At the end of a month， my services being no longerrequired at Tanner’s I was sent over the bayou again tomy master， whom I found engaged in building the cottonpress. This was situated at some distance from the greathouse， in a rather retired place. I commenced workingonce more in company with Tibeats， being entirely alonewith him most part of the time. I remembered the wordsof Chapin， his precautions， his advice to beware， lest insome unsuspecting moment he might injure me. Theywere always in my mind， so that I lived in a most uneasystate of apprehension and fear. One eye was on my work，the other on my master. I determined to give him nocause of offence， to work still more diligently， if possible，than I had done， to bear whatever abuse he might heapupon me， save bodily injury， humbly and patiently，hoping thereby to soften in some degree his mannertowards me， until the blessed time might come when Ishould be delivered from his clutches.
The third morning after my return， Chapin left theplantation for Cheneyville， to be absent until night.
Tibeats， on that morning， was attacked with one of thoseperiodical fits of spleen and ill-humor to which he wasfrequently subject， rendering him still more disagreeableand venomous than usual.
It was about nine o’clock in the forenoon， when Iwas busily employed with the jack-plane on one of thesweeps. Tibeats was standing by the work-bench， fittinga handle into the chisel， with which he had been engagedpreviously in cutting the thread of the screw.
“You are not planing that down enough，” said he.
“It is just even with the line，” I replied.
“You’re a d—d liar，” he exclaimed passionately.
“Oh， well， master，” I said， mildly， “I will plane it downmore if you say so，” at the same time proceeding to doas I supposed he desired. Before one shaving had beenremoved， however， he cried out， saying I had now planedit too deep—it was too small—I had spoiled the sweepentirely. Then followed curses and imprecations. I hadendeavored to do exactly as he directed， but nothingwould satisfy the unreasonable man. In silence and indread I stood by the sweep， holding the jack-plane in myhand， not knowing what to do， and not daring to be idle.
His anger grew more and more violent， until， finally，with an oath， such a bitter， frightful oath as only Tibeatscould utter， he seized a hatchet from the work-benchand darted towards me， swearing he would cut my headopen.
It was a moment of life or death. The sharp， brightblade of the hatchet glittered in the sun. In anotherinstant it would be buried in my brain， and yet in thatinstant—so quick will a man’s thoughts come to him insuch a fearful strait—I reasoned with myself. If I stood still， my doom was certain； if I fled， ten chances to onethe hatchet， flying from his hand with a too-deadly andunerring aim， would strike me in the back. There wasbut one course to take. Springing towards him with allmy power， and meeting him full half-way， before hecould bring down the blow， with one hand I caught hisuplifted arm， with the other seized him by the throat. Westood looking each other in the eyes. In his I could seemurder. I felt as if I had a serpent by the neck， watchingthe slightest relaxation of my gripe， to coil itself roundmy body， crushing and stinging it to death. I thought toscream aloud， trusting that some ear might catch thesound—but Chapin was away； the hands were in the field；there was no living soul in sight or hearing.
The good genius， which thus far through life has savedme from the hands of violence， at that moment suggesteda lucky thought. With a vigorous and sudden kick， thatbrought him on one knee， with a groan， I released myhold upon his throat， snatched the hatchet， and cast itbeyond reach.
Frantic with rage， maddened beyond control， he seizeda white oak stick， five feet long， perhaps， and as large incircumference as his hand could grasp， which was lyingon the ground. Again he rushed towards me， and againI met him， seized him about the waist， and being thestronger of the two， bore him to the earth. While in thatposition I obtained possession of the stick， and rising，cast it from me， also.
He likewise arose and ran for the broad-axe， on thework-bench. Fortunately， there was a heavy plank lyingupon its broad blade， in such a manner that he could notextricate it， before I had sprung upon his back. Pressinghim down closely and heavily on the plank， so that theaxe was held more firmly to its place， I endeavored， but invain， to break his grasp upon the handle. In that positionwe remained some minutes.
There have been hours in my unhappy life， many ofthem， when the contemplation of death as the end ofearthly sorrow—of the grave as a resting place for thetired and worn out body—has been pleasant to dwellupon. But such contemplations vanish in the hour ofperil. No man， in his full strength， can stand undismayed，in the presence of the “king of terrors.” Life is dear toevery living thing； the worm that crawls upon the groundwill struggle for it. At that moment it was dear to me，enslaved and treated as I was.
Not able to unloose his hand， once more I seized himby the throat， and this time， with a vice-like gripe thatsoon relaxed his hold. He became pliant and unstrung.
His face， that had been white with passion， was now blackfrom suffocation. Those small serpent eyes that spat suchvenom， were now full of horror—two great white orbsstarting from their sockets！
There was “a lurking devil” in my heart that promptedme to kill the human blood-hound on the spot—to retainthe gripe on his accursed throat till the breath of life was gone！ I dared not murder him， and I dared not let himlive. If I killed him， my life must pay the forfeit—if helived， my life only would satisfy his vengeance. A voicewithin whispered me to fly. To be a wanderer amongthe swamps， a fugitive and a vagabond on the face of theearth， was preferable to the life that I was leading.
