Chapter: RETURN TO TIBEATS--IMPOSSIBILITY OF PLEASING HIM--HE ATTACKS ME
  WITH A HATCHET--THE STRUGGLE OVER THE BROAD AXE--THE TEMPTATION
  TO MURDER HIM--ESCAPE ACROSS THE PLANTATION--OBSERVATIONS FROM
  THE FENCE--TIBEATS APPROACHES, FOLLOWED BY THE HOUNDS--THEY TAKE
  MY TRACK--THEIR LOUD YELLS--THEY ALMOST OVERTAKE ME--I REACH THE
  WATER--THE HOUNDS CONFUSED--MOCCASIN SNAKES--ALLIGATORS--NIGHT
  IN THE "GREAT PACOUDRIE SWAMP"--THE SOUNDS OF LIFE--NORTH-WEST
  COURSE--EMERGE INTO THE PINE WOODS--THE SLAVE AND HIS YOUNG
  MASTER--ARRIVAL AT FORD'S--FOOD AND REST.


At the end of a month, my services being no longer required at
Tanner's I was sent over the bayou again to my master, whom I found
engaged in building the cotton press. This was situated at some
distance from the great house, in a rather retired place. I commenced
working once more in company with Tibeats, being entirely alone with
him most part of the time. I remembered the words of Chapin, his
precautions, his advice to beware, lest in some unsuspecting moment
he might injure me. They were always in my mind, so that I lived in a
most uneasy state of apprehension and fear. One eye was on my work,
the other on my master. I determined to give him no cause of offence,
to work still more diligently, if possible, than I had done, to bear
whatever abuse he might heap upon me, save bodily injury, humbly and
patiently, hoping thereby to soften in some degree his manner towards
me, until the blessed time might come when I should be delivered from
his clutches.

The third morning after my return, Chapin left the plantation for
Cheneyville, to be absent until night. Tibeats, on that morning, was
attacked with one of those periodical fits of spleen and ill-humor to
which he was frequently subject, rendering him still more disagreeable
and venomous than usual.

It was about nine o'clock in the forenoon, when I was busily employed
with the jack-plane on one of the sweeps. Tibeats was standing by the
work-bench, fitting a handle into the chisel, with which he had been
engaged previously in cutting the thread of the screw.

"You are not planing that down enough," said he.

"It is just even with the line," I replied.

"You're a d--d liar," he exclaimed passionately.

"Oh, well, master," I said, mildly, "I will plane it down more if you
say so," at the same time proceeding to do as I supposed he desired.
Before one shaving had been removed, however, he cried out, saying I
had now planed it too deep--it was too small--I had spoiled the sweep
entirely. Then followed curses and imprecations. I had endeavored to
do exactly as he directed, but nothing would satisfy the unreasonable
man. In silence and in dread I stood by the sweep, holding the
jack-plane in my hand, not knowing what to do, and not daring to be
idle. His anger grew more and more violent, until, finally, with an
oath, such a bitter, frightful oath as only Tibeats could utter, he
seized a hatchet from the work-bench and darted towards me, swearing
he would cut my head open.

It was a moment of life or death. The sharp, bright blade of the
hatchet glittered in the sun. In another instant it would be buried in
my brain, and yet in that instant--so quick will a man's thoughts come
to him in such a fearful strait--I reasoned with myself. If I stood
still, my doom was certain; if I fled, ten chances to one the hatchet,
flying from his hand with a too-deadly and unerring aim, would strike
me in the back. There was but one course to take. Springing towards
him with all my power, and meeting him full half-way, before he could
bring down the blow, with one hand I caught his uplifted arm, with the
other seized him by the throat. We stood looking each other in the
eyes. In his I could see murder. I felt as if I had a serpent by the
neck, watching the slightest relaxation of my gripe, to coil itself
round my body, crushing and stinging it to death. I thought to scream
aloud, trusting that some ear might catch the sound--but Chapin was
away; the hands were in the field; there was no living soul in sight
or hearing.

The good genius, which thus far through life has saved me from the
hands of violence, at that moment suggested a lucky thought. With a
vigorous and sudden kick, that brought him on one knee, with a groan,
I released my hold upon his throat, snatched the hatchet, and cast it
beyond reach.

