carcely any existence
one hundred years ago. Colonel Byrd writes of the "Dismal Swamp:" "Since
the surveyors have entered the Dismal Swamp they have seen no living
creature; neither bird, beast, insect nor reptile, came to view. Not
even a turkey-buzzard will venture to fly over it, no more than the
Italian vulture will venture to fly over the filthy lake of Avernus; or
the birds of the Holy Land over the Salt Sea where Sodom and Gomorrah
once stood." And yet, in the present day, insect and reptile life swarms
there in every form through all the hours of the day and night!

Our fugitive friends, however, felt little inclination to philosophize
upon this subject. The hope of coming liberty strengthened their limbs,
and they bent all their energy to the task of moving forward; walking,
running, creeping, until the dawn of day approached, when weary and
footsore they sought some secure spot and lay down and slept--perchance
to dream of "Home, sweet Home"--perchance of "Camp Sorghum," and its
"chivalric" guards--perchance of the dreadful blood-hounds whose fatal
scent might even then be on their trail!

CHAPTER XXI.

LOYALTY OF THE NEGROES.

Startled by hounds.--An unpleasant predicament.--A Christian
gentlewoman.--Appeal to Mrs. Colonel Taylor.--"She did all she
could."--A meal fit for the gods.--Aunt Katy.--"Lor' bress ye,
marsters!"--Uncle Zeb's prayer.--Hoe-cake and pinders.--Woodcraft
_versus_ astronomy.--Canine foes.--Characteristics of the
slave.--Meeting escaped prisoners.--Danger.--Retreat and
concealment.

It is the morning of November twenty-eighth, 1864. The sun has just
risen above the eastern hills, and his slanting beams fall upon the
goodly heritage of Colonel Alexander Taylor, "C. S. A." There are, as
yet, none of the usual features here of a war-stricken country;
everything around is rich and substantial. The residence is a stately
mansion in the Elizabethan style, and the lady who, accompanied by two
sweet children, walks the broad piazza, is evidently a refined
gentlewoman. The colonel himself, like a gallant (but mistaken) knight,
has "gone to the wars."

She marvels what makes "Rupert," a noble hound, that but a moment ago
stretched himself at full length across the hallway, rise and bound over
the lawn, barking loudly and fiercely as he runs. She calls him--at
first gently, and then peremptorily, until the old hound with evident
reluctance obeys the summons,