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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 46 |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY SIX. Everybody considered it was all over then, as we stood regularly at bay behind our palisades and barricades of boxes, cases, and furniture with which the women and children were surrounded, watching the flames of the great block-house rising higher and higher in the still night air, in a way that to me was awful. So there we were waiting for the final onslaught, gloomy, weary, and dispirited. The men were chilled, many of them, with the water, and worn out by their efforts, and as I went round from group to group silently, in search of some one I knew to talk to, I could not help seeing that they were beaten, and thinking that the Indians would have an easy task now when they came. "It's very horrible," I thought; and I went over the past, and dwelt upon the numbers that we must have killed. I knew that there would be no mercy; that the men would all be butchered, and the women and children, if they escaped that fate, would be carried off into a horrible captivity. Pomp seemed to have disappeared, for though I came upon group after group of black faces whose owners sat about in a stolid indifferent way, as if the affair did not concern them, and they were resting until called upon to work once more, I did not see our boy. I could not see Colonel Preston, and Morgan had gone away from my side on being summoned by one of the men. There were plenty of our people about, but all the same I seemed to be alone, and I was wandering along in the fitful glare of the fire, when I saw at last a group of men standing together by a pile of something wet and glistening, over which one man was scattering with his hand some water from a bucket as if to keep the surface wet, and in this man I recognised Morgan. "What's he doing?" I asked myself; and it was some few moments before I could grasp the truth, and then in a shrinking manner, with sensations similar to those I had felt when I was going into the burning block-house, I slowly advanced toward the group. Sparks were being hurled high in the air at every fall of beam or timber, and they rushed round and round, as if agitated by a whirlwind, to be carried far away, but every now and then flashes of fire that escaped the whirl floated softly here and there, making it seem horrible to me as I watched them drop slowly to earth, some to be extinguished and disappear just as a great pat of snow will melt away when it touches the moist ground, while others remained alight and burned for a few moments. "If one did," I said to myself as I approached timidly, for I knew now that I was opposite to the little heap of powder-kegs that had been brought out of the magazine with so much risk, and were lying covered over with canvas and a tarpaulin, whose surface was being kept wet. "The powder, Morgan?" I said, as I approached, just as the men were talking earnestly together, Morgan standing by and holding his empty bucket. "Yes, sir; the powder," he replied, turning and giving me a nod before looking back at his companions and saying sadly-- "Then you do mean it, my lads?" "I do," said one of the men, sternly; "and I think it's what we ought to do." "Without waiting for orders from our officers?" "I shouldn't say do it while they can lead us and help us to fight and drive these demons back. I say when all's over and we've got to the last. I mean when the Indians have got in and are butchering us." "Yes, yes," came in a murmur from one man, "It will be quite right then, and they'll feel it too." "Yes," said the first, "it wants doing just as they've crowded into the place, and the lad among us left living must swear he'll do it." "Don't need any swearing," said Morgan, in a low deep voice. "I'm afraid that you're right, my lads, and for one I'll promise to do it when it's all over." "Do what?" I said in a whisper, though I felt that I did not need telling. Morgan looked round at the others. "There's no harm in telling him," he said. "Not a bit. Tell him." Morgan coughed as if to clear his throat, and he raised the bucket and threw a few drops from the bottom on the glistening heap. "You see, Master George," he said, "we're afraid that we're getting close to the time when the Indians will quite get the better of us, and we shall be beaten." "Englishmen are never beaten," I said, looking round proudly. "Ah, that's only a bit of brag, Master George," said Morgan, quietly. "That's what we all say, and perhaps we never are in spirit, but our bodies aren't much stronger than other men's bodies, and there are times when the enemy gets too strong for us. I've been beaten many a time, and I've beat many a time. This is one of the times when I've been beat." "But we are not beaten yet," I said, excitedly. "When the Indians come and attack we shall drive them off." "If we can, my lad--if we can. Eh, my lads?" "Yes, yes," came