Frantic with rage, maddened beyond control, he seized a white oak
stick, five feet long, perhaps, and as large in circumference as his
hand could grasp, which was lying on the ground. Again he rushed
towards me, and again I met him, seized him about the waist, and being
the stronger of the two, bore him to the earth. While in that position
I obtained possession of the stick, and rising, cast it from me, also.

He likewise arose and ran for the broad-axe, on the work-bench.
Fortunately, there was a heavy plank lying upon its broad blade, in
such a manner that he could not extricate it, before I had sprung upon
his back. Pressing him down closely and heavily on the plank, so that
the axe was held more firmly to its place, I endeavored, but in vain,
to break his grasp upon the handle. In that position we remained some
minutes.

There have been hours in my unhappy life, many of them, when the
contemplation of death as the end of earthly sorrow--of the grave as
a resting place for the tired and worn out body--has been pleasant to
dwell upon. But such contemplations vanish in the hour of peril. No
man, in his full strength, can stand undismayed, in the presence of
the "king of terrors." Life is dear to every living thing; the worm
that crawls upon the ground will struggle for it. At that moment it
was dear to me, enslaved and treated as I was.

Not able to unloose his hand, once more I seized him by the throat,
and this time, with a vice-like gripe that soon relaxed his hold.
He became pliant and unstrung. His face, that had been white with
passion, was now black from suffocation. Those small serpent eyes
that spat such venom, were now full of horror--two great white orbs
starting from their sockets!

There was "a lurking devil" in my heart that prompted me to kill the
human blood-hound on the spot--to retain the grip on his accursed
throat till the breath of life was gone! I dared not murder him,
and I dared not let him live. If I killed him, my life must pay the
forfeit--if he lived, my life only would satisfy his vengeance. A
voice within whispered me to fly. To be a wanderer among the swamps,
a fugitive and a vagabond on the face of the earth, was preferable to
the life that I was leading.

My resolution was soon formed, and swinging him from the work-bench
to the ground, I leaped a fence near by, and hurried across the
plantation, passing the slaves at work in the cotton field. At the end
of a quarter of a mile I reached the wood-pasture, and it was a short
time indeed that I had been running it. Climbing on to a high fence, I
could see the cotton press, the great house, and the space between.
It was a conspicuous position, from whence the whole plantation was
in view. I saw Tibeats cross the field towards the house, and enter
it--then he came out, carrying his saddle, and presently mounted his
horse and galloped away.

I was desolate, but thankful. Thankful that my life was
spared,--desolate and discouraged with the prospect before me. What
would become of me? Who would befriend me? Whither should I fly?
Oh, God! Thou who gavest me life, and implanted in my bosom the
love of life--who filled it with emotions such as other men, thy
creatures, have, do not forsake me. Have pity on the poor slave--let
me not perish. If thou dost not protect me, I am lost--lost! Such
supplications, silently and unuttered, ascended from my inmost heart
to Heaven. But there was no answering voice--no sweet, low tone,
coming down from on high, whispering to my soul, "It is I, be not
afraid." I was the forsaken of God, it seemed--the despised and hated
of men!

In about three-fourths of an hour several of the slaves shouted and
made signs for me to run. Presently, looking up the bayou, I saw
Tibeats and two others on horse-back, coming at a fast gait, followed
by a troop of dogs. There were as many as eight or ten. Distant as I
was, I knew them. They belonged on the adjoining plantation. The dogs
used on Bayou Boeuf for hunting slaves are a kind of blood-hound,
but a far more savage breed than is found in the Northern States.
They will attack a negro, at their master's bidding, and cling
to him as the common bull-dog will cling to a four footed animal.
Frequently their loud bay is heard in the swamps, and then there is
speculation as to what point the runaway will be overhauled--the same
as a New-York hunter stops to listen to the hounds coursing along the
hillsides, and suggests to his companion that the fox will be taken
at such a place. I never knew a slave escaping with his life from
Bayou Boeuf. One reason is, they are not allowed to learn the art
of swimming, and are incapable of crossing the most inconsiderable
stream. In their flight they can go in no direction but a little
way without coming to a bayou, when the inevitable alternative is
presented, of being drowned or overtaken by the dogs. In youth I had
practised in the clear streams that flow through my native district,
until I had become an expert swimmer, and felt at home in the watery
element.

