Little by little, Morris (reassured when he found Tom was a Northern soldier and like himself a fugitive) told his story. He had been born on this plantation. Reared as a house-servant, he could read a little. He had learned from the newspapers his master took that a Northern army was not far away. He made up his mind to try for freedom. His master kept dogs to track runaways, but no dog can track a scent in running water. It was not probable his flight would be discovered until after nightfall. So he had stolen to his hiding-place in the afternoon, intending to wade down the tiny stream as soon as darkness came. Two miles below, the stream merged itself into a larger one. There he hoped to steal a boat, hide by day and paddle by night until he reached the Tennessee. "Dat ribber's plum full o' Massa Lincum's gunboats," he assured Tom. "How are you going to live on the journey?" asked the boy. "I spec' dey's hen-roosts about," quoth Morris with a chuckle, "and I'se got a-plenty to eat to start wid. Dis darkey don' reckon to starve none." "Give me something to eat, quick!" Morris willingly produced cornpone and bacon from a sack beside him. Tom wanted to eat it all, but he knew these precious supplies must be kept as long as possible, so he did not eat more than half of them. The two agreed to keep together in their flight for freedom. As soon as it was dark, they began their wading. The two miles seemed an endless distance. The noises of the night kept their senses on the jump. Once a distant bloodhound's bay scared Morris so much that his white teeth clattered like castanets. Once the "too-whit-too" of a nearby owl sent Tom into an ecstasy of terror. He fairly clung to Morris, who, just ahead of him, was guiding his steps through the shallow water. When he found he had been scared by an owl, he was so ashamed that he forced himself to be braver thereafter. At last they reached their first goal, the larger river. Here Morris's knowledge of the ground made him the temporary commander of the expedition. He knew of a little house nearby, the home of a "poor white," who earned part of his precarious livelihood by fishing. Morris knew just where he kept his boat. There was no light in the little house and no sound from it as they crept stealthily along the bank to the tree where the boat was tied. Tom drew his knife to cut the rope. "No, Massa," whispered Morris. "Not dat-a-way. Ef it's cut, dey'll know it's bin tuck and dey'll s'picion us. Lemme untie it. Den dey'll t'ink it's cum loose and floated away. 'N dey'll not hurry after it. Dey'll t'ink dey kin fin' it in some cove any time tomorrer."