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Mass' George: A Boy's Adventures in the Old Savannah, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 23 |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. I lost no time in dressing after opening my window wide, there being no fear now of Pomp getting at me to have his revenge while I was asleep for the tricks I had played upon him. The boy thrust in his legs with an easy motion, as soon as the window was thrown open, raising himself and dropping gently into a sitting position to watch me wash and dress. "Well, why are you looking on in that contemptuous way?" I said at last, as I noted the play of his face. "Dat not temshus, Mass' George," he said. "I only sit and fink what long time you are wash and dress." "That's not long," I said; "why, how long are you?" "No time, Mass' George. I go bed like am now, and get up like am now, and come on." "But do you mean to say you haven't washed this morning?" "How I 'top go to ribber an' wash, when Mass' George wait to be called? Hab good 'wim when we get to ribber." I finished dressing, and took Pomp into Sarah's kitchen, where we both made a hearty meal, which was interrupted by Pomp insisting upon having the shot and powder pouches buckled on him at once, so that he might make sure of them, and not be defrauded of the honour of carrying them by any tricks on my part. He did not look so pleased at having to carry the wallet which had been well stored ready for our use, but he submitted to have the strap thrown over his head, and passed one arm through. Then full of eagerness I shouldered the gun, and we started off into the forest, passing the clearing where the rattlesnake had been killed, and next passing on to the little river, up whose course we were to make our way, keeping a good look-out for the boat the while. The morning was glorious, the sun piercing the low-lying mist, which rapidly grew more transparent, broke up, and seemed to dissolve away. The birds were piping and screaming in the trees, and as we reached the river, where all was light and sunshine, we started first a great white crane, which rose from the shallows and flew off, then a kingfisher with dazzling coat, and soon after came in sight of a little flock of rosy-winged flamingoes, with their curious, long, snaky, writhing necks, and quaintly-shaped bills, which always looked to me as if they were made to use upside down. "Well, I nebber see!" cried Pomp at last, after stepping back, and preserving the most profound silence time after time. "What's the matter?" "Why Mass' George no shoot?" "Because we don't want the birds. You don't care to have to carry them, do you?" "No; dis wallet um so dreffle heabby." We tramped on a little farther, now in the deep shade, now in the golden sunshine when we could get close to the stream, and then Pomp sighed. "Mass' George like to carry de walletum now?" "No; I'm carrying the gun." "Pomp carry de gun." "Oh, no," I said, "I'll manage that;" and we went slowly on again. There was no track, and near the river where the light and sunshine played there was plenty of thick undergrowth, while a short distance back in the forest the walking was easy among the trees, where scarcely anything clothed the ground in the deep shadow. Pomp kept trudging away toward the dark, shadowy forest, and I had to stop him again and again, for the boat was not likely to be in there. On the last occasion he said-- "Walletum dreffle heabby, Mass' George. Don't think better carry um inside?" "What do you mean?" "Mass' George eat half, and Pomp eat half. Den we hab nuffum to carry." I naturally enough burst out laughing. "Why, we've only just had a good breakfast, and couldn't eat any more." "Oh yes, Pomp could, big lots." "And what are we to have to eat by and by, when we get hungry?" "Mass' George shoot ducks; Pomp make fire an' roace um." "No, no, no," I cried. "Here, pass me the wallet, and I'll give you a rest." "And Pomp carry de gun," he cried, eagerly. "No, sir. If you can carry the gun, you can carry the wallet. Here, give me hold." Pomp looked disappointed as he handed over the wallet very slowly, and after slinging it on we once more progressed, looking carefully in all directions in search of the lost boat, but seeing nothing; and I soon had to come to the conclusion that the chances were very greatly against our finding the object of our search. It was slow work, but for some miles the place was familiar, my father having brought me as far exploring, and Pomp and I having several times over boated through the dark forest along that bright, winding highway-- the river; generally with some difficulty, on account of the fallen trees, and snags, and dense overgrowth, beneath which we often had to force our way, while at other times we had almost to cut a channel through the lilies and other water plants which choked the stream. It was plain enough to see though, now, how comparatively easy a journey would have been in a boat, for the large flood-waves which had swept up the river had scoured out its bed, throwing vast rotting heaps of the succulent water-growths ashore to rot, fester, and dry in the hot sun. High up too I could see the traces where the flood had reached, well marked by the dry grass hanging among the boughs. But we kept on forcing our way slowly, soon getting into a part of the river that was entirely new, and growing more and more fascinating to me at every step. For there was, in addition to the glorious beauty of the bright, sunny river, with its banks where in places the trees drooped down and dipped their boughs in the smooth water, and the various growths were of the most dazzling green, always something new--bird, quadruped, insect, or fish taking my attention to such a degree that I often forgot the boat and the object of our journey. Pomp was just as excited as I, touching my arm every now and then to point with a black finger at some grey heron standing thigh-deep, watching for the fish that nearly made the waters alive; and perhaps just as we were waiting to see him make the next dart with his beak at some shoal of unfortunate fry, there would be what seemed to be a great curved bar of silver flash out of the water, to plunge in again, giving us just a glimpse of the fierce fish's glittering scales. Every now and then some big fellow would leap right out, to come down again with a heavy splash, and send a whole shoal of tiny fish, invisible to us before, flying out of the water to avoid their enemy, the river shark. A little farther, and Pomp's lips would be