"Mass' George" (continued 6)

“Yes, father,” I panted. “The Indians—they are coming on.”

“No,” said Pomp sharply, and he struck his hand on the side of the boat to emphasise his words. “Mass’ George hear de fock—lose him lil self an holler, and he only tink it de— Ah, look! Look, Mass’ George, look! Who dat?”

He pointed back up the steam, where at the edge of the bank that the river swept round previous to passing along the straight reach, there stood two tall figures, their feathers and wild dress thrown up by the bright glare of the setting sun. They were evidently reconnoitring, and though we saw them clearly for a few seconds, the next moment they seemed to have died away.

“Indians,” said my father, drawing in his breath with a low hiss; “and we must not neglect this warning. Morgan, I’ll get in here with the boys; you go back, make your boat fast at the landing-place, and run up to the house, and bring your wife and Hannibal down.”

“But the things in the house, sir?”

“Lives are of more importance than chattels, man,” said my father, in his sternest and most military way. “Tell your wife she is to stop for nothing, but to come.”

“An’ s’pose she won’t, sir?” said Morgan sharply.

“Carry her,” said my father laconically, as he stepped into our boat and pushed the other off.

“But bring nothing else, sir?” said Morgan, piteously.

“Yes; two guns, and all the ammunition you can carry; but be quick, man, we shall be waiting at the landing-place. The Indians are coming in earnest now. We shall stop till you come, and open fire if it is necessary.” My father capped the gun he had brought from the boat. “Stop. Hand me your gun and pouches.”

Morgan gave a stroke or two with his oar, and brought the boats alongside of each other again, then handed the gun to me.

“Now then,” said my father, “off! Remember, I shall be trying to keep the Indians at bay if they show, and delay on your part may mean the loss of our lives and—your own.”

Morgan gave his head a sharp nod, bent to his oars, and my father turned to me, and cried, as if he were addressing a line of men—

“Load!”

Chapter Thirty One.

I believe my hands trembled, but I stood up firmly in the boat and charged the heavy piece, making the ramrod leap, as I had been told, examined the priming, and then, in obedience to my father’s sign, sat down.

Pomp had taken both oars, and was dipping them gently from time to time, to keep the boat’s head straight, and after a long look up the reach, my father sat down too.

“Let’s see, George,” he said, “we are about a mile above the landing-place, and we must give Morgan plenty of time to get there, up to the house, and back. Hold up your gun, and let the Indians see it if they are watching, and I suppose they are. These bow-and-arrow people have a very wholesome dread of powder.”

“But suppose they keep creeping near us under shelter, father,” I said, “and shoot?”

“They will in all probability miss; let’s hope so, at all events. Come, my lad, you have a gun, and you must play soldier now. Will you lie down under shelter of the boat’s side?”

“Soldiers don’t lie down,” I said firmly, though I wanted to do so very badly indeed.

“Oh, yes, they do sometimes. We will as soon as it is necessary; but what I want to do now, my boy, is to gain time. If we row swiftly to the landing-place, the Indians will come on rushing from tree to tree, and be upon us in a few minutes, for I presume they are in force.”

I told him quickly how many we had seen.

“It is a mercy that you went and were taken, George,” he said; “it has saved our lives, no doubt. But as I was saying, we want to gain time, and while we sit here slowly drifting down, with these menacing guns pointing in their direction, they will advance very slowly, and keep under cover. If it becomes necessary, I shall have the boat turned, and advance to meet them.”

“And then, father?”

“They will retire for a time, not being able to understand so bold an advance, and think that an attack is about to be made upon them from the other side. We must keep them back, and it is to be done by preserving a bold front. They are cruel and treacherous, and can fight well when they think they are in strength over a weak adversary; but from what I learned of those who have had to do with them, they are as cowardly as they are cruel. Look!”

I gazed sharply up the wooded bank of the river, but I could see nothing, and said so.

“No; they were gone directly. They were two spies who had stolen closer up. It means war in earnest now, I am afraid.”

He changed his position a little, and examined his gun.

“Mass’ goin’ shoot dat gun?” said Pomp, excitedly, after watching and listening with all his energy.

“Yes, my lad,” said my father, smiling.

“Mass’ won’t shoot Pomp?”

“No. Attend to the oars, and keep the boat’s head straight. Don’t speak.”

“No, massa. Oh, look, dat dah!”

Pomp’s loud exclamation was due to the fact that an arrow came flying from a low clump of bushes nearly two hundred yards away, its reed shaft glistening in the ruddy light, and its wings looking as if of fire, till it dropped without a splash into the river, far away from where we sat.

“Now I should like to return their fire,” said my father, “but I am very doubtful about my gun doing any harm at this distance, so we must wait. Pull a little, boy, but very gently, so that they will hardly be able to see that we are doing anything to get away.”

Pomp dipped the oars, and I sat with my heart beating, waiting to see another arrow come, but for quite a minute there was no sign.

“Good practice for one beginning a frontier life, George,” said my father. “Sweep the bank well, and note the smallest movement of a bough. You see there is no wind to move them now.”

“I am watching, father,” I said, “but I cannot see anything.”

“Pomp see lil bit o’ one,” came from behind us.

“Where, boy?”

“Dah by dat big tree. See um arm. Going to shoot.”

Almost as the words left the boy’s lips, an arrow came spinning through the air, describing a good arc, and falling in a direct line with the boat, some twenty yards short.

“That’s better,” said my father, coolly resting his gun on the stern, and half lying down in the boat. “Hah! I could see that.”

I had also seen what appeared to be a quick movement of the bushes a short distance from the edge of the bank, a movement which seemed such as would have been made by an animal dashing through.

The waving of the foliage stopped just by a great swamp oak, and upon this tree I fancied that my father fixed his eye.

“Dah again,” said Pomp, excitedly. “Going shoot um bow an’ arrow.”

Bang!

The boat rocked a little with the concussion, and as the smoke lifted, I saw an arrow drop into the river a long way to our left.

“I don’t think I hit him,” said my father; “but I disarranged his aim, and it will check him for a bit.”

His words proved correct, for though he stood up in the boat to re-charge his piece, and offered a striking object for the Indian’s arrows, none came; and as we floated on and on, it began to seem as if the one shot had been enough to scare the enemy. I said so, but my father shook his head.

“No such good fortune, my boy.”

“What are you going to do, father?” I said, after some minutes’ watching, and thinking how strange it was that my calm, quiet father, who was so fond of his studies and his garden, should in a time of emergency like this prove himself to be a firm soldier, ready to fight or scheme against our dangerous foes.

“Escape to the settlement if we can get safely away.”

“But—”

I stopped short.

“Well?” he said.

“I was thinking about the house and garden, the furniture and books, and all our treasures.”

“Doomed, I’m afraid, George,” he said with a sigh. “We must think about saving our lives. We can build up the house again.”

“Build it up again, father?”

“Yes, if it is burnt, and replace our books; but we cannot restore life, my boy. Besides, all these things that we shall lose are not worth grieving over. There, I think we have waited long enough now to give them time, and we are near the landing-place. Pull steadily now, boy, right for the posts.”

Pomp obeyed, and the boat glided on, swept round a wooded point, and the landing-place with its overhanging trees was in sight.

“Are they there?” said my father, sharply.

“I can’t see them, father.”

A sharp stamp with his foot on the thwart of the boat told of the excitement he felt, and made me realise more than ever the peril we were in.

“Pull, boy—pull!” he said.

I sat down in front of Pomp, laid my gun across the thwarts, and placing my hands on the oars, helped with a good thrust at every tug, sending the boat well along, so that in a couple of minutes more we were at the landing-place, where I leaped out, and secured the boat by passing the rope through a ring-bolt.

“Don’t fasten it tightly,” said my father; “leave it so that you can slip it at a moment’s notice. No, no, boy, sit still ready to row.”

Pomp, who was about to spring out, plumped down again, his brow wrinkled up, and his twinkling dark eyes watching my father, of whom he stood in terrible awe.

“They ought to have been here; they ought to have been here,” said my father, unfastening the other boat, and making a loop of the rope that could be just hung over one of the posts, besides bringing the boat close in.

“I cannot go, George,” he said sharply. “This is our only means of escape, and it would be like throwing it away: they ought to have been here.”

“Pomp hear um come,” cried the boy eagerly; and we both listened, but for a few moments I could make out nothing.

Then as my father was eagerly scanning the edge of the river, gun in hand, on the look-out for the first approach of the Indians, I heard plod—plod—plod—plod, and directly after Morgan came into sight laden with the guns and ammunition, followed by Hannibal with a box on his shoulder; and lastly there was Sarah, red-faced and panting, as she bore a large white bundle that looked like a feather-bed tied up in a sheet.

“What madness!” cried my father, angrily stamping his foot. “Quick, Morgan! Quick!”

Morgan broke into a trot, and soon reached us, rapidly placed his load in the boat, and took up one of the pieces.

“How could you waste time by letting that woman come loaded in this ridiculous way?”

“She would bring them, sir; she wouldn’t come without.”

“No,” said Sarah, who came up completely breathless, “I wasn’t going to.”

“Into the boat,” cried my father, “if you value your life!”

Hannibal was already in with his box, and my father tried to drag the bundle from Sarah, but she held on with such tenacity that she was forced in bundle and all.

Hannibal placed the huge white sphere in the stern, where it rose up high and projected far over the sides. Then, in obedience to my father’s orders, he seized the oars and sat down.

“Quick, Morgan!” said my father; “be ready to fire steadily as you can if I give the order. Stop!” he cried quickly, as a sudden thought struck him; “pass that box into this boat. There, across the stern, as you have placed that bundle.”

The boats were drawn together, and the transfer was made, while my hands grew wet with perspiration as I scanned the edge of the forest, fancying I could hear the breaking and rustling of twigs and leaves.

“Here dey come,” said Pomp, huskily, just as my father exclaimed, “Cast off!” and the boats were thrust out into the stream.

It was only just in time, for as our boat was being thrust away with the oar there was a fierce yell, and a score of savages rushed out of the edge of the forest, ran rapidly over the bushy ground between, and the two first sprang into the shallow water, one of them seizing an oar, the other coming further out, and catching at the boat’s side with one hand, striking at my father with an axe at the same time.

I felt as if the blow had struck me, so keen was the agony I endured; but relief came on the instant, for the axe edge was warded off by the barrel of the piece my father held, and before the savage could strike again he received the butt of the piece full in his forehead, and dropped back into the water.

Meanwhile the other savage was trying to tear the oar from Pomp’s grasp, and he would have succeeded had not the boy drawn the knife he had stuck in his waist, and given the Indian quickly a sharp cut across the hands, making him yell and loosen his hold.

The others were so near that we must have been captured had it not been for the sharp stream which had caught the boat, and was bearing us away.

In the second boat another struggle had taken place, three of the Indians, as I saw at my second glance, making for it; but they fared no better than their companions. Hannibal had already pushed off, and was standing up with one oar in his hand. This he swept round as if it were a huge two-handed sword, and one Indian went down at once; the second caught and clung to the oar, and he too struck at Hannibal with his axe; but the great black caught the handle, gave it a wrench round, tore it from the man’s grasp, and I closed my eyes for a moment as I saw what was about to follow. When I opened them again the Indian was floating in the river, and a companion was drawing him to land, while another was helping the Indian who had attacked Morgan, and was struck down by a blow with the gun-barrel.

The boats were now moving fast, and as I saw the Indians all there bending their bows, my father shouted “Fire!” Our three pieces went off nearly simultaneously with a tremendous roar, and when the smoke rose I saw three men on the ground by our landing-place, and the others in full flight for the forest. I stared at these three in horror, when, to my surprise, they leaped up and ran after their companions. But three others lay where their comrades had dragged them half drowned, and stunned by the blows they had received. Those who got up and ran were no doubt knocked down by their companions in their flight and dismay, for I do not think our fire did them any harm. But I was brought to myself by a sharp command to reload.

“Quick! Crouch down!” said my father; and as he spoke a shower of arrows whistled by, fortunately without doing hurt. “Morgan,” continued my father, “make a breastwork of that bundle; it will protect you. Hannibal, row straight out, so as to get that bundle between you and the enemy.”

The great black’s response was a pull or two with one oar, while, in obedience to my father’s instructions, Pomp did the same; and I now saw the good of the box placed across the stern, behind which we two sheltered, and kept up as rapid a fire as we could, doing but little harm, for the Indians were well sheltered among the trees, and rarely showed more than a hand and arm with one side of the face, the rest of the body being always hidden behind the trunk of some great tree. But our shots did good to this extent, for whenever the enemy made a determined rush, as if to reach a spot opposite to where the boats glided down stream, a little volley invariably sent them back to cover.

Still by darting from tree to tree, or crawling under the thick bushes, they kept close in our wake, and poor Sarah’s encumbrances proved invaluable, the box and huge bundle forming excellent shelter, from behind which we could fire, saving the woman too as she lay right in the bottom of the boat; for the arrows came fast—whizz, whizz, whizz, now sticking in the box with a hollow sounding rap, or into the big bundle in the other boat with a dull, thudding sound, till both box and bundle actually bristled with the missiles.

“Keep your head down, my boy,” my father kept saying to me. “Only look up when you are going to fire.”

This was good advice, but I did not see that he took it to himself, and I kept feeling a curious shrinking sensation as some better-aimed arrow than usual struck the box close to his head.

And so we went slowly on, my father dividing his time between loading, firing, and directing Pomp and Hannibal how to row, so as to keep the boats one behind the other, and diagonally across the stream, so that our sheltering defences might be presented square to the enemy, who followed us along the bank.

I’m afraid—and yet I do not know that I ought to speak like that of a set of savages who were thirsting for our blood—several of the Indians went down severely wounded, not from my firing, but from that of Morgan, for I saw them stagger and fall three times over after his shots. What happened after my father’s I could not see, for we were close together, and the smoke obscured everything.

For fully ten minutes this duel between lead and arrow went on, but no one on our side was hurt, though we had some very narrow escapes. I felt one arrow give quite a twitch at my hair as it passed close to my temple, and another went through my father’s hat. In the other boat too Morgan kept answering to our inquiries, and telling us that all was right, only that some of the arrows had come, as he termed it, “precious nigh, look you.”

“We shall not shake them off,” said my father, “till we reach the mouth and get into the big river, when I hope our firing will be heard and put them on their guard at the settlement. So don’t spare your shots when we get well out. They will be doing double duty—scaring the enemy and warning our friends. That’s right, Pompey, my lad, pull steadily.”

“Iss, massa, pull berry ’tead’ly,” said the boy, grinning.

“As soon as we get a little farther we will relieve you, my lad; and then, George,” he said, turning to me, “we must row hard for the settlement, unless,” he added, sadly, “the enemy are before us, and then— Hah!”

I started at the moment when my father uttered that ejaculation, for an arrow dropped between us, and stuck quivering in the thwart, standing nearly upright, as if it had fallen from the clouds.

“They have altered their tactics,” said my father. “Look there.”

Another arrow fell with a faint plop into the river close to the edge of the boat. “They find our breastwork too much for them,” said my father; “and they are shooting up right over us, so as to try and hit us that way.”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” came in wild yells of pain from Pomp, as I heard a dull thud just behind me; and turning sharply, there was the boy dancing about in his agony, and tugging to free his hand from an arrow which had fallen and gone right through, pinning it to one of the oars.

“Stop! Don’t struggle, boy,” cried my father, laying his gun across the box.

“But um hurt dreffle, massa. Oh, Mass’ George, lookye here—lookye dah.”

The boat was drifting now, and turning slowly side on to the shore, when my father made a sign, and I left my gun lying across the box and crept into Pomp’s place, while my father seized the boy’s hand, held it tightly, detached the arrow with a tug from where it stuck in the oar, and then as I began to row he pulled Pomp down into the bottom of the boat, the boy sobbing with the pain.

Whizz! An arrow made me duck my head, and I don’t know how I looked, but I felt as if I must have turned pale.

“Pull your right, George; pull your right,” said my father, coolly. “Now, Pomp, my boy, let me look. Come, be a man.”

My father took his hand, and the boy jumped and uttered a cry of pain, but he evidently mastered himself, and rising to his knees, he resigned himself to my father, but doubled his other fist and shook it in the direction of the shore as he shouted fiercely—

“Ah, you wait bit, great big coward—great big ugly Injum tief. You wait bit—Pomp and um fader get hold you, gib you de ’tick. Hab you flog—hab you—Oh! Oh, Mass’ Capen, done, done,” he cried piteously, changing his tone and appealing to my father, as he saw him take out and open his great gardening knife, which was as sharp as a razor.

“Be quiet,” said my father; “I will not hurt you much.”

“No, no,” whimpered Pomp. “Mass’ George, ask massa not cut arm off. Cut off lil toe, Massa Capen; cut off um foot. What poor lil nigger do wif ony one arm?”

“Be quiet, you cowardly little rascal,” said my father, smiling, as with one sharp cut he took off the head of the arrow, and then easily drew the shaft back from where it had passed right through Pomp’s black hand.

As soon as he saw the arrow-head cut off, and understood what my father meant, Pomp knelt there as coolly as could be.

“Hurt much?” said my father, pressing his finger and thumb on the wound at the back and palm of the boy’s hand.

“Um tickle, sah: dat all. Pomp tought you cut um arm off. Hi! You dah,” he shouted excitedly; “you wait till Pomp get lil bit of rag round um hand, you see how I serb you. Yah! You big coward Injum tief.”

My father rapidly drew his handkerchief from his pocket, tore a piece off, divided it in two, and making the two pieces into little pads, applied one each to the back and front of the boy’s hand before binding them securely there.

As soon as this was done, Pomp looked up at him with his eyes sparkling and showing his teeth.

“Pomp not mind a bit,” he said. “Here, Mass’ George, come here an’ shoot um. Let Pomp hab de oars.”

“No,” said my father. “Sit down there in the bottom of the boat. Hah!”

He seized his gun and fired; then caught up mine, waited till the smoke had risen a little, and fired again, a shot coming almost at the same moment from the other boat.

