"Mass' George" (continued 8)

“It’s wonderful,” I said at last, and I thought how strange it was that I had never thought of such a thing before.

“Now I dare say,” I found myself saying, “they think that we are as great a nuisance as we think them, for putting up a rough canvas tent like this, and catching them so that they cannot get out. Stuff! I don’t believe flies can think, or else they would be able to find the way out again.”

Buzz—buzz! buzz—buzz!

A regular heavy, regular long-drawn breathing that grew louder now after a rustling sound, and I knew at once that it was Pomp who had turned round, got into an uncomfortable position, and was now drawing his breath in a way that closely resembled a snore.

“Oh, you tiresome wretch!” I muttered. “How dare you go and sleep soundly when I am so tired out that I can’t?”

At last in utter despair I rose, pulled off my loose coat so as only to retain shirt and breeches, bathed my face in a bucket just outside, and could not resist the temptation to sprinkle a few drops on Pomp’s face as he lay there fast asleep in the shade. But they had not the slightest effect, and I crept into our rough tent again, smoothed the blanket, and lay down and closed my eyes once more, while the two flies were joined by another, and the buzzing was louder than ever.

“Go on,” I said; “I don’t care. One can’t go to sleep in the daytime, but one can rest one’s legs;” and as I said this pettishly I knew it was not true, for Pomp’s heavy breathing came plainly through the canvas to prove how thoroughly I was in the wrong.

So giving up all idea of going to sleep, I lay there on my back, looking up at the fabric of the canvas, through which every now and then there was a faint ray of sunshine so fine that a needle-point would have been large in comparison. Then I began to think about my father, and what a deal of care and anxiety he seemed to have; how sad he generally was; and I set his grave manner down to the real cause—my mother’s death.

Then I began to think of how hot it was, and that as near as I could guess it must be two hours after noon. Then about how pleasant it would be to begin rebuilding our house, and how long it would take, and about Hannibal and Pomp, and what a gentleman the former seemed to be by nature in his stern, quiet way; always willing to do anything for us, and watching me whenever he saw me, to know if there was anything I wanted; and so big, and strong, and brave.

Then I thought of our terrible experience under the great cypress tree, and at one time it was very horrible, but directly after not at all so.

“It seems very terrible to kill any one, but Han knew that if he did not kill them they would kill us, and I do believe he would sooner be killed himself than let any one hurt either father or me. And what a rum little fellow Pomp is,” I thought; “and how he gives up directly Hannibal says anything in his language.

“I wonder what his language is! One can’t call it black language, because it isn’t black—only what black people speak. I wonder whether I could learn it. Seems to be all ing, and ung, and ang, and ng, without any letters before it. I’ll make Hannibal teach me to speak like he does. He would if I asked him. S’pose I should have to learn it without books, and one couldn’t write it, and— Oh, dear me! How hot, and tired, and thirsty I am!

“I wish Pomp wouldn’t buzz so.

“No, I mean I wish the flies wouldn’t snore so.

“No; I mean the Indians—the—”

I started up, and looked round confusedly, to see the flies darting here and there, and buzzing more loudly than ever, while Pomp had settled into a decided snore. It was hotter than before, and great drops stood on my face, and tickled as they ran together and made greater drops. The children too were still playing about, and laughing merrily, and I went on thinking that the flies must be teasing Pomp very much, and that those children would laugh and play if the Indians came and buzzed round the tent; and that one which had settled on the canvas just over my head didn’t frighten them by swelling out so big, and opening and shutting his great jaws with such a loud snap. What a number of fish he must eat in a day, and how I should have liked to watch him when he beat the water with his tail, so as to stun the fish and make them easy to catch!

“And so that’s where you live, is it, my fine fellow? Pomp and I will come with a stick, and thrust it down the hole, and make you bite, and drag you out. We should want a rope ready to put round your neck, and another to tie your jaws, and one of us would have to slip it on pretty quickly before you spread your wings and began to fly round the tent, and began talking in that ridiculous way. Whoever heard of an alligator imitating Morgan, and trying to deceive me like that, just as we were going to catch him on the canvas where it was so tight? Eh! What say? Why don’t you bellow? What!—no, I shan’t. He is very comfortable here, and— Ah!”

That alligator had crept over into the tent, planted its foot upon my chest, and was moving it heavily, as it said out of the darkness in Morgan’s voice—

“Oh, Master George, do wake up, my lad, and come! Be quick, pray!”

Chapter Forty Three.

Quite dark. My head confused. The alligator’s foot on my chest. No; it was the butt-end of a gun pushing me.

“Here! Don’t! What’s the matter?”

“I thought I should never get you to wake, sir. Come along. The Indians are here.”

I sprang out of the tent, with it gradually dawning upon me that I had been sleeping heavily from early afternoon right into the darkness of night, and dreaming away in a heavily confused fashion of the various objects that had just filled my eyes and ears.

“You said the Indians were here?” I said, excitedly.

“Yes, my lad. Look!”

I gazed in the direction pointed out, and saw there was a bustle going on at the block-house, where by a faint blaze men were throwing buckets of water.

“Just caught it in time, sir,” continued Morgan. “They mean mischief now.”

“Yes, I know. They fired arrows at it blazing.”

“How did you know when you were asleep?”

“My father expected they would; I heard him say so.”

“Ah, well, they won’t do it again. We’re going to soak blankets, and lay all over the top.”

“Morgan, look—look!” I exclaimed, as three fiery long-tailed stars came swiftly sailing through the air from one direction; and as if they had been sent as a signal, three more came from the opposite quarter, and directly after two more threes, and all fell blazing on different parts of the block-house, the Indians evidently aiming for the spot where the first blaze appeared—that which was rapidly being extinguished as I crept out of our tent.

These fiery arrows had no doubt been prepared with tufts of cotton saturated with some resinous gum, which, after being lighted, burned furiously in its rapid passage through the air, and seemed to resist the efforts of those who were on the roof trying to extinguish the patches of glowing fire. In fact their efforts soon became useless, for the first twelve arrows were followed by dozens more, and then by hundreds, till at one time quite a fiery shower descended on the doomed place; while, emboldened by their success, amidst a fierce yelling, some of the Indians ran from their cover, their progress being marked by tiny specks of light which seemed to glide like fireflies over the fields. Then they made a sudden dart, blazed out, and stuck in the sides of the fort.

This was repeated again and again before sharp orders were rung out, and from that moment whenever one of these sparks was seen gliding along toward the palisades, it was met by shot after shot, sometimes by a regular volley. Twice over as I watched I saw one of these sparks drop to the ground and begin to burn, showing by it the body of an Indian; but though scores of shots were fired, these were the only two which checked the savages, who, encouraged by their success, kept on running in and shooting at the fort.

“Hard to hit a man running with a bullet,” said Morgan, in answer to one of my ejaculations of impatience.

“But why are you here, Morgan?” I said, suddenly, as I felt that most of the defenders were either at work firing, or busy with buckets and water.

“Because I was sent here, sir,” said Morgan, gruffly.

And though I questioned him, he said no more, but chuckled a little when I made a guess, and said that my father must have sent him to look after me.

The men on the roof of the block-house worked splendidly amidst the fiery shower, though they were checked several times by the horrible missiles taking effect, inflicting wounds and burning the poor fellows’ clothing as well; but they returned to their duty as soon as their comrades were passed down below into the fort, and wherever the flames got hold they were extinguished. But that which the falling arrows sent high in air, to drop almost perpendicularly on the fort, failed to do, though shot with wondrous skill, was accomplished by the arrows sent in the ordinary way point-blank against the walls.

I was watching the progress of the attack with Morgan, and we were uttering congratulations about the admirable way in which the men on the roof worked, and how cleverly each fiery messenger was quenched now almost as soon as it fell, when there was a fresh attack.

“Yes; we’ve done ’em, clever as they are, this time, sir,” said Morgan. “I tell you what: if I’d had the management of that affair I’d have had young Pomp up there.”

“Where is he?” I said, for I had forgotten all about him.

“’Long of his father carrying water, sir. But as I was saying, I’d have had young Pomp up there with a small bucket as he could handle easy, half full o’ water, and set him to catch the arrows as they fell. He’s quick as lightning, and I’ll be bound to say he’d have caught the arrows one by one in his bucket.”

“Look—look!” I cried excitedly.

“Eh? What? Ah!” ejaculated Morgan, as evidently from behind one of the houses, quite invisible in the darkness, we saw quite a little group of specks glide out, and almost simultaneously another group—and there seemed to be about thirty in each—came out from the other side, the two parties joining with almost military precision, and gliding as it were over the fields till quite close in, when there was a perfect blaze of light as a golden cloud of trailing lights was discharged straight at the wooden wall of the fort, and in a few seconds it was wrapped in fire from top to bottom.

A tremendous yell followed this successful discharge, but it was drowned by the rapid firing which succeeded, and as I looked on excitedly, longing to go and assist, and wondering why I had received no orders, I had the satisfaction of seeing figures flitting to and fro before the blazing pine-trunks, and hearing the hiss of the water as bucketful after bucketful was discharged.

“Why, Morgan!” I exclaimed suddenly; “the women and children?”

“Well, sir, they’d be safe enough.”

“What, if the fire is not put out?”

“Oh, it’ll be put out, my lad. Look, they’re battering it now. It aren’t so fierce, but they don’t happen to be there; the captain spoke to the governor this afternoon.”

“To the General?”

“Yes, sir. We’re getting to call him the governor now; and the captain told him, I hear, that he was afraid the main attack would be on the block-house, and it was settled to have all the women and children out; and they’re all safe behind barricades in the middle there. Yonder, you see.”

“See? No,” I said; “how can I see through this terrible darkness?”

“Darkness?” said Morgan, in a peculiar tone. “I was just thinking that it was a bit lighter now, and yet they seem to be getting the fire a bit under.”

“Yes,” I said; “and now the clouds of steam are rising; you can see them quite plainly now. Perhaps they are reflecting the light down upon the building. Oh, look!”

I could hold back no longer, but started off at a run, closely followed by Morgan, so as to get to the other side and see what was going on there.

For I had suddenly grasped the meaning of the light that had puzzled me. It was plain enough now. With their customary cunning, the Indians had fired such a flight of fiery arrows that they had forced our people to combine their forces to put out the blazing side of the block-house, and then combining their own forces, the enemy had sent low down on the opposite side, after creeping close in, a tremendous discharge, which at once took hold, and the flames as I got round were already running up the building, fanned by the wind which seemed to be rising, and there was a fluttering roar which sounded like the triumphant utterances of the flames.

“That comes of using pine-logs,” said Morgan, in a low voice, as amidst the shouting of orders, the tramp of men, and the hissing of the fire, volley after volley was fired from the palisades; but naturally these shots sent forth into the darkness were aimless, and in imagination I could see the enemy, after sending in their arrows, crawling away unhurt.

The progress of this last fire was rapid. Something was done to check it at first with the buckets, and the brave fellows on the roof made desperate efforts by hanging the saturated blankets over the side, but they were soon driven back by the heat and smoke; all but one, whom I saw—after working desperately, the leader evidently of the shadowy-looking, blackened band—topple forward and fall into the flames at the foot, just as a herculean black approached, bearing two buckets of water.

Then there was a rush, a deal of confusion and shouting; and as I neared I saw the black coming through the crowd bearing some one on his shoulder.

I needed no telling that the slave, whoever he was, had dashed in and dragged the fallen man away, and, roused to enthusiasm by the daring act, I was approaching the group, when I heard murmurs running from one to the other of the line of men we had approached, men whose duty it had been to pass water from the well to those whose task it was to scatter the fluid on the flames.

“What—what did they say, Morgan?” I whispered.

“Water’s give out, sir.”

“What! Just as it is needed most?”

“Ay, my lad, that’s just when it would be sure to go. They’ve been too generous with it t’other side.”

“But look!” I said; “the fire’s getting firmer hold. Can nothing be done?”

“Not that we can do, sir,” said Morgan, sadly. “It’s got it tight now.”

It was too true. Started by the Indians’ fiercely-blazing arrows, the pine-logs were beginning to blaze well now, dispiriting those who had worked so bravely before; and, seeing that their attack hail been successful, the Indians ceased now to send in their fiery flights, for moment by moment the flames increased, completely enveloping one corner of the block-house, and displaying such fierce energy that we knew the place was doomed.

And now, not to solve a puzzle that had troubled me, but of course to strike fresh terror into their enemies, the Indians made it plain how they had managed to keep up their supply of fiery shafts. For, all at once, a house standing back in the plantation, on each of the three sides of the fort away from the river front, began to stand out clear in the darkness of the night. One of them was the place from behind which I had seen the two groups of sparks glide out, and in these they had cunningly had parties preparing the fiery arrows ready to start alight for others to discharge.

Yell after yell now arose from a distance as the three houses rapidly began to blaze and add to the lurid glare that was illumining the whole interior of the enclosure, while groups of smoke-blackened men were watching the destruction going on.

“Better seek cover, my lads,” cried Colonel Preston. “Get your pieces, and be ready. We can do no more there. It must burn.”

The men showed their military training by rapidly getting their piled weapons, and taking their positions behind the barricades which surrounded the temporary quarters of the women and children.

“I don’t think they’ll attack,” said Colonel Preston to the General, who came up now.

“No,” he said, calmly. “The men are standing well to their places round the palisades, but I have no fear of an assault to-night. By the way, how is Bruton?”

I heard the words, and my throat seemed to grow dry.

“Bruton? I don’t know. Tired out, I suppose.”

“What!” said the General; “didn’t you know?”

“Nothing; only that we have all been working like slaves to put that fire out.”

“Great heavens, Preston, didn’t you hear?”

“Hear?” cried the colonel, excitedly; “is he wounded?”

“Not wounded, but badly hurt, I fear. Didn’t you see a man fall from the roof right into the flames?”

“Yes, but—”

“It was Bruton.”

“Ah!”

I felt as if I should have dropped, but at that moment, as I was trying to get over the horrible feeling of sickness, and to make my way to the place the doctor had been forced to take as his temporary hospital, I felt a thrill of delight run through me, for a voice exclaimed—

“Gentlemen, are you all mad?”

“Bruton!” exclaimed Preston, hoarsely; “then you are not badly hurt?”

“Badly enough,” said my father; “but look—look! Of what are you thinking?”

“Thinking?” cried the General. “We can do no more; the place is doomed.”

“But are we to be doomed too, man?” cried my father, furiously; and he looked as if he might have had the question he had first asked put to him. For his face was blackened and wild, his long hair burned, and a terrible look of excitement was in his starting eyes.

“Doomed?” exclaimed the General and the colonel in a breath, as the men gathered round.

“Yes; the women—the children. This enclosure will be swept away. Have you forgotten the powder—the magazine?”

Chapter Forty Four.

There was an involuntary movement amongst those within hearing at this, and for the moment it was as if every one present was about to seek safety in flight, as my father stood pointing wildly toward the blazing fort. Then, recovering himself from the shock of my father’s words, the General exclaimed, hoarsely—

“I had forgotten that.” And then in his customary firm way, he said, “The reserve supply of ammunition is in the little magazine, men. Twelve volunteers to bring it out.”

A deathly silence for a few minutes, only broken by the terrible crackle and roar of the flames; and then my father stepped toward the blazing building.

“I am too much hurt to carry,” he said, “but I will lead. Now, my lads, for Old England!”

“Hurray!” shouted Morgan, darting to his side, “and bonny Cymrw.”

A great black figure with torn and scorched cotton garments was the next to step forward, and, carried away by a strange feeling of enthusiasm which mastered the horrible dread I felt, I ran to my father’s side.

“No, no, no, my boy,” he groaned. “Go back!”

“With you, father,” I said; and he uttered a sob as he grasped my hand.

“God be with us!” I heard him whisper; and he said no more, but halting and resting wearily on me, as a dozen men now came forward with a cheer, he led the way to the door of the blazing pile.

Twice over I felt my legs tremble beneath me, but the tremor passed away in the excitement, and with the flames seeming to roar more fiercely, as if resenting an attempt to save that which was their prey, we passed from the eye-aching blaze of light through the strong doors into the black darkness of the fort, all reeking with smoke and steam.

Chapter Forty Five.

I often sit back in my chair pondering about those old days, and thinking about them in a very different way to that in which I looked upon them then. For to be quite frank, though something in me kept tugging me on, and seeming to say to me, “Be a man; go bravely on and support your poor lame, suffering father, who is going to risk his life to save the poor people around!” there was something else which would keep suggesting that I might be killed, and that I should see the bright sunshine no more; that I was bidding farewell to everything; and I know I felt as if I would have given the world to have heard him say, “Go back. It is too dangerous for you.”

But he only hesitated a few moments, and then, as I have said, he grasped my shoulder as if glad of my help, and went on into the great dark place.

On thinking over these things, I often tell myself that though my father may not have been a hero—and I don’t believe much in heroes myself—I know they do brave deeds sometimes; but I have often found that they have what an American friend from the North—Pennsylvania way—called a great deal of human nature in them, and that sometimes when you come to know them, you find that they are very much like looking-glasses. I do not mean because they pander to your vanity and show you your own face, but because they are all bright and shining and surrounded by gold that is not solid, and have a side, generally kept close to the wall, which is all rough wood, paint, and glue.

Let me see! Where have I got to? Ah, I remember. I said my father may not have been a hero, but he had a great deal of that sterling stuff in him which you find in really sterling people; and in addition, he performed his brave acts in a quiet, unassuming way, so that often enough they passed unnoticed; and when he had finished, he sank back into his perfectly simple life, and never marched about in metaphorical uniform with a drawn sword, and men before him beating drums, and banging cymbals, and blowing trumpets for the people to see, and hear, and say, “Oh, what a brave man!”