I stood upon the fence until the dogs had reached the cotton press. In
an instant more, their long, savage yells announced they were on my
track. Leaping down from my position, I ran towards the swamp. Fear
gave me strength, and I exerted it to the utmost. Every few moments I
could hear the yelpings of the dogs. They were gaining upon me. Every
howl was nearer and nearer. Each moment I expected they would spring
upon my back--expected to feel their long teeth sinking into my flesh.
There were so many of them, I knew they would tear me to pieces, that
they would worry me, at once, to death. I gasped for breath--gasped
forth a half-uttered, choking prayer to the Almighty to save me--to
give me strength to reach some wide, deep bayou where I could throw
them off the track, or sink into its waters. Presently I reached
a thick palmetto bottom. As I fled through them 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 can judge, I came at
length to water just over shoe. The hounds at that moment could not
have been five rods behind me. I could hear them crashing and plunging
through the palmettoes, their loud, eager yells making the whole swamp
clamorous with the sound. Hope revived a little as I reached the
water. If it were only deeper, they might lose the scent, and thus
disconcerted, afford me the opportunity of evading them. Luckily, it
grew deeper the farther I proceeded--now over my ankles--now half-way
to 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 the water. Evidently they were confused. Now their
savage intonations grew more and more distant, assuring me that I was
leaving them. Finally I stopped to listen, but the long howl came
booming on the air again, telling me I was not yet safe. From bog to
bog, where I had stepped, they could still keep upon the track, though
impeded by the water. At length, to my great joy, I came to a wide
bayou, and plunging in, had soon stemmed its sluggish current to
the other side. There, certainly, the dogs would be confounded--the
current carrying down the stream all traces of that slight, mysterious
scent, which enables the quick-smelling hound to follow in the track
of the fugitive.

After crossing this bayou the water became so deep I could not run. I
was now in what I afterwards learned was the "Great Pacoudrie Swamp."
It was filled with immense trees--the sycamore, the gum, the cotton
wood and cypress, and extends, I am informed, to the shore of the
Calcasieu river. For thirty or forty miles it is without inhabitants,
save wild beasts--the bear, the wild-cat, the tiger, and great slimy
reptiles, that are crawling through it 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
saw hundreds of moccasin snakes. Every log and bog--every trunk of a
fallen tree, over which I was compelled to step or climb, was alive
with them. They crawled away at my approach, but sometimes in my
haste, I almost placed my hand or foot upon them. They are poisonous
serpents--their bite more fatal than the rattlesnake's. Besides, I had
lost one shoe, the sole having come entirely off, leaving the upper
only dangling to my ankle.

I saw also many alligators, great and small, lying in the water, or
on pieces of floodwood. The noise I made usually startled them,
when they moved off and plunged into the deepest places. Sometimes,
however, I would come directly upon a monster before observing it. In
such cases, I would start back, run a short way round, and in that
manner shun them. Straight forward, they will run a short distance
rapidly, but do not possess the power of turning. In a crooked race,
there is no difficulty in evading them.

About two o'clock in the afternoon, I heard the last of the hounds.
Probably they did not cross the bayou. Wet and weary, but relieved
from the sense of instant peril, I continued on, more cautious and
afraid, however, of the snakes and alligators than I had been in the
earlier portion of my flight. Now, before stepping into a muddy pool,
I would strike the water with a stick. If the waters moved, I would go
around it, if not, would venture through.

