The night was fine for the season, and passed on with little interruption for want of strength, until, about three o’clock in the morning, I began to feel the chilling effects of the dew.

At this moment, gloom and melancholy again spread through my whole soul.  The prospect of utter destitution which threatened me was more than I could bear, and my heart began to melt.  What substance is there in a piece of dry Indian bread; what nourishment is there in it to warm the nerves of one already chilled to the heart?  Will this afford a sufficient sustenance after the toil of the night?  But while these thoughts were agitating my mind, the day dawned upon me, in the midst of an open extent of country, where the only shelter I could find, without risking my travel by daylight, was a corn shock, but a few hundred yards from the road, and here I must pass my first day out.  The day was an unhappy one; my hiding-place was extremely precarious.  I had to sit in a squatting position the whole day, without the least chance to rest.  But, besides this, my scanty pittance did not afford me that nourishment which my hard night’s travel needed.  Night came again to my relief, and I sallied forth to pursue my journey.  By this time, not a crumb of my crust remained, and I was hungry and began to feel the desperation of distress.

As I travelled I felt my strength failing and my spirits wavered; my mind was in a deep and melancholy dream.  It was cloudy; I could not see my star, and had serious misgivings about my course.

In this way the night passed away, and just at the dawn of day I found a few sour apples, and took my shelter under the arch of a small bridge that crossed the road.  Here I passed the second day in ambush.

This day would have been more pleasant than the previous, but the sour apples, and a draught of cold water, had produced anything but a favourable effect; indeed, I suffered most of the day with severe symptoms of cramp.  The day passed away again without any further incident, and as I set out at nightfall, I felt quite satisfied that I could not pass another twenty-four hours without nourishment.  I made but little progress during the night, and often sat down, and slept frequently fifteen or twenty minutes.  At the dawn of the third day I continued my travel.  As I had found my way to a public turnpike road during the night, I came very early in the morning to a toll-gate, where the only person I saw, was a lad about twelve years of age.  I inquired of him where the road led to.  He informed me it led to Baltimore.  I asked him the distance, he said it was eighteen miles.

This intelligence was perfectly astounding to me.  My master lived eighty miles from Baltimore.  I was now sixty-two miles from home.  That distance in the right direction, would have placed me several miles across Mason and Dixon’s line, but I was evidently yet in the state of Maryland.

I ventured to ask the lad at the gate another question—­Which is the best way to Philadelphia?  Said he, you can take a road which turns off about half-a-mile below this, and goes to Getsburgh, or you can go on to Baltimore and take the packet.