Some may think it was not the act of a brave, self-denying man to let his young son go with him into that awful place to try and remove the powder. I am not going to set up as his judge. He thought as a true man thinks, as a soldier, one of the thousands of true men we have had, who, without a word, have set their teeth fast, and marched for their country’s sake straight away to where cannons were belching forth their terrible contents, and it has seemed as if the next step they took must be the last.

My father no doubt thought that as he was so weak he must have help, and that it would be better for his son to die helping him to save the lives of hundreds, than to hang back at such a time as that, when we marched straight into the steam and smoke of the burning block-house.

I can remember now that, although overhead the logs were burning and splitting and hissing in the fierce fire, and I knew that almost at any moment the burning timbers might come crashing down upon us, or the fire reach the little magazine of spare powder, the feeling of cowardice gave place to a strange sensation of exaltation, and I stood by my father, supporting him as he gave his orders firmly, the men responding with a cheer, and groping their way boldly to the corner of the building beyond the roughly-made rooms, where the good-sized place, half cellar, half closet, had been formed.

It was quite dark, and the men had to feel their way, while the air we breathed was suffocating, but we had to bear it.

My father, Morgan, and I were the first to reach the place, and there and then seized the cumbrous door which was made on a slope, like a shutter, to slide sidewise, while just above was a small opening leading into a rough room beyond, between the magazine and the outer wall, in which was a sort of port-hole well closed and barred.

“Shall I get through and open that port, sir?” cried Morgan, his voice sounding muffled and hoarse. “It will give us fresh air and light.”

“Yes, and perhaps flames and sparks,” cried my father. “No, no, down with you and hand out the powder-kegs. Form a line, men, and pass them along to the door.”

“Hurrah!” came in muffled tones; and directly after, from somewhere below, Morgan’s voice cried—

“Ready there! One!”

“Ready!—right!” cried a man by me, and a quick rustling sound told that the first powder-keg was being passed along.

“Ready!—two!” cried Morgan; and I pictured in my own mind Morgan down in the half cellar, handing out keg after keg, the men working eagerly in the dark, as they passed the kegs along, and a cheer from the outside reaching our ears, as we knew that the dangerous little barrels were being seized and borne to some place of safety. Not that in my own mind I could realise any place of safety in an open enclosure where sparks might be falling from the burning building, and where, if the Indians could only guess what was going on, flaming arrows would soon come raining down.

It was a race with death within there, as I well knew; and as I stood fast with my father’s hand clutching my shoulder, and counted the kegs that were handed out, my position, seemed to me the most painful of all. If I had been hard at work I should not have felt it so much, but I was forced to be inert, and the sounds I heard as I stood breathing that suffocating air half maddened me.

Hissing that grew fiercer and fiercer as the fire licked up the moisture, sharp cracking explosions as the logs split, and must, I knew, be sending off bursts of flame and spark, and above all a deep fluttering roar that grew louder and louder till all at once there was a crash, a low crackling, and then, not two yards away from where I stood, a broad opening all glowing fire.

The men nearest to us uttered a yell, and there was the rush of feet, but my father’s voice rose clear above all.

“Halt!” he cried; and discipline prevailed, as through the smoke I could now see all that was going on; Morgan still in the magazine, and Hannibal standing ready to take the kegs he passed out, while the men, instead of being in line, had crowded together by the entrance.

“How many more, Morgan?” said my father, calmly, as he backed a little toward the fiery opening at the end where I could feel the fierce glow on my back.

“Three more, sir. Shall we leave them and go?”

“Leave them? Come, my men, you can see what you are doing now. Morgan—Hannibal—the next keg.”

It looked to be madness to bring out that keg into a low, earthen-floored room, one end of which was blazing furiously, with great tongues of fire darting toward us. But it was done; for Morgan stooped down and reappeared directly with a keg, which he handed to the great black, who took it quietly as if there was no danger, but only to have it snatched excitedly away by the next man, who passed it along the line.

“Steady, men!” said my father. “Don’t make danger by being excited and dropping one of those barrels.”

Those moments seemed to me to be hours. The heat was terrific, and the back of my neck was scorching as the second and third kegs were handed out.

“Last,” shouted Morgan, with a wild cry of thankfulness.

“Look again,” said my father. “Stand fast all.”

Morgan dropped down again, and as he did so there was another crash behind us, a shower of sparks were literally shot into the place, and one burning ember fell right into the opening of the magazine, to be followed as Morgan leaped out by a quick sputtering noise, and then the smell of powder. There was a rush for the door, and we four were alone.

“Only a little loose powder lying about,” said Morgan, huskily. “That was the last. Look out, Master George—quick!”

The task was done, the place saved from hideous ruin by an explosion; and as the last man rushed from the place, the energy my father had brought to bear was ended, and I had just time, in response to Morgan’s warning, to save him from falling as he lurched forward.

But there was other help at hand, and we three bore him out fainting just as a burst of flame, sparks, and burning embers filled the place where we had stood a minute before, and we emerged weak and staggering, bearing my father’s insensible form out into the bright light shed by the burning building.

“Bravely done! Bravely done!” we heard on all sides; and then there was a burst of cheering.

But I hardly seemed to hear it, as I was relieved by willing hands from my share in the burden, and I only recollected then finding myself kneeling beside a blanket under the rough canvas of our extemporised tent, waiting until the surgeon had ended, when I panted forth—

“Is—is he very bad?”

“Very, my lad,” said the surgeon as he rose, “but not bad enough for you to look like that. Come, cheer up; I won’t let him die. We can’t spare a man like your father.”

Chapter Forty Six.

Everybody considered it was all over then, as we stood regularly at bay behind our palisades and barricades of boxes, cases, and furniture with which the women and children were surrounded, watching the flames of the great block-house rising higher and higher in the still night air, in a way that to me was awful.

So there we were waiting for the final onslaught, gloomy, weary, and dispirited. The men were chilled, many of them, with the water, and worn out by their efforts, and as I went round from group to group silently, in search of some one I knew to talk to, I could not help seeing that they were beaten, and thinking that the Indians would have an easy task now when they came.

“It’s very horrible,” I thought; and I went over the past, and dwelt upon the numbers that we must have killed. I knew that there would be no mercy; that the men would all be butchered, and the women and children, if they escaped that fate, would be carried off into a horrible captivity.

Pomp seemed to have disappeared, for though I came upon group after group of black faces whose owners sat about in a stolid indifferent way, as if the affair did not concern them, and they were resting until called upon to work once more, I did not see our boy.

I could not see Colonel Preston, and Morgan had gone away from my side on being summoned by one of the men.

There were plenty of our people about, but all the same I seemed to be alone, and I was wandering along in the fitful glare of the fire, when I saw at last a group of men standing together by a pile of something wet and glistening, over which one man was scattering with his hand some water from a bucket as if to keep the surface wet, and in this man I recognised Morgan.

“What’s he doing?” I asked myself; and it was some few moments before I could grasp the truth, and then in a shrinking manner, with sensations similar to those I had felt when I was going into the burning block-house, I slowly advanced toward the group.

Sparks were being hurled high in the air at every fall of beam or timber, and they rushed round and round, as if agitated by a whirlwind, to be carried far away, but every now and then flashes of fire that escaped the whirl floated softly here and there, making it seem horrible to me as I watched them drop slowly to earth, some to be extinguished and disappear just as a great pat of snow will melt away when it touches the moist ground, while others remained alight and burned for a few moments.

“If one did,” I said to myself as I approached timidly, for I knew now that I was opposite to the little heap of powder-kegs that had been brought out of the magazine with so much risk, and were lying covered over with canvas and a tarpaulin, whose surface was being kept wet.

“The powder, Morgan?” I said, as I approached, just as the men were talking earnestly together, Morgan standing by and holding his empty bucket.

“Yes, sir; the powder,” he replied, turning and giving me a nod before looking back at his companions and saying sadly—

“Then you do mean it, my lads?”

“I do,” said one of the men, sternly; “and I think it’s what we ought to do.”

“Without waiting for orders from our officers?”

“I shouldn’t say do it while they can lead us and help us to fight and drive these demons back. I say when all’s over and we’ve got to the last. I mean when the Indians have got in and are butchering us.”

“Yes, yes,” came in a murmur from one man, “It will be quite right then, and they’ll feel it too.”

“Yes,” said the first, “it wants doing just as they’ve crowded into the place, and the lad among us left living must swear he’ll do it.”

“Don’t need any swearing,” said Morgan, in a low deep voice. “I’m afraid that you’re right, my lads, and for one I’ll promise to do it when it’s all over.”

“Do what?” I said in a whisper, though I felt that I did not need telling.

Morgan looked round at the others.

“There’s no harm in telling him,” he said.

“Not a bit. Tell him.”

Morgan coughed as if to clear his throat, and he raised the bucket and threw a few drops from the bottom on the glistening heap.

“You see, Master George,” he said, “we’re afraid that we’re getting close to the time when the Indians will quite get the better of us, and we shall be beaten.”

“Englishmen are never beaten,” I said, looking round proudly.

“Ah, that’s only a bit of brag, Master George,” said Morgan, quietly. “That’s what we all say, and perhaps we never are in spirit, but our bodies aren’t much stronger than other men’s bodies, and there are times when the enemy gets too strong for us. I’ve been beaten many a time, and I’ve beat many a time. This is one of the times when I’ve been beat.”

