s Tuesday night, and if Vetch knew that Lucy came of age on
Thursday the time was perilously short.

"No, sah; Massa Vetch t'ink de proper bufday be Friday, and he hab
told all de black people dey shall get drunk Saturday, 'cos dere
will be wedding in de house."

There was confirmation of the suspicion my jailors' talk had bred
in me. I lost no time now in imparting my plan to the negro. He
gave a low groan when I had finished.

"What's the matter?" I said. "Are you afraid?"

"Yes, Massa, I am 'fraid. S'pose we get away, dere be dogs at the
big house, and dey will let 'em loose on us and follow on
horseback. We shall be cotched, and dat will be de last of po'
Uncle Moses."

This was a staggering blow, and I own I felt for the moment an
utter despair. In the depths of the forest land, could we but gain
it, we might elude the search of men, but not the unerring scent of
bloodhounds.

"Are there horses we could make off with?" I said at length.

"No, Massa; all de horses but two at de big house be gwine to take
sugar to de coast tomorrow, and dose two are kept for Missy and
Massa Vetch."

This had an element of comfort in it, for if we could not find
horses for ourselves, neither could our pursuers, save these two,
which might not be at hand, and I did not doubt we could outstrip
any man on foot. I pointed this out to the negro, and when he
replied that we had still to reckon with the dogs, I tried to
hearten him by showing that some time must elapse before the beasts
could be fetched from their kennel and put upon the scent. And then
I asked him whether slaves had never run away from the estate
without being caught.

"Not when old Massa was alive, nor yet when Massa McTavish was de
boss; but some did run 'way when Massa Vetch come, and dey was not
cotched."

"Well, then, why should not we do the same? Do you know where they
hid?"

"In de swamp six mile 'way," he said.

"Yes, dat is it," he added, with a new eagerness in his tone, "we
will run to de swamp. I never thought of Massa going where de
niggers go. De dogs will not run on de swamp 'cos dey 'fraid of
being drownded."

"Then how can we?" I asked, wondering.

"I know all about dat, Massa," he said. "De slaves what run way dey
wear swamp shoes. I make some for massa and me, and den if we get
dere befo' de dogs cotch us, we shall be safe."

I was getting desperately uneasy lest our whispered conversation,
which had lengthened itself out, should b