140 THE FOGY DAYS AXD NOW; 



and yelled until my voice broke up in utter hoarseness. 

 I saw my young wife come out on the veranda and look 

 towards the mountains, as if expecting to hear from or see 

 me ; and, oh ! how I longed to be there. Home never looked 

 sweeter to a living man than mine did to me then. I thought 

 of the good old song, " Sweet Home," and tried to sing it, but 

 had got too hoarse to sing. In fact, I did not feel much like 

 singing anyhow. After awhile, I saw my darling turn and go 

 back in the house; then a feeling akin to that of Mr. Selkirk's 

 took possession of my poor, isolated soul. I wanted to go 

 home. I wanted to be more social ; wanted to be an affection- 

 ate husband, a good democrat, an exemplary Christian, and get 

 something good to eat; but the unpleasant fact stared me in 

 the face that I must get out of my present predicament before 

 I could do or get anything. My wife came out again and 

 looked anxiously, and I returned the look with double com- 

 pound interest ; but, alas! slie retired again. I remained in 

 this awful position three weeks, thirty-seven days, forty-two 

 hours, sixty-five minutes and ninety seconds ( at least so it 

 seemed to me). At last a negro man named Jim came into the 

 cove below to get white oak splits, and I succeeded in making 

 my position known to him. I directed him to come around to 

 the top of the mountain above me and cut a long pole, with 

 which he pulled me up to the point from whence I started, and 

 was thus delivered from my perilous position. My deliverer 

 was Jim Hacket, one of our slaves, and I have never seen the 

 day, from that time till now, that I would not cut my tobacco 

 right in the middle and give the biggest half to that old 

 darkev. 



