was several miles away, and it may be
that she drove that same mule, and the probability is that she left
the mule in the Swamp, and that he wandered about until he found
Jack's Camp, where he was secured and became the property of the
Dismal Swamp Land Company. How long the company worked him before he
became the property of Uncle Alek, I do not know, but am satisfied
that it was several years, and that his wind was injured by
overloading. I have the testimony of a gentleman well-known in
Suffolk, now living, who stated that he saw a cymling vine at jack's
Camp which was of spontaneous growth, and which covered more juniper
trees than he could count, and from that vine there was gathered two
hundred and fifty cart loads of cymlings. It may be that the hauling
away of these cymlings so injured the mule that he was no longer of
service to the company. There is no doubt he was turned over to Uncle
Alek, which must have been during the year 1832. I was in the Swamp
during that year and saw the cymling vine above alluded to, and no one
could tell how it came to grow there. It will be impossible for me to
tell how old Uncle Alek's mule was or what became of him. I have never
heard that he died or was killed. He was no doubt the most remarkable
mule that ever lived. The last that I heard from him was related by
Uncle Alek himself, and which was no doubt true. I will relate as near
as I can what the old man told me. He came to Suffolk one day and I
noticed that he was very much excited. I said to him: "Uncle Alek,
what has happened to you?" He answered: "Marse Robert I neber was in
sich a fix befo' in all my life. I hav' fit bars, rattlesnakes, wild
cats and bees, but I tell you sumfin' has happened to me to-day dat
neber bin known to befall any one." "What was that Uncle Alek?" I
inquired. "I'm terribly upsot, and I dunno what to do. I shall hab to
mov' 'way frum my place; a whirlwind struc' my well dis mornin' an'
has twisted it so dat I can't git de bucket down in de well, an' I
can't git no water, an' what is wuss den all, my mule has bin
translated. He wus a good mule, and his loss ruins me." I saw Uncle
Alek some time after that, when he told me that he was out in the
Swamp hunting bees, when lo and behold! he heard his mule bray. He
cast his eyes up and saw him lodged in the forks of a large tree.
There was no way by which he could get him down, and left him as he
thought to die. But his surprise can be imagined when he