With Axe and Rifle | Page 4

table, which showed they were as rough in their manners as in their appearance. However, they did not otherwise interfere with us.
At an early hour my father begged to be shown a room.
"I guess it's not a very big one," answered our hostess; "but you and your wife won't mind a trifle like that. There's a bunk in the corner, in which your young one can stow himself away."
I remember the dismay with which I saw the bunk spoken of. It was in reality a huge chest with the top propped up, but I tumbled into it notwithstanding, and was soon fast asleep. At daybreak the next morning, after a substantial breakfast, in which fried eggs and Johnny cake formed an important item, we again started off over the same sort of corduroy road as on the previous evening. On either side were numerous clearings with log huts, and here and there a more pretentious store, before each of which several persons were seen taking their morning drams. My father was an abstemious man, and although invited to stop and liquor, declined doing so. We drove on as fast as the horses could go, as he was anxious to cross the river early in the day. The weather had hitherto been fine, but it now looked threatening, though as the day advanced the clouds blew off. My father told my mother that he hoped we should escape the storm.
About mid-day we stopped at another log shanty, similar to the one at which we had rested for the night, in order to bate the horses. We afterwards passed through several forests of considerable size, with more open wild land covered with low bushes, where the rocky soil afforded no depth for larger vegetation.
The country improved as we approached Green River, growing tobacco, Indian corn, flax, and buck-wheat, while the numerous parties of blacks we saw at work on plantations showed that the country was more thickly populated than any we had hitherto passed through. From information my father gained, he understood that we should cross Green River by a ford without difficulty.
"The river is pretty broad about there, and the shallow is not very wide; so, stranger, you must keep direct for the landing-place, which you will see on the opposite side. Better drive up than down the stream, but better still to keep straight across," added his informant.
"Oh, Patrick, must you positively cross that wide extent of water?" exclaimed my mother as we reached the bank and she surveyed the broad river flowing by.
"There are marks of wheels on this side, and I make out an easy landing-place on the other," answered my father.
Having surveyed the ford, my father without hesitation drove in, telling my mother not to be afraid, as he did not suppose that the water would reach above the axles.
The stream as it flowed by, bubbled and hissed between the wheels, making me quite giddy to look at it. The water grew deeper and deeper until it reached the axles; then in a little time on looking down I saw it bubbling up through the bottom of the waggon.
My father did not turn his head, but keeping his eyes steadily fixed on the landing-place, urged on the horses. They had not got more than half-way over when they began to plunge in a manner which threatened to break the harness. Again my father shouted and applied his whip over their backs; the animals seemed every instant as if about to lose their legs, while the water not only bubbled up through the bottom, but completely flowed over it. To turn round was impossible, not only from the construction of the waggon, but from the pressure of water, and in all probability had the attempt been made an overturn would have been the consequence.
My mother suppressed her fears, but grasped me tighter than ever. Presently I heard a dull roar, and looking up the river I saw a white-crested wave--so it appeared--curling down upon us. My father saw it too. He leapt from the waggon into the water, which reached almost up to his shoulders, and seizing the horses' heads, endeavoured to drag them forward. Every instant the current became stronger and deeper and deeper. At last it seemed as if the waggon must inevitably be swept away down the stream. Just then I heard a shout from the shore, where I saw a black man running rapidly towards us. Without stopping a moment he rushed into the water, wading as far as the depth would allow him, then he struck out swimming, and quickly reached the horses' heads.
"Here, massa stranger, nebber fear, dis boy help you," he exclaimed, and seizing the bridle of one of the animals he pointed to a spot, a little lower down the