It was quite time, for the Indians, encouraged by the cessation of the firing, and seeing that some one was wounded, were coming on well abreast of us. But the first shot warned them, and the two which followed sent them once more back under cover, leaving one of their number, to Pomp’s great delight, motionless among the canes.

“Ha, ha!” he laughed; “you cotch it dis time, sah. How you like feel de shot, eh? You no ’tick arrow froo poor lil nigger hand again, you no—Oh, Mass’ George, look dah!”

For the prostrate man suddenly rolled over, half rose, darted amongst the canes, and we could see by his movements that he was rapidly getting ahead. Then another and another darted to him, and to our misery we saw that they were making for a wooded point a couple of hundred yards ahead.

“Mean to take us between two fires,” said my father, who was coolly reloading, in spite of the arrows which kept on dropping down in and about the boat as the Indians sent them right up in the air.

“Morgan!” shouted my father.

“Yes, sir.”

“Turn your fire in the other direction, and drive those fellows out of that clump of trees on the point.”

“Yes, sir.”

The next minute there was a sharp report, and then another.

“That’s right, boy,” said my father to Pomp, who was eagerly watching him reloading, and handing the ammunition. “Why, George— Ah, that arrow was near; did it hurt you?”

“Only scratched me, father,” I said, as I winced a little, for one of the Indians’ missiles had fallen, ploughed my leg a little, and pinned the fold of my breeches to the thwart on which I sat.

Pomp crept to my side and pulled out the arrow, examining the hole in the thwart, and saying merrily—

“I no ’tink you want lil bit rag round you, sah.”

“No, Pomp; go back and help to load.”

Bang—bang! Was heard again from the foremost boat; but arrows came now fast from the wooded point we were approaching.

“How does Morgan manage to load so quickly?” said my father, who kept on talking calmly, as I believe now to encourage us.

“I think Morgan is—I mean I think Sarah is loading for him,” I replied, rather confusedly, as the trees and the wooded bank began to grow misty and dim.

“Ah, very likely. Great—”

The one word came in a very different tone of voice, as a wild shriek rang out from the foremost boat, followed by a momentary silence.

“What is it?” said my father, sternly.

His demand was almost accompanied by a couple more shots in close succession.

“One down, sir,” said Morgan, coolly; but his voice sounded to me distant and strange.

“Pull hard, George, my lad—your right. We must give that point as wide a berth as we can.”

I obeyed as well as I could, and half wondered at the singing noise in my ears.

Bang! Came from the foremost boat, and I seemed to know that Morgan had no one to load for him now, and that poor Sarah had uttered that shriek we had heard. Then I saw that my father was resting his gun on the foremost part of the boat, and he too fired at the woody point, from which arrow after arrow came in quick succession.

And still I rowed hard, with the perspiration streaming down to soak me.

Whizz—thud—whizz—whizz, and an angry ejaculation from my father; I did not know why, nor yet why Pomp uttered a shrill ejaculation, for I was pulling with all my might like one in a dream. I felt once as if I should like to look back and see how near we were to the point that I knew must be close at hand; but everything was getting dark, and a horrible sensation of sickness was coming on. Then the sharp report of my father’s piece made me start and pull harder, as I thought, and I tried to look toward the shore, where a wild yelling had arisen; but Pomp’s words uttered close to me took my attention, and in a dreamy way I supposed that another Indian had been killed.

Then the boy spoke again in a low whimpering way—

“Massa—massa—look at de blood. Oh, Mass’ George! Mass’ George!”

Chapter Thirty Two.

“Better, my lad?”

I did not answer, but looked in my father’s face, wondering what was the matter—why I felt so deathly sick, as I lay back feeling water splashed in my face, and seeing a black hand going and coming from somewhere at my side.

“Come: try and hold up,” said my father.

“Yes,” I said. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing very serious for you, my lad. We have been playing at soldiers in earnest, that’s all, and you have been wounded.”

“I, father—I? Ah yes, I remember,” I said, essaying to sit up. “But I did try hard to bear it.”

“I know—I know, my lad. I didn’t know you were hurt like that.”

“But—but the Indians?” I said, struggling up, and then catching at my father’s hand, for I felt a burning pain run through my leg, and the sick sensation returned.

“We have left them behind,” he said, “and are out of their reach for the present. Now sit still, and the faintness will go off. I must go to the other boat.”

I looked sharply round, and found that the wooded point was far behind, and also that we were well out of our stream, and floating steadily down the big river toward the settlement, whose flagstaff and houses stood out in the sunshine on our left about a mile away. I saw too that a rope had been made fast to the end of the other boat, and that we were being towed, but by whom, or what was going on there, I could not see for the great bundle in the white sheet which filled up the stern, and was still bristling with arrows.

“Hold hard!” shouted my father, and our boat began to glide alongside of the other. “Can you sit up, my lad?”

“Yes, father,” I said.

“Pomp take car’ of him, massa.”

“Yes, but you are wounded too,” said my father.

“Oh, dat nuffum,” said the boy contemptuously.

My attention was riveted now on Sarah, whom I could see as the boats were alongside lying crouched back in the bottom, looking deathly white as Morgan knelt by her, holding a handkerchief pressed to her shoulder.

“Now let me come,” said my father. “Are both your pieces loaded?”

“I have that charged, sir,” he said aloud. Then I heard him whisper, “You don’t think she’s very bad, do you, sir?”

My father made no reply, but took Morgan’s place.

“Go and take an oar,” he said then. “Help Hannibal; and try and get us to the fort if you can. Yes,” he continued, after shading his eyes with his hand, “the flag is still flying; the Indians cannot be there yet.”

“Boat coming,” cried Pomp; and to our great delight, we saw a well-manned boat shoot out from the shore, and begin to head in our direction.

My father uttered a sigh of relief, and I heard him mutter “Thank God!” as he proceeded to bandage the poor woman’s shoulder as well as he could; and in a momentary glance I saw that an arrow, with the shaft sticking out, broken short off, was still in the wound.

I wondered why my father did not draw it out, but of course said nothing, only sat gazing from the coming boat to the shore, which all seemed peaceful and calm now, there being no sign of Indians or trace of the trouble, save on board our boats.

Just then, as I was reviving more and more, and fully learning the fact that I had received what might have proved a dangerous wound had not the bleeding been stopped, a hail came from the approaching boat, which proved to be Colonel Preston’s.

“Anything the matter? What’s all that firing about?” cried the colonel, as his boat’s way was checked.

“Indians!—attacked!” said my father, speaking excitedly as he waved his hand toward his wounded; and then, “Don’t lose a moment. Help us ashore, and there must not be a soul out of the fort in half an hour’s time.”

There was a disposition in Colonel Preston’s manner to make light of the matter, but the sight of the arrows bristling about the defences checked him; and ordering a couple of men out of his own boat to help row ours, he stayed with us to hear the narrative of our fight.

“They are good marksmen too,” he said; and then, turning to my father, I heard him whisper, “That woman—wound dangerous?”

“I am afraid so,” my father replied. “She must have better attention than I can give her.”

I turned to gaze on the poor sufferer lying there close beneath the bundle which she had insisted upon bringing—the great pile of soft things which had been a protection to those with her, but had not saved her from the Indians’ arrow; and as I watched her I forgot my own pain and suffering, and thought of how good and kind she had always been to me in spite of her quaint, rather harsh ways; and the great hot tears came into my eyes, to make things look dim and misty again, as I thought of my father’s words.

A sharp look-out was kept, and the colonel and his men armed themselves with some of the pieces we had in the boats; but the Indians were in the forest right at the back of the settlement, and had not kept along the bank when we reached the great river.

Quite a little crowd was awaiting our coming at the wharf, and as soon as the news spread, the excitement was tremendous; but almost before poor Sarah had been carried up to the great block-house, and I had limped there, resting on Hannibal, a bugle had, rung out, and having been drilled by the General in case of such emergency, men, women, and children, followed by the black slaves, ran scurrying to the entrance-gates, carrying such little household treasures as they could snatch up in the hurry.

As the women and children took refuge inside the strong palisades, the able-bodied men formed up ready outside, all well-armed; and looking a thoroughly determined set, as they were marched in, guard set, and ammunition served out.

The military training of many of the settlers stood them in good stead, while the General, who the last time I saw him was superintending his slaves in the cotton-field, was hurrying about now giving his orders; and in an amazingly short time scouts were sent out, arrangements were made for barricading the gates, and every musket that could be procured was stood ready to battle with the savage foe.

Colonel Preston and my father were, I soon saw, the General’s right-hand men, and each had his particular duty to do, my father’s being the defence of the gates, just outside which I was standing in spite of my wound, Pomp being close at hand, ready, with several other of the black boys, to fetch ammunition, to carry messages, and, with the guarding force outside the gates at the present, being sent to first one and then another of the abandoned houses, to bring out valued articles, such as could be hurriedly saved.

I was in a good deal of pain, but everything was so exciting that I could not find it in my heart to go into the great barrack-like wooden fort in the centre of the palisaded enclosure, but stood watching the preparations, and thinking how rapidly the settlement had increased since we came.

