It was a cane-break, and but for the extreme drought of the season, would have furnished but poor footing indeed. The tall, stiff reeds reached far above his head, and some skill was needful to break them over with the font and thus secure a standing-place. His hat was soon knocked off by a shot, and his low-quartered shoes lost in the mire. At length a place was reached where a point of firm land extended into the swamp, and on this several of his pursuers took position, (for their number had been increased), to cut him off, should he attempt to pass. They had lost sight of him, but as he approached he distinctly saw Robert Baker directly opposite and facing him, and not far distant. He noted the resolute bearing and determined visage of the old hunter; but felt himself still incompetent to fully sympathize with the hunted slave of the former times; whom no arm in the State or nation was strong enough to deliver from his master, or this hired hunter and his blood-hounds. But, having little time for sentiment or reflection, he took a hasty survey of the positions of such of his pursuers as were in sight, deliberately approached the edge of the swamp, took aim at the old hunter, who he felt sure would not scruple to take _his_ life, and firing, ran rapidly in a direction he thought they would not suspect; and thus escaped for the time. But, instead of approaching the town as he intended to do, he wandered in a circuitous direction, and returned to the church. The services were over, and as he saw that many of the men were mounting horses, he retreated to the woods again, where he lay till morning. His pursuers inquired of the worshippers, and finally got upon his track the next morning, bringing their trained dogs. From that time till Wednesday morning they chased him up and down the woods and swamps. His feet were wounded and swollen, his bare head exposed to the burning July sun, and he had eaten nothing since Sunday morning. On Tuesday morning he became desperate, and resolved to leave the swamp. He did so, and ran along the road. On several occasions the dogs were upon him when he again intrenched himself among bushes surrounded by water, and lay watching, pistol in hand. But as he had no ammunition besides that in his revolver, he determined to make that as useful as possible, and reserved for a probable extremity. Once they caught sight of him at two hundred yards distance and cried. “There he is! There’s the —— scallawag!” and hissed their dogs upon him. On Wednesday morning he eluded them and reached the residence of the Intendant of Baconsville, on the outskirts of the town. He was a pitiable object indeed; with clothing torn and covered with mud, feet bare, swollen and bleeding; fair broad brow burned to a blister, auburn hair, unkempt; famished, fainting, and only his determined energy left of his former self.