I picked up my little child, and my wife followed me, saying, "if we perish let us all perish together in the stream." We succeeded in crossing over.

I often look back to that dangerous event even now with astonishment, and wonder how I could have run such a risk.

What would induce me to run the same risk now?
What could induce me now to leave home and friends and go to the wild forest and lay out on the cold ground night after night without covering, and live on parched corn?
What would induce me to take my family and go into the Red river swamps of Louisiana among the snakes and alligators, with all the liabilities of being destroyed by them, hunted down with blood hounds, or lay myself liable to be shot down like the wild beasts of the forest?
Nothing I say, nothing but the strongest love of liberty, humanity, and justice to myself and family, would induce me to run such a risk again.
When we crossed over on the tree we supposed that we had crossed over the main body of the river, but we had not proceeded far on our journey before we found that we were on an Island surrounded by water on either side.

We made our bed that night in a pile of dry leaves which had fallen from off the trees.

We were much rest-broken, wearied from hunger and travelling through briers, swamps and cane-brakes--consequently we soon fell asleep after lying down.