At length the sun went down, and gradually night's trailing mantle
shrouded the great swamp in darkness. Still I staggered on, fearing
every instant I should feel the dreadful sting of the moccasin, or
be crushed within the jaws of some disturbed alligator. The dread of
them now almost equaled the fear of the pursuing hounds. The moon
arose after a time, its mild light creeping through the overspreading
branches, loaded with long, pendent moss. I kept traveling forwards
until after midnight, hoping all the while that I would soon emerge
into some less desolate and dangerous region. But the water grew
deeper and the walking more difficult than ever. I perceived it
would be impossible to proceed much farther, and knew not, moreover,
what hands I might fall into, should I succeed in reaching a human
habitation. Not provided with a pass, any white man would be at
liberty to arrest me, and place me in prison until such time as my
master should "prove property, pay charges, and take me away." I was
an estray, and if so unfortunate as to meet a law-abiding citizen of
Louisiana, he would deem it his duty to his neighbor, perhaps, to put
me forthwith in the pound. Really, it was difficult to determine which
I had most reason to fear--dogs, alligators or men!

After midnight, however, I came to a halt. Imagination cannot picture
the dreariness of the scene. The swamp was resonant with the quacking
of innumerable ducks! Since the foundation of the earth, in all
probability, a human footstep had never before so far penetrated the
recesses of the swamp. It was not silent now--silent to a degree that
rendered it oppressive,--as it was when the sun was shining in the
heavens. My midnight intrusion had awakened the feathered tribes,
which seemed to throng the morass in hundreds of thousands, and their
garrulous throats poured forth such multitudinous sounds--there was
such a fluttering of wings--such sullen plunges in the water all
around me--that I was affrighted and appalled. All the fowls of
the air, and all the creeping things of the earth appeared to have
assembled together in that particular place, for the purpose of
filling it with clamor and confusion. Not by human dwellings--not in
crowded cities alone, are the sights and sounds of life. The wildest
places of the earth are full of them. Even in the heart of that dismal
swamp, God had provided a refuge and a dwelling place for millions of
living things.

The moon had now risen above the trees, when I resolved upon a new
project. Thus far I had endeavored to travel as nearly south as
possible. Turning about I proceeded in a north-west direction, my
object being to strike the Pine Woods in the vicinity of Master
Ford's. Once within the shadow of his protection, I felt I would be
comparatively safe.

My clothes were in tatters, my hands, face, and body covered with
scratches, received from the sharp knots of fallen trees, and in
climbing over piles of brush and floodwood. My bare foot was full of
thorns. I was besmeared with muck and mud, and the green slime that
had collected on the surface of the dead water, in which I had been
immersed to the neck many times during the day and night. Hour after
hour, and tiresome indeed had they become, I continued to plod along
on my north-west course. The water began to grow less deep, and the
ground more firm under my feet. At last I reached the Pacoudrie, the
same wide bayou I had swam while "outward bound." I swam it again, and
shortly after thought I heard a cock crow, but the sound was faint,
and it might have been a mockery of the ear. The water receded from
my advancing footsteps--now I had left the bogs behind me--now I was
on dry land that gradually ascended to the plain, and I knew I was
somewhere in the "Great Pine Woods."

Just at day-break I came to an opening--a sort of small
plantation--but one I had never seen before. In the edge of the woods
I came upon two men, a slave and his young master, engaged in catching
wild hogs. The white man I knew would demand my pass, and not able
to give him one, would take me into possession. I was too wearied to
run again, and too desperate to be taken, and therefore adopted a
ruse that proved entirely successful. Assuming a fierce expression, I
walked directly towards him, looking him steadily in the face. As I
approached, he moved backwards with an air of alarm. It was plain he
was much affrighted--that he looked upon me as some infernal goblin,
just arisen from the bowels of the swamp!

"Where does William Ford live?" I demanded, in no gentle tone.

"He lives seven miles from here," was the reply.

"Which is the way to his place?" I again demanded, trying to look more
fiercely than ever.

"Do you see those pine trees yonder?" he asked, pointing to two, a
mile distant, that rose far above their fellows, like a couple of tall
sentinels, overlooking the broad expanse of forest.

"I see them," was the answer.

"At the feet of those pine trees," he continued, "runs the Texas road.
Turn to the left, and it will lead you to William Ford's."

