Rene greeted me with a smile, as I scrambled up on the slippery log, and asked a number of questions.  I answered these as best I could and then explained, so far as I deemed it desirable, the general nature of the plans I had made.  Both she and the listening negro in the boat below agreed that the safer course for us to choose led up the Illinois, because every mile traversed in that direction brought us nearer the goal sought, and among those who were the enemies of slavery.  To proceed northward along the Mississippi would only serve to plunge us into an unbroken wilderness, already threatened by Indian war, while to venture down that stream meant almost certain capture.  The Illinois route offered the only hope, and we decided to venture it, although Rene pleaded earnestly that she and the negro be permitted to go on alone.  To this suggestion, however, I would not consent, and the girl finally yielded her reluctant permission for me to accompany them until she could be safely left in the care of white friends.

She took anxious part in our discussion, bravely endeavoring to hide the anguish she felt, yet I knew her real thought was elsewhere—­with those two in Kirby’s hands, already well on their way to St. Louis.  Try as she would she was unable to banish from her mind the conception that she was largely to blame for their misfortune, or submerge the idea that it was cowardly in her to seek escape, while leaving them in such peril.  I lingered, talking with her for some time after Sam had fallen asleep, yet the only result was the bringing of tears to her eyes and a reluctantly given pledge that she would do whatever I believed to be best and right.  The girl was not wholly convinced by my argument, but no other course of action seemed open to her.  She appeared so tired and worn that I left her at last in the little glade where we had found refuge, hoping she might fall asleep.  I doubt if she did, although I dozed irregularly, my back against a tree, and it was already growing dusk when she came forth again from her retreat, and joined us in a hastily prepared meal.

Sam and I stowed away in the boat whatever provender remained, and I assisted her to a seat at the stern, wrapping a blanket carefully about her body, for the night air in those dank shadows already began to chill.  I took possession of the oars myself, believing the negro would serve best as a lookout in the bow, and thus settled we headed the boat out through the tangle of trees toward the invisible river.  The silent gloom of night shut about us in an impenetrable veil, and we simply had to feel our slow way to the mouth of the creek, Sam calling back directions, and pressing aside the branches that impeded progress.  I sat facing the motionless girl, but could barely distinguish her shapeless form, wrapped in the blanket; and not once did her voice break the stillness.  The night hung heavy; not even the gentle ripple of water disturbed the solemn silence of our slow progress.