I had were in the saddlebag safe.  The place where I stayed in the daytime was in a large shuck-pen—­a pen built in the field to feed stock from, in the winter time.  This pen was on Dr. Dandridge’s farm; and the second night I worked my way up near the house.  Knowing all the servants, I was watching a chance to send word to the coachman, Alfred Dandridge, that I wanted him to tell my wife that I was not gone.  I went down to his cabin, in the quarters; and, after a short time he came.  I was badly scared, and my heart was heavy and sore; but he spoke comfortingly to me, and I was cheered, somewhat, especially when he promised to see Matilda, and tell her of my whereabouts.  He gave me some food, and hid me away for the night in his house.  I kept close all the next day; and, at night, when all was still, Alfred and I crept out, and went to old Master Jack’s.  The distance was not great, and we soon covered it.  Alfred went in and told my wife that I was outside and wanted to see her.  She came out, and was so frightened and nervous that she commenced sobbing and crying, and almost fainted when I told her, in low tones, that I was going to try to get to Memphis, and that Alfred was helping to plan a way to this end.  The rebels occupied both roads leading to Memphis, and I was puzzled to know how to reach the city without coming in contact with them.  Two days after I had talked with my wife, the rebel troops who were camped on the Holly Springs road left for some other point.  My friend Alfred found this out, and came and told me the encouraging news.  The following night I went to old Master Jack’s and told my wife that the way now seemed clear, and that I was going at once.  I was bent on freedom, and would try for it again.  I urged my wife not to grieve, and endeavored to encourage her by saying that I would return for her, as soon as possible, should I succeed in getting to a land of freedom.  After many tears and blessings, we parted, and I left, Uncle Alfred going with me some three miles, as I was not acquainted with the road.  When he left me I went on alone with gloomy forebodings, but resolved to do my best in this hazardous undertaking, whatever might happen.  The road passed over hills and through swamps, and I found the traveling very wearisome.  I had traveled some hours, and thought I was doing well; when, about one o’clock in the night, I came up out of a long swamp, and, reaching the top of a hill, I stopped for a moment’s rest, raising myself to an erect position from that of walking, inclined by reason of weariness and the weight of the saddle-bags thrown across my shoulders.  The weather was bad, a heavy mist had come up, and was so dark that I could hardly see my way.  As I started on, a soldier yelled at me from the mist:  “Halt! advance and give the countersign.”  I stopped immediately, almost scared out of my wits.  “Come right up here,” said the soldier, “or I’ll blow you into eternity.”  I saw at once he was a rebel soldier.  I knew not what to do.