CHAPTER TWENTY.
It is needless to relate the shifts and plans adopted to restore theplace to its former state, but we were favoured by the weather, a longspell of hot sunshine working wonders, and the rapid drying and the workof many hands soon produced a change. In two days we could go about ondry ground. In four, mud was scaling over everything in cakes, andbeing cracked into dust it regularly powdered off the trees, and acouple of tremendous tropical showers sufficed to clear off theremainder from twig and leaf, so that what with the rapid vegetation,and the clearing effects of rain and dew, a month had hardly passedbefore the place began to look very much as it did before themisfortune, Morgan informing me smilingly that the soft mud was as goodfor the garden as a great dressing of manure.
Our furniture in the house was of the simplest, and though Sarahdeclared that the place would never be the same again, I very soon beganto forget all about our trouble, and was only reminded of it by thewisps of dry grass and muddy, woody twigs that clung here and thereamong some of the trees.
On one occasion I found Pomp busy with a bucket of water and a brushdown at the bottom of the garden, where he was scrubbing away atsomething black.
"Hallo!" I exclaimed. "What's that?"
"'Gator head, Mass' George. Pomp find um 'tuck in dah 'tween um twotrees."
He illustrated his meaning by showing me how the head had been washedfrom its place, and swept between a couple of tree-stumps, where it hadremained covered with mud and rubbish, till it had caught his eye, sucha trophy being too valuable to lie there in neglect.
I stopped till he had done, and then, all wet and glistening, the greatdried head with its gaping jaws was replaced on the spike-nail Morganhad driven in the tree.
"Dah, you 'top till water come and wash um down again, and den Pomp comeand wash um up."
These words of the boy set me thinking; and that night I asked my fatherabout the probabilities of another flood.
"It is impossible to say how long it may be before we have anothervisitation," he replied. "From what I can gather, it seems that theyare so rare that a generation may go by without such a flood occurring,and I hardly like to give up so satisfactory a home on the chance of afresh one coming during our lives."
"Oh no, father, don't give it up," I said. "Everything at thesettlement seems to be straight again."
"They suffered more than we did too," he continued.
"But don't you think some one ought to have come in a boat to help us?"
"Yes, if the poor things had thought of it; but I fully believe that intheir trouble and excitement, trying to save life as they were, they didnot even give a thought to us."
Then the flood was set aside with the troubles from the Indians and theSpaniards, my father saying quietly enough that people who came out toan entirely new country must do so bearing in mind that they have totake the risks with the pleasures. Some of which Sarah heard, for shetook up the subject next time I saw her alone, and she shook her head atme as she said--
"Yes, my dear, there's a lot to put up with for those who come to livein new lands, and a couple more of my chickens gone; but I don't knowwhat you and your poor father would have done if me and Morgan had notmade up our minds to come too."
I'm afraid I was playing the impostor a little, for I said to her, "Wecouldn't have got on at all without you, Sarah;" but all the time I wasthinking how much more easily we could have managed during the night ofperil if we had not had Sarah with us, and how it was in trying to saveher that my father nearly lost his life.
But I did not let her see it, and said quietly--
"Lost two more of the chickens?"
"Yes, my dear; and it seems so strange that the birds that could takesuch care of themselves all through that dreadful flood should be lostnow."
"It does seem strange," I said, as my thoughts went back to the flood,and I recalled how the fowls took refuge in the pine-trees, and keptgoing higher and higher as the water rose, hopping calmly enough frombranch to branch, and roosting high up at the top, to stop picking abouttill the flood was sinking, and then slowly descend with the fallingwaters, to find quite a feast in the mud.
"You don't think, do you, that those two blacks, Master George--"
"What, like chickens?"
"Yes, my dear."
"The people up at the settlement say they do, and that they can't keepany fowls at all."
"Then that's it," cried Sarah, triumphantly; "and I was right about thatsmell a few nights ago."
"What smell?"
"Of something roasting in the lean-to shed where those two sleep."
"Nonsense, Sarah! It was squirrel or something of that kind that theyhad knocked down and cooked."
"No, my dear; it was exactly like roast chicken, and I'm very muchafraid--"
"So am I, Sarah, that you are going to make a mistake. I don't believeeither of them would steal. Ah! Here comes Pomp all in a hurry aboutsomething.--What is it?"
"Hi! Find um, Mass' George," cried the boy, who was in a high state ofexcitement.
"Find what?" I cried.
"Oh, yes, Pomp find um; come and see."
"Yes, I'll come," I said. "But, I say, Pomp, there are two chickensgone. Do you know anything about them?"
"Yes. Such big bird come and take um, Mass' George. Big bird fly oberde tree, _whish_--_whoosh_! And 'tick um foot into de chickum."
