the first abutment, ascertain
the depth of the stream, and then, if it was not too deep for the horse
to ford to that point, drive that far, get out, and walk to the end of
the planking, leading the horse, and then again mount the wagon at the
further end of the bridge. We were sure the horse would have to swim in
the middle of the current, and perhaps for a considerable distance
beyond; but, having witnessed his proficiency in aquatic performances,
we had no doubt he would get safely across.

The darky's plan was decided on, and divesting himself of his trowsers,
he waded into the "run" to take the soundings.

While he was in the water my attention was attracted to a printed paper,
posted on one of the pines near the roadside. Going up to it, I read as
follows:

"$250 REWARD.

"Ran away from the subscriber, on Monday, November 12th, his
mulatto man, SAM. Said boy is stout-built, five feet nine inches
high, 31 years old, weighs 170 lbs., and walks very erect, and with
a quick, rapid gait. The American flag is tattooed on his right arm
above the elbow. There is a knife-cut over the bridge of his nose,
a fresh bullet-wound in his left thigh, and his back bears marks of
a recent whipping. He is supposed to have made his way back to
Dinwiddie County, Va., where he was raised, or to be lurking in the
swamps in this vicinity.

"The above reward will be paid for his confinement in any jail in
North or South Carolina, or Virginia, or for his delivery to the
subscriber on his plantation at ----.

"----, December 2, 1860."

The name signed to this hand-bill was that of the planter I was about to
visit.

Scip having returned, and reported the stream fordable to the bridge, I
said to him, pointing to the "notice:"

"Read that, Scip."

He read it, but made no remark.

"What does it mean--that fresh bullet wound, and the marks of a recent
whipping?" I asked.

"It mean, massa, dat de darky hab run away, and ben took; and dat when
dey took him dey shot him, and flogged him arter dat. Now, he hab run
away agin. De Cunnel's mighty hard on his niggas!"

"Is he? I can scarcely believe that."

"He am, massa; but he arnt so much to blame, nuther; dey'm awful bad,
most ob 'em--so dey say."

Our conversation was here interrupted by our reaching the bridge. After
safely "walking the plank," and making our way to the opposite bank, I
resumed it by asking: