We had come to the end of what would in England be called a glen—­a narrow gorge, with shelving banks rising to the height of some ninety feet, and overgrown with shrubs and creeping plants.  No doubt in the rainy season ’twas the bed of a torrent; the bottom was sandy and pebbly, and hard to the feet.  We had gone but a little way along it when Uncle Moses sank down, and, looking at his livid face, his panting nostrils and starting eyes, I feared that the hand of death was upon him.  ’Twas clear that he was utterly spent; he could not even stagger to the farther end of the gorge; and with the bitter pangs of despair I heard the fierce baying of the hounds, and had almost resigned myself to the inevitable end.

I glanced round to see whether the pursuers were in sight.  I saw, not them, but something which flashed a wild hope through me.  Some little distance back a tree hung over the sandy bottom, its roots partially laid bare by the washing of the stream which had now disappeared.  The trunk was inclined at a sharp angle; but little force would be needed, I thought, to topple it over until it lay athwart the path which the pursuers must follow.  Its foliage was thick, and though I did not flatter myself ’twould put an end to the pursuit, I thought it might serve as a check, and enable Uncle Moses to gain strength enough for a last attempt.

Dropping the muskets by the negro’s side, I ran down the gorge, scrambled up the bank to the base of the tree, and swarmed along the trunk to the farthest extremity.  It was a tall tree, of a kind I did not know, and my weight upon its tapering top must have exerted a considerable force upon its loosened lower end.  Catching a branch that seemed strong enough to bear me, I dropped with a jerk.  There was a movement of the trunk, and I heard a wrenching sound below, but the roots still held fast.  I climbed up again with the quickness I had learned at sea, and again threw myself down.

This time I produced the effect I desired; the roots gave way, and in a moment I found myself on the ground, somewhat scratched and bruised, but sound of bone and limb.  The fallen tree lay full across the gorge, its foliage completely filling the space, save for a narrow gap between it and the ground, through which a man or a dog might crawl, but not a horse.

I ran back to Uncle Moses, lifted him to his feet, and, assisting him with one hand, the muskets clasped in the other, I led him up the gorge with what haste I might.  We had gone but a little way when I heard the shouts of men mingled with the baying of the hounds, and immediately afterwards these latter forced their way beneath the tree and ran with lolling tongues towards us.  Knowing nothing of the ways of bloodhounds, I expected the two dogs would fly at our throats like foxhounds at a fox, and I loosed the negro’s arm and stood with musket upraised to defend myself and him.  But to my surprise Uncle Moses called to them by name, and they answered him with a bark and fawned on him.