ring of turpentine;
and that the district we were entering was occupied by persons in the
same pursuit, who nearly all employed "hired hands," and entertained
similar sentiments; Colonel J----, whom I was about to visit, and who
was a large slave-_owner_, being about the only exception. This, the
reader will please remember, was the state of things at the date of
which I am writing, in the _very heart_ of Secessiondom.

Bidding the turpentine-getter a rather reluctant "good-by," I rode on
into the rain.

It was nearly dark when we reached the first "run," but, fortunately, it
was less swollen than our way-side acquaintance had represented, and we
succeeded in crossing without difficulty. Hoping that the others might
be equally as fordable, we pushed rapidly on, the darkness meanwhile
gathering thickly about us, and the rain continuing to fall. Our way lay
through an unbroken forest, and as the wind swept fiercely through it,
the tall dark pines which towered on either side, moaned and sighed like
a legion of unhappy spirits let loose from the dark abodes below.
Occasionally we came upon a patch of woods where the turpentine-gatherer
had been at work, and the white faces of the "tapped" trees, gleaming
through the darkness, seemed an army of "sheeted ghosts" closing
steadily around us. The darkness, the rain, and the hideous noises in
the forest, called up unpleasant associations, and I inwardly determined
to ask hospitality from the first human being, black or white, whom we
should meet.

We had ridden on for about an hour after dark, when suddenly our horse's
feet plashed in the water, and he sank to his middle in a stream. My
first thought was that we were in the second "run," but as he pushed
slowly on, the water momentarily growing deeper, and spreading on either
side as far as we could see, it flashed upon me that we had missed the
road in the darkness, and were fairly launched into the Waccamaw river!
Turning to the darky, who was then driving, I said quickly:

"Scip, stop the horse. Where are we?"

"Don't know, massa; reckon we'se in de riber."

"A comfortable situation this. We can't turn round. The horse can't swim
such a stream in harness. What shall we do?"

"Can you swim, massa?" he quietly asked.

"Yes, like an eel."

"Wal, den, we'd better gwo on. De hoss'll swim. But, massa, you might
take off your boots and overcoat, and be ready for a spring ef he gwo
down."

I did as he directed, while he