CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.
It is astonishing what can be done in the most painful times when thereare good leaders, and a spirit of discipline reigns. I remember how Inoted it here that noontide; when, after food and rest, the fresher menrelieved sentries, and strove to listen to the General as he pointed outthat though the block-house was gone and our retreat cut off, we were innearly as good a position of defence as ever, for our barriers werefirm, and it was not certain, even in the most fierce of assaults, thatthe enemy could win. In addition, he pointed out that at any hour aBritish ship might appear in the river, whose presence alone wouldstartle the Indians; while if the worst came to the worst, there wouldbe a place for us to find safety.
"There, Morgan," I said, feeling quite inspirited, as I noted the changewhich seemed to have come over the men. "You see how mad all that waslast night."
He smiled as he laid his hand on my arm. "Look you, Master George," hesaid, "you always forget that I only talked of that as being somethingto be done if it came to the worst."
"And it has not come to the worst," I said.
"And I hope it never may," he replied.
I hurried to my father's side to tell him what had gone on; and I foundhim in a great deal of pain, but apparently quite cheerful and gratefulto the big black, who now declared himself well enough to attend to "demassa," and forgetful of his own injuries, which were serious enough,the cuts on his arms being still bad, while he had been a good dealscorched by the fire.
"I can never be grateful enough to you, Hannibal," said my father again."You saved my life."
"Massa sabe Hannibal life," said the great negro, with a grave smile."Can't say well, but tink great deal 'bout all massa done for us."
"Don't talk about it," said my father, quietly.
"No, sah," replied the great black, turning to me, "not talk 'bout; tinkabout much--much more."
"Well, Hannibal, if we live to get clear of this dreadful trouble, Iwill try to be fair to--" He stopped for a few moments, wincingevidently from pain.
"Better now," he said, with a smile. "I was going to say, I have neverconsidered either you, Hannibal, or your boy as slaves."
"No, massa," said the big black, calmly.
"But you are considered to be so here; and from this day I give you bothyour liberty."
Hannibal smiled, and shook his head.
"Do you not understand me?"
"Massa give holiday. Han done want holiday," said the black,laboriously.
"No, no; I set you both perfectly free."
"Massa tink Pomp lazy--Hannibal no fight 'nuff?"
"My good fellow, no," said my father, drawing his breath hard. "You donot fully understand. You were brought to this place and sold for aslave."
"Yes, understand. Massa bought Hannibal."
"Then now you are quite free to go where you like."
"Where go to, sah?"
"As soon as we have beaten off these Indians, back to your own country."
The black shook his head.
"You would like to go back to your own country?"
"No," said the black, thoughtfully. "'Top fight for capen and Mass'George."
"But we shall have done fighting soon, I hope, and then you can go inpeace."
"No peace in Han country."
"What?"
"Alway fight--make prisoner--sell slave. Han want Pomp here talk forum."
"Ah, well, wait till we get peace, and things are getting on smoothlyagain, then we can talk."
"Capen cross wif Hannibal?"
"Cross? No; grateful."
"Han stay here 'long massa and Mass' George."
"Ah, George, any good news?" said my father, turning to me. "You see Iam forced to be a slave-owner."
I shook my head rather sadly as I thought of Morgan's words.
"Oh, don't despair, my boy," he said, cheerfully. "It has seemed verydesperate several times, but the Indians are still at bay, and we arealive."
"Yes, father, but--"
"Well?"
"The fort is burnt down."
"Yes; the enemy got the better of us there, but we are not beaten yet.Things looked black last night; after rest and food they are asdifferent as can be. When shall you be ready to start home to beginrebuilding?"
"You are only talking like that, father, to cheer me up," I said, sadly."Do you think I don't know that it is all over?"
"I do not think--I am sure you don't know, my boy," he said, smiling."How can you? A battle is never lost till it is won. Did you ever seetwo cocks fight?"
"Yes; once or twice, father," I said, wonderingly.
"So have I," he replied, "not in the case of so-called sport, butnaturally, as such birds will fight; and I have seen one beaten down,apparently quite conquered, and the victor as he believed himself hasleaped upon his fallen adversary and begun to crow."
"Yes, I know," I cried, eagerly; "and then the beaten bird has struggledand spurred the other so fiercely that he has run away in turn."
"Yes; you have finished my anecdote for me. It is too soon yet for theIndians to begin to crow. They are still outside our place, and thepowder is plentiful yet."
