cotton patches, oat fields and underbrush, not daring to take the main road.  This is why we were so wet.  Uncle Alfred traveled wholly by the stars—­they were his guide.  He knew by looking at them the four cardinal points of the compass.  Many old slaves were guided in this way when traveling in the night, and some could tell the time of night by the position of the stars.  We stayed in Hicke-Halley all day, and in the evening, when it was dark enough, we started on again, Uncle Alfred offering up a prayer to God to guide us safely through.  Cold Water was our next stopping place, and here a difficulty rose before us that made us fearful.  We had nothing to wear but what we had on, and not much of that, so had small space for carrying anything, and, therefore, had brought with us only a little bite to eat.  As we had lived on this small provision for a day, there was now but little left for our increasing wants; and the difficulty of securing anything from the houses without danger of detection was almost insurmountable.  But we felt encouraged as we thought of what we were striving for, and sped on our way.  But the way was hard, for sometimes we got completely stuck in brier patches, and had to turn and go back, in order to find a way out.  Old logs and driftwood, that had been piled up year after year, were other obstacles in our way; and one can imagine how hard it was to make our way through such a mass of brush and forest by the dim light of the stars as they struggled through the dense branches of the trees.  We stumbled on, however, as best we could, each fearful, yet silently praying for guidance and help.  When within four or five miles of Cold Water, Uncle Alfred stopped, and cautioned us not to speak above a whisper, as the rebel troops were camped on both sides of us.  We were in a swamp between the two roads, gradually working our way through to the river, as we could not go on either of the roads for fear of detection.  At the bridges, where these roads crossed the river, there were rebel camps, and it was useless for us to think of crossing either.  We, therefore, worked our way carefully through the thicket that we were in until we came within sight of the river.  Then Uncle Alfred went ahead, creeping a few steps, then stopping to see if the river was clear of soldiers.  From this point it was some two and a half miles to the bridges, each way; and it was our idea that if we could cross here without being seen by the soldiers, we would be all right.  Uncle Alfred came back to us and told us that he thought the way was clear.  “I can not hear a sound,” said he, “so let us go on.”  We followed the river down until we came to a place where we could cross.  Here we found some drift-wood—­an old tree had been blown down, nearly across the river, leaving a space of about twenty feet.  Over this natural bridge we crept to the open space which we waded, the water being up to our knees; but we did not mind this.  There was no talking above a whisper, for