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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 50 |
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_ CHAPTER FIFTY. "Morgan," I whispered, and he started and looked at me wildly, the morning dawn showing his face smeared with blood, and blackened with the grime of powder. "Yes, my lad," he said, sadly; "I thought it was all over, and as soon as they were well at their work I meant to fire it." I could not speak, and I knew it would be useless, so I shrank away, and crept back past scores of despairing faces, to where my father lay eagerly waiting for news. As I went I saw that the officers were giving orders for restoring portions of our torn down defences, and that the day had given the men fresh energy, for they were working eagerly with their loaded pieces laid ready, while food and drink were being rapidly passed along the front. "Only a temporary check, I'm afraid," said my father, as I described everything. "Brave fellows! What a defence! But you have waited too long," he said. "Where is that man?" "Hannibal?" I exclaimed; "I had forgotten him." For he had evidently glided away in the dark; but almost as I spoke he came up. "Boat ready, Mass' George," he said. "Pomp swam out and got him. Waiting to take Mass' George and capen." A warning cry just then rang out, and my father caught my arm. "Go and see," he whispered; "don't keep me waiting so long." I hurried to the front again, seeing Morgan and another man in earnest conversation, but they separated before I reached them, and as Morgan went in the direction from whence he would pass out from our piled-up defence to get to the powder, I followed him, seeing now clearly enough he had his gun in his hand. I forgot about my own escape--the coming on of the Indians, of whom I had a glimpse outside the palisades--everything, in my intense desire to stop this man from carrying out his terrible plan. I was very near him now, and should have caught him up had I not stumbled over a poor fellow lying in my way, and nearly fallen. As I recovered I could hear a fearful yelling, and saw Morgan's hard-set face as he climbed backward down from the boxes, one of the men, whom I recognised as his confederate, helping him by holding his gun. In a wild fit of despair, as I saw Morgan's hard-set face, I shouted to him to stop, but my voice was drowned by the yelling of the Indians now coming on again with a rush, brandishing their axes, and evidently bent on carrying all before them. As I reached the edge, Morgan was half-way to the powder, crawling on his chest, the Indians to our left, and the men I was trying to pass firing over Morgan's head. They shouted to me, but I glided between two of them; and as they tried to pull me back, Han pressed them apart, and the next moment I was creeping after Morgan. The firing went on over us, and the Indians dashed forward on our left, yelling more loudly than ever. Then I heard a volley, and just caught a glimpse of the half-naked figures passing through the smoke. It was but a glance, for my attention was fixed upon Morgan, who had now reached the tarpaulin and canvas, thrown it partly aside, examined the priming of his gun, and I thought he was about to fire right into the midst of the powder-kegs, but he turned first to see whether the fight had yet reached the most desperate stage. That was my time, and I leaped upon him, and tried to wrench the gun away, as his wildly desperate face looked into mine. "No, no, Morgan," I cried. "You must not; you shall not do that." "Let go!" he cried, roughly; and the eyes that glared at mine seemed almost those of a madman. "No," I cried, "I will not." "Don't you hear, Master George? Hark at them; the wretches have begun their work." I still clung to the gun, and turned my head as a wild burst of shrieks rose from behind--the firing had ceased, but the shouting and yelling were blood-curdling, as in that horrible moment I felt sure that our men were beaten, and a massacre had begun. But my father was there, and it seemed too horrible for such a deed as this to be done. If we were to die by the Indians' hands, I felt that we must. But quietly stand by and let Morgan do this thing I would not, and I clung to the gun. "Let go before it's too late, boy," panted Morgan, tugging fiercely now to get the gun from me. "No," I panted; "you shall not." "I must, boy. There: hark at them. I shall be too late. Look, boy; run for your life. I'll wait till I see you over the big fence first." "No," I panted again; "you shall not." "Will you run for your life?" "No!" I cried, as I seemed to see my helpless father stretching out his hands to me. "Then I must have it," cried Morgan, fiercely, and as we knelt together, he twisted the gun in one direction, then in the other; and, boy as I was in strength, in another moment he would have torn it from my grasp, when a great black hand darted from just behind me, caught Morgan by the throat, forced him back, and with a cry of triumph I dragged away the piece, and fired it right away from the powder. "Hold him, Han," I panted; "he is mad." As if my shot had been the signal, a tremendous volley rang out from beyond the palisade; then another, and another; and the Indians, who the moment before were battling desperately, and surmounting our defences as a wild hand-to-hand fight went on, began to give way; then they turned and fled for the gap they had made, while, led by Colonel Preston, our men dashed after them. "Look," I cried. "Morgan, we've won!" We all gazed wonderingly as the Indians disappeared through the gap in the great fence, when another sharp volley rang out, but the smoke rose from outside. "Help has come!" I shouted, and feeling no fear now of Morgan putting his desperate plan into action, I ran to join our men and learn what it meant, closely followed by Hannibal, Morgan coming last. _ |
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