One thing I heard over and over again, and that was the people bemoaning their fate at having to leave their comfortable houses just as everything had been made homely and nice, to be pillaged and burned by the Indians.

“And they’ll pillage and burn our place,” I thought, “perhaps the first.” And I was thinking bitterly of all this, and that we had far more right to complain than the rest, when Pomp came strutting up with his arm in the loose sling, of which he seemed to be very proud.

He stopped short as he came quickly up, having been summoned away a few minutes before; and now he pointed at me, and turned to a quiet, keen-looking youngish man, who wore a sword, but had his pockets stuffed full of bandages and bottles, for I heard them chink.

“Dat Mass’ George, sah,” he cried.

“Ah, that’s right. Your father wished me to examine your wound.”

“Are you a doctor?” I said eagerly.

“Well, yes—a surgeon.”

“Come with me, then,” I cried. “There’s some one who was wounded in one of our boats.”

“The woman? Yes, I have seen her and attended to her. Now then, quick, my lad. Lean on me, and let’s see about you.”

I limped beside him to the part of the block-house set apart for such troubles, and after giving me no little pain, he said—

“There, you can sit somewhere and load guns. You will not hurt now.”

“It’s not dangerous then?” I said.

“Not at all; but if it had not been sharply attended to by your father you would have bled to death.”

“And how is our Sarah?” I said, eagerly.

“If you mean Captain Bruton’s housekeeper, she is badly wounded, but I have removed the arrow-head, and I think she will do. I suppose you are Master George?”

“Yes.”

“Then as soon as you can you must go and see the poor woman. She was talking constantly of you, and begged me to send you if we met.”

I thanked him, and left him emptying his pockets of strips of linen, threads, a box of something that made me think about pistols in the case at home, and then of some bottles, all of which he laid about in the most orderly manner, and I left him with a shudder, as I thought of what they were for.

As soon as I got outside I was accosted by Pomp, who came up to me, saying—

“Leg quite well now?”

“No; nor likely to be, Pomp.”

“Mass’ George better wear um in fling like Pomp arm. Missie Sarah want Mass’ George.”

He took me to where the poor woman lay, very white and exhausted, but she brightened up as soon as she saw me approach, and the black nurse who was attending to her drew back.

“Ah, Sarah,” I exclaimed, as I went to her side, “I am sorry to see you like this.”

She paid no heed to my words of condolence, but caught me by the wrist.

“Where is that box?” she said eagerly.

“The box? The one Hannibal carried down?”

“Yes; where is it?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“What? You don’t know? Oh, Master George!”

“It was brought up from the boat, and put in the enclosure somewhere.”

“Thank goodness,” she said with a sigh.

“And the bundle?” she suddenly exclaimed.

“Ought you to worry about such things now?” I asked. “What does it matter?”

“Matter?” she gasped.

“Yes. Do you know your waiting to get those things made us nearly caught by the Indians?”

“If it did, they saved you all from being shot by them as I was with that dreadful arrow.”

“Well—yes, they did keep off the arrows; but if you had been quicker we should not have been shot at. You shouldn’t have stopped to worry about your clothes. My father would have paid for more.”

“And me so weak and ill, Master George, and you to reproach me like that,” she said, with the tears brimming over on to her cheeks.

“Nonsense!” I said, taking her hand, to feel her cling to mine affectionately. “I was not reproaching you, and we are all safe, and nothing to mind.”

“Nothing to mind? Ah, my dear, think of what our poor house will be like when we get back.”

“I don’t think I will,” I said dryly; but she did not heed, and went on—

“It was bad enough after that dreadful flood. What will it be now? And so much pride as I took in it, and such a home as it had become. And then, my dear, for you to go and think that I should keep those two waiting while I got together things of my own.”

“Well, you know you did,” I said, laughing.

“For shame, Master George! That box has got everything in that I knew you would like to save.”

“Oh, Sarah!”

“And in that bundle is all the best of the linen, and right in the middle, your poor dear father’s uniform.”

I did not know which to do—to laugh at the poor woman for her kindly but mistaken thoughts, or to feel affected, so I did neither, but pressed her hand gently, told her she must sleep, and rose to go; but she clung to my hand.

“You’ll take care, and not go into danger,” she said. “You have been hurt enough.”

“I’ll try not,” I said, as she still clung to my hand, looking wistfully at me. I seemed to understand what she meant, stooped over and kissed her, and made her cry.

“Poor old nurse!” I said to myself as I limped out, and across the enclosure, where the people were gathered in knots discussing the possibility of an attack. In one part all the blacks were together—the women and the younger boys; in another part the ladies with their children; while on the rough platforms erected at the corners of the great palisade sentries were stationed, keeping a vigilant look-out; and I now saw that to every white man there were two armed blacks, and I could not help thinking that we should all be massacred if the blacks sided with the savages against those who had made them their slaves.

At one of these corners I saw that our Hannibal was placed, his great bulk and height making him stand out prominently from his companions; and feebly enough, and with no little pain, I went towards him, thinking very little of my injury in my boyish excitement, though had I been older, and more given to thought, I suppose I should have lain up at once in the temporary hospital.

I signed to Hannibal to come to me, and the gentleman mounting guard with him giving permission, I took him aside.

“Well, Han,” I said, as he smiled at me in his quiet, grave way, “you’ve got a gun, and are going to fight then?”

“Yes, Mass’ George, going to fight.”

“And will the other people fight too?”

“Yes; all going to fight,” he said. “Capen say must fight for us, Hannibal, and Hannibal going to fight for capen and Mass’ George.”

“But—” I checked myself, for it seemed to come to me like a flash that it would be foolish to ask the question I intended about the blacks being faithful. “It would be like putting it into their heads to be false,” I said to myself; and then, as the great fellow looked at me inquiringly, I continued aloud—

“Try and protect my father if you can, Han.”

He gave me a quick look, and the tears stood in his eyes.

“Han die for capen and Mass’ George,” he said.

At that moment there was a bustle and excitement at the gate, and I tried as quickly as my injury would allow to join the group who were hurrying that way.

Chapter Thirty Three.

It was the scouts coming back from different directions, with the same report that no enemy was in sight, though they had penetrated in one or two instances right to the forest.

“Isn’t a false alarm, is it, Captain Bruton?” said one of the newer settlers. “Two of us went right to your little plantation.”

“Well?” said my father, eagerly.

“Well, sir, you were not at home, so we did what I hope you approve of—treated ourselves as you in your hospitality would have treated us. We sat down, ate and drank, and after we were refreshed we came back, but we saw no enemy.”

I felt hot and cold with indignation as I listened to this man’s cavalier treatment of my father, and to see that many of those present were ready to join this scout in believing it to be a false alarm.

“I am glad, sir, that you have returned in safety to make your report,” said my father, coldly.

“Oh, come, Winters,” said Colonel Preston, warmly, “if you had seen those boats bristling with arrows you would not think our friend Bruton had been crying wolf.”

“And if he will go into our temporary hospital he will see one of the wounded lying there seriously injured.”

“But I do not want to cast doubts on Captain Bruton’s report.”

“Then why did you try, sir?” I said hotly. “Ask the doctor if it was a sham wound from an arrow that I got in my leg.”

“George!” said my father, sternly, “remember what you are.”

“I do, father,” I said vehemently; “but this man seemed to think you had not spoken the truth.”

“No, no,” said the settler, flushing up, “only that he might have been deceived.”

“I only wish you had been tied up for hours to a tree as I was, sir,” I said, “expecting to be killed by the Indians. I believe even now you can’t believe it is true.”

“Hush!” said my father, sternly. “I’m afraid, gentlemen, that though nothing has been seen of them, the Indians are hiding in the forest, ready to descend upon us at what they consider a favourable opportunity, and I beg, I implore, for your own sakes—for the sake of all whom you hold dear, not to treat what I have said as being exaggerated.”

“We shall not, Bruton,” said the General firmly, after standing listening in silence all through. “I have plenty of faith in my young friend, your son, and you may rest assured that I am not going to treat what has taken place as a false alarm. Gentlemen, to your posts. Colonel Preston, the gate must be closed at once, and every other man will remain under arms till ten to-night, when the second half will relieve them. Gentlemen, I consider that the siege has begun.”

The evening came in dark and gloomy, and night fell as if almost at once. All was still but the faintly-heard lapping of the water on the strand, and the customary croaking and hollow bellowing from the forest; and it seemed to me, feverish and ill at ease now, that a feeling of awe had come upon the occupants of the enclosure, who were seated about in groups of families, discussing their strange positions in whispers, and waiting at the first alarm to obey the General’s command, and take shelter in the great block of wooden buildings constituting the fort—a building which had been gradually enlarged as the settlement had increased, so that, in addition to shelter and protection, there might be ample room for magazines, armoury, and stores.

I was seated with Pomp and my father, where we had partaken of the food that had been served out, thinking of my bed at home, and of how dearly I would have liked to be lying there instead of upon the hard ground, when an alarm was given, and the officers, my father amongst them, hurried up to the fort to ascend to the roof, and watch the glow which had suddenly begun to appear in the southwest.

I had followed my father and stood by him, as I heard the General say sharply, in answer to a remark made by some one of those present, upon whose faces the faint glow was reflected—

“Forest fire, sir? No; I am afraid it is—”

“My house, gentlemen,” said my father, calmly. “The attack has begun.”

A dead silence followed my father’s words, and it was almost a minute before the General said gravely—

“Yes, Bruton, the attack has begun, and in a way I dreaded. Well, we must beat it off. I am sorry that your pleasant home should be one of the first to fall a victim to the enemy; but as it was built up, so it can be built up again. There will be plenty of willing hands to help one of our most trusty brothers.”

A murmur of warm assent followed this remark, and then the General spoke again.

“Is Mr Winters here?” he said.

“Yes, General.”

“What have you to say, sir, now?”

“That I beg Captain Bruton’s pardon, sir; and that I will be one of the first to help restore his house, if it please God I live through the trouble that is to come.”

“Thank you, Mr Winters,” said my father, quietly. “If we are staunch to each other I have no fear for the result.”

“Look—look!” came in a low murmur, and my heart sank, for it seemed so piteous to see the bright glare rising over the forest, as the poor house over which so much pains had been taken seemed, in spite of the distance, to be sending up wreath after wreath of golden smoke, while for a short time there was a ruddy light spreading high up into the sky.

But it all faded out as rapidly as it had arisen, and I went down into the enclosure, to stumble soon after upon Morgan, who said grimly—

“Didn’t think after that soaking, look you, she would have burnt out so quick, Master George.”

“Oh, don’t talk about it, Morgan,” I said. “There, I must lie down now; I am too weak and tired to stand.”

“Come this way then, my lad, and lean on me,” he said gently; and he helped me to where I could see something white lying on the ground.

It was the great bundle Sarah had made, and close by it lay Pomp fast asleep.

“Burned so quickly after the soaking it had had,” seemed to be buzzing in my brain, and the ruddy glow flashed up before my eyes once more; but only in imagination, for I believe that as my head touched that great soft bundle, regardless of danger from tomahawk or arrow, I went off fast asleep, and slept on hour after hour, nor opened my eyes again till it was broad day.

Chapter Thirty Four.

It was a miserable scene upon which I gazed, in spite of its being a bright clear morning; but as I grasped where I was, and shook off the drowsy confusion, there was a feeling of thankfulness in my heart, for the dark night had passed away, and we had not been attacked by the Indians.

But the moment I had felt more cheerful, down came a depressing cloud, as I remembered our row for life, our narrow escape, and the reflection of the fire I had seen.

“Poor old house!” I sighed to myself, for it was so terrible that the beautiful little home should have been utterly destroyed; and it all seemed to come up before me with its high-pitched gable ends, the rough pine porch, the lead-paned windows that came over from England; and as I saw it all in imagination once more, I fancied how the passion-flowers and other creepers must have looked crisping and curling up as the flames reached them; and what with my miserable thoughts, the stiffness I felt from my previous day’s exertions, and the pain from my little wound, if ever I had felt horribly depressed, I did then.

“Mass’ George hungly?” said a familiar voice; and there was Pomp’s contented face before me, as he came up hugging to him some slices of bread.

“No,” I said, ill-humouredly, “I can’t eat; my leg hurts me so.”

“Pomp can,” he said; “and him hand hurt too. Missie Morgan want to see Mass’ George.”

I took one of the pieces of bread Pomp gave me, and began to eat mechanically as I walked across the enclosure by the various little groups of settlers and their families, to where my father was busy with the other officers superintending the construction of a barricade outside the gate, so as to divide the Indians in case of an attack, and force them to come up to the entrance one by one.

“Ah, my boy,” said my father, quickly, “how is the leg?”

“Hurts,” I said, in an ill-used tone.

“Naturally,” he cried with a laugh. “There, don’t be down-hearted about a little pain. I came and had a look at you, but you were asleep. There, do you see how we are getting ready for your Indian friends? We hope to give them such a severe lesson that they will leave us alone in future.”

“Then you think they will attack us, father?” I said. “Some one just now told me that all was quiet, and that the Indians had gone.”

“That is the very reason why I think they will attack us, my boy, and the sooner the better, George. It must come, and I should like them to get their sharp lesson and go; for I want to hang this up for an ornament or to turn it into a pruning-hook.”

He touched his sword as he spoke, and turned to Morgan, who came up.

“How is she?”

“Doctor says she’s very feverish, sir, but he thinks she is going on all right.”

“I am very, very sorry, Morgan,” said my father, sadly. “I feel as if I were to blame for bringing you people out to this wilderness.”

“I teclare to cootness, sir,” began Morgan, in a high-pitched Welsh fashion; but he checked himself and smiled. “There, sir, don’t you talk like that. Wilderness? Why, it’s a pleasure to do a bit of gardening here. See what rich deep soil it is, and how the things rush up into growth.”

“Very poor consolation for your wife, Morgan,” said my father, dryly. “All that does not make her wound the more bearable.”

“Bah! Nonsense, sir! She don’t mind. Why, as she said to me just now, she wouldn’t have got a wound from an Indian’s arrow if she had stopped at home, but the knife might have slipped, and she might have cut herself, or upset a pot of boiling water over her, or failed down the cellar steps and broken a dish and run a piece into her side.”

“Well, that’s good philosophy, Morgan, and very comforting to me. What do you say, George, are you sorry you came?”

“No, father, not at all,” I replied, for unwittingly I had finished the big slice of bread, and felt all the better for the food. “I only wish I were a man, and could fight.”

“Don’t wish that, my lad,” he said quickly. “There is nothing more glorious in life than being a boy. But there, I have no time to waste in preaching to you about that,” he said, laughing. “It would be labour thrown away. No boy can believe it. He has to grow into a man, and look back: then he does. There, don’t worry yourself till your leg is better, but do any little thing to be useful, and if an attack is made, keep with Morgan. You can load.”

“Yes, I can load,” I said to myself, as I limped off with Pomp following me, looking very proud of his hand being in a sling, and we went into the part of the block-house where poor Sarah was lying.

As I crossed the enclosure I seemed to understand now why it had been contrived as it was to form an outer defence, which, if taken, only meant that the enemy had a more formidable place to attack, for the block-house seemed to my inexperienced eyes to be impregnable.

As I quietly entered the place, I encountered the doctor.

“Ha!” he said; “come to see me?”

I explained that I had come to see our housekeeper.

“Asleep,” he said. “Don’t disturb her. Let’s have a look at your wound.”

He drew me into his rough room, and gave me no little pain as he rebandaged my leg, Pomp standing by and looking on.

“Oh, that’s all right, my lad,” said the doctor. “Smarts, of course, but you’ll soon mend up. Very different if it had gone into your chest. Now, Ebony, let’s look at your hand.”

“Pomp, sah,” said the boy with dignity, “not Eb’ny.”

“Oh, well then, Pomp. Now then. How’s the hand?”

“On’y got lil hole in um, sah. Hurt lil bit. Oh! Hurt big bit, you do dat.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said the doctor, examining and rebandaging the wound. “There, that will soon be well if you do not use it. Well, young Bruton, so they burnt you out, did they, last night?”

“Yes,” I said, bitterly.

“Oh, never mind. You heard what was said. Well, let’s go and see what they are doing. We’re non-combatants, eh?”

We walked out into the open square, after the young doctor had admonished the black woman who had been appointed the first nurse to be watchful and attentive to her patient.

There was something going on down by the gate, and I forgot all about the pain in my leg as I accompanied the doctor there, continuing my breakfast on the second slice of bread Pomp handed to me.

We soon learned what caused the bustle. A strong party of well-armed scouts was out in the direction of the forest, which lay some distance back from the block-house now, as clearing after clearing had been made, and turned into plantations; and these scouts, with a second line in support, were ready to give the alarm and arrest the first attack, their orders being to fall back slowly to the gate, so that ample time would be given at the alarm of the first shot for the busy party now being sent out to retreat and get under cover. For now that every one was safe, it had been decided to try and bring in, as far as was practicable, the most valuable things from the nearest houses.

I was not long in mounting to a good place inside the great palisade, where I could command a view of what was going on, and soon saw that a couple of lines of men had been made with military precision, extending from the gate to the General’s house, which had been voted the first to be cleared; and between these lines, under the command of Colonel Preston, a strong body of the slaves—men only at first, but as the work went on women too—were soon going and coming, bearing the most valuable of the household chattels, and these were so stacked in the centre of the enclosure that they would be safe so long as the palisade kept the enemy at bay, and would afterwards act as a line of defence.

In little over half an hour another house was treated in the same way, and all through that day the work went on, till a goodly stack of the best of the things had been brought in, along with stores of provisions, that in the first hurry had been left behind. As this went on the people who had been sick at heart and despondent began to look more hopeful, and family after family had their goods arranged so that they were able to make comfortable bivouacs out in the middle of the square; but these were all arranged under the orders of the General and his officers, so as to form places of defence, to which the defenders of the palisade could flee and be under cover, the whole of the new barricade being arranged so that a way was left leading up to the main entrance of the block-house.

I grasped all this from my position of looker-on, Pomp never leaving my side, and asking questions which I tried to answer, so that he could understand.

