inly have been recaptured in Charleston and
sent back to imprisonment. "A merciful Providence interposed," Glazier
writes. "Thus 'man proposes,' often to his own ruin, but 'God disposes,'
always to His own glory, and the good of his creatures."

A blood-hound was on their track in the course of the night, the deep
bayings being plainly audible, but his scent being at fault, the trail
of the fugitives was lost, and he shortly barked himself out of hearing.

When daybreak came and a passenger train filled with rebel soldiers and
recruits swept past them, setting up a savage yell at sight of the
pedestrians, it was feared by the latter that the train might be stopped
with a view to their capture, so they once more concealed themselves in
the wood.

The sound of heavy cannonading reassured them as to the proximity of
Federal troops; but, where was Augusta? Accurate information on this
point was absolutely essential before further progress was made; and
Lemon was commissioned to obtain it. He was so far successful that he
learned from some negro wood-choppers--much to the chagrin of both--that
they had been walking all night in the opposite direction from Augusta,
that is, on the direct road to Charleston! They also learned, what was
much more cheering, that they could cross the Savannah River, at a point
twenty miles below Augusta, at Point Comfort; that Sherman was making
straight for Savannah, and therefore their chances of ultimately falling
in with his army were by no means impaired.

No time was lost in moving forward in the direction indicated, and
during the night our hero met with an adventure which we cannot do
better than relate in his own words; he says: "We came to a fork in the
road, and after debating some time as to which course we should pursue,
I leaped over the fence and made for a negro hut, while several hounds
from the plantation house followed hard on my track. I managed, by some
tall running, to come in a few feet ahead, and bolted into the shanty
without warning or formality, slamming the door behind me to keep out
the dogs. A great stupid negro was standing before the fire, his hands
and face buried in fresh pork and hoe-cake, which he was making poor
work at eating. His broad, fat countenance glistened with an unguent
distilled partly from within and partly from without. Turning my eyes
from the negro to the untidy hearth, they were greeted, as were also my
olfactories, with a skillet of pork fr