lves, that if I made no farther
resistance, they would soon destroy us, and if I made a break at them,
the matter could be no worse. I thought if I must die, I would die
striving to protect my little family from destruction, die striving
to escape from slavery. My wife took a club in one hand, and her child
in the other, while I rushed forth with my bowie knife in hand, to
fight off the savage wolves. I made one desperate charge at them, and
at the same time making a loud yell at the top of my voice, that
caused them to retreat and scatter, which was equivalent to a victory
on our part. Our prayers were answered, and our lives spared through
the night. We slept no more that night, and the next morning there
were no wolves to be seen or heard, and we resolved not to stay on
that island another night.

We travelled up and down the river side trying to find a place where
we could cross. Finally we found a lot of drift wood clogged together,
extending across the stream at a narrow place in the river, upon which
we crossed over. But we had not yet surmounted our greatest
difficulty. We had to meet one which was far more formidable than the
first. Not many days after I had to face the Deacon.

We had been wandering about through the cane brakes, bushes, and
briers, for several days, when we heard the yelping of blood hounds, a
great way off, but they seemed to come nearer and nearer to us. We
thought after awhile that they must be on our track; we listened
attentively at the approach. We knew it was no use for us to undertake
to escape from them, and as they drew nigh, we heard the voice of a
man hissing on the dogs.

After awhile we saw the hounds coming in full speed on our track, and
the soul drivers close after them on horse back, yelling like tigers,
as they came in sight. The shrill yelling of the savage blood hounds
as they drew nigh made the woods echo.

The first impulse was to run to escape the approaching danger of
ferocious dogs, and blood thirsty slave hunters, who were so rapidly
approaching me with loaded muskets and bowie knives, with a
determination to kill or capture me and my family. I started to run
with my little daughter in my arms, but stumbled and fell down and
scratched the arm of little Frances with a brier, so that it bled very
much; but the dear child never cried, for she seemed to know the
danger to which we were exposed.

But we soon found that it was no use for us to run. The dogs were
so