And he did comprehend too, much better than I should have expected, for toward evening, after the day had passed, with the scouts relieved twice over without having seen the slightest token of Indians being near, all at once he said to me—

“When Injum come an’ shoot an’ get over de big fence, all dat make great big fire.”

My father’s words about the great enemy we had to fear came back to me at this, and it was with a curiously uncomfortable feeling that I left my look-out place for the second time to go and partake of the food that had been prepared.

For the garrison of the fort were rapidly settling down to make the best of their position, and all was being done as to the serving out of food with military precision, the General having drilled his followers in the past, so that they might be prepared for such an emergency as this; and it was quite wonderful how soon the confusion and disorder of the first hours had changed to regular ways.

And now the night would soon be here—a time looked forward to with the greatest of anxiety by all.

The scouts were called in by sound of bugle, and at sundown the gates were barricaded, and sentries placed all round our defences. Fires were put out, and as darkness fell, and the customary chorus of the reptiles arose from the forest and distant swamps, a curious feeling of awe came over me where I sat watching by my father, who, after a long and arduous day’s work was sleeping heavily, Morgan close at hand, with Pomp and Hannibal too.

I could not sleep, for there was a dull, gnawing pain in my wound; and so I sat in discomfort and misery, thinking that though the sentries were all on the watch, the place would not be so safe now that my father was asleep.

The moon was hidden, but the stars shone down brightly, and I sat back, leaning against Sarah’s big bundle, in which some of the arrows were still sticking, gazing up at the spangled heavens, listening to the bull-frogs, and thinking how far off they sounded as compared to when I had heard them at home.

I was listening and wondering whether the Indians would come, when I heard a rustling sound close by, and directly after a low muttering. But I did not pay any heed, thinking that Morgan or one of the blacks had turned in his sleep; but the noise came again and again, and then there was a loud ejaculation, and directly after I heard a familiar voice exclaim—

“Bodder de ole han’! Oh, how um do hurt!”

“Can’t you sleep, Pomp?” I whispered, as I crept softly to his side.

“Dat you, Mass’ George?”

“Yes; I say, can’t you sleep?”

“Yes, Mass’ George. Pomp can’t sleep ebber so, but dis ’tupid han’ won’t let um.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes. Big hot fly in um keep goin’ froo. Pomp goin’ take off de rag.”

“No, no; let it be; it will soon be better. Go to sleep.”

“Han’ say no go sleep. Let’s go an’ try find de coon.”

“No, no; we are not at home now. We can’t go out of the fort.”

“Out ob de fort?”

“Well, outside of the big fence.”

Pomp gave a little laugh.

“Why, Pomp go over easy ’nuff.”

“But it’s against orders,” I said. “Here, I can’t sleep either. Let’s go and have a talk to the sentries.”

Pomp jumped up at once, and without waking the others, we walked slowly to the gate, where one of the sentries challenged us and let us go on, after recognising me, the man saying with a laugh—

“That anybody with you, sir?”

“Yes,” I said; “our boy Pompey.”

“Oh! Shouldn’t hardly have thought it. Looks like a bit o’ the black night out for a walk in a pair o’ white cotton drawers.”

“Him laugh at Pomp,” said the boy, as we went on.

“Yes; it was only his fun.”

“But what um mean ’bout de dark night in cottum drawer?”

“Oh, nothing. Nonsense!”

“Yes, nonsense; Pomp know better. Night can’t wear cottum drawer. All ’tuff.”

“Hush! Don’t talk so loud.”

“Den why say dat, an’ make fun ob poor lil nigger? I know dat man. Wait bit; I make fun ob him, an’ Mass’ George an’ me laugh den.”

“Will you be quiet, Pomp?”

“Yes; Pomp be ebber so quiet. Wait till laugh at him.”

“Who goes there?” came from just ahead, out of the darkness.

“Mass’ George an’ me,” said Pomp, promptly.

I hastened to give the word, and we were allowed to pass on, to be challenged again and again, till we reached the part of the palisade on the farther side of the block-house.

Here the sentry proved to be one of the men who had rowed out to us in Colonel Preston’s boat; and as he asked about my wound and Pomp’s hand, we stopped by him where upon the raised platform he stood, firelock in hand, gazing over the great fence toward the forest.

“So your hurts wouldn’t let you sleep, eh?” he said. “Well, we must pay the Indians off for it if they come nigh; but it’s my belief that they won’t.”

Then he fell to questioning me in a low tone about my adventures, and I had to tell him how Pomp and I escaped.

“I should have liked to have been with you, my lad,” he said. “I’m not fond of fighting; had too much along with Colonel Preston; but I should have liked to have been with you when the arrows were flying.”

“I wish you had been,” I said.

“Do you? Well, come, I like that; it sounds friendly. Yes, I wish I’d been there. The cowards, shooting at people who’ve been soldiers, but who want to settle down into peaceable folk, and wouldn’t interfere with them a bit. I only wish they’d come; I don’t think they’d want to come any more.”

“That’s what my father says,” I observed. “He thinks the Indians want a good lesson.”

“So they do, my lad, so they do. Let’s take, for instance, your place, which they burned down last night. Now what for, but out of sheer nasty mischief! There’s plenty of room for them, and there’s plenty of room for us. If they think they’re going to frighten us away they’re mistaken. They don’t know what Englishmen are, do they, little nigger?”

“How Pomp know what de Injum tink?” said the boy, promptly.

The man turned to me and gave me a nudge, as he laughingly continued, in the whisper in which the conversation was carried on—

“Ah, well, they don’t know, but if they’d come, I think we should teach them, for every one here’s fighting for his home, without thinking about those who are fighting for their wives and children as well. You don’t understand that yet, squire.”

“I think I do,” I said. “I suppose a man would fight for his wife and children in the same way as I would try and fight for my father.”

“Well, suppose it is about the same. You’ll have to fight some day, perhaps.”

“Mass’ George fight dreffle,” put in Pomp. “Shoot lot of Injum.”

“Nonsense, Pomp!” I said, hurriedly.

“Not nonsense. Pomp see um tummle down when. Mass’ George shoot um.”

“Why, you didn’t fire on the Indians, did you, squire?” said the man.

“Lot o’ times,” said Pomp, quickly.

The man let his firelock go into the hollow of his left arm, and he shook my hand warmly, as Pomp stood staring over the fence into the darkness.

“I like that,” he said, as I felt very uncomfortable and shrinking. “But then I might have known it. Your father and Colonel Preston didn’t hit it very well together, but the colonel always said your father was a very brave officer, quiet as he seemed—and like father, like son. Feel chilly?”

“No,” I said.

“Well, it isn’t cold, but after being so hot all day it feels a bit different. Heigho! I shouldn’t at all mind having a good sleep. One gets tired of watching for nothing.”

“Sit down and have a sleep,” I said. “I’ll hold your gun and keep guard.”

“Will you, my lad?” he said, eagerly.

“Yes; I can’t sleep, and I’ll wake you directly if there is anything wrong.”

“Come, that’s friendly,” said the man. “I like that, and I’d give anything for an hour’s sleep. Catch hold; I’ll lie down here. You’ll be sure and call me?”

“You may trust me.”

“Bah!” cried the man in an ill-used tone, and snatching back his firelock, “that’s done it.”

“What is the matter?” I said, wonderingly.

“You said you may trust me.”

“Yes; I did.”

“That did it. It’s just what I said to the colonel when he asked me if I could keep on sentry without going to sleep.”

“But you would not go to sleep without leaving some one else to watch.”

“No,” he said, sternly, “and I won’t skulk. I’ve been digging and planting so long that I’ve forgotten my soldiering. No, sir, a man who goes to sleep at his post when facing the enemy ought to be shot, and,” he added with emphasis, “he deserves it.”

“Here um come, Mass’ George,” whispered Pomp just at that moment.

“What—to relieve guard?” I said, quickly, as I thought of the sentry’s mistake.

“No, Mass’ George, de Injum.”

Chapter Thirty Five.

The sentry craned his neck forward over the great fence staring out into the gloom, and I followed his example, my heart beating heavily the while, the regular throbs seeming to rise right up to my throat in a way that was painful; but I could see nothing. There was the great star-specked sky reaching down towards earth, and ending suddenly in a clearly defined line which I knew was the edge of the forest beyond the plantations, which all lay in darkness that was almost black.

I strained my eyes, and held my breath, looking and listening, but could make out nothing, and at last I placed my lips close to Pomp’s ear.

“Where are they?” I said.

“Dah!”

As he uttered that one word he stretched out his black hand, pointing straight away toward the forest; but still I could see nothing, and there was not a sound.

At that moment the sentry laid his hand upon my shoulder, and said softly, “Is he playing tricks with us?”

“No,” I answered; “he thinks he sees them. His eyes are wonderful by night.”

“Well, mine are not, for I can see nothing or hear anything either.”

“Are you sure, Pomp?” I whispered.

“Yes; sure,” he said. “Big lot of Injum coming to fight.”

“Hadn’t you better give the alarm?” I said to the sentry.

“I can’t give the alarm till I’m certain there’s danger coming,” he said, rather sulkily. “I haven’t got eyes like a cat, and I don’t know that he can see them yet.”