Sarah shook her head in a peculiar severe way; but I guessed that shehad the question of the uniform upon her mind, and she held her tongue,while Pomp dragged me off to see his discovery.
He led me into a part of the forest where I had not been since theflood, and there, sure enough, twenty feet above the ground, andpreserving its perpendicular position, was the greater part of the hut,Pomp climbing up to it in triumph, and then on to the top, with theresult that his weight was just sufficient to dislodge it, and the wholeaffair came down with a crash, and with the boy seated in the ruins.
"What do dat for?" he cried in a whimpering tone as he sat rubbinghimself.
"Do what?" I cried, laughing.
"Pull um down down an' break up. How we get um back now?"
"I didn't touch it."
"Not touch um! How um tumble down den? Oh my leg--my leg!"
"No, no; you're not hurt much, Pomp. There, get up, we can't get thehut back; and you know father said a new and better one was to be built.We'll set this one up here and make a summer-house of it, to come towhen I'm shooting."
"Eh! What a summer-house?"
"That will be."
"No; dat hut; massa say dat hut."
"But we'll make it into a summer-house."
Pomp shook his head and looked puzzled.
"Pomp find de hut, and Massa George say um summer-house. 'Pose um findde boat 'ticking in tree, dat be summer-house too?"
"No, no, you old stupid," I cried. "But, I say, Pomp," I continued, asthe thought occurred to me that this might be possible, and that theboat had not gone down the stream to the river, and from thence out tosea.
"What Mass' George say?" cried the boy, for I had stopped to think.
"Wait a minute," I cried. Then, after a few moments' thought--
"Why, yes, it is possible; the flood came from the big river, up ours,and the boat must be somewhere in the forest after all."
Pomp shook his head.
"Done know what um mean," he said.
"I mean that perhaps our boat was washed up somewhere."
"Iss, Pomp wash um up two-tree-day 'fore took away wif de mop."
"I mean the flood carried the boat up into the forest among the trees,like it did the hut."
"Mass' George fink so?"
"Yes."
"Come 'long find um."
Willingly enough I started with the boy, but stopped directly, for Iremembered that Hannibal had come running up to announce the loss of theboat, and that he might have some recollection of the direction in whichit was carried.
"Let's ask your father,"
I said; and we went to where he was in thegarden.
To my great delight, his description tallied with my idea. The boat hadbeen carried up stream, and full of eagerness we set out, but it was toolate to do much that day, and we soon returned, after planning to startat daybreak the next morning, Pomp having undertaken to awaken me, whileI arranged with Sarah for a basketful of provisions, so that we might beable to spend a good long day.
In the course of the evening I related the finding of the hut to myfather, and my hope that the boat might be discovered too, but he shookhis head.
"Extremely doubtful, my boy. But wait a bit and then go and search,though, if you like; and even if you do not find it, you will have aglorious ramble along the river-bank."
"Will you come too, father?" I said.
"I should like to, but I have promised for several days to go over tothe settlement to meet the General and Colonel Preston. Take Morgan orHannibal with you, if you like."
"Oh no, father," I said, "Pomp will be guide enough; I believe he oftensteals off to go long distances into the forest after woodchucks andsquirrels."
"You will take a gun, I suppose. Any game will be welcome."
"Yes, father."
"And take care not to get into danger."
"What danger?"
"Snakes and other reptiles may be in abundance."
"I'll take care."
"And for aught we know Indians may be hunting in the neighbourhood."
"Should not we have heard them or seen them, if they were?" I said, forI did not like the idea of giving up my trip.
"Well, perhaps so," said my father. "There, I will not stop you; I onlysay again, be careful when you do go."
"Can't I go to-morrow?" I said.
"No, I would rather that you did not go right away while I am from home.Wait a few days, and then have your trip."
I said no more, but of course felt disappointed, and a strangetemptation came over me next day, on finding how bright it was, to goand explore a little, the more especially that Pomp came up with hisface shining and full of excitement.
"Now," he cried, "go and find summer-house."
"No, no," I said; "the boat."
"Mass' George call him summer-house yesterday."
"We'll go soon," I said, "but not for a few days."
"What Mass' George going do, then?"
"Stop about at home and take care of the house."
"Mass' George tink water come 'gain, wash um away?"
"No, no, I hope not," I said, laughing. "But I'm not going far away."
"Mass' George come fish terrapum?"
"No, Pomp, I'm going to stop about here. Perhaps I shall go and have abathe at the pool by and by, but I'm not sure."
"Pomp go wif Mass' George have 'wim."
"No, no," I said, pettishly, for I was out of temper, hot anddisappointed at not being able to go and hunt for the boat. Then I feltannoyed at having to stop at home when my father had gone to thesettlement, and somehow that place had never seemed to attract me somuch before.