“But we are not beaten yet,” I said, excitedly. “When the Indians come and attack we shall drive them off.”

“If we can, my lad—if we can. Eh, my lads?”

“Yes, yes,” came in a loud murmur.

“Don’t you be afraid about that. As long as our officers can lead us we shall fight, and some say we shall do our best when we haven’t one left to lead us. In plain honest English, Master George, we shall fire as long as we can load; when we can’t use our guns we shall use our fists, and when we can’t raise an arm we shall kick.”

“Yes, I know, I know,” I said, excitedly. “But what you are thinking of it so dreadful.”

“So’s lying down beat out to let savages knock out your brains, my lad; and so we’ve all made up our minds that when the worst comes to the very worst, it will be an act of kindness to everybody and a big lesson to the Indians to let settlers alone, and perhaps be the means of saving the lives of hundreds of poor creatures in times to come, if one of us—”

“Yes, I know,” I half groaned—“sets fire to this powder and blows everything away.”

“That’s it, Master George, and the right thing too.”

“Oh!” I cried, with a shudder.

“Don’t take on, my lad,” said Morgan, gently. “It’s fate, that’s what it is. We shan’t do it till the place is full of Indians, and they’ve begun their terrible work; then one touch with a spark and it’ll be all over.”

“Morgan!” I cried.

“Ay, my lad, it seems very horrid, and I don’t want to have it to do; but when we’re all half dead, and can’t lift a hand, it will be a mercy to every one; and I know if your poor father was here and listening to what we say, he’d think so too.”

“But—but—” I faltered, despairingly, “I don’t want to die.”

“More don’t I, my lad,” he said, taking my hand; and I saw by the light of the burning building that the tears stood in his eyes. “I’d give anything to live, and go back yonder and work like a man to put everything straight again, and see my trees and plants growing more beautiful every day in God’s bright sunshine; but if it aren’t to be, Master George, why, it aren’t. I haven’t been a man who hasn’t done his duty.”

“No, no,” I said; “they’ve all fought bravely.”

“Ay, that they have, and are going to fight bravely to the very end. Why, look at those poor niggers too. See how they’ve fought, brave lads! No one would have thought they were slaves to see the way they’ve gone at it, just as if this was their own place, and they’d never been sold and bought. There, my lad, once more, don’t you go thinking we’re all going to turn cowards, because we’re not. Our officers have done their duty by us, and we’ve tried to do our duty by them; and if it comes to the worst, I say what’s been proposed is only doing our duty still; what say you?”

“Ay, ay,” came in a chorus; and I could not say a word. I felt choked as I looked round at the enclosure, all lit up by the glow, with black shadows cast here and there by the various piles of cases and the tents, and then I seemed to see beyond the great fence, and the black and pale-faced men, right away through the forest to our own bright home, close to the pleasant river, where all was sunshine, and glorious with bird and flower and tree. It was impossible to believe that I was never to see it all again, never to wander through the forest, never to ride on the stream and pause to watch the brightly-plumaged birds and the glittering insects or the gorgeously-scaled fish gliding through the clear waters, down where I had so often seen them amongst the roots of the overhanging trees.

It all came back like some bright dream—the creeper-covered house, my father seated at his window, about which the flowers bloomed, as he sat and studied some book, Morgan and Hannibal busy in their long fight with the weeds, and a magpie-like patch under some tree, where black Pomp lay asleep in his white shirt and short drawers, while from the end of the house came the busy sounds made by poor Sarah.

I think it was at that moment most of all that I quite thoroughly realised what a delightful home we had built up in the wilderness. And now it was a heap of ashes; my father, Hannibal, and poor Sarah seriously hurt; Pomp gone too for aught I could tell; and Morgan here talking so calmly and coolly of setting alight to the pile of destruction lying there by our side.

Was it all true? I asked myself, and felt ready to rub my eyes and try to rouse myself from the horrible nightmare dream from which I was suffering.

I was awakened sufficiently the next moment by Morgan’s words, as he said in a quiet, decided manner—

“Yes, Master George, we’ve done our duty as far as we can, and there’s only one more thing left to do—when the time comes, sir; when the time comes.”

Just then, to my utter astonishment, there was a movement among the men, and one of them came up close to me.

“You’ll shake hands, sir,” he said. “I’ve taken a deal of notice of you, different times.”

I held out my hand mechanically, felt it warmly wrung, and then had it seized in turn by the others, while I was struggling to speak words that would not come. At last though they burst forth.

“But the women and children!” I cried, as my heart seemed to stand still.

“Better than being butchered by those savages,” said Morgan, gloomily. “I’d sooner see my poor wife die than fall into their hands.”

His words silenced me, for I knew that they could expect no mercy. Then feeling utterly exhausted, I was munching a piece of bread, where I sat on a rough case, and sipping a little water from time to time, when just as the fire was at its height, with great waves of flame floating gently away from the great pine-wood building and illumining the wide clearing all round, I heard a familiar voice behind me say in his droll, dry fashion—

“What pity!”

“Ah, Pomp!” I cried, turning to him; “you there?”

“Iss, Mass’ George. When we go home again? Pomp done like dis place ’tall.”

“No, nor nobody else, boy,” said Morgan, sadly. “Hark! Hear anything?”

He seized his gun as he spoke, but it was only a hissing scream made by one of the water-soaked timbers as the steam was forced out.

“Nobody come. Injum all gone away.”

“How do you know?” I cried, eagerly.

“Pomp done know. Tink um all gone. No shoot arrow now.”

“Wrong, boy,” said Morgan. “They are hatching some fresh scheme, and they’ll be down upon us directly.”

There was a pause.

“And then it will be all over,” muttered Morgan, as he turned towards Pomp, looked at him firmly, and then held out his hand.

“Come here, boy,” he said.

“Wha’ for? Pomp no do nuffum. Can’t do nuffum here.”

“Come and shake hands.”

Pomp laughed and held out his hand, which Morgan took.

“If I don’t see you again, boy, good-bye, and I’m sorry I’ve been so rough to you sometimes.”

“Mass’ Morgan go walking out in wood? Take Pomp.”

Morgan heaved a deep sigh. “Ah, you don’t bear any malice,” he said.

Pomp shook his head, and looked at me, for it was Greek to him.

“Not so bad as that,” I said. “Come, cheer up.”

“Can’t any more, my lad,” said Morgan. “No one can’t say, look you, that I haven’t cheered up through thick and thin. But, look here, Master George, speaking fair now, what is the good of Injuns?”

“Injum no good,” said Pomp, sharply.

“Right, boy; no good at all. Phew!” he whistled; “how them logs do burn!”

“Ah! No duck, no fis’, no turkey roace on ’tick!” said Pomp, regretfully. “Shoot, shoot, shoot, lot time, an’ no shoot nuffum to eat. Pomp dreffle hungly.”

“There’s plenty of bread,” I said, smiling at the boy’s utter unconcern about our position of peril.

“Yah, ’tuff! Nas’ ’tuff. Pomp too dreffle hungly eat any more bread. Why no go now and kill all Injum? Pomp fine de way.”

The boy looked quite vexed at his proposition being declined, and squatted down to gaze at the fire, till after a time he lay down to look at it, and at last Morgan said to me—

“Don’t trouble him much, lad. Fast asleep.”

It was quite true. There lay Pomp enjoying a good rest, while we watched the progress of the flames, which rose and fell and gleamed from the pieces of the watchful men dotted round the great place, then left them in shadow, while a terrible silence had now fallen upon the camp. The fierce fire crackled and roared, and the flames fluttered as a great storm of sparks kept floating far away, but no one spoke, and it was only when an officer went round to the various posts that there seemed to be the slightest motion in the camp.

“Takes a cleverer man than me to understand Injun,” said Morgan at last, just before daybreak, as I returned from the tent where my father was sleeping peacefully, and Hannibal outside wrapped in a blanket quite calmly taking his rest.

“What do you mean?” I said, wearily.

“I mean I can’t make out the ways of Injuns. Here have we been watching all night, expecting to have a big fight by way of finish up, and Pomp’s right after all. They seem to have gone.”

“If I could only think so!” I replied, with a sigh.

“Well, lad, I think they are,” said Morgan. “They might have had it all their own way, and beaten us pretty easy a time back, but they’ve let their chance go by; and I suppose they’re satisfied with the mischief they’ve done for one night, and have gone back to their camp to sing and dance and brag to one another about what brave fellows they all are.”

It soon proved to be as Morgan had said, for the day broke, and the sun rose soon after, to shine down warm and bright upon as dejected, weary-looking, and besmirched a body of men as could have been seen. For they were all blackened with powder and smoke; some were scorched, and in every face I could read the same misery, dejection, and despair. But the General, Colonel Preston, and several of the leading gentlemen soon sent a different spirit through the camp. A few orders were given, the sentries changed, three parts being withdrawn; the women, who looked one half-hour haggard, pale, and scared, wore quite a changed aspect, as they hurriedly prepared food for their defenders; and in a very short time cries and shouts from the children helped to make some of us think that matters were not quite so desperate after all.

