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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 54 |
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_ CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR. Morgan and I had more than one long talk that next day about the Spaniards and the pusillanimous way in which they had behaved; but not until a good deal had been done to make our tent comfortable, and that in which poor Sarah was lying, mending fast, but still very weak. A great deal too had to be done for the wounded, who bore their sufferings with wonderful patience, and were delighted when I went and sat with them, and talked over the different phases of the fight. Morgan was sentry once more in the afternoon, and after seeing my father comfortably asleep, I went across to him, where he was keeping a sharp look-out for the Indians; but so far there had been no sign, and we began talking about the wounded, and how long it would be before they were stirring again. "Ah, a long time, sir," he said. "You can make a man weak with a shot or a cut with a sword. It's done in a moment, but it takes months to make one strong." "I say, Morgan," I whispered, "don't you think the General ought to have a place dug and made for that powder?" He turned sharply and looked me full in the eyes, but instead of answering my question, he said-- "You see, Master George, they were regularly cheated over us." "Who were--the Indians?" "The Indians? No; the Spanish." "He will not talk about the powder business," I said to myself. "He always turns it off." "You see, sir," he continued, as he softly rubbed the barrel of his piece to get rid of some of the rust that had encrusted it, "they expected to find us a set of quiet spade-and-hoe-and-wheelbarrow sort of people, quite different to them, as are looked upon as being so warlike and fierce." "And so we are, Morgan." "And so we are, lad. We came out here to dig and live, and be at peace, with our barrows; but that doesn't mean that we haven't got the fighting stuff in us, ready for use when it's wanted. I don't want to fight, and I save my fists for digging, but they are fists all the same, sir." "Yes, of course." "Yes, of course, sir. But they Spanish didn't understand that. They thought that in spite of what was said last time they came, all they had to do was to make a show, and order us off, and we should go; so they made a show by shooting at the Indians; and I'll be bound to say that every time the Spanish officers cried 'fire!' they thought they were frightening us too." "But they didn't, Morgan." "Not a bit, sir. Wrong stuff. They made a great big mistake, and when they get back to Flori--what is it?" "Florida." "Ah, Florida, I should say there'll be a good bit o' trouble, for they were meant to do more than they contrived. You see, when they fired, the Indians ran, and they followed them up, and fired again, and the Indians ran faster. Then by and by they came and fired at us." "And we did not run, Morgan." "No, sir, not a bit; and as somebody had to run--one side must, you see--why, they did. You see we didn't look nice. We'd been at it, look you, and got the marks of battle on us to show that we could do something, and it was rather startling to men coming on to attack a place. First beginning of fighting one feels a bit squeamish; after that one don't. We'd got over our squeamishness; they hadn't, for I don't count their bit of firing as anything. Think they'll come back, sir?" "If they do, it will be with a war-ship, and great guns," I said. "Not as they did this time." "Then I don't think they'll come at all, sir, for bringing a war-ship means big business, and our having war-ships too to keep them off. Do you know, I begin to think that we shall have a holiday now, so as to go back home." Day after day glided by, and in the rest and relief it seemed as if quite a new life was opening out for us. My father was mending rapidly, and Sarah was well enough to insist upon busying herself about many little matters to add to our comfort. Hannibal only seemed to me to be dull and quiet, while Pomp was at me every day about going out somewhere, and looked as if he were a prisoner chained by the leg when told that he must not stray from camp. There had been repeated discussions, so my father told me, over the all-important question of giving up our watchful life, and beginning once more to take to that of peace; but it was still deemed advisable to wait, and another week glided away, made memorable by the deaths of two of the brave fellows who had been wounded. It was the evening after the last of these two had been sadly laid in his resting-place, that Morgan startled me by saying suddenly-- "He's only a black, certainly, Master George, but somehow one's got to like him." "Why, what has Pomp been doing now?" I said. "I was talking about his father, sir." "Hannibal? Well, what of him? I haven't seen him to-day--no; now I come to think of it, nor yesterday neither." "No; he hasn't been up." "Why, Morgan," I said, "I was out round the plantations yesterday with Colonel Preston, and I've been