in a loud murmur. "Don't you be afraid about that. As long as our officers can lead us we shall fight, and some say we shall do our best when we haven't one left to lead us. In plain honest English, Master George, we shall fire as long as we can load; when we can't use our guns we shall use our fists, and when we can't raise an arm we shall kick." "Yes, I know, I know," I said, excitedly. "But what you are thinking of it so dreadful." "So's lying down beat out to let savages knock out your brains, my lad; and so we've all made up our minds that when the worst comes to the very worst, it will be an act of kindness to everybody and a big lesson to the Indians to let settlers alone, and perhaps be the means of saving the lives of hundreds of poor creatures in times to come, if one of us--" "Yes, I know," I half groaned--"sets fire to this powder and blows everything away." "That's it, Master George, and the right thing too." "Oh!" I cried, with a shudder. "Don't take on, my lad," said Morgan, gently. "It's fate, that's what it is. We shan't do it till the place is full of Indians, and they've begun their terrible work; then one touch with a spark and it'll be all over." "Morgan!" I cried. "Ay, my lad, it seems very horrid, and I don't want to have it to do; but when we're all half dead, and can't lift a hand, it will be a mercy to every one; and I know if your poor father was here and listening to what we say, he'd think so too." "But--but--" I faltered, despairingly, "I don't want to die." "More don't I, my lad," he said, taking my hand; and I saw by the light of the burning building that the tears stood in his eyes. "I'd give anything to live, and go back yonder and work like a man to put everything straight again, and see my trees and plants growing more beautiful every day in God's bright sunshine; but if it aren't to be, Master George, why, it aren't. I haven't been a man who hasn't done his duty." "No, no," I said; "they've all fought bravely." "Ay, that they have, and are going to fight bravely to the very end. Why, look at those poor niggers too. See how they've fought, brave lads! No one would have thought they were slaves to see the way they've gone at it, just as if this was their own place, and they'd never been sold and bought. There, my lad, once more, don't you go thinking we're all going to turn cowards, because we're not. Our officers have done their duty by us, and we've tried to do our duty by them; and if it comes to the worst, I say what's been proposed is only doing our duty still; what say you?" "Ay, ay," came in a chorus; and I could not say a word. I felt choked as I looked round at the enclosure, all lit up by the glow, with black shadows cast here and there by the various piles of cases and the tents, and then I seemed to see beyond the great fence, and the black and pale-faced men, right away through the forest to our own bright home, close to the pleasant river, where all was sunshine, and glorious with bird and flower and tree. It was impossible to believe that I was never to see it all again, never to wander through the forest, never to ride on the stream and pause to watch the brightly-plumaged birds and the glittering insects or the gorgeously-scaled fish gliding through the clear waters, down where I had so often seen them amongst the roots of the overhanging trees. It all came back like some bright dream--the creeper-covered house, my father seated at his window, about which the flowers bloomed, as he sat and studied some book, Morgan and Hannibal busy in their long fight with the weeds, and a magpie-like patch under some tree, where black Pomp lay asleep in his white shirt and short drawers, while from the end of the house came the busy sounds made by poor Sarah. I think it was at that moment most of all that I quite thoroughly realised what a delightful home we had built up in the wilderness. And now it was a heap of ashes; my father, Hannibal, and poor Sarah seriously hurt; Pomp gone too for aught I could tell; and Morgan here talking so calmly and coolly of setting alight to the pile of destruction lying there by our side. Was it all true? I asked myself, and felt ready to rub my eyes and try to rouse myself from the horrible nightmare dream from which I was suffering. I was awakened sufficiently the next moment by Morgan's words, as he said in a quiet, decided manner-- "Yes, Master George, we've done our duty as far as we can, and there's only one more thing left to do--when the time comes, sir; when the time comes." Just then, to my utter astonishment, there was a movement among the men, and one of them came up close to me. "You'll shake hands, sir," he said. "I've taken a deal of notice of you, different times." I held out my hand mechanically, felt it warmly wrung, and then had it seized in turn by the others, while I was struggling to speak words that would not come. At last though they burst forth. "But the women and children!" I cried, as my heart seemed