I shivered a little at the mention of the powder, and tried to tell himwhat I had heard, but somehow the words would not come, and soon afteras he dropped asleep I went down into the open space about theblock-house.
To reach it I had to pass the powder, which still lay covered as before,and it seemed to me that some fresh place might be found for it, sinceif the Indians began to send their fiery arrows into the camp again, onemight fall there, and the destruction talked of befall us at once.
But a little thought told me that if arrows came now, they would beaimed at men and not at buildings. There was nothing more within forthe fire to burn, so I went in and walked round the pile of smoulderingashes, and tried to recall the scene of the previous night, and theposition of the magazine. But it was rather hard to do now, there beingnothing left by which I could judge, and I was going on, when I caughtsight of something which made me alter my course, and walk softly upbehind where Pomp was busy with a shovel at the edge of a great heap ofsmouldering ashes.
"What are you doing?" I said.
"Eh? Mass' George 'top bit and see."
"No, I can't stop," I cried. "What are you doing with that shovel?"
"Dat to 'crape de fire up. You no see? Pomp bake cake for de capen."
"What?"
"Oh yes. Plenty cake in de hot ash. Hot bread for um. 'Top see if umdone."
He looked up at me and laughed as merrily as if there was no dangernear.
"Mass' George see more Injum?"
"No," I said. "They are in the forest somewhere."
"Pomp like roace all de whole lot. Come burn fellow place down likedat. Ah, you don't want come, sah! Hah, I pob you in dah lil soft wetdab ob dough, and now you got to come out nice cake all hot."
He felt about in the fine embers with the shovel, and directly afterthrust it under something invisible, drew it out, blew off a quantity ofglowing ash, tossed his find round and brown up in the air, caught itagain on the shovel, and held just under my nose a hot, well-cookedbread-cake, showing his teeth the while, as he exclaimed triumphantly--
"Dah!"
"Bread," I said, mechanically.
"Nice hot cake, sah, for de capen, and Pomp got fibe more juss done.Dat one for capen, one for Mass' George, one for Pomp fader, one forPomp. How many dat make?"
"Four," I said, in the same mechanical way.
"Four, and den dah two more for a-morrow mornin'."
"Oh, Pomp," I said, "how can you think of such things now!"
"Eh? Cos such boofle fire, and Pomp know where de barl ob flour. Mass'George not glad to hab nice hot cake?"
I shook my head, but the boy was too busy fetching out his loaves, andsoon had the whole six, well-cooked and of a delicate creamy-brown,beside him ready to be replaced in a little heap on the shovel.
"Dah!" he
said; "now go take um home ready for tea."
"Why, Pomp," I said, sadly, "suppose the Indians come, what then?"
"What den? Dey 'tupid 'nuff to come, we shoot dem all, sah. Pomp don'tfink much ob Injum."
"Do you think they'll come to-night?"
"Pomp done know. 'Pose so."
"You think so, then?"
"Yes, Mass' George. Injum very 'tupid. Come be shot."
Evening was coming on so fast that it would soon, I felt, be put to theproof, and followed by the boy with his cakes balanced on the shovelheld over his shoulder, I went back to our apology for a tent.
My coming in awoke my father, and he sat up wincing with pain, buttrying hard directly to hide his sufferings from me.
"Give me your hand," he said. "I must get out now and help."
I gave him my hand, and he rose, but sank back with his eyes halfclosed.
"No," he said, sadly; "I have no strength. Go out and see whatpreparations are being made, and--"
"Here is Colonel Preston, father," I whispered.
It was he, but he was not alone, for the General was with him, and bothexclaimed loudly against my father attempting to move, but stayed bothof them some time discussing the position, and asking his candid opinionabout certain things which they had done for strengthening the defences,and they ended by proposing that I should accompany them as a sort ofaide-de-camp, and bear messages to and fro.
I followed them, and was soon after going with them from post to post,to see that the men were well supplied with ammunition; and I could nothelp noticing that in spite of all they had gone through, they lookedrested and self-reliant; quite ready in fact for a fresh encounter withour hidden foe.
For as the setting sun turned the plantations and edge of the forest toruddy gold, all was perfectly calm, and for aught we could see there wasno sign of an enemy. In fact to judge from appearances the Indiansmight have departed finally to their home, satisfied with the harm theyhad done.
As night fell all fires were extinguished, and we then commenced ourdreary watch, every one feeling that the attack was coming, but how soonor from what quarter it was impossible to say.
Mass' George: A Boy's Adventures in the Old Savannah Page 47