But the great event of my boyhood was a trip to Baltimore.  There was no railroad at the time, and as that was our market for fat cattle, it was necessary to drive the entire way.  My father had made the trip yearly since I could remember, the distance being nearly two hundred miles, and generally carrying as many as one hundred and fifty big beeves.  They traveled slowly, pasturing or feeding grain on the way, in order that the cattle should arrive at the market in salable condition.  One horse was allowed with the herd, and on another my father rode, far in advance, to engage pasture or feed and shelter for his men.  When on the road a boy always led a gentle ox in the lead of the beeves; negro men walked on either flank, and the horseman brought up the rear.  I used to envy the boy leading the ox, even though he was a darky.  The negro boys on our plantation always pleaded with “Mars” John, my father, for the privilege; and when one of them had made the trip to Baltimore as a toll boy he easily outranked us younger whites.  I must have made application for the position when I was about seven years old, for it seemed an age before my request was granted.  My brother, only two years older than I, had made the trip twice, and when I was twelve the great opportunity came.  My father had nearly two hundred cattle to go to market that year, and the start was made one morning early in June.  I can distinctly see my mother standing on the veranda of our home as I led the herd by with a big red ox, trembling with fear that at the final moment her permission might be withdrawn and that I should have to remain behind.  But she never interfered with my father, who took great pains to teach his boys everything practical in the cattle business.

It took us twenty days to reach Baltimore.  We always started early in the morning, allowing the beeves to graze and rest along the road, and securing good pastures for them at night.  Several times it rained, making the road soft, but I stripped off my shoes and took it barefooted through the mud.  The lead ox was a fine, big fellow, each horn tipped with a brass knob, and he and I set the pace, which was scarcely that of a snail.  The days were long, I grew desperately hungry between meals, and the novelty of leading that ox soon lost its romance.  But I was determined not to show that I was tired or hungry, and frequently, when my father was with us and offered to take me up behind him on his horse, I spurned his offer and trudged on till the end of the day.  The mere driving of the beeves would have been monotonous, but the constant change of scene kept us in good spirits, and our darkies always crooned old songs when the road passed through woodlands.  After the beeves were marketed we spent a day in the city, and my father took my brother and me to the theatre.  Although the world was unfolding rather rapidly for a country boy of twelve, it was with difficulty that I was made to understand that what we had witnessed on the stage was but mimicry.