We must have been near an hour in the mud, for we
were not exactly on the proper ford, of course, and made bad navigation of
it in the dark. But we were afraid to lose sight of the bridge, lest we
should get all adrift.
At length we reached the firm ground, covered with mud and chilled with
cold. We found the road, and the village of Horton, and skirted the last,
until all was clear. Then we took to the road, and carried sail hard all
night. Whenever we saw any one, we hid ourselves, but we met few while
travelling. Next morning we walked until we came to a deserted saw-mill,
which I also remembered, and here we halted for the day. No one troubled
us, nor did I see any one; but Littlefield said that a man drove a herd of
cattle past, during his watch on deck.
I told my companions that night, if they would be busy, we might reach
Cornwallis, where I should be at home. We were pretty well fagged, and
wanted rest, for Jack is no great traveller ashore; and I promised the
lads a good snug berth at Mr. Marchinton's farm. We pushed ahead briskly,
in consequence, and I led the party up to the farm, just as day was
dawning. A Newfoundland dog, named Hunter, met us with some ferocity;
but, on my calling him by name, he was pacified, and began to leap on me,
and to caress me. I have always thought that dog knew me, after an absence
of so many years.
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