ance of a superstitious proverb among the slaves, that "the
left-hand turning was unlucky," but as I had never been in the habit of
placing faith in this or any similar superstition, I am not aware that it
had the least weight upon my mind, as I had the same difficulty with
reference to the right-hand turning. After a few moments parley with
myself, I took the central prong of the road and pushed on with all my
speed.

It had not cleared off, but a fresh wind had sprung up; it was chilly and
searching. This with my wet clothing made me very uncomfortable; my nerves
began to quiver before the searching wind. The barking of mastiffs, the
crowing of fowls, and the distant rattling of market waggons, warned me
that the day was approaching.

My British reader must remember that in the region where I was, we know
nothing of the long hours of twilight you enjoy here. With us the day is
measured more by the immediate presence of the sun, and the night by the
prevalence of actual darkness.

The day dawned upon me when I was near a small house and barn, situate
close to the road side. The barn was too near the road, and too small to
afford secure shelter for the day; but as I cast my eye around by the dim
light, I could see no wood, and no larger barn. It seemed to be an open
country to a wide extent. The sun was travelling so rapidly from his
eastern chamber, that ten or fifteen minutes would spread broad daylight
over my track. Whether _my_ deed was evil, _you_ may judge, but I freely
confess that I did _then_ prefer darkness rather than light; I therefore
took to the mow of the little barn at a great risk, as the events of the
day will show. It so happened that the barn was filled with corn fodder,
newly cured and lately gotten in. You are aware that however quietly one
may crawl into such a bed, he is compelled to make much more noise than if
it were a feather-bed; and also considerably more than if it were hay or
straw. Besides inflicting upon my own excited imagination the belief that
I made noise enough to be heard by the inmates of the house who were
likely to be rising at the time, I had the misfortune to attract the
notice of a little house-dog, such as we call in that part of the world a
"fice," on account of its being not only the smallest species of the
canine race, but also, because it is the most saucy, noisy, and teasing
of all dogs. This little creature commenced a fierce barking. I had at
once great fears that