"Father might have taken me," I said to myself, as I thought of howbeautiful the sugar-canes must be now, after the soaking and dressingthey had had with the mud. Then, too, the Indian corn must be wavinggloriously, and I longed to see slaves at work in the cotton-field.
"Father will be seeing all that," I thought, "and it's all nonsenseabout stopping and taking care of the place. I couldn't do anything ifthere was a flood, or if the Indians came. I should have liked to go."
All of which was very absurd and stupid, but I have known other boysthink and talk in a similar way.
I went to the fence, and stood leaning over it, feeling more out ofhumour than ever, and I hit viciously at a fly or two which settled uponme.
Pomp was watching me all the time in a half puzzled way, and at last hebroke out with--
"Mass' George."
"Don't bother!"
Pomp drew back, took out the knife I had given him, picked up a piece ofwood and began to cut it, while I stood kicking at the fence, andwatching Morgan and old Vanity, as I mentally called him, busy at workcutting down the former's deadly enemies, the weeds.
"Say, Mass' George."
"Don't bother, I tell you," I cried viciously; and there was anotherpause, during which Pomp made a low whistling noise, which was not sucha very bad imitation of the bobolink.
But Pomp could not be quiet long, and he broke out again with--
"Mass' George."
I turned fiercely round to see that his black face was full ofanimation, and eyes and lips bright with mischievous glee, all of whichannoyed me the more, for what business had he to be happy when I was sodisappointed, out of humour, and miserable?
"Be off! Why don't you go to work, sir?"
"Won't Mass' George come in de wood?"
"No. Be off!"
"Pomp come and have a 'wim 'long o' Mass' George?"
"No, you won't. Be off; I don't want you."
The boy looked at me aghast, and his thick lower lip worked.
"Mass' George get tire poor old Pomp?"
"Yes. Be off!"
"Mass' George send poor old Pomp 'way?"
"Yes. Don't bother. Can't you see I don't want you?"
"Wugh!" Pomp threw himself down on his face, and rested his forehead onhis crossed arms.
"Don't do that," I said. "Get up, and be off, or I shall kick you."
The boy sprang up with his eyes flashing, but they were full of tears,and this gave me satisfaction, for I was in that absurd state of mindwhen one likes to make others feel as uncomfortable as oneself.
"Mass' George want poor ole Pomp to go away?"
"Yes," I cried; "and don't be so idiotic, you miserable little nigger,calling yourself `poor ole Pomp!'"
"Mass' George break poor ole Pomp heart."
"I'll break poor ole Pomp's head if he bothers me any more," I cried,sulkily, as I once more leaned over the fence and began kicking off someof the dry mud which still adhered, though the leafage above it wasclear and green.
I heard Pomp draw in his breath hard, and he gave his bare foot a stampon the ground.
"You want poor ole Pomp go drown self?"
"Yes," I said, sourly.
"Pomp go jump in de ribber."
"Go on then."
"You nebber see poor ole Pomp, nebber no more."
"Don't want to."
"Oh, Mass' George!--oh, Mass' George!"
These words came so piteously that all my ill-humour gave way to pityfor the boy, who was as affectionate as he was passionate by nature; buthis next words hardened me, and I stood fast, trying to hide my mirth ashe broke out in a lachrymose way, pitying himself.
"Poor lil nigger! Oh dear, dear, poor lil black nigger slave! Nobodycare dump poor ole Pomp!"
Then there was a long pause.
"You want Pomp go drown self, Mass' George?"
"Yes," I said. "Mind you don't get wet."
"Eh?"
"I say, go and have a good dry drown."
"How you do dat all?"
"I don't know. Be off."
"Poor ole Pomp! De 'gators eat um all up like lil yam."
"Ha--ha--ha--ha--ha!" I burst out, for I could contain myself nolonger. The comparison to the "lil yam" was too much for me, and as Ifaced round, good-humoured once more, and ready to go and bathe or doanything with the boy who was my only companion, he showed his teeth atme fiercely, made a run, jumped over the fence into the garden, and Isaw him dash down the middle path toward the forest as hard as he couldgo.
I stood looking in the direction he had taken for a minute or two, andfelt disposed to go after him; but I had seen him get into a temperbefore, and get out of it again, and I knew that next time we met allthis would have passed away from both of us like a cloud.
"No, I won't go after him," I said to myself; "it will make him vain andconceited, and he's bad enough as it is. Poor ole Pomp! Poor lilnigger! What a rum fellow he can be when he li
kes!"
This little episode had quite carried off the sour feeling from which Ihad suffered, and I began to look about me, enjoying the beauty of themorning, forgetting all about Pomp, who had, no doubt, I thought, foundout a nice sunny spot and gone off to sleep.
Mass' George: A Boy's Adventures in the Old Savannah Page 20