped a fence nearby， and hurried across the plantation， passing the slavesat work in the cotton field. At the end of a quarter of amile I reached the wood-pasture， and it was a short timeindeed that I had been running it. Climbing on to a highfence， I could see the cotton press， the great house， andthe space between. It was a conspicuous position， fromwhence the whole plantation was in view. I saw Tibeatscross the field towards the house， and enter it—then hecame out， carrying his saddle， and presently mounted hishorse and galloped away.
I was desolate， but thankful. Thankful that my life wasspared， —desolate and discouraged with the prospectbefore me. What would become of me？ Who wouldbefriend me？ Whither should I fly？ Oh， God！ Thou whogavest me life， and implanted in my bosom the love oflife who filled it with emotions such as other men， thycreatures， have， do not forsake me. Have pity on the poorslave—let me not perish. If thou cost not protect me， Iam lost—lost！ Such supplications， silently and unuttered，ascended from my inmost heart to Heaven. But there was no answering voice—no sweet， low tone， comingdown from on high， whispering to my soul， “It is I， benot afraid.” I was the forsaken of God， it seemed—thedespised and hated of men！
In about three-fourths of an hour several of the slavesshouted and made signs for me to run. Presently， lookingup the bayou， I saw Tibeats and two others on horseback，coming at a fast gait， followed by a troop of dogs.
There were as many as eight or ten. Distant as I was， Iknew them. They belonged on the adjoining plantation.
The dogs used on Bayou Boeuf for hunting slaves area kind of blood-hound， but a far more savage breedthan is found in the Northern States. They will attacka negro， at their master’s bidding， and cling to him asthe common bull-dog will cling to a four footed animal.
Frequently their loud bay is heard in the swamps， andthen there is speculation as to what point the runawaywill be overhauled—the same as a New-York hunter stopsto listen to the hounds coursing along the hillsides， andsuggests to his companion that the fox will be taken atsuch a place. I never knew a slave escaping with his lifefrom Bayou Boeuf. One reason is， they are not allowed tolearn the art of swimming， and are incapable of crossingthe most inconsiderable stream. In their flight they cango in no direction but a little way without coming to abayou， when the inevitable alternative is presented， ofbeing drowned or overtaken by the dogs. In youth I hadpracticed in the clear streams that flow through my native120
district， until I had become an expert swimmer， and feltat home in the watery element.
I stood upon the fence until the dogs had reachedthe cotton press. In an instant more， their long， savageyells announced they were on my track. Leaping downfrom my position， I ran towards the swamp. Fear gaveme strength， and I exerted it to the utmost. Every fewmoments I could hear the yelpings of the dogs. They weregaining upon me. Every howl was nearer and nearer.
Each moment I expected they would spring upon myback—expected to feel their long teeth sinking into myflesh. There were so many of them， I knew they wouldtear me to pieces， that they would worry me， at once， todeath. I gasped for breath—gasped forth a half-uttered，choking prayer to the Almighty to save me—to give mestrength to reach some wide， deep bayou where I couldthrow them off the track， or sink into its waters. PresentlyI reached a thick palmetto bottom. As I fled throughthem they made a loud rustling noise， not loud enough，however， to drown the voices of the dogs.
Continuing my course due south， as nearly as I canjudge， I came at length to water just over shoe. Thehounds at that moment could not have been five rodsbehind me. I could hear them crashing and plungingthrough the palmettoes， their loud， eager yells making thewhole swamp clamorous with the sound. Hope revived alittle as I reached the water. If it were only deeper， theymight loose the scent， and thus disconcerted， afford me the opportunity of evading them. Luckily， it grew deeperthe farther I proceeded—now over my ankles—now halfwayto my knees—now sinking a moment to my waist，and then emerging presently into more shallow places.
The dogs had not gained upon me since I struck thewater. Evidently they were confused. Now their savageintonations grew more and more distant， assuring methat I was leaving them. Finally I stopped to listen， butthe long howl came booming on the air again， telling meI was not yet safe. From bog to bog， where I had stepped，they could still keep upon the track， though impeded bythe water. At length， to my great joy， I came to a widebayou， and plunging in， had soon stemmed its sluggishcurrent to the other side. There， certainly， the dogs wouldbe confounded—the current carrying down the streamall traces of that slight， mysterious scent， which enablesthe quick-smelling hound to follow in the track of thefugitive.
After crossing this bayou the water became so deepI could not run. I was now in what I afterwards learnedwas the “Great Pacoudrie Swamp.” It was filled withimmense trees—the sycamore， the gum， the cotton woodand cypress， and extends， I am informed， to the shore ofthe Calcasieu river. For thirty or forty miles it is withoutinhabitants， save wild beasts—the bear， the wild-cat， thetiger， and great slimy reptiles， that are crawling throughit everywhere. Long before I reached the bayou， in fact，from the time I struck the water until I emerged from the swamp on my return， these reptiles surrounded me. I sawhundreds of moccasin snakes. Every log and bog—everytrunk of a fallen tree， over which I was compelled to stepor climb， was alive with them. They crawled away at myapproach， but sometimes in my haste， I almost placed myhand or foot upon them. They are poisonous serpents—their bite more fatal than the rattlesnake’s. Besides， I hadlost one shoe， the sole having come entirely off， leavingthe upper only dangling to my ankle.