I could not help sympathising with the man as he continued—

“’Spose I fire,” he said, “and the enemy don’t come on; nobody has seen them, and nice and stupid I should look.”

“But Pomp says he’s sure.”

“I’m not,” said the man, gruffly.

“Be ready then, and fire the moment they begin to make a rush,” I said, excitedly. Then, turning to the boy, I whispered, “Now then; tell me once more, can you see the Indians?”

“Yes, dah,” he said, quietly.

“You are sure?”

“Yes, suah. Dey come now. Let Pomp shoot.”

“No, no; come with me,” I said, catching hold of his arm. “Let’s run to my father.”

The boy was so accustomed to obey me, that he left the place directly, and hurried with me across the enclosure in and out among the camping groups, to where our few poor belongings lay, and I at once awakened my father.

“Pomp has seen the Indians coming on,” I said.

He started up, and so dull and heavy had been his sleep that he did not understand me for the time.

“The Indians, father,” I said.

He sprang up on the instant then, and felt for his sword.

“You say the boy saw them?”

“Yes, coming on. We were with one of the sentries.”

“But he has not fired. I should have heard.”

“No, father, he would not believe Pomp could see them.”

“Pomp could see um—big lots,” said the boy.

“That is enough,” said my father. “Tell the bugler—no; we will not show them that we know,” he said. “Come with me.”

We followed him to where the General was lying on a blanket or two in the midst of his possessions, and he was on his feet in an instant giving his orders, which were conveyed here and there to the various officers, from whence they spread to the men so rapidly and silently that in a few minutes, almost without a sound, a hundred well-armed defenders of the fort were on their way to the fence in twenty little squads, each of which reinforced the sentries, and stood waiting for the attack.

So silent and unchanged was everything when I played the part of guide, and led my father and the General to where we had been watching, that my heart sank, and I felt guilty of raising a false alarm. Then I half shrank away as I heard the General question the sentry, and he replied that he had neither seen nor heard anything. Just then my father turned to me.

“Where’s the boy?”

“Here, Pomp,” I whispered; but I looked round in vain, and after a few minutes’ search I was fain to confess that he had gone.

“It is some trick,” whispered my father, with suppressed anger. “I cannot hear a sound.”

“No; I feel sure he was in earnest. He certainly believed he saw the Indians.”

My father turned to the General, and they conversed together in a low voice for some minutes, during which I stood there feeling as if I were wrong, and forgetting that even if I were it was only a case of being over anxious in our cause.

“No, no,” I heard the General say quietly; “don’t blame the boys. Of course it is vexatious, and seems like harassing the men for nothing; but it has its good side, for it proves how quickly we can man our defences. Well, what do you say—shall we go back to our beds? There seems to be no danger. Ah, here is Preston. Well, have you been all round?”

“Right round, sir, and there does not seem to be anything moving. A false alarm, I think.”

“Yes,” said the General, “a false alarm, and— What is it?”

My father had caught his arm in a strong grip, and pointed over the palisade.

“I don’t know what it is,” he whispered; “but something is moving out yonder, a hundred yards away.”

Amidst a dead silence every eye was fixed in the direction pointed to by my father; but no one else could make anything out, and the General said—

“No; I cannot see it.”

“Are you sure?” whispered my father. “George, are you there?”

I replied in a whisper too, and crept to his side.

“Look. Can you make out anything?” he said.

I looked long and intently, and was obliged to answer—

“No.”

“Quick! Try and find that boy,” said my father, angrily now. “He ought to have been here.”

Bang! bang! Then report after report, followed by a volley quite from the other side of the enclosure; and, horrible as it seemed, followed as it was by a burst of yells, I felt my heart leap with satisfaction.

There was a rush being made for the spot whence the firing had come; but my father’s voice rang out, calling upon the men to stand fast, and it was well that his order was promptly obeyed, for almost immediately after there was a whizzing sound that I well knew, accompanied by a sharp series of pats as of arrows striking wood, and we knew that the Indians were attacking on our side too.

Then followed the quick firm command, and the darkness was cut by the flashes of a dozen fire-locks, whose reports went rolling away, to be echoed by the great trees of the forest beyond the clearings.

Then nothing was heard but the quick beating and hissing of the iron ramrods in the guns, while I stood close under the shelter of the fence, listening intently in the terrible silence, and trying to make out whether the Indians were near.

Again came the report of a firelock, and a volley from nearer the gate, followed by a burst of yells; and a minute later a fresh volley, and the same defiant shouting, just as if the Indians had made their attack in four different places, but had been checked by the watchfulness of our men, who had been thoroughly prepared for the attacks.

I was wondering to myself whether the Indians were in a body, and had come on in one place, and then hurried on to the others, or were in four different bodies; but my wonderings soon ceased, for I quite started at hearing a voice close to my ear.

“No got arrow ’tick in um dis time, Mass’ George. Tell um Injum coming again.”

“Where? Where?” I whispered.

“Pomp see um crawl ’long de groun’ like ’gator,” he said. “Dah—one, two, tick, nineteen, twenty.”

I gazed intently over the fence, but could only see the dark ground; but Pomp’s warning was too valuable to be trifled with. He had proved himself now, and I hurried to where my father stood ready with twenty of our men, and told him.

He gave orders, and half the men fired slowly, one after the other, the instructions being to those who held their fire, that if they could make out the bodies of the crawling Indians by the flashing of their comrades’ pieces, they were to fire too.

The rapid scattered reports were followed by a furious burst of yells; there was the rush of feet, sounds as of blows struck against the stout poles, and directly after, dimly-seen against the starlit sky, dark grotesque-looking heads appeared as at least a dozen of the Indians gained the top of the defence, but only to be beaten back by the butt-ends of the men’s fire-locks, all save two who dropped over in our midst, and fought desperately for a time before they were despatched.

As silence—an ominous silence full of danger and portent—fell upon us again here, we could tell that quite as desperate a struggle was going on at other points of the palisading. Flash was succeeded by report and yell, so loud and continuous that we knew now that the Indians were delivering their attack in four different places; and more than once I shuddered as I felt how terrible it would be should one of these bands gain an entry. I knew enough of such matters from old conversations with my father, to be able to grasp that if a party did get in over the stockade they would desperately attack one of our defending companies in the rear, and the others in response to their yells would come on at the same moment, when our numbers and discipline would be of little value in a hand-to-hand attack with the lithe savages, whose axes and knives would be deadly weapons at close quarters.

For quite half an hour the firing and yelling continued. Then it ceased as quickly as it had begun, and the Indians seemed to have retreated.

But there was no relaxation of our watchfulness, for we could not tell but that in their silent furtive way the enemy were preparing for a fresh assault, or perhaps merely resting and gathering together to come on in one spot all at once.

“More likely to make a feint somewhere,” I heard the General say to my father. “If they do it will be to make a big attack somewhere else, and that is where the supports must be ready to flock down.”

“You will see to that, sir?” said my father.

“Yes. You and Preston cannot do better service,” continued the General, “so keep your places.”

“Pomp,” I whispered; “where are you?”

“Here, Mass’ George.”

“Let’s go all round, and you can tell me where the Indians are gathering now.”

“Pomp go outside,” he said, softly. “Climb over.”

“No, no; they would see and kill you.”

“No. Dey too ’tupid. I go ober. You gib leg lil hyste up.”

“I tell you no. Come along with me, and let’s try and find out where they are.”

“Much too dark, Mass’ George, but I look all de same, try and fine em.”

“Quick then; come!”

We started off, creeping along silently close inside the great palisade, and stopping to listen from time to time.

We had left one of the parties that defended the palisade close to the far side of the gate behind for about twenty yards, when Pomp, who was first, suddenly stopped short, caught me by the wrist, and said softly—

“You listum. Injum dah.”

I placed my ear close to the paling, and stood for a few moments unable to make sure that the dull heavy rustling I heard meant anything; but at last I felt at one with my companion, for I felt convinced that a strong party was once more creeping up to the attack, and just to a spot where the sentries had not been placed.

Chapter Thirty Six.

Certainly there was a body of our defenders five-and-twenty yards away in one direction, and sixty in another; but while the alarm was spreading a dozen active Indians would be able to scale the fence.

At least so it seemed to me, as without hesitation I uttered a wild cry for help, Pomp raising his voice to supplement mine.

“Here! This way! Here! Indians!” I shouted; and I heard the sound of hurrying feet, and a sharp decisive order or two being given; but at the same moment there was a peculiar scraping sound on the rough fence which told me that the Indians were climbing over, and I stood hesitating, puzzled as to whether it was my duty to run or stop where I was, so as to keep up the alarm and guide our people through the darkness to the exact spot.

All this was a matter of moments, and I hesitated too long. I was conscious of our people being close at hand; then of feeling Pomp dragging at me, and saying something excitedly. Then it was as if a big mass had fallen from above, and I lay crushed down and senseless in a darkness far greater than that of the night.

When I came to my senses again, I found that I was lying on my face with something heavy across me, from beneath which I managed to creep at last, shuddering the while, as I felt that it was the body of a dead or wounded man. Everything about me was still, but I could hear voices at a distance, and I wondered what had taken place, and why I was left there like that.