to stand still. "Better than being butchered by those savages," said Morgan, gloomily. "I'd sooner see my poor wife die than fall into their hands." His words silenced me, for I knew that they could expect no mercy. Then feeling utterly exhausted, I was munching a piece of bread, where I sat on a rough case, and sipping a little water from time to time, when just as the fire was at its height, with great waves of flame floating gently away from the great pine-wood building and illumining the wide clearing all round, I heard a familiar voice behind me say in his droll, dry fashion-- "What pity!" "Ah, Pomp!" I cried, turning to him; "you there?" "Iss, Mass' George. When we go home again? Pomp done like dis place 'tall." "No, nor nobody else, boy," said Morgan, sadly. "Hark! Hear anything?" He seized his gun as he spoke, but it was only a hissing scream made by one of the water-soaked timbers as the steam was forced out. "Nobody come. Injum all gone away." "How do you know?" I cried, eagerly. "Pomp done know. Tink um all gone. No shoot arrow now." "Wrong, boy," said Morgan. "They are hatching some fresh scheme, and they'll be down upon us directly." There was a pause. "And then it will be all over," muttered Morgan, as he turned towards Pomp, looked at him firmly, and then held out his hand. "Come here, boy," he said. "Wha' for? Pomp no do nuffum. Can't do nuffum here." "Come and shake hands." Pomp laughed and held out his hand, which Morgan took. "If I don't see you again, boy, good-bye, and I'm sorry I've been so rough to you sometimes." "Mass' Morgan go walking out in wood? Take Pomp." Morgan heaved a deep sigh. "Ah, you don't bear any malice," he said. Pomp shook his head, and looked at me, for it was Greek to him. "Not so bad as that," I said. "Come, cheer up." "Can't any more, my lad," said Morgan. "No one can't say, look you, that I haven't cheered up through thick and thin. But, look here, Master George, speaking fair now, what is the good of Injuns?" "Injum no good," said Pomp, sharply. "Right, boy; no good at all. Phew!" he whistled; "how them logs do burn!" "Ah! No duck, no fis', no turkey roace on 'tick!" said Pomp, regretfully. "Shoot, shoot, shoot, lot time, an' no shoot nuffum to eat. Pomp dreffle hungly." "There's plenty of bread," I said, smiling at the boy's utter unconcern about our position of peril. "Yah, 'tuff! Nas' 'tuff. Pomp too dreffle hungly eat any more bread. Why no go now and kill all Injum? Pomp fine de way." The boy looked quite vexed at his proposition being declined, and squatted down to gaze at the fire, till after a time he lay down to look at it, and at last Morgan said to me-- "Don't trouble him much, lad. Fast asleep." It was quite true. There lay Pomp enjoying a good rest, while we watched the progress of the flames, which rose and fell and gleamed from the pieces of the watchful men dotted round the great place, then left them in shadow, while a terrible silence had now fallen upon the camp. The fierce fire crackled and roared, and the flames fluttered as a great storm of sparks kept floating far away, but no one spoke, and it was only when an officer went round to the various posts that there seemed to be the slightest motion in the camp. "Takes a cleverer man than me to understand Injun," said Morgan at last, just before daybreak, as I returned from the tent where my father was sleeping peacefully, and Hannibal outside wrapped in a blanket quite calmly taking his rest. "What do you mean?" I said, wearily. "I mean I can't make out the ways of Injuns. Here have we been watching all night, expecting to have a big fight by way of finish up, and Pomp's right after all. They seem to have gone." "If I could only think so!" I replied, with a sigh. "Well, lad, I think they are," said Morgan. "They might have had it all their own way, and beaten us pretty easy a time back, but they've let their chance go by; and I suppose they're satisfied with the mischief they've done for one night, and have gone back to their camp to sing and dance and brag to one another about what brave fellows they all are." It soon proved to be as Morgan had said, for the day broke, and the sun rose soon after, to shine down warm and bright upon as dejected, weary-looking, and besmirched a body of men as could have been seen. For they were all blackened with powder and smoke; some were scorched, and in every face I could read the same misery, dejection, and despair. But the General, Colonel Preston, and several of the leading gentlemen soon sent a different spirit through the camp. A few orders were given, the sentries changed, three parts being withdrawn; the women, who looked one half-hour haggard, pale, and scared, wore quite a changed aspect, as they hurriedly prepared food for their defenders; and in a very short time cries and shouts from the children helped to make some of us think that matters were not quite so desperate after all. _ |
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