Chapter Forty Seven.

It is astonishing what can be done in the most painful times when there are good leaders, and a spirit of discipline reigns. I remember how I noted it here that noontide; when, after food and rest, the fresher men relieved sentries, and strove to listen to the General as he pointed out that though the block-house was gone and our retreat cut off, we were in nearly as good a position of defence as ever, for our barriers were firm, and it was not certain, even in the most fierce of assaults, that the enemy could win. In addition, he pointed out that at any hour a British ship might appear in the river, whose presence alone would startle the Indians; while if the worst came to the worst, there would be a place for us to find safety.

“There, Morgan,” I said, feeling quite inspirited, as I noted the change which seemed to have come over the men. “You see how mad all that was last night.”

He smiled as he laid his hand on my arm. “Look you, Master George,” he said, “you always forget that I only talked of that as being something to be done if it came to the worst.”

“And it has not come to the worst,” I said.

“And I hope it never may,” he replied.

I hurried to my father’s side to tell him what had gone on; and I found him in a great deal of pain, but apparently quite cheerful and grateful to the big black, who now declared himself well enough to attend to “de massa,” and forgetful of his own injuries, which were serious enough, the cuts on his arms being still bad, while he had been a good deal scorched by the fire.

“I can never be grateful enough to you, Hannibal,” said my father again. “You saved my life.”

“Massa sabe Hannibal life,” said the great negro, with a grave smile. “Can’t say well, but tink great deal ’bout all massa done for us.”

“Don’t talk about it,” said my father, quietly.

“No, sah,” replied the great black, turning to me, “not talk ’bout; tink about much—much more.”

“Well, Hannibal, if we live to get clear of this dreadful trouble, I will try to be fair to—” He stopped for a few moments, wincing evidently from pain.

“Better now,” he said, with a smile. “I was going to say, I have never considered either you, Hannibal, or your boy as slaves.”

“No, massa,” said the big black, calmly.

“But you are considered to be so here; and from this day I give you both your liberty.”

Hannibal smiled, and shook his head.

“Do you not understand me?”

“Massa give holiday. Han done want holiday,” said the black, laboriously.

“No, no; I set you both perfectly free.”

“Massa tink Pomp lazy—Hannibal no fight ’nuff?”

“My good fellow, no,” said my father, drawing his breath hard. “You do not fully understand. You were brought to this place and sold for a slave.”

“Yes, understand. Massa bought Hannibal.”

“Then now you are quite free to go where you like.”

“Where go to, sah?”

“As soon as we have beaten off these Indians, back to your own country.”

The black shook his head.

“You would like to go back to your own country?”

“No,” said the black, thoughtfully. “’Top fight for capen and Mass’ George.”

“But we shall have done fighting soon, I hope, and then you can go in peace.”

“No peace in Han country.”

“What?”

“Alway fight—make prisoner—sell slave. Han want Pomp here talk for um.”

“Ah, well, wait till we get peace, and things are getting on smoothly again, then we can talk.”

“Capen cross wif Hannibal?”

“Cross? No; grateful.”

“Han stay here ’long massa and Mass’ George.”

“Ah, George, any good news?” said my father, turning to me. “You see I am forced to be a slave-owner.”

I shook my head rather sadly as I thought of Morgan’s words.

“Oh, don’t despair, my boy,” he said, cheerfully. “It has seemed very desperate several times, but the Indians are still at bay, and we are alive.”

“Yes, father, but—”

“Well?”

“The fort is burnt down.”

“Yes; the enemy got the better of us there, but we are not beaten yet. Things looked black last night; after rest and food they are as different as can be. When shall you be ready to start home to begin rebuilding?”

“You are only talking like that, father, to cheer me up,” I said, sadly. “Do you think I don’t know that it is all over?”

“I do not think—I am sure you don’t know, my boy,” he said, smiling. “How can you? A battle is never lost till it is won. Did you ever see two cocks fight?”

“Yes; once or twice, father,” I said, wonderingly.

“So have I,” he replied, “not in the case of so-called sport, but naturally, as such birds will fight; and I have seen one beaten down, apparently quite conquered, and the victor as he believed himself has leaped upon his fallen adversary and begun to crow.”

“Yes, I know,” I cried, eagerly; “and then the beaten bird has struggled and spurred the other so fiercely that he has run away in turn.”

“Yes; you have finished my anecdote for me. It is too soon yet for the Indians to begin to crow. They are still outside our place, and the powder is plentiful yet.”

I shivered a little at the mention of the powder, and tried to tell him what I had heard, but somehow the words would not come, and soon after as he dropped asleep I went down into the open space about the block-house.

To reach it I had to pass the powder, which still lay covered as before, and it seemed to me that some fresh place might be found for it, since if the Indians began to send their fiery arrows into the camp again, one might fall there, and the destruction talked of befall us at once.

But a little thought told me that if arrows came now, they would be aimed at men and not at buildings. There was nothing more within for the fire to burn, so I went in and walked round the pile of smouldering ashes, and tried to recall the scene of the previous night, and the position of the magazine. But it was rather hard to do now, there being nothing left by which I could judge, and I was going on, when I caught sight of something which made me alter my course, and walk softly up behind where Pomp was busy with a shovel at the edge of a great heap of smouldering ashes.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“Eh? Mass’ George ’top bit and see.”

“No, I can’t stop,” I cried. “What are you doing with that shovel?”

“Dat to ’crape de fire up. You no see? Pomp bake cake for de capen.”

“What?”

“Oh yes. Plenty cake in de hot ash. Hot bread for um. ’Top see if um done.”

He looked up at me and laughed as merrily as if there was no danger near.

“Mass’ George see more Injum?”

“No,” I said. “They are in the forest somewhere.”

“Pomp like roace all de whole lot. Come burn fellow place down like dat. Ah, you don’t want come, sah! Hah, I pob you in dah lil soft wet dab ob dough, and now you got to come out nice cake all hot.”

He felt about in the fine embers with the shovel, and directly after thrust it under something invisible, drew it out, blew off a quantity of glowing ash, tossed his find round and brown up in the air, caught it again on the shovel, and held just under my nose a hot, well-cooked bread-cake, showing his teeth the while, as he exclaimed triumphantly—

“Dah!”

“Bread,” I said, mechanically.

“Nice hot cake, sah, for de capen, and Pomp got fibe more juss done. Dat one for capen, one for Mass’ George, one for Pomp fader, one for Pomp. How many dat make?”

“Four,” I said, in the same mechanical way.

“Four, and den dah two more for a-morrow mornin’.”

“Oh, Pomp,” I said, “how can you think of such things now!”

“Eh? Cos such boofle fire, and Pomp know where de barl ob flour. Mass’ George not glad to hab nice hot cake?”

I shook my head, but the boy was too busy fetching out his loaves, and soon had the whole six, well-cooked and of a delicate creamy-brown, beside him ready to be replaced in a little heap on the shovel.

“Dah!” he said; “now go take um home ready for tea.”

“Why, Pomp,” I said, sadly, “suppose the Indians come, what then?”

“What den? Dey ’tupid ’nuff to come, we shoot dem all, sah. Pomp don’t fink much ob Injum.”

“Do you think they’ll come to-night?”

“Pomp done know. ’Pose so.”

“You think so, then?”

“Yes, Mass’ George. Injum very ’tupid. Come be shot.”

Evening was coming on so fast that it would soon, I felt, be put to the proof, and followed by the boy with his cakes balanced on the shovel held over his shoulder, I went back to our apology for a tent.

My coming in awoke my father, and he sat up wincing with pain, but trying hard directly to hide his sufferings from me.

“Give me your hand,” he said. “I must get out now and help.”

I gave him my hand, and he rose, but sank back with his eyes half closed.

“No,” he said, sadly; “I have no strength. Go out and see what preparations are being made, and—”

“Here is Colonel Preston, father,” I whispered.

It was he, but he was not alone, for the General was with him, and both exclaimed loudly against my father attempting to move, but stayed both of them some time discussing the position, and asking his candid opinion about certain things which they had done for strengthening the defences, and they ended by proposing that I should accompany them as a sort of aide-de-camp, and bear messages to and fro.

I followed them, and was soon after going with them from post to post, to see that the men were well supplied with ammunition; and I could not help noticing that in spite of all they had gone through, they looked rested and self-reliant; quite ready in fact for a fresh encounter with our hidden foe.

For as the setting sun turned the plantations and edge of the forest to ruddy gold, all was perfectly calm, and for aught we could see there was no sign of an enemy. In fact to judge from appearances the Indians might have departed finally to their home, satisfied with the harm they had done.

As night fell all fires were extinguished, and we then commenced our dreary watch, every one feeling that the attack was coming, but how soon or from what quarter it was impossible to say.

Chapter Forty Eight.

I passed the early part of that night now seated in the darkness by my father, now stealing away when I believed him to be asleep, and joining Morgan, who was acting as one of the sentries, and had kept Pomp by his side so as to make use of his keen young eyes, which seemed to see farther through the darkness of the night than those of any one else in the camp.