It was very puzzling, for my head was so confused that I could not recollect what had taken place before, so as to understand why it was that I was lying out there in the darkness, close to this wounded man.

At last I concluded to shout for help, and my lips parted, but no sound came. This startled me, and I began to tremble, for it was all so new and strange.

But by degrees my brain grew clearer, and I began to have faint rays of understanding penetrate my darkened mind. These grew brighter and brighter, till at last I was able to understand that I had been struck down by a tremendous blow on the head, the very realisation of that fact being accompanied by such acute pain, that I was glad to lie there perfectly inert without thinking at all.

But this fit did not last long, and I could see now the matter in its true light, and it all came back about how I gave the alarm, and must have been standing there as the Indians came over, and I was struck down at once.

Then as I lay there in the darkness, I began to recall how I had been lying with some one across me, and half suffocating me.

I had crawled away a few yards in my half insensible condition, but now a shuddering desire came over me to creep back, and find out who it was that lay there dead or dying.

It was terrible, that feeling, for I felt that I must go, and as I crept back, it was with the idea that it was probably one of those who would be the first to rush to the defence of the palisade, and in a confused, half-dreamy way, I found myself combating the fancy that it might be my father.

I paused when about half-way back, afraid to go farther, but the intense desire to know the worst came over me again, and I crept on and then stopped with my hand raised, and held suspended over the prostrate figure, afraid to move it and touch the body.

At last, and I uttered a faint sigh full of relief, for my hand had fallen upon the bare breast of a man, and I knew that it must be one of the Indians. It was puzzling that he and I should be there, and no one near, for I could not detect the presence of either of the sentries. Where was everybody? Some one was coming, though, the next minute, for I heard soft footsteps, and then the murmur of voices, which came nearer and nearer till I heard a familiar voice say—

“Oh, Mass’ George, do ’peak.”

I tried to obey, but no sound would come, even now that I felt a vast sense of relief, for I knew that I must have been hurt, and the two blacks were in search of me.

“Ah, here him are,” suddenly cried Pomp, and I next felt two great hands lifting me gently, and I was carried through the darkness to what I knew must be the block-house, where I had some recollection of being laid down. Then I directly went off to sleep, and did not awake till nearly day, to see a black face close to the rough pallet on which I lay, and as the day grew broader, I made out that it was Pomp watching by my side.

“Mass’ George better now?”

“Better? Yes; I am not ill,” I said, and I tried to get up, but lay still again, for the effort seemed to give me a violent pain in the head which made me groan.

“Mass’ George not seem very better.”

“But I am. I’ll get up directly. But tell me, Pomp, how was it all?”

“How was?”

“Yes; how did it happen?”

“Done know, Mass’ George. ’Pose Injum come over big fence and jump on and knock poor lil nigger and Mass’ George down. Den um hab big fight an kill de Injum, an noder big fight by de gate an kill more Injum, and den Injum say good-night, time go to bed, an dat’s all.”

“The Indians gone?”

“Yes; all gone.”

“Then we have beaten them. Hurrah! Oh, my head!”

“Hurrah—oh my head!” cried Pomp, in imitation. “Why say ‘Hurrah! Oh, my head’?”

“Oh, don’t, Pomp. You make me laugh.”

“Dat right; glad see Mass’ George laugh. Mass’ George couldn’t laugh lil bit when Pomp fess um fader carry um.”

“No; I remember now. I had forgotten.”

“Mass’ Dockor say good job Mass’ George got tick head, or kill um.”

“Did the doctor say that, Pomp?”

“Yes, Mass’ Dockor say dat. Injum hit um wif um lil chopper, same time some one shoot and kill Injum; den Pomp knock down, and all jump on um, and dey pick um up, and take um ’way, and bring um here.”

“Then were you hurt too?”

“Yes, hurt dreffle, and dockor laugh, and say nuffum matter wif um, and send um ’way ’gain. Den Pomp go an’ fine um fader, and come an’ fine Mass’ George, and bring um here. Dockor no laugh at Mass’ George, ony say, ‘Poor fellow!’ and ‘Put um to bed,’ an’ ‘Good job um got such tick head,’ and put plaster on um.”

I raised my hand to my head, and sure enough there was some sticking-plaster there.

“Does my father know?” I said, as a sudden thought occurred to me.

“Pomp done know, Mass’ George. Haben see Mass’ Capen long time.”

Our conversation was checked by the entrance of the doctor, who smiled as he saw me sitting up on the rude bed.

“Well, squire,” he said, “you seem determined to be a patient. How are you now?”

“My head aches a good deal.”

“No wonder, my lad, you got an ugly crack with the flat of a tomahawk. The man must have slipped as he was leaping from the fence. A narrow escape for you.”

“But the Indians are beaten off,” I said, eagerly.

“For the present at all events. But they may attack again to-night, and I am beginning to be busy.”

“Must I stop here, sir?”

“Certainly not, if you feel well enough to get up.”

At that moment a shadow darkened the door, and my father came in quickly, followed by Hannibal.

“George? Hurt?” he exclaimed, huskily.

“Not much, father,” I said, “and the doctor says I may get up.”

“Thank Heaven!” muttered my father. Then aloud, “I have only just heard from Hannibal here. You gave me a terrible fright.”

My father took hold of my hands to hold them in his for a few moments, as he looked full in my eyes; and I wondered at it, for I was not old enough then to understand his emotion, nor to think I was bad enough to stop in bed.

Ten minutes later I was out in the enclosure, and learned a little more about what had taken place after I was knocked down insensible. How there had been several hand-to-hand encounters where the Indians had determinedly climbed over and gained a footing, from which they were dislodged directly, with the result that several were killed and wounded—four of our party also having ugly wounds.

As I was going across the enclosure, hearing how the enemy had been finally beaten off, and had retreated into the forest, where it was not considered safe to follow them, Colonel Preston met us, looking jaded and anxious, but his face brightened up as he saw me, and he came up and shook hands.

“Why, George Bruton, you are a lucky fellow,” he cried, laughingly. “Two wounds. This is grand. Of course he must be promoted, Bruton, as soon as peace is proclaimed.”

“Why, George,” said my father, as we went on, “what’s the matter?”

“I don’t like to be laughed at, father,” I said; “and Colonel Preston was making fun of me, as if I were a little child.”

“He did not mean it unkindly. There, come and have some light breakfast, and you must keep out of the sun.”

Chapter Thirty Seven.

That day passed quietly enough, with scouts going and coming to report that the Indians’ trail was plainly to be seen going along the north bank of our little stream, as if they were making right away for their own country, and after the scouts had gone as far as they dared, they had returned with their good news. This was quickly debated in a little council, and the result was a firm determination not to put any faith in appearances, but to keep everything on a war footing, scouting carefully so as not to be surprised by an enemy full of cunning and treachery; and though there was some little demur amongst those whose houses and plantations were farthest from the fort, all soon settled down to what resolved itself during the next week into a pleasant kind of camping out.

Rough tents were rigged up, and the different parties vied with each other in their efforts to make their homes attractive. Fresh things were brought in by the help of the slaves from the most outlying of the houses, and when lights were lit in the evening the place looked pretty in the extreme, so that more than once I found myself thinking that we were to be the only sufferers from the Indian attack, and wondered, now that the enemy had had so severe a lesson read them, how long it would be before my father decided to go back and get our neighbours’ help to rebuild the house.

A fortnight glided by—fourteen days of uninterruptedly fine weather. I had almost forgotten my injuries. Pomp had taken his wounded limb out of the sling, and only remembered the injury when he tried to move his hand, when he would utter a cry and begin softly rubbing the place.

Sarah too was recovering fast, and I knew no reason now why we should still go on living such a military life, with the General and his officers seeming to take delight in drilling, practising the men in the use of their weapons, and setting guards by night, and sending out scouts by day, with the gates closed rigorously at a certain time.

There was another thing done too, the idea being suggested by my father—a lesson taught by our own misfortune—and this was that every tub and cask that could be obtained in the settlement should be put about in handy places, and kept well filled with water always, these being supplemented by pails and buckets, which every one was bound to set outside his place full of water every night, while the men were all well practised in the extremely simple art of passing and refilling buckets—so as to be ready in case of fire.

“There’s some talk of giving up all this here playing at soldiers, Master George,” said Morgan to me one day.

“Is there?” I said, eagerly.

“Yes, and if you ar’n’t tired of it, I am. Never so much as had a chance to go out and scout like the others have.”

“Well, I haven’t either, nor Hannibal, nor Pomp.”

“No, my lad; but if you don’t tie down that jockey or chain him by the leg, he’ll be off one of these days. I’m always finding him sitting a-top of the fence like a crow with his wing cut, thinking he wished he could fly.”

“Looking out for the Indians,” I said.

“Not him, sir; he’s thinking about games in the woods; hunting snakes, catching ’gators, or killing ’coons. He’s getting a nice howdacious one, he is. If it wasn’t for his black skin, you might think he was a reg’lar boy.”

“So he is,” I said; “what difference does his skin make? I like old Pomp.”