with my father and Sarah all to-day; is poor old Hannibal ill?" "Very bad, I think, sir. I asked the doctor to go and see him." I ran off to the rough tent he and Pomp had contrived for themselves, and to my horror I found the doctor inside, and that my father had contrived to get there by the help of a couple of sticks. "I didn't know Han was ill," I exclaimed. "Hush! Don't speak loud," said the doctor. "The poor fellow is in a serious condition." I crept into the hut to find Pomp on his knees by his father's head, and with his face buried in his hands, while a startled feeling came over me as I saw how still and helpless the great broad-shouldered giant lay, his brow wrinkled up, and his cheeks hollow; but his countenance changed as he caught sight of me. "Mass' George," he said, and he tried to raise one of his hands. "Oh, Hannibal!" I cried. "I did not know you were so ill. Pomp, why didn't you tell me?" The boy raised his face all wet with tears, and his eyes swollen. "How Pomp know?" he cried. "Fader nebber tell um." "Don't talk, Hannibal, my man," said my father, gently. "We none of us knew, my boy. The poor fellow was wounded, and has been going about all this time with an arrow-head in his side, saying nothing, but patiently bearing it all. My poor brave fellow," he continued, taking the man's hand, "you have always been risking your life in our defence." "Han belong to Mass' Capen," he said, feebly, as he smiled at us. "If arrow not hit um, hit massa." "What!" said my father, eagerly, as if he suddenly recollected something; "was it that night when you dragged me back, as the arrows flew so fast?" Hannibal smiled, and clung to the hand which held his. "Yes; I remember now feeling you start," said my father. "Yes--what is it?" He leaned over the rough bed that had been made for the wounded man, for the black's lips moved. "Massa do somefin for Han?" he said. "My poor fellow, only speak," said my father, who was much moved, while I felt choking. "If Han die, massa be kind to Pomp?" "No," cried the boy, with a passionate burst of grief, "Pomp die too." "And Massa George be good to um." "Oh, Han," I cried, in a broken voice, as I knelt on the opposite side to my father, and held the poor fellow's other hand. He looked keenly in both our faces, and though neither of us spoke, he was satisfied, and half closed his eyes. "Han sleep now," he said. Just then the doctor bent in at the opening of the tent, and signed to us to come out, and we obeyed. "Let him sleep, boy," he whispered to Pomp. "Don't speak to him, but if he asks for anything fetch me." Pomp nodded; he could not answer, and we accompanied the doctor to his rough tent only a few yards away. "Well?" he said to me as I caught his hand, and questioned him with my eyes. "Do you mean can I save him? I don't know; but I do know this-- if it had been a white his case would have been hopeless. The poor fellow must have been in agony; but I have extracted the arrow-head, and these blacks have a constitution that is wonderful. He may recover." "Please God!" I said to myself, as I walked right away to try and get somewhere quite alone to sit down and think. For I was beginning to waken to the fact of how much I cared for the great kind-hearted, patient fellow, who had all along devoted his life to our service, and in the most utter self-denial offered that life in defence of ours. Ever since the departure of the Spaniards I had slept soundly, but that night I passed on my knees by poor old Hannibal's pillow. It was a strange experience, for the poor fellow was delirious, and talked rapidly in a low tone. His thoughts had evidently gone back to his own land and other scenes, but I could not comprehend a word. Pomp was there too, silent and watchful, and he whispered to me about how the doctor had cut his father's side, and it took all my powers of persuasion and insistence, upon its being right, to make the boy believe that it was to do the wounded man good. "If Mass' George say um good," he said at last, "Pomp b'leeve um. Oh, Pomp poor fader. Pomp die too," he sobbed. "He shan't die," I cried, passionately. "Don't talk like that." There was silence for a time, and then the poor fellow began to mutter again. "What does he say?" I whispered; but the boy broke down, buried his face in his hands, and sobbed. But after a time, in broken tones, he told me that his father was talking about dying down in the hold of the stifling ship, and about being brought ashore. "Dat all Pomp hear," whispered the boy. "Talk 'tuff. Done know what." It was a long, long, weary night, but towards morning the poor fellow slept peacefully, and soon after daylight the doctor was there, as indefatigable in his attentions as he had been over my father, for the colour of a man's skin did not trouble him. "Less fever," he said to me. "I've got a nurse for him now, so you go and get some sleep." I was about to protest, but just then I saw who the nurse was, for Sarah stooped down to enter the shelter, and I knew that poor old Hannibal would be safe with her. _ |
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