between
the two roads, gradually working our way through to the river, as we
could not go on either of the roads for fear of detection. At the
bridges, where these roads crossed the river, there were rebel camps,
and it was useless for us to think of crossing either. We, therefore,
worked our way carefully through the thicket that we were in until we
came within sight of the river. Then Uncle Alfred went ahead, creeping a
few steps, then stopping to see if the river was clear of soldiers. From
this point it was some two and a half miles to the bridges, each way;
and it was our idea that if we could cross here without being seen by
the soldiers, we would be all right. Uncle Alfred came back to us and
told us that he thought the way was clear. "I can not hear a sound,"
said he, "so let us go on." We followed the river down until we came to
a place where we could cross. Here we found some drift-wood--an old tree
had been blown down, nearly across the river, leaving a space of about
twenty feet. Over this natural bridge we crept to the open space which
we waded, the water being up to our knees; but we did not mind this.
There was no talking above a whisper, for fear of being heard by the
soldiers. Daylight had begun to dawn, and we felt good that we had
succeeded thus far. We went on quietly until we got entirely out of the
swamp and reached some hills. The woods were on each side of us and
still thick; so we stopped here, on the side of a hill, where the sun
shone brightly on us, expecting to rest for the day. Our clothes had
already become quite dry from the sunshine; and, so far, we felt all
right. Alfred and I had made a turn around the place, listening to see
if we could hear any noise, or see any trace of soldiers; but we
discovered no trace of them, and went back to our stopping place. I had
been asleep and some of the others were still asleep, when suddenly I
heard the yelp of blood hounds in the distance. It seemed quite far away
at first, but the sound came nearer and nearer, and then we heard men
yelling. We knew now that they were on our trail, and became so
frightened that we all leaped to our feet, and were about to run, when
Uncle Alfred said: "Stop children, let me oil you feet." He had with him
a bottle of ointment made of turpentine and onions, a preparation used
to throw hounds off a trail. All stopped; and the women, having their
feet anointed first, started off, Uncle Alfred telling them to run in
diffe