And as I stood at Morgan’s side I could not help thinking of the great change that had taken place. Only a few hours before the fort was crackling and blazing, huge logs splitting with a loud report, and wreaths of fire and smoke circling up into the lurid sky, while all within the enclosure was lit up, and glistened and glowed in the intense light. Now all was gloom, depression, and darkness—a darkness so thick that it seemed to me as if the Indians had only to come gently up and select the place to climb over and then carry all before them.

I was tired and despondent, and that made me take, I suppose, so dreary a view of my position, as I waited for the enemy’s advance. And yet I think my despondency was warranted, for I felt that if the Indians attacked they would carry everything before them; and if they did I could not doubt the determination of Morgan and his companions. And there I found myself standing beside the man who was ready to put a light to the powder and send everything into chaos—for that he would do it in the emergency I felt sure.

I had been backwards and forwards several times, and was standing at last gazing over the fence in silence, trying to convince myself that some objects I saw in the distance were bushes and not Indians, when Pomp suddenly yawned very loudly.

“Hush!” whispered Morgan, sternly.

“Pomp can’t help um. So dreffle tire.”

“Then keep a sharp look-out, and try if you can’t see the Indians.”

“Pomp did, but eye got blunt now. Why not go look for Injum?”

“I wish the General would let the boy go,” whispered Morgan. “He might be able to get in some news.”

“Pomp nebber see noting here. May Pomp go, Mass’ George?”

“Of course you can’t, boy,” said Morgan, shortly. “Go and ask the commanding officer, and see what he’d say to you.”

Pomp yawned, put his arms over the edge of the fence, after getting his feet into a couple of notches, and drawing himself up and resting his chin upon his fists, he stared out into the darkness.

“Here de Injum,” he said; and a thrill ran through me as I followed the boy’s pointing finger, but could see nothing.

“Can you, Morgan?”

“See? No!” he said, pettishly; “but you’d better go and give warning, sir.”

I hurried off, and found Colonel Preston with the General, who received my news, and word was passed round to the various sentries, while the colonel made for the reserves in the centre of the enclosure, where in utter silence every man seized his piece, and stood ready to march to the point threatened, while I guided the General to where Morgan was stationed.

“No, sir. Not seen anything, nor heard a sound,” said the latter, on being questioned. “It was this boy who saw them.”

“Yes, ober dah,” said Pomp, pointing.

“Can you see them now?”

“No, sah. All gone.”

This was unsatisfactory, but the General seemed to have perfect faith in the boy’s declaration, and a long exciting watch followed.

The Indians’ habits had grown so familiar that every eye and ear was on the strain, and finger upon trigger, as tree, shrub, and grassy clump was expected momentarily to develop into a foe. The secretive nature of these people made our position at times more painful and exciting, as we knew that at any moment they might come close to us in the darkness, and almost before the alarm could be given, dash up to the palisade and begin climbing over.

But the weary hours crept on without any fresh sign, and the opinion began to spread that it was a false alarm, while Pomp was so pressed with questions that he slunk away into the darkness.

I followed him though, just making him out by his light, white cotton clothes, and saw him at last throw himself down on his face; but he started up into a crouching position, ready to bound away as I came up to him.

“No good, Mass’ George,” he said, angrily. “I ’tupid lil nigger, and done know nuff talk. Nebber see no Injum; nebber see nobody. Keep ask say—‘Are you suah?’ ‘Are you suah?’ Pomp going run away and lib in de tree. Nobody b’leeve Pomp.”

“Yes, some one does,” I said, as I sat down beside him in the darkness; and for the first time I noticed that we were close to the tarpaulin and canvas spread over the powder-kegs.

“No. Nobody b’leeve Pomp. Um wish Injum come and kill um.”

“No, you don’t,” I said; “because you know I believe you, and have often seen that you have wonderful eyes.”

“Eh? Mass’ George tink Pomp got wunful eye?”

“Yes; you can see twice as well in the dark as I can.”

“No; Mass’ George tink Pomp ’tupid lil nigger; no good ’tall. Pomp go run away.”

“I shall call you a stupid little nigger if you talk like that,” I said. “Don’t be foolish. I hope the Indians will not come any more, and that we shall soon go back home.”

“Injum coming; Pomp see um. Dey hide; lie flat down on um ’tummuck so; and creep and crawl um.”

He illustrated his meaning, but crouched down by me again directly.

“Dat on’y Pomp fun,” he whispered. “Pomp nebber run away from Mass’ George, and ah!—look dah!”

He pointed away into the darkness so earnestly that I stared in that direction, but for some little time I could see nothing. Then, all at once, I made out a figure which came cautiously toward where we sat, but turned off and went round to the opposite side of the heap out of our sight, and it was evident that we were not seen.

I was going to speak, but just as the words were on my lips I recognised Morgan, who must have just been relieved; and as I fully grasped now where we were, I turned cold as ice, and a peculiar feeling of moisture came in the palms of my hands.

I wanted to speak, but I could not; I wanted to cry to him hoarsely, but no words would come; and if ever poor fellow suffered from nightmare when he was quite awake, it was I in those terrible moments, during which there was a peculiar rustling, then a loud cracking sound, as if something was being wrenched open and broken, and the tarpaulin was agitated and shaken.

My ears were strained to listen to what came next, and that would be, I felt sure, the clicking of a flint and steel; but the sounds did not come, and just as I was at last feeling as if I could bear all this no longer, there was a sound of the tarpaulin falling on the earth, and Morgan came softly round and close by again without seeing us, while I crouched there ready to faint, and fully expecting every moment to be swept away by a terrific explosion.

“What Mass’ Morgan want?” said Pomp at last, as a sudden thought struck me, and mastering the feeling of paralysis which had held me there, I made a dash round to the other side to tear away the slow match which the man must have started, and which would, I supposed, burn for a few moments and then start a train.

To my surprise I could see no sparkling fuse nor smell smoke, but concluding that it must be under the tarpaulin, I raised the edge with trembling hands, when Pomp said quietly—

“Dat powder, Mass’ George; Pomp know. Mass’ Morgan come fess lot more; and oh! What lot tumble all about.”

His quick eyes had made out that which was invisible to mine; and, after stooping, he held a handful before me.

I drew a breath full of relief. I knew now. He had not come to fire the fuse, but to tear open one of the kegs and let a portion of the powder lie loose, so that whoever came to do the terrible deed would only have to discharge his firelock down amongst it, when a spark would explode the whole.

“Only to be quite ready,” I thought, as the desire for life thrilled through my veins.

“Pomp ’crape it up and put in Mass’ George pocket,” said Pomp; and then we both stood away, for there was a flash and the sharp report of a gun.

“Pomp did see Injum, Mass’ George,” said the boy; “and here dey come.”

Another shot, and another, and my heart seemed to leap as I felt that Morgan’s plan might not be long before execution after all, if the Indians made a desperate assault.

One minute before, the great enclosure was perfectly still, now it was all excitement; orders rang out; there was the tramp of armed men, as they hurried toward the spot from whence the firing had come.

Then came a shot from quite the opposite side, fresh orders were shouted, and there was a tramp of feet in that direction, the enemy evidently attacking in two places at once so as to divide our little force.

Flash after flash now cut the darkness to right and left, and we both stood listening to the quick orders and the curious ringing sound made by the ramrods as the men reloaded.

The firing was not rapid, our men seeming to have had instructions to be very careful and only fire when they saw a good chance; but it was kept up steadily, and it was evident that the Indians had not succeeded in gaining a footing as yet.

“Let’s run and tell my father what’s going on,” I said. “He’ll be so anxious.”

I made for the tent, with Pomp following, and found my father standing at the entrance, supporting himself on Hannibal’s arm.

“Ah, George, my boy,” he said, excitedly. “It’s hard not to be able to help. Who is at the front?”

“At the front?” I said, wonderingly.

“Yes. Is any one protecting the palisade between the two points attacked? Go and see how many are there; and if few, tell Colonel Preston to draw the General’s attention to the fact. If there are people there, ask his forgiveness for my interference. It is solely from anxiety for our safety.”

I ran off, followed by Pomp, and soon found Colonel Preston and gave him my father’s message, as he was leading some more men to where the firing was fiercest.

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said, angrily. “It is not likely it has been forgotten.”

I drew back at his words, and felt that I should like the General to have heard my father’s message; and just then I came upon Morgan running, loaded with ammunition, to the other side.

“Where is the General?” I asked.

“Over here, lad, where I’m going. Don’t stop me.”

But I did stop him to tell him my father’s words.

“Of course it is!” replied Morgan, as sharply as the Colonel had spoken. And I have often thought about it since—that such a slip should have been made by two gentlemen, both of whom had had great experience in military matters. But, of course, in the excitement of the double advance, and with so few men at their call, it was easy to think of nothing but repelling that attack, the more especially as there were men posted all round.

My answers were so unsatisfactory for taking back to where my father was, that I determined to go over to the part in question, and see how it was for myself.

