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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 47 |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN. It is astonishing what can be done in the most painful times when there are good leaders, and a spirit of discipline reigns. I remember how I noted it here that noontide; when, after food and rest, the fresher men relieved sentries, and strove to listen to the General as he pointed out that though the block-house was gone and our retreat cut off, we were in nearly as good a position of defence as ever, for our barriers were firm, and it was not certain, even in the most fierce of assaults, that the enemy could win. In addition, he pointed out that at any hour a British ship might appear in the river, whose presence alone would startle the Indians; while if the worst came to the worst, there would be a place for us to find safety. "There, Morgan," I said, feeling quite inspirited, as I noted the change which seemed to have come over the men. "You see how mad all that was last night." He smiled as he laid his hand on my arm. "Look you, Master George," he said, "you always forget that I only talked of that as being something to 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 found him in a great deal of pain, but apparently quite cheerful and grateful to the big black, who now declared himself well enough to attend to "de massa," and forgetful of his own injuries, which were serious enough, the cuts on his arms being still bad, while he had been a good deal scorched 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; tink about much--much more." "Well, Hannibal, if we live to get clear of this dreadful trouble, I will try to be fair to--" He stopped for a few moments, wincing evidently from pain. "Better now," he said, with a smile. "I was going to say, I have never considered 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 both your 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 do not fully understand. You were brought to this place and sold for a slave." "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 in peace." "No peace in Han country." "What?" "Alway fight--make prisoner--sell slave. Han want Pomp here talk for um." "Ah, well, wait till we get peace, and things are getting on smoothly again, 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 I am 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 very desperate several times, but the Indians are still at bay, and we are alive." "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 as different as can be. When shall you be ready to start home to begin rebuilding?" "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 see two cocks fight?" "Yes; once or twice, father," I said, wonderingly. "So have I," he replied, "not in the case of so-called sport, but naturally, as such birds will fight; and I have seen one beaten down, apparently quite conquered, and the victor as he believed himself has leaped upon his fallen adversary and begun to crow." "Yes, I know," I cried, eagerly; "and then the beaten bird has struggled and 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 the Indians to begin to crow. They are still outside our place, and the powder is plentiful yet." I shivered a little at the mention of the powder, and tried to tell him what I had heard, but somehow the words would not come, and soon after as he dropped asleep I went down into the open space about the block-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, since if the Indians began to send their fiery arrows into the camp again, one might fall there, and the destruction talked of befall us at once. But a little thought told me that if arrows came now, they would be aimed at men and not at buildings. There was nothing more within for the fire to burn, so I went in and walked round the pile of smouldering ashes, and tried to recall the scene of the previous night, and the position of the magazine. But it was rather hard to do now, there being nothing left by which I could judge, and I was going on, when I caught sight of something which made me alter my course, and walk softly up behind where Pomp was busy with a shovel at the edge of a great heap of smouldering 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 um done." He looked up at me and laughed as merrily as if there was no danger near. "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 like dat. Ah, you don't want come, sah! Hah, I pob you in dah lil soft wet dab 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 after thrust it under something invisible, drew it out, blew off a quantity of glowing ash, tossed his find round and brown up in the air, caught it again on the shovel, and held just under my nose a hot, well-cooked bread-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 for Pomp. 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, and soon 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't fink 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 the proof, and followed by the boy with his cakes balanced on the shovel held 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, but trying 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 half closed. "No," he said, sadly; "I have no strength. Go out and see what preparations 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 both exclaimed loudly against my father attempting to move, but stayed both of them some time discussing the position, and asking his candid opinion about certain things which they had done for strengthening the defences, and they ended by proposing that I should accompany them as a sort of aide-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 not help noticing that in spite of all they had gone through, they looked rested and self-reliant; quite ready in fact for a fresh encounter with our hidden foe. For as the setting sun turned the plantations and edge of the forest to ruddy gold, all was perfectly calm, and for aught we could see there was no sign of an enemy. In fact to judge from appearances the Indians might have departed finally to their home, satisfied with the harm they had done. As night fell all fires were extinguished, and we then commenced our dreary watch, every one feeling that the attack was coming, but how soon or from what quarter it was impossible to say. _ |
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