It so happened that I came out near where there was a fork in the road of three prongs.
Now arose a serious query--which is the right prong for me?
I was reminded by the circumstance of a superstitious proverb among the slaves, that "the left-hand turning was unlucky," but as I had never been in the habit of placing faith in this or any similar superstition, I am not aware that it had the least weight upon my mind, as I had the same difficulty with reference to the right-hand turning.

After a few moments parley with myself, I took the central prong of the road and pushed on with all my speed.
It had not cleared off, but a fresh wind had sprung up; it was chilly and searching.

This with my wet clothing made me very uncomfortable; my nerves began to quiver before the searching wind.

The barking of mastiffs, the crowing of fowls, and the distant rattling of market waggons, warned me that the day was approaching.
My British reader must remember that in the region where I was, we know nothing of the long hours of twilight you enjoy here.

With us the day is measured more by the immediate presence of the sun, and the night by the prevalence of actual darkness.
The day dawned upon me when I was near a small house and barn, situate close to the road side.