As I hurried on, my course lay round the heap of ashes and burnt wood which had formed the block-house; and curiously weird it all seemed to be, with the flashes and heavy reports of the pieces to right, and left, mingled with the savage yells of the attacking Indians, who, as far as I could tell, seemed to be striving to beat back our men from the fence.

It was darker than ever as I got round the remains of the fort, and knowing that the ground there was free from impediment, I was in the act of breaking into a trot, when there was a curious stifled sound in front—a noise as of an axe falling on wood; and my companion sprang at me and dragged me back.

“Mass’ George,” he whispered, “Injum dah. Come ober big fence.”

I was too late, and yet not too late to give warning.

“Run and tell Colonel Preston,” I said in a whisper. “Quick.”

Pomp was too well accustomed to obey to hesitate, and he ran off in one direction round the ruins to where the colonel was defending the palisade, while I darted off in the other, rushed right up to where the General was standing calmly enough giving directions.

As I reached him I heard him utter the word, “Forward!” and about twenty men moving round, and were evidently going up to the part from which I had come.

My news resulted in their recall, and that of the men defending the palisade, orders being given to fall back toward the rough defence made in the centre of the enclosure, which we reached in safety, just as we found that Colonel Preston’s men were falling back towards us, firing as they came, but toward the direction from which the new danger threatened.

The way in which the defence had been planned stood us in good stead now, for as our party was halted, waiting for the colonel’s men, a loud yelling came from behind the block-house ruins, and the rapid beat of feet told plainly enough that a large body of the enemy had clambered in and were coming on.

Any want of promptitude would have resulted in the Indians getting between our two little forces; but a sharp order was given, and a volley rattled out—the flashing of the pieces showing in a dimly-seen line the fierce faces of our enemies, who appeared to be thrown into confusion, but who still came on, when a second volley was poured into them, and that was followed by one from the Colonel’s men, the last checking them so effectually that we had time to get well behind the breastwork and reload.

I say we, though I was unarmed, but still I had played my part; and as soon as I could get through the men crowded behind our last defence, I hurried to where my father was anxiously awaiting my return, and the report which I had to make.

Chapter Forty Nine.

“It was a mistake—a mistake,” said my father, excitedly; “but I might have made it if I had been in the hurry and excitement there. Resting here I had plenty of time to think.”

At that moment the firing began to be fiercer, and my father groaned aloud.

“Oh, it is pitiable!” he said, “obliged to lie by here, and not able to help. Here, George, go to the front; don’t get into danger. Keep well under cover. I want you to take pity on me, my boy. Do you hear?”

“Yes, father; but I don’t understand.”

“Can’t you see my position? I am helpless, and my friends and companions are fighting for our lives. I want you to keep running to and fro so as to let me know what is going on, and—mind this—keep nothing back.”

“Nothing, father?” I said.

“Nothing.”

I hesitated a few moments, and then with the reality of the horror impressed more and more by the shouting, yelling, and rapid firing going on, I told him about Morgan and the other men, even to finding the opened keg and loose powder.

“Great heavens!” he muttered as I finished; and I looked at him to hear what more he would say, but he remained silent.

“Shall I send Morgan to you, father?” I said.

He remained silent for a few moments, and then said softly—

“No.”

There was another pause, during which the firing grew more fierce.

“George.”

“Yes, father.”

“Go to and fro, as I told you, and keep me well informed till you think matters are growing desperate. Then seize your chance, run down to the water’s edge, swim to one of the boats, and try and escape.”

“Without you, father?”

He caught my hand.

“You could not escape with me, my boy,” he said. “There, do as I command. I can give you no farther advice, only use your own judgment as to where you will go.”

“But, father—”

“Silence! Is Hannibal there?” he said, raising his voice.

“Yes, massa.”

“Here, my man,” continued my father, as the great black came to him. “You will try and serve me, will you not?”

“Massa want Han do somefin?”

“Yes. There is great danger from the Indians. I want you to stay with and help my son; when the time comes, you will swim with him to a boat, and try and get away.”

“And carry massa down to the boat?”

“No. Save my son. Now go with him at once.” His words were so imperative that we both left him, and I went back toward where the fighting was going on, with Han following me like a great black shadow, till, all at once, he touched me on the arm.

“Yes,” I said.

“Mass’ George won’t go ’way an’ leave his fader?”

“No,” I replied, fiercely. “We must get him away too, Han, and Pomp.”

“Suah, suah,” said the great fellow, quietly. “Could carry de capen down to de boat. Find Pomp and make him swim out for boat all ready.”

“Yes,” I cried, eagerly, “we must save them both.”

The next minute we were close to where our men fought bravely, driving back the Indians, who were close up now, avoiding the firing by crawling right in, and then leaping up suddenly out of the darkness to seize the barrels of the men’s pieces, and strike at them with their tomahawks.

But they were always beaten back, and twice over I was able to go and tell my father of the success on our side, Hannibal following close behind me; but these checks were only temporary. The Indians literally swarmed about the frail stronghold, and as fast as they were driven back in one place, they seemed to run along the sides of our defences and begin a fresh attack somewhere else, while our men’s firing, being necessarily very ineffective in the darkness, began to lose its effect; the savages, finding how few of them dropped from the discharges, beginning to look upon the guns with contempt.

Their attacks grew so bold at last, that twice over, as I saw dimly one of our poor fellows go down, I felt that all was over, and that the time had come for me to go and try whether I could get my father away before the last terrible catastrophe, though how it was to be contrived, with the place surrounded as it was by Indians, I could not tell.

Can you think out what my position was, with all this firing and desperate fighting going on, our men striking desperately at the Indians to keep them out as they swarmed and leaped up at us; and all the time there were the women, children, and wounded huddled up together in the inner shelter formed of barrels, boxes, and half-burned planks?

It was horrible.

Minute after minute crept by, and I began to blame myself for not going. Then a lull would make me determine to wait a little longer, just perhaps as some louder burst of firing made me believe that it was the first keg of powder gone, till a round of cheering told me that it was not, and I was able to go and report that our men were still holding their own.

I was returning from one of these visits to my father, picking my way in the darkness over broken guns snapped off at the stock through being used as clubs, and in and out among groaning men over whom the doctor was busy, when all seemed to me to be unusually silent, and then I found that I was able to see a little more as I got right forward to where Colonel Preston was making his men close up together, and handing fresh ammunition. It was rapidly growing lighter, and I saw dimly enough at a short distance, just behind where the block-house stood, the misty-looking figures of a large body of Indians.

“Look, quick!” I panted.

“Ah!” exclaimed the colonel. “Good! You can see now, my men. Hold your fire till they are close in, and then let them have a volley.”

A low murmur ran along the line of men, and a feeling of elation thrilled me, but only for a deathly cold chill to run through every vein. For this was evidently such a desperate season as Morgan or his confederates might choose.

I could not stir for the moment. Then, as I mastered the horrible feeling of inaction, I drew back and made my way through the confusion within our defences to where I could be opposite to the covered-in kegs, which lay not twenty yards away untouched.

The light increased rapidly as it does down south, and I caught sight of a dark figure crawling half-way between our rough works and the tarpaulin.

One moment I thought it was a dead or wounded man; the next I recognised Morgan by the back of his head, and a cry arose to my lips, but it was drowned by a deafening volley followed by a cheer.

I glanced to my left, and saw the body of fully a couple of hundred Indians checked and wavering, when a second volley was fired and they fled.

The smoke hid the rest from my eyes, and when it rose, Morgan was standing close beside me watching the Indians, who had all crowded through the palisade where a great piece was torn down, dragging with them their dead and wounded.

Chapter Fifty.

“Morgan,” I whispered, and he started and looked at me wildly, the morning dawn showing his face smeared with blood, and blackened with the grime of powder.

“Yes, my lad,” he said, sadly; “I thought it was all over, and as soon as they were well at their work I meant to fire it.”

I could not speak, and I knew it would be useless, so I shrank away, and crept back past scores of despairing faces, to where my father lay eagerly waiting for news.

As I went I saw that the officers were giving orders for restoring portions of our torn down defences, and that the day had given the men fresh energy, for they were working eagerly with their loaded pieces laid ready, while food and drink were being rapidly passed along the front.

“Only a temporary check, I’m afraid,” said my father, as I described everything. “Brave fellows! What a defence! But you have waited too long,” he said. “Where is that man?”

“Hannibal?” I exclaimed; “I had forgotten him.” For he had evidently glided away in the dark; but almost as I spoke he came up.

“Boat ready, Mass’ George,” he said. “Pomp swam out and got him. Waiting to take Mass’ George and capen.”

A warning cry just then rang out, and my father caught my arm. “Go and see,” he whispered; “don’t keep me waiting so long.”

I hurried to the front again, seeing Morgan and another man in earnest conversation, but they separated before I reached them, and as Morgan went in the direction from whence he would pass out from our piled-up defence to get to the powder, I followed him, seeing now clearly enough he had his gun in his hand.

