There is but little twilight in America, in the spring of the year
especially; great was my hurry, and consequently less was my speed. I
lost my trail, bogged myself in a swamp, tore my hands and face with the
briars, and, after an hour of severe fatigue, at last heard my horse,
who was impatient at being left alone, neighing loudly. Though my
distance to the house was only eighteen miles and the road quite safe, I
contrived to lose myself three or four times, till, _en desespoir_, I
threw the bridle on my horse's neck, trusting to his instinct to
extricate me from my difficulties.
It was nearly midnight when I approached the back fences of Mr.
Courtenay's plantation, and I wondered very much at seeing torches
glaring in every direction. I galloped rapidly through the lane, and
learned from a negro that the family had long returned home, and that
supper had been, as usual, served at eight o'clock; that they had been
anxiously waiting for me, and that Mr. Courtenay, fearing some accident
had happened, had resolved to go himself in search of me with the major
portion of his negroes. Leaving my horse to the care of the slave, I ran
towards the house, where the dogs had already announced my arrival. The
family came under the portico to welcome me, and simultaneously asked me
what could have detained me so long.
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