close to my ear imploring me to shoot as he indicated a bit of sandy or muddy shore where, just clear of the water and looking like a piece of tree-stump, a great alligator would lie basking in the hot sunshine. But I invariably resisted his prayers, and as we went on, the reptile would suddenly hear our coming and scuffle rapidly out of sight, making a great swirl in the water as he disappeared. "No, Pomp," I would say, "the first 'gator I shoot must be that one in the bathing-pool. Come along." On we went, with the river winding in and out through the forest, and there was always something fresh to see: humming-birds that were not so big as some of the butterflies and beetles that swarmed in the sunshiny parts; great lagoon-like pools where the running of the stream became invisible, and we could see far down in the deep water where fish were slowly gliding in and out among the roots of the trees, which in many places clothed the bottom with masses of fibre. Now Pomp's eyes would be ready to start out of his head as we neared a corner, or starting off into the forest to avoid some wild or swampy patch, we crept out to the river's bank again, to startle a little flock of ducks which had been preening themselves, and sent feathers like tiny boats floating down the stream. "Plenty of time," I would keep saying. "We don't want them yet, and I'll shoot them when we do." "But 'pose dey not dah to shoot when you want um, Mass' George. I dreffle hungry now." "Ah," I said at last, "our wallet is getting heavy. Let's pick out a place, and have some lunch." Pomp pricked up his ears, as he generally did when he heard a new word, and this was one ready for him to adopt. "Iss," he said, eagerly, "I berry fond o' lunch. I fought smell um yesday when missie cook um." "Cook what?" I said. "Dat lunch, Mass' George." I laughed, and pressed on to look for a good spot, and soon found one where a great tree, whose roots had been undermined by the river, had fallen diagonally with its branches half in the water, and offering us a good seat just nicely shaded from the burning sun, while we had only to lie out on its great trunk and reach down to be able to fill the tin can I had with the clear water. The gun was leaned up against the tree-roots; we each sat astride facing each other, the bigness of the tree making it rather an uneasy seat; I slung the wallet round and placed it between us, and had just thrust in my hand, while Pomp wrenched himself round to hang the ammunition pouches close to the gun on a ragged root behind him, when, all at once, the boy's left leg flew over and kicked the wallet out of my hands, and he bounded a couple of yards away to stand grinning angrily and rubbing himself. "Too bad, Mass' George. What do dat for?" "Do what?" I cried, roaring with laughter, as I stooped down and picked up the wallet, out of which fortunately nothing had fallen. "'Tick um pin in poor lil nigger." "I didn't," I said; "and see what you've done." "Yes, Mass' George did. Pomp felt um. You wait bit, I serb you out." "But I tell you I did not, Pomp," I cried, as I wiped my eyes. "Oh, you ridiculous-looking little chap! Come and sit down." "No, won't. You 'tick um pin in poor lil nigger behind leg 'gain." "I will not, 'pon my honour," I cried. "Oh, you did look comic." "Made um feel comic dicklus," cried Pomp, catching up the two words I had used. "Did hurt." "Come and sit down." "You no 'tick um pin in 'gain?" "I haven't got a pin," I said. "Den I know; it was um big forn." "It wasn't, Pomp. Come and sit down and have some lunch." "No. Won't come. Don't want no lunchum. Hurt poor Pomp dreffle. You alway play um trick." "I tell you I didn't do anything, Pomp. There, come along." He caught sight of the food I brought now from the wallet, and it was irresistible. "You no 'tick pin in nigger 'gain?" "No." "Nor yet um forn?" "No. Come along, you little unbeliever. Come along." "I serb you out fo dat, Mass' George, you see," he said, sidling back to the tree, watching me cautiously the while. "Oh, very well, I'll forgive you," I said, as he retook his place. "I say, Pomp, I am thirsty." "So 'm I, Mass' George. Dat lunchum?" "Yes; that's lunch," I said, as I laid the neatly-done-up napkin containing provision of some kind on the tree-trunk between us, and taking out the tin can I leaned right back, gripping the tree with both legs, and lowering my hand I dipped the vessel full of water. I was just in the act of rising cautiously and very slowly, when a sharp pain in the fleshy part of my leg made me spring forward in agony, dashing the water in Pomp's face, knocking the wallet and its contents over sidewise, and in my pain and rage I seized the boy to begin cuffing him, while he wrestled with me to get away, as we hugged and struggled like two fighting men in a _melee_ on the same horse. "How dare you!" I panted; "that was the point of your knife. I'll teach you to--Oh, murder!" "Oh, Mass' George, don't! _Oh_! Oh! Oh!" We both made a bound together, went off the trunk sidewise, and Pomp struggled up, tore off his shirt and drawers, and began to beat and shake them, and then peep inside, pausing every moment to have a rub; while I, without going to his extreme, was doing the best I could to rid myself of my pain. "Nas' lil fing!" cried Pomp, stamping on something in the grass. "Look, look, Mass' George, make hase; dey eat all de lunchum." The mystery was out. We had seated ourselves upon the home of a vicious kind of ant, whose nest was under the rotten bark of the tree, and as soon as Pomp realised the truth he danced about with delight. "I fought you 'tick pin in lil nigger. You fought I 'tick um knife in Mass' George! You catch um, too." "Yes," I said, wriggling under my clothes, and rubbing myself. "Oh! Quick! Back of my neck, Pomp, look. Biting." Pomp sprang to me in an instant. "I got um, Mass' George. Dah!" he cried, as he placed the vicious little insect between his teeth, and bit it in two. "You no bite young massa 'gain. How you like be bite, sah? Make you feel dicklus, eh? Oh! Ugh! Tiff! Tiff! Tiff! Oh, um do tase nasty." Pomp spat and shuddered and ended by washing out his mouth by running a little way, lying flat with his head over the bank, and scooping up some water with his hand. Meanwhile I cautiously picked up the provisions, the napkin and wallet, and carefully shook them clear of the vicious little things--no easy job, by the way; after which, stinging and smarting still, I sought another place where we could eat our meal in peace. _ |
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