I forgot about my own escape—the coming on of the Indians, of whom I had a glimpse outside the palisades—everything, in my intense desire to stop this man from carrying out his terrible plan. I was very near him now, and should have caught him up had I not stumbled over a poor fellow lying in my way, and nearly fallen. As I recovered I could hear a fearful yelling, and saw Morgan’s hard-set face as he climbed backward down from the boxes, one of the men, whom I recognised as his confederate, helping him by holding his gun.

In a wild fit of despair, as I saw Morgan’s hard-set face, I shouted to him to stop, but my voice was drowned by the yelling of the Indians now coming on again with a rush, brandishing their axes, and evidently bent on carrying all before them.

As I reached the edge, Morgan was half-way to the powder, crawling on his chest, the Indians to our left, and the men I was trying to pass firing over Morgan’s head.

They shouted to me, but I glided between two of them; and as they tried to pull me back, Han pressed them apart, and the next moment I was creeping after Morgan.

The firing went on over us, and the Indians dashed forward on our left, yelling more loudly than ever. Then I heard a volley, and just caught a glimpse of the half-naked figures passing through the smoke. It was but a glance, for my attention was fixed upon Morgan, who had now reached the tarpaulin and canvas, thrown it partly aside, examined the priming of his gun, and I thought he was about to fire right into the midst of the powder-kegs, but he turned first to see whether the fight had yet reached the most desperate stage.

That was my time, and I leaped upon him, and tried to wrench the gun away, as his wildly desperate face looked into mine.

“No, no, Morgan,” I cried. “You must not; you shall not do that.”

“Let go!” he cried, roughly; and the eyes that glared at mine seemed almost those of a madman.

“No,” I cried, “I will not.”

“Don’t you hear, Master George? Hark at them; the wretches have begun their work.”

I still clung to the gun, and turned my head as a wild burst of shrieks rose from behind—the firing had ceased, but the shouting and yelling were blood-curdling, as in that horrible moment I felt sure that our men were beaten, and a massacre had begun.

But my father was there, and it seemed too horrible for such a deed as this to be done. If we were to die by the Indians’ hands, I felt that we must. But quietly stand by and let Morgan do this thing I would not, and I clung to the gun.

“Let go before it’s too late, boy,” panted Morgan, tugging fiercely now to get the gun from me.

“No,” I panted; “you shall not.”

“I must, boy. There: hark at them. I shall be too late. Look, boy; run for your life. I’ll wait till I see you over the big fence first.”

“No,” I panted again; “you shall not.”

“Will you run for your life?”

“No!” I cried, as I seemed to see my helpless father stretching out his hands to me.

“Then I must have it,” cried Morgan, fiercely, and as we knelt together, he twisted the gun in one direction, then in the other; and, boy as I was in strength, in another moment he would have torn it from my grasp, when a great black hand darted from just behind me, caught Morgan by the throat, forced him back, and with a cry of triumph I dragged away the piece, and fired it right away from the powder.

“Hold him, Han,” I panted; “he is mad.”

As if my shot had been the signal, a tremendous volley rang out from beyond the palisade; then another, and another; and the Indians, who the moment before were battling desperately, and surmounting our defences as a wild hand-to-hand fight went on, began to give way; then they turned and fled for the gap they had made, while, led by Colonel Preston, our men dashed after them.

“Look,” I cried. “Morgan, we’ve won!” We all gazed wonderingly as the Indians disappeared through the gap in the great fence, when another sharp volley rang out, but the smoke rose from outside.

“Help has come!” I shouted, and feeling no fear now of Morgan putting his desperate plan into action, I ran to join our men and learn what it meant, closely followed by Hannibal, Morgan coming last.

Chapter Fifty One.

Our party was cheering loudly as I got up in time to see the Indians in full flight toward the forest, and a strong force of men in pursuit, stopping and kneeling from time to time to fire on the retreating savages, who did not attempt to make a stand.

For some minutes I could not understand what it meant, nor who our rescuers were, but directly after the word ran round from mouth to mouth—“Spaniards—Spaniards!” and I turned to see a large ship lying in the river as I ran back to our defences, and past the dead and wounded, to bear my father the news.

“One enemy to save us from the other,” said my father. “Well, better to fall into the hands of civilised people than savages. In this case it will be prison, in the other it would have been death.”

“But shall we have to give up to them?” I said.

“In our helpless state I am afraid so, unless the General and Preston hold that we are Englishmen still. Oh, if I could only get to their side, and join in the council!”

“Hannibal carry capen,” said the great black, who in strict obedience to his orders was at my back.

“Can you?” cried my father, eagerly.

Hannibal smiled and took my father up as easily as if he had been a child, starting to carry him just as Morgan came up.

“Stop!” said my father; “let me go in a more dignified way if I can. Here, Morgan, pick up one of these fire-locks. Hannibal, my man, set me down again;” and, after giving his orders, Morgan and the black each took hold of one end of the firelock, holding it across him, and my father sat upon it, supporting himself by passing his arms through those of his bearers, and in this fashion he reached the group at the gap in the fence. Here an earnest conversation was going on, while the Spaniards were still in full pursuit of the Indians, chasing them right into the forest, and their shots growing more and more distant.

“Ah,” cried the General, as my father reached the group, “I am glad you have come, Bruton. I feel bound in our present strait to take the opinion of all. We are terribly shaken in our position; there are many wounded, and the question we debate is, whether now we surrender quietly to the Spaniards, or make one more bold stand.”

“What does Colonel Preston say?” said my father, quietly.

“Fight, sir,” cried the colonel, fiercely, “as long as we can fire shot or lift an arm; but the majority are for giving up. What does Captain Bruton say?”

My father was so weak that he could not stand alone, but his eyes were bright still, and he drew back his head as he looked round.

“First let me hear what others have to say.” One of the settlers took a step forward. “That we have fought like men, sir, but it is too much to attempt more. We have failed in our attempt to establish this colony, so now let us make the best terms we can with the Spaniards, and try to get back home. Come, Captain Bruton, you are terribly hurt; you have done all you can. Speak out now, sir, like a brave man, who wishes to save further slaughter. You agree with me?”

Every eye was turned on my father, who, in spite of his quiet ways, had gained enormous influence, and even the General seemed to look at him anxiously as he spoke.

“I quite agree with you, sir, that we want peace, and to return home; but this is home—this country that we chose and obtained the King’s charter to hold, and to defend against all comers. The Spaniards’ descent has been most fortunate; but when they come back and arrogantly order us to surrender, there is not surely an Englishman here who will give up? I say No. We have our defences nearly perfect still, and half an hour to repair this breach. Ammunition in plenty; provisions still for quite a siege. Who says surrender? Not I.”

There was a cheer at this, and the General laid his hand on my father’s shoulder, crying—

“No one says surrender. Quick, men! Work!”

He issued his orders sharply; they were readily obeyed, and in a very short space of time the gap in the palisade was filled with board, plank, and barrel from the central defence that had been so hotly contested that morning. The barrels were stood up on end and filled with earth, and by the time the Spaniards’ firing had ceased, and they were returning, our men were posted here and there; and our weakness being hidden, we presented a formidable appearance to the Spanish force, as it marched back, and without coming near our weakest part at the back, formed up at a short distance from the well-manned gates.

Quite a hopeful feeling seemed to have come over men who had been in despair a short hour before, as the ladies and women were put in the enclosure, busy, with the black people, obeying the surgeon’s orders. For it was felt that if another encounter took place, it would only be after due warning, and then that we had ordinary enemies to contend against, not the savages, who had received a severe enough lesson to perhaps check further attack.

A strong desire too was manifested to make the best of things in our enemies’ sight, and stores were attacked, rations served out, and every man who was wounded was disposed to treat it lightly.

I cannot explain it, but I know now that in the reaction, all felt as I did—ready to forget pain, weariness, and the peril through which we had passed. We knew that another enemy had come; but though he had driven off the savages, he did not seem at all formidable; and the blacks in their quick, childlike way, taking their tone from us, were soon laughing and chattering, as they made fires, fetched water, and busied themselves about the camp as if nothing unusual was the matter.

After seeing my father comfortably lying down and refreshed, I left him to go and find out what was going on in front of the gate, where Morgan was one of the little party on guard.

As I went up to him he stared at me curiously, and I looked at him, each of course thinking of our encounter, and it appeared to me as if it was something that had occurred a long time ago, and that I ought not to refer to such a horror—at least not till some time in the future, when we could speak of it calmly, as of some adventure of the past.

The change in his aspect was striking as I spoke, his face lighting up; and he looked like the Morgan of old, as I said, quietly—

“What are the Spaniards doing?”

“Smoking, some of ’em, Master George,” he said, eagerly. “And some of ’em’s eating and drinking; and, look you, the big Dons are all together yonder having a sort of confab. Think it’ll come to a fight with them, sir?”

“I don’t know. But hasn’t any one been up to the gate or brought a message?”

“No, sir, and they don’t seem to be in any hurry. Look!”

He made way for me to look over the gate at the little force, which lay about half-way between us and their boats at the river-side, while about a couple of hundred yards away lay their ship, with the Spanish flag blown well out by the breeze.