Without farther parley, I hastened forward, happy as he was, no doubt,
to place the widest possible distance between us. Striking the Texas
road, I turned to the left hand, as directed, and soon passed a great
fire, where a pile of logs were burning. I went to it, thinking I
would dry my clothes; but the gray light of the morning was fast
breaking away,--some passing white man might observe me; besides, the
heat overpowered me with the desire of sleep: so, lingering no longer,
I continued my travels, and finally, about eight o'clock, reached the
house of Master Ford.

The slaves were all absent from the quarters, at their work. Stepping
on to the piazza, I knocked at the door, which was soon opened by
Mistress Ford. My appearance was so changed--I was in such a wobegone
and forlorn condition, she did not know me. Inquiring if Master Ford
was at home, that good man made his appearance, before the question
could be answered. I told him of my flight, and all the particulars
connected with it. He listened attentively, and when I had concluded,
spoke to me kindly and sympathetically, and taking me to the kitchen,
called John, and ordered him to prepare me food. I had tasted nothing
since daylight the previous morning.

When John had set the meal before me, the madam came out with a bowl
of milk, and many little delicious dainties, such as rarely please the
palate of a slave. I was hungry, and I was weary, but neither food nor
rest afforded half the pleasure as did the blessed voices speaking
kindness and consolation. It was the oil and the wine which the Good
Samaritan in the "Great Pine Woods" was ready to pour into the wounded
spirit of the slave, who came to him, stripped of his raiment and
half-dead.

They left me in the cabin, that I might rest. Blessed be sleep! It
visiteth all alike, descending as the dews of heaven on the bond and
free. Soon it nestled to my bosom, driving away the troubles that
oppressed it, and bearing me to that shadowy region, where I saw again
the faces, and listened to the voices of my children, who, alas, for
aught I knew in my waking hours, had fallen into the arms of that
_other_ sleep, from which they _never_ would arouse.

 Solomon is sent back to work with Tibeats building a cotton press. They spend a great deal of time together, much of it alone, and Solomon has Chapin's warning in his mind. One day, they are working and Tibeats chastises Solomon. Solomon makes a mistake and then tries to correct it. Tibeats grows more and more irate, grabs a hatchet, and rushes toward Solomon. Solomon knows this is a life-or-death moment, for he can see murder in the man's eyes. Solomon leaps toward Tibeats, stays his arm, kicks him to make him drop the hatchet, and kicks the hatchet away. Tibeats grabs a large white oak stick and rushes toward Solomon again. Solomon takes the stick from him, and Tibeats lunges for a broad-axe. He cannot get it in time before Solomon jumps atop him and holds him down. Solomon is conscious of how dear life is, and he begins to press down on Tibeat's throat. The man's face grows black with suffocation. Part of Solomon wants to end his enemy's life now, but he does not; however, he knows he is in trouble if Tibeats lives. He decides to run away. Solomon leaps off Tibeats and runs as fast as he can away from the workbench to the field. He sees Tibeats mount a horse in the distance and ride off. Solomon is grateful that he made it this far, but he does not know what to do now. Suddenly, other slaves nearby in the field tell him to run, and he can see three horsemen and dogs. Solomon knows what kind of bloodhound these are and how they could tear him apart. Thankfully, he is a good swimmer, so he runs as fast as he can into the swamp to disguise his scent. He plunges into the river and swims to the other side. This is the Great Pacoudrie Swamp, which is filled with immense trees and is completely wild. Poisonous moccasin snakes are everywhere, as are alligators. Making his way through the swamp is utterly terrifying, and Solomon fears being attacked at any moment. This dread almost equals that which he feels towards the hounds. He thinks he should get out but he knows he does not have a pass, which means that white men could arrest him. The silent swamp resounds with quacking ducks and fluttering wings, and Solomon cannot control his overwhelming terror at the beasts and fowl of this world. The moon has risen and he decides he must get to the Pine Woods near Ford. Around daybreak, he comes to an opening in the trees and sees two men: a slave and his young master. He assumes a fierce expression and walks toward the men. His wild appearance frightens them, and he asks where Ford lives. They tell him, too shocked to do anything but obey. Finally, by eight that evening, Solomon makes it to Ford's house. He tells Ford what happened and Ford takes pity on him. He is able to collapse into a deep sleep

