After bidding my wife farewell I smeared my shoes with "smut" and
started in the direction of the hills, beyond which was a large swamp,
the refuge of many a poor runaway.

On my way I had to pass through innumerable thickets of underbrush and
briers, and by reason thereof I tore my already much-worn clothes almost
into shreds, and lacerated my flesh severely, especially on my arms and
legs. I arrived in the swamp, however, without being followed by the
dogs, and while proceeding slowly and dejectedly along, my steps were
suddenly stopped by a fierce and loud growl. I was frightened, to be
sure, yet I knew scarcely what to do. The growl proceeded from a bear, I
felt fully assured, for bears roamed through the hills and swamps of
Mississippi. But with presence of mind I retreated slowly from the
presence of Mr. and Mrs. Bruin, and not being followed by the bears my
fears on that score were removed.

About this time it began to rain; and the night was one of those black,
foreboding nights that novelists love so well to depict in their
descriptions of storms. The lightning flashed with a vividness that
lighted up the dismal swamps with a weird and horrible brightness; the
thunder rolled peal upon peal, making to me a pandemonium, real and
feeling; the pitiless rain pelted me unmercifully and constantly, with
that persistence that made it almost unendurable to me. I sat down at
the root of a large tree, not to shelter myself from the rain but to
protect myself from the attack of any wild animal that should approach
me. There I sat the rest of the long night, unfriended, alone,
forsaken,--a hunted outcast.

"Man's inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn."