Mass' George

"Mass' George" (continued 9)

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The men were standing or lying down, and, as far as I could see, no one had been hurt in their encounter; in fact it had been confined to firing upon the retreating savages. They were taking matters very coolly, all but their leaders, who were evidently holding a council before deciding on their next step.

“Strikes me, Master George,” said Morgan, “that they’re thinking that winning one little battle’s enough work for the day, and I shouldn’t be much surprised if they went back on board. They don’t want to fight us, only to frighten us away.”

“Think so?” I said. “They attacked the Indians very bravely.”

“Don’t see much bravery in a hundred men firing at a lot of savages who are running away. They never expected to find us all ready for them in a stout stockade, with every man Jack of us standing to arms, in full fighting rig, and with our war-paint on.”

He said this last meaningly, and I shuddered as I thought of what I had seen.

“Well, I must go back,” I said. “My father is anxious to know.”

“Yes, of course sir. Then you go and tell him what you’ve seen, and that I say I don’t think they mean fighting; but that if they do, it won’t be till after they’ve had a good parly-parly, and asked us first whether we mean to go.”

Just then there was a burst of talking close by us, and a laugh; the officer in command gave an order or two, and a couple of the men leaned over and held out a hand each. Then there was a bit of a scramble, and a curly black head appeared above the gates. The next moment its owner was over, and had dropped down, caught sight of us, and run up.

“Why, Pomp!” I said; “I had forgotten you.”

“What for send Pomp out to boat and no come? Pomp dreffle tire, and come back.”

“I say I had forgotten you.”

“Ah, Pomp no forget Mass’ George,” he replied, reproachfully. “Eh? Lil fire—two lil fire—twent lil fire,” he cried, excitedly. “’Mell um cook suffum. Come ’long, Mass’ George, I dreffle hungly.”

I led the way in and out among the busy groups, where, chattering over the fires they had lit, the blacks were making bread or cooking, and every now and then I had to catch hold of Pomp’s arm and half drag him along, so great was the interest he took in what was going on; for he evidently felt no modesty or shrinking about making his presence known.

I soon had my father fully acquainted with the state of affairs, and while I was talking to him, Colonel Preston came to sit down upon an upturned barrel, and talk for a time about the state of affairs.

Chapter Fifty Two.

Our officers and gentlemen made a very shabby parade that evening, when just before sundown word was passed from the sentries that a party was approaching from the Spaniards, and it was decided to go outside and meet them, so as not to show the poverty of our resources within the defences, and the sore straits to which we had been brought.

So the General and Colonel Preston, with about half a dozen gentlemen, went out to meet the new enemy, while Morgan contrived that I should, as Captain Bruton’s son, be where I could see and hear all that was going on.

And, as I said, our officers and gentlemen made a very shabby parade, for their clothes were torn and stained, and there were no brave uniforms now, such as they wore the last time the Spaniards from the south came to demand that we should leave the place. But if they had no scarlet and gold to show, there was a grim sternness about our people that was very impressive, something which taught the visitors that ours were no feather-bed soldiers, but men who could face fire and use the sword.

Of that party of six who went out to meet the Spaniards, there was not one who was not injured, though slightly, while the little body-guard of eight soldiers who followed them was in similar plight.

Our numbers were hastily selected by the General, on seeing that while a larger number had come away from the main body of the Spaniards, only eight approached the gates.

Everything was done so deliberately that I noticed that the General carried his left arm in a scarf, and that the hair had been all cut away in a patch at the back of Colonel Preston’s head, so as to admit of its being strapped with plaister. Another officer had a cut on his left cheek which had divided the lip; another wore a bandage in the shape of a red silk handkerchief, and another carried his injured hand in his breast.

One and all had been wounded, but there was not a man who did not seem full of fight, and ready to stand his ground come what might.

On the other hand, although they had been in an engagement that day, and had pursued the Indians, the Spaniards were smooth-looking and well-dressed; not a hair seemed to be out of place, so that they presented a remarkable contrast to our grim-looking set.

They paused at a few yards’ distance, and I stood gazing over the top of the fence at their dress and weapons, all of which looked clean and well-kept, quite in keeping with the dignified, well-dressed wearers, who were looking at our people with a kind of tolerant contempt.

As they drew near, I recognised two of them as being of the party who had come before, and these two spoke to a broad-shouldered, swarthy-looking man, who nodded from time to time as if receiving his instructions. Then he stepped forward, looking from one to the other, and said, bluntly—

“Which of you is captain?”

There was a pause, every one being surprised at hearing our language so plainly spoken.

“You can address yourself to me,” said the General, quietly.

“Oh, that’s all right then. You see—”

“Stop a moment,” said the General. “You are an Englishman?”

“I was,” said the man; “but I’ve thrown in my lot here now, and I’m a Spaniard.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes; that’s it. I’m settled among them, and they’re not bad sort of people, let me tell you. I just say this by way of advice to all of you, who seem to be in a tidy pickle.”

“Were you instructed to say this, sir?” said the General, coldly.

“Well, no, not exactly; only having once been an Englishman, and meeting Englishmen, I wanted to do you a good turn if I could.”

“Thank you. Now your message.”

“Oh, that’s short enough. The Don here says I’m to tell you that he is glad he arrived in time to save your lives, all of you, for if he hadn’t come you’d all have been massacred.”

“Go on,” said the General.

“And that he supposes you see now what a mad trick it was to come and settle down here among the Indians. Let me see; what was next?” muttered the man; and he turned sharp round, and spoke to the Spanish leader for a minute or so, and then came back and went on—

“That he came once before and gave you fair warning that you were trespassing on the lands of his Majesty the King of Spain, and that he wants to know how soon you are going.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes,” said the man, “I think that’s about all. It isn’t exactly what he said, because Spanish lingo’s awkward stuff to put into plain English; but that’s about what it all meant; and, speaking as a friend, I should advise you to get a passage up north as soon as you can.”

“Thank you.”

“Shall I say you’re going to sheer off?”

“Tell your leader or officer, sir,” said the General, coldly, “that his message is insulting.”

“Oh, come, now,” said the man, “it was as civil as could be.”

“That we are here in the dominion of his Majesty the King of England, upon our own lands, and that his demand is absurd. I do not wish to be insulting in return for the service he has done us and his own people by giving these savages so severe a lesson, but you may ask him what he would say if I came down with a strong party and ordered him and his people to quit the Spanish settlement.”

“Am I to tell him that?” said the ambassador.

“Yes; and that we are here, and mean to stay, even to holding our homes by force of arms if it is necessary.”

“Oh!” said the man, staring and looking from one to the other. “Isn’t that foolish talk! You see we are very strong, while you are—”

“Not so very weak as you think for, sir.”

“But I’m sure you don’t want us to turn you all out by force, and burn down your settlement, though it seems to me as if there isn’t much left to burn,” he added, as he glanced round at the distant heaps of burned timber and ashes.

“We will build it all up ready for you, sir, against your expedition comes,” said Colonel Preston, sharply.

“Oh, come, come,” said the man; “that’s all brag. Look here: take my advice, make friends with the Dons here, and let me say you’ll pack off quietly, because they mean mischief if you do not go.”

“You have had my answer, sir,” said the General, haughtily. “Tell your leader that, for his own sake, I hope he will not drive us to extremities. We are prepared to fight, and fight we shall to the end.”

“Oh, very well,” said the man, in a grumbling tone; “I’m only a messenger. I’ve given our people’s orders, and now I’m ready to take back yours. Only don’t say, when you’re all made prisoners and marched off to our plantations, that I didn’t as an Englishman give you a timely hint.”

The General bowed, and the man stood staring at him for a few moments, and then from one to the other, in an undecided way.

“Then you won’t go?” he said at last.

The General made a sign to Colonel Preston.

“No, sir; we will not go,” said the latter, firmly.

“Oh, very well. ’Tarn’t my fault. I like peace, I do; but if you will have it rough, why, it’s your own fault.”

He turned away, and talked to the two leading Spaniards for a few moments, the elder of the two stamping his foot imperiously as he frowned and pointed to us. The man shrugged his shoulders, and came back.

“Look here,” he said, roughly; “the Dons say they won’t stand any nonsense, and you are to go.”

“Tell him he has had his answer, Preston,” said the General.

“Oh, yes, I know about that answer,” said the man; “and I’m to tell you that if you do not give up at once, you will all be driven off, and you must expect no mercy then.”

The colonel glanced at the General, who nodded, and the former said, half-mockingly—

“Tell your leaders we are here, and if the King of Spain wishes for this part of his Britannic Majesty’s possessions, he will have to send a stronger force than you have brought, to take it; and as for you, my friend, your position as a kind of envoy protects you; but if I were you I should be careful. Your speech tells me plainly that you have been a sailor.”

“Well, suppose I have,” said the man, sharply.

“And I should say that you have deserted, and become a renegade.”

“What?”

“I would not speak so harshly to you, but your conduct warrants it. An Englishman to come with such cowardly proposals to your fellow-countrymen! Faugh!”

The man seemed to grow yellow as he gazed at the colonel; then, turning away, he spoke hurriedly to the two Spanish officers, who stood gazing at our party for a few moments, then bowed, and stalked back.

“Well, Preston,” said the General; “shall we have to give up?”

“To them?” cried the colonel, sharply. “No! Do you know what Bruton will say?”

“How can I?”

“Well, sir, he will say, ‘let them come, and if they drive us out of here, we will retire into the forest.’ But, bah! I am not afraid. All Spanish bombast. Ah, young Bruton, what do you say to this?” he continued, as they entered the gates, and he caught sight of me.

“I’m not old enough to say anything about it,” I replied; “but I think a great deal.”

“And what do you think?” said the General, smiling, as he laid his hand upon my shoulder.

“That they will be afraid to fight, sir.”

Chapter Fifty Three.

A strict watch was kept on the Spaniards, while everything possible was done in the way of preparation for an attack, possibly a double attack for aught we knew. It was quite probable that, in spite of their defeat, the Indians would return that night, perhaps in greater strength, to come on just at the same time as the Spaniards.

“And then,” said Morgan, “what the officers ought to do is to keep us all out of the way, and let ’em fight it out between them.”

But that such an encounter was not likely to occur I soon saw, for the Spaniards after a long talk together slowly marched back to their boats, and rowed to the ship lying at anchor in the river; and after a night of watchfulness, the sun rose again without our being assailed either from water or land.

As soon as it was light, work was recommenced, and our defences strengthened; but it was soon found that the defenders would be much fewer in number, for many of the men who, in spite of their wounds, held up on the previous day, were unable to leave their rough couches, and had to resign themselves to the surgeon’s orders, to have patience and wait.

All the same though, a fairly brave show was made, when towards midday boats were seen to leave the ship again and row to the shore. Then, after landing a strong body of well-armed men, they put back a little, cast out grapnels, and waited while those landed marched right for the enclosure.

There appeared to be no hesitation now, and as memories of the brave old deeds of the Spaniards came up, it was felt that in all probability a fiercer fight was in store for us than those which we had had with the Indians. But not a man flinched. The perils they had gone through seemed to have hardened them, and made them more determined. So that our stockade was well-manned, and in breathless silence all waited for the attack.

It was dangerous, of course, and I knew the risk, but I could not resist the temptation of trying to see the encounter, and, well down to one side of the gateway, I watched the coming on of the Spaniards.

There was no waiting for dark, or stealthy approach; they did not even spread to right and left to search for a weaker point, such as they would have found right at the back, but came boldly up toward the gate, as being the proper place to attack, halted about a hundred yards away, and then an officer and two men advanced, in one of whom I recognised the interpreter of the previous day.

They came right on, the Englishman shouting to us not to fire, and then asking, as he came close, to speak with an officer.

Colonel Preston appeared, and the messenger called upon us to surrender.

“And if we do not?” said the colonel.

“The gate will be stormed at once, and very little mercy shown,” said the man, speaking dictatorially now, as if he had caught the manner of his Spanish companions.

“Very well,” said the colonel. “You can storm, and we’ll defend the place.”

The envoys went back with our defiance, and there was a short consultation, followed by a rapid advance, a halt about fifty yards away, and then a volley was fired by about fifty men, who uttered a shout, and made a rush for the gate.

I heard the word “Fire.” There was a scattering answer to the Spaniards’ volley; but instead of its proving harmless, about a dozen men fell, and began to crawl or limp back, after rising, to the rear.

This checked the advance by quite half, and only half of these came on much farther, the rest dropping back rapidly till of the brave force who attacked, only one ran right up to the gate, and he, a handsome-looking young officer, struck it fiercely with his sword, shouted something in Spanish, and then began to go back, but keeping his face to us defiantly all the time.

A dozen pieces were raised to fire at him, but the colonel struck them up, and showed himself above the gate, to raise his hat to the young officer, who, half laughingly, half bitterly, returned the salute.

Morgan told me afterwards what Colonel Preston said: that if there had been fifty men like this one the stockade could not have been held.

But there were not, for when the wounded Spaniards had been carried down to the boats, and a line was formed for a fresh attack, a loud murmur arose; and, as plainly as if I had heard every word, I made out that the men would not advance, and that the officer threatened to go alone.

Then one man only ran to his side, and they two advanced together, trying to shame the Spaniards to attack.

But they were not shamed a bit, but let those two come right on, when, as they reached to within twenty yards of the gate, our men sent up a hearty cheer, for the one who accompanied the Spanish officer was the Englishman.

“Bravo!” cried Colonel Preston. “Hallo, there, you renegade; you’re a brave man after all. Tell the Spanish officer I salute him as one worthy of all respect.”

The officer raised his hat as this was interpreted to him.

“Now tell him,” continued the colonel, “not to risk his life in another advance. An accidental shot might injure him, and I should be most grieved.”

“Are you mocking him, sir? He says,” shouted the man.

For answer, Colonel Preston leaped down from over the gate and advanced, Morgan following him. I saw the Spanish officer start at this, and advance sword in hand to the attack; but Colonel Preston sheathed his.

“Tell him,” he said aloud,—“no, there is no need to tell him; he can understand this.—Sir, I wish to take the hand of a gallant officer in mine,” and he stretched out his hand.

The Spanish officer lowered the point of his sword, and after a moment’s hesitation changed it into his left hand.

“You can tell him that I do not mean treachery or trying to take prisoners,” said the colonel.

His words were interpreted, and the Spanish officer said something hastily in reply.

“Says, sir, that he cannot take your hand, but respects you all the same.”

At that moment the Spaniards began firing, and this roused our men into replying, a sufficiently perilous position for the group between them, till the young officer ran towards his men, holding up his sword; but before the Spaniards had ceased our fire was silenced, for I saw the General run here and there, shouting angrily.

“That was a risky proceeding of yours, Preston,” said the General, as the colonel came back within the fence.

“Yes, sir; a foolish, undisciplined act,” replied the colonel; “but I felt carried away by the bravery of that young fellow, deserted as he was by his cowardly crew.”

“I cannot blame you,” said the General, “for I felt similarly moved.”

Little more was said, for every one was intent upon the proceedings of the enemy, who drew back about a hundred yards, and then formed up with military precision, apparently previous to making a determined advance together; but a full hour passed, and no advance was made. Two officers came ashore from the ship with ten more men, and we were all kept in a state of tension, momentarily expecting to have to defend ourselves against a desperate attack.

But none came, and soon after the whole force marched down to the boats and embarked, while a couple of hours later the ship was going slowly down the big river with the tide.

Now it might have been expected that on seeing this our men would have burst into a triumphant cheer, but they did not, but stood watching the ship in silence. For there seemed to be something too solemn for words or any display of exultation. Utterly worn out with fighting and watching, and feeling as if we had all been rescued from death, men moved about gravely and quietly, and I saw group after group where gentlemen and ordinary working men, old soldiers who had come out there to that pleasant land believing they had for ever turned their swords into shares and pruning-hooks, were seated holding the hands of their wives, and with their children on their knees, their heads bent, and the tears streaming down the women’s faces; and I know that a heartfelt thanksgiving went silently up to heaven that night for the escape we had all had.

But still there was the feeling of insecurity afloat, which caused the greatest precautions to be taken. The forest was not far distant, and for aught we knew the Indians might again come on.

So sentries were placed, to be relieved after short watches, and I fully intended to take my turn when I lay down; but, just as it was once before, almost as I began thinking, all became blank, and the next thing I remember was waking up, feeling ashamed of my neglect, to find that once more it was broad day.

Chapter Fifty Four.

Morgan and I had more than one long talk that next day about the Spaniards and the pusillanimous way in which they had behaved; but not until a good deal had been done to make our tent comfortable, and that in which poor Sarah was lying, mending fast, but still very weak. A great deal too had to be done for the wounded, who bore their sufferings with wonderful patience, and were delighted when I went and sat with them, and talked over the different phases of the fight.

Morgan was sentry once more in the afternoon, and after seeing my father comfortably asleep, I went across to him, where he was keeping a sharp look-out for the Indians; but so far there had been no sign, and we began talking about the wounded, and how long it would be before they were stirring again.

“Ah, a long time, sir,” he said. “You can make a man weak with a shot or a cut with a sword. It’s done in a moment, but it takes months to make one strong.”

“I say, Morgan,” I whispered, “don’t you think the General ought to have a place dug and made for that powder?”

He turned sharply and looked me full in the eyes, but instead of answering my question, he said—

“You see, Master George, they were regularly cheated over us.”

“Who were—the Indians?”

“The Indians? No; the Spanish.”

“He will not talk about the powder business,” I said to myself. “He always turns it off.”

“You see, sir,” he continued, as he softly rubbed the barrel of his piece to get rid of some of the rust that had encrusted it, “they expected to find us a set of quiet spade-and-hoe-and-wheelbarrow sort of people, quite different to them, as are looked upon as being so warlike and fierce.”

“And so we are, Morgan.”

“And so we are, lad. We came out here to dig and live, and be at peace, with our barrows; but that doesn’t mean that we haven’t got the fighting stuff in us, ready for use when it’s wanted. I don’t want to fight, and I save my fists for digging, but they are fists all the same, sir.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Yes, of course, sir. But they Spanish didn’t understand that. They thought that in spite of what was said last time they came, all they had to do was to make a show, and order us off, and we should go; so they made a show by shooting at the Indians; and I’ll be bound to say that every time the Spanish officers cried ‘fire!’ they thought they were frightening us too.”

“But they didn’t, Morgan.”

“Not a bit, sir. Wrong stuff. They made a great big mistake, and when they get back to Flori— what is it?”

“Florida.”

“Ah, Florida, I should say there’ll be a good bit o’ trouble, for they were meant to do more than they contrived. You see, when they fired, the Indians ran, and they followed them up, and fired again, and the Indians ran faster. Then by and by they came and fired at us.”

“And we did not run, Morgan.”

“No, sir, not a bit; and as somebody had to run—one side must, you see—why, they did. You see we didn’t look nice. We’d been at it, look you, and got the marks of battle on us to show that we could do something, and it was rather startling to men coming on to attack a place. First beginning of fighting one feels a bit squeamish; after that one don’t. We’d got over our squeamishness; they hadn’t, for I don’t count their bit of firing as anything. Think they’ll come back, sir?”

“If they do, it will be with a war-ship, and great guns,” I said. “Not as they did this time.”

“Then I don’t think they’ll come at all, sir, for bringing a war-ship means big business, and our having war-ships too to keep them off. Do you know, I begin to think that we shall have a holiday now, so as to go back home.”

Day after day glided by, and in the rest and relief it seemed as if quite a new life was opening out for us. My father was mending rapidly, and Sarah was well enough to insist upon busying herself about many little matters to add to our comfort. Hannibal only seemed to me to be dull and quiet, while Pomp was at me every day about going out somewhere, and looked as if he were a prisoner chained by the leg when told that he must not stray from camp.

There had been repeated discussions, so my father told me, over the all-important question of giving up our watchful life, and beginning once more to take to that of peace; but it was still deemed advisable to wait, and another week glided away, made memorable by the deaths of two of the brave fellows who had been wounded.

It was the evening after the last of these two had been sadly laid in his resting-place, that Morgan startled me by saying suddenly—

“He’s only a black, certainly, Master George, but somehow one’s got to like him.”

“Why, what has Pomp been doing now?” I said.

“I was talking about his father, sir.”

“Hannibal? Well, what of him? I haven’t seen him to-day—no; now I come to think of it, nor yesterday neither.”

“No; he hasn’t been up.”

“Why, Morgan,” I said, “I was out round the plantations yesterday with Colonel Preston, and I’ve been with my father and Sarah all to-day; is poor old Hannibal ill?”

“Very bad, I think, sir. I asked the doctor to go and see him.”

I ran off to the rough tent he and Pomp had contrived for themselves, and to my horror I found the doctor inside, and that my father had contrived to get there by the help of a couple of sticks.

“I didn’t know Han was ill,” I exclaimed.

“Hush! Don’t speak loud,” said the doctor. “The poor fellow is in a serious condition.”

I crept into the hut to find Pomp on his knees by his father’s head, and with his face buried in his hands, while a startled feeling came over me as I saw how still and helpless the great broad-shouldered giant lay, his brow wrinkled up, and his cheeks hollow; but his countenance changed as he caught sight of me.

“Mass’ George,” he said, and he tried to raise one of his hands.

“Oh, Hannibal!” I cried. “I did not know you were so ill. Pomp, why didn’t you tell me?”

The boy raised his face all wet with tears, and his eyes swollen. “How Pomp know?” he cried. “Fader nebber tell um.”

“Don’t talk, Hannibal, my man,” said my father, gently. “We none of us knew, my boy. The poor fellow was wounded, and has been going about all this time with an arrow-head in his side, saying nothing, but patiently bearing it all. My poor brave fellow,” he continued, taking the man’s hand, “you have always been risking your life in our defence.”

“Han belong to Mass’ Capen,” he said, feebly, as he smiled at us. “If arrow not hit um, hit massa.”

“What!” said my father, eagerly, as if he suddenly recollected something; “was it that night when you dragged me back, as the arrows flew so fast?”

Hannibal smiled, and clung to the hand which held his.

“Yes; I remember now feeling you start,” said my father. “Yes—what is it?”

He leaned over the rough bed that had been made for the wounded man, for the black’s lips moved.

“Massa do somefin for Han?” he said.

“My poor fellow, only speak,” said my father, who was much moved, while I felt choking.

“If Han die, massa be kind to Pomp?”

“No,” cried the boy, with a passionate burst of grief, “Pomp die too.”

“And Massa George be good to um.”

“Oh, Han,” I cried, in a broken voice, as I knelt on the opposite side to my father, and held the poor fellow’s other hand.

He looked keenly in both our faces, and though neither of us spoke, he was satisfied, and half closed his eyes.

“Han sleep now,” he said.

Just then the doctor bent in at the opening of the tent, and signed to us to come out, and we obeyed.

“Let him sleep, boy,” he whispered to Pomp. “Don’t speak to him, but if he asks for anything fetch me.”

Pomp nodded; he could not answer, and we accompanied the doctor to his rough tent only a few yards away.

“Well?” he said to me as I caught his hand, and questioned him with my eyes. “Do you mean can I save him? I don’t know; but I do know this—if it had been a white his case would have been hopeless. The poor fellow must have been in agony; but I have extracted the arrow-head, and these blacks have a constitution that is wonderful. He may recover.”

“Please God!” I said to myself, as I walked right away to try and get somewhere quite alone to sit down and think. For I was beginning to waken to the fact of how much I cared for the great kind-hearted, patient fellow, who had all along devoted his life to our service, and in the most utter self-denial offered that life in defence of ours.

Ever since the departure of the Spaniards I had slept soundly, but that night I passed on my knees by poor old Hannibal’s pillow.

It was a strange experience, for the poor fellow was delirious, and talked rapidly in a low tone. His thoughts had evidently gone back to his own land and other scenes, but I could not comprehend a word.

Pomp was there too, silent and watchful, and he whispered to me about how the doctor had cut his father’s side, and it took all my powers of persuasion and insistence, upon its being right, to make the boy believe that it was to do the wounded man good.

“If Mass’ George say um good,” he said at last, “Pomp b’leeve um. Oh, Pomp poor fader. Pomp die too,” he sobbed.

“He shan’t die,” I cried, passionately. “Don’t talk like that.”

There was silence for a time, and then the poor fellow began to mutter again.

“What does he say?” I whispered; but the boy broke down, buried his face in his hands, and sobbed. But after a time, in broken tones, he told me that his father was talking about dying down in the hold of the stifling ship, and about being brought ashore.

“Dat all Pomp hear,” whispered the boy. “Talk ’tuff. Done know what.”

It was a long, long, weary night, but towards morning the poor fellow slept peacefully, and soon after daylight the doctor was there, as indefatigable in his attentions as he had been over my father, for the colour of a man’s skin did not trouble him.

“Less fever,” he said to me. “I’ve got a nurse for him now, so you go and get some sleep.”

I was about to protest, but just then I saw who the nurse was, for Sarah stooped down to enter the shelter, and I knew that poor old Hannibal would be safe with her.

Chapter Fifty Five.

That day the embargo was taken off, and one by one the settlers began to return to their homes, those whose houses were standing sharing them with the unfortunates whose places had been burned, so that at night the camp wore a peculiarly silent and solemn aspect, one which, depressed as I felt by Hannibal’s state, seemed strange indeed.

A certain number of men stayed in the enclosure, and there were ten wounded in our temporary hospital; but the doctor set others of those who had crowded the place free.

One thing struck me directly, and that was the change in Pomp, who could hardly be persuaded to leave his father’s side, but sat holding his hand, or else nestled down beside him, with his black curly head just touching the great black’s arm, and gently raising it whenever I went to the tent.

I can recall it all very vividly as I now write these my recollections of the early incidents in my life, and how in the days which followed I gradually found that Hannibal fully justified the doctor’s words about his fine healthy state; for after the first few days, during which his life seemed to be on the balance, he rapidly began to mend, and his being out of danger was the signal for a change.

My father had been talking about it for quite a month, but our friends at the settlement persuaded him to stay in the quarters that had been rigged up for us, and nothing could have been kinder than the treatment we received.

It was always pointed out by the settlers that at any time the Indians might return, and a fresh expedition be on foot from Florida, though this was looked upon as of little consequence, every one feeling that if the block-house were rebuilt, and the enclosure strengthened, we could laugh any Spanish attack to scorn.

With this in view, and with an eye to the attack of the Indians, very little was done in the way of rebuilding houses and cottages, but the whole strength of the settlement was devoted to the rebuilding of our little fort, and the strengthening of the stockade; and so much energy was thrown into the work by the little white and black population that a stronger building was erected, and left to be finished off afterwards.

I remember well standing with Morgan one day, and seeing the powder-kegs, which had for safety been buried under a heap of sand, disinterred and borne into the new cellar-magazine prepared for them early in the making of the block-house.

Nothing was said for some time, but all at once, as our eyes encountered, Morgan exclaimed—

“There, it’s of no use for you to keep looking at me like that, Master George; I know what you are thinking about.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, I just do; and I teclare to cootness, I feel as if it would have been right. The only thing against it that I can see is, that I was rather in too great a hurry.”

“But it was utter madness,” I said, with a shudder.

“Ah, you say so now, sir, because help came, and we were saved; but how would it have been if the Indians had got the mastery, as they nearly did? There is nothing that they stop at in the way of torture and murder, and it would have been a blessing for an end to have been made of us all at once.”

“Well,” I said, “don’t talk about it. Let’s be thankful we were saved.”

“Oh, I won’t say another word, sir, and I wouldn’t have spoken now, only you’re always looking at me in an aggravating manner.”

“Ah, well, Morgan,” I replied; “the powder’s being put out of sight now, and I will not think about it any more.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, as a man lifted a keg; “and if I had my way in the world, it should never be brought out again.”

“And suppose the Indians came?”

“Didn’t I say if I could have my own way in the world, sir? If I did the Indians wouldn’t come, nor the Spaniards neither—you said it was Spaniards didn’t you? I always thought it was Spaniels.”

“Yes; Spaniards. And suppose they come?”

“Bah! Who cares for them? Why, I’d send them flying with a regiment of men armed with spades, and strict orders given only to use the flat side.”

I burst out laughing, for somehow everything seemed bright and happy once more, and in the midst of my mirth a quick, eager voice exclaimed—

“What Mass’ George laugh upon? Tell Pomp. Pomp want laugh too.”

I told him, and as he could not appreciate the comicality of Morgan’s remark, he looked sulky and full of doubt for a few moments, but showed his white teeth directly after.

It did not seem long after that the four largest boats of the settlement were loaded deep down with timbers and planks, to supplement those which lay just under the trees by the rattlesnake clearing, and now well seasoned and dry. Many of them had been carried here and there during the flood, but being ready cut down when the clearing was made, they were hunted up at the first thought of the return to build up our house, and dragged out of spots where they had been overgrown with the rapidly-sprung-up verdure.

Expeditions had been sent out several times toward the Indians’ country, but as no signs of the savages were seen, our confidence rapidly increased, and some of my happiest hours were passed with Pomp, hunting out these logs and planks, and marking the spots with a blaze from an axe on the nearest tree.

Then a strong party came over from the settlement on the day the boats were despatched, travelled across rapidly, knocked up a shed of the planks and newly-sawn-up boards unloaded at our landing-place from the boats, and I honestly believe the two happiest people there that day among the strange party of blacks, who carried the wood along the forest path, were Pomp and Hannibal, who, though far from strong, insisted upon his being well enough to help.

So many willing bands were there who came over in a couple of boats morning by morning, that with the help of the blacks camped in the rough shed, a fortnight had not passed before the nucleus of our home was up, sufficient for shelter, the finishing and improvements being left to come by degrees.

I believe that the sight of our home slowly rising from the ruins did more to give my father back his strength than anything done by the doctor, but perhaps that is ungrateful. But be that as it may, it was a pleasure to see him.

“Only look at the captain,” Morgan said to me one morning, two days after our friends had gone back. “Don’t he look lovely again, sir?”

“Well, I don’t know about lovely. I thought that about Sarah.”

“Now, don’t you make fun,” said Morgan, giving a heap of wood ashes a tap with his spade, to make it lie close in his rough barrow, whose wheel was a section sawn off the end of a very round-trunked pine, and tired by nailing on the iron hooping from a cask.

“Don’t you send that ash flying and smothering me,” I cried, as Pomp, who was helping load and wheel the heap to the garden, began to sneeze violently.

“Then you shouldn’t make fun of a woman, sir, because she’s plain.”

“I didn’t,” I said, stoutly. “I meant lovely and well. And if you say your wife’s plain again, I’ll go and tell her so. She’s the dearest old motherly body that ever lived.”

Morgan drove his spade down into the earth, took my hand, and shook it solemnly, Pomp, who had ceased sneezing, looking on wonderingly the while.

“Thankye, Master George, thankye, sir; so she is—so she is.”

Pomp came forward and held out his hand.

“Well, what now?” growled Morgan.

“Tought Mass’ Morgan want shake hand,” said the boy.

“Get out with you, sir. Wheel that barrow right on to the bed next to the last load.”

Pomp seized the handles, went off with the barrow, caught the edge against the stump of a tree, one of the many not yet grubbed up, upset the ashes, and bounded off into the forest, to stand watching us from behind a tree, as if in dread of punishment; but seeing me roaring with laughter, he came cautiously back, grinning as if it was after all an excellent joke.

“There, shovel it up again, boy,” said Morgan, good-temperedly; “it was an accident.”

“Iss, Mass’ Morgan, all um axden,” cried the boy, working away.

“One can’t be very cross with him, Master George; he’s such a happy young dog, and somehow, after all the trouble, I feel too happy, and so does Sarah; and to see her smile, sir, at getting a bit of a shelf put up in her new kitchen, and to hear her talk about the things the captain sent for from England—Lor’, sir, it would do you good.”

“Lubbly ’tuff!” cried Pomp, as he scraped up the fallen wood ashes.

“What’s lovely stuff?” I said.

“All dat, Mass’ George. Mass’ Morgan say make um rings grow, and wish dah twenty times as much.”

“Ah, that I do,” cried Morgan. “Wish I had—”

“Mass’ Morgan like Injum come burn down house ’gain make more?”

“No, you stupid little nigger,” cried Morgan; “of course not.”

Flop! Down went the spade, and Pomp began to stalk away sulkily, working his toes about—a way he had of showing his annoyance.

“Hi! Stop!” I cried; “where are you going?”

“Pomp go jump in um ribber, and let de ole ’gator eat um.”

“Nonsense! What for?”

“Mass’ Morgan call um ’tupid lil nigger. Allus call um ’tupid lil nigger, and hurt Pomp all over.”

“No, no; come along. Morgan didn’t mean it.”

“Eh? You no mean it, Mass’ Morgan?” cried the boy, eagerly.

“No, of course not. You’re the cleverest boy I ever knew.”

“Dah, Mass’ George, hear dat. Now see Pomp wheel dat barrow, and neber spill lil bit ob ashums, and nex’ time he go over oder place, he bring um pockets full for Mass’ Morgan garden.”

“He’s a rum un, sir,” said Morgan, “but somehow I like him. Rather like to paint him white, though. Lor’, Master George, what a treat it is to be getting down the weeds again. Look at old Han, how he is giving it to ’em. I’m ’bliged to check him a bit though, sometimes; he aren’t quite strong yet. Here’s the captain.”

“Well, Morgan,” said my father, as he came up, “how soon do you think we might plant a few creepers about the house? The finishing and glazing need not interfere with them.”

“Oh, we can’t put in any more, sir.”

“What? Why not? I particularly want two of those wild vines to be put in.”

“Did put ’em in before you come out this morning, sir, and the ’suckle and passion-flowers too. They’ll be up a-top of the roof before we know where we are.”

My father looked pleased, and turned to examine the young plants that had been set.

“Does me good, Master George, to see the captain coming round as he is. Quite takes to the garden again. But dear, dear! It’s in a melancholy state.”

“Nonsense!” I cried; “why, it’s wonderful how well it looks.”

“Wonderful? Well, sir, I wouldn’t have thought you could talk in that way of such a wilderness. Why, even old Han there, in his broken English savage way, said he was ashamed of it.”

“Oh, well, I’m not,” I said. “It’s glorious to be able to get back once more to the dear old place. I say, though, you don’t want Pomp any longer?”

“Ah, but I do, sir. Why?”

“I want to row up and have a bit of fishing. It does seem so long since I’ve had a turn.”

“Eh? Who said go fis?” cried Pomp, sharply. “Mass’ George go fish? Catch terrapum, and take de gun?”

“Morgan says he can’t spare you.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Pomp; but Morgan smiled one of his curious dry smiles, as he took off his hat and pointed with the corner.

“Just you go to the far end of the shed, Pomp, and you’ll find in the damp place an old pot with a lot of bait in it as I put ready. On’y mind this, it’s not to be all games.”

“What do you mean?” I said, for Pomp had rushed off to get the bait.

“Bring us a bit o’ fish. Be quite a treat.”

Half an hour after Pomp and I were pulling up the river close in beneath the over-spreading boughs, ready to shout for joy as the golden sunbeams came down through the leaves and formed a lace-work of glory on the smooth deep water. Every now and then there was a familiar rustle and a splash, a flapping of wings, and a harsh cry as a heron or stork rose from his fishing-ground; then some great hawk hovered over the stream, or we caught sight of the yellow and orange of the orioles.

Pomp was for rowing on and up to a favourite spot where there was a special haunt of the fish, where the stream curved round and formed a deep pool. But I felt as if I must stop again and again to let the boat drift, and watch humming-birds, or brightly-painted butterflies and beetles, flitting here and there, so that it was quite a couple of hours before we reached the spot, and suddenly turned the curve of the river into the eddy.

As we did so silently I turned to look, and sat there petrified for a few moments, before I softly laid my hand on Pomp’s arm. He turned round sharply and saw what I did—a party of six Indians on the opposite bank.

Before either of us could dip oar again we were seen; there was a deep, low exclamation, and the party turned and plunged into the forest and were gone.

With one sweep of my oar I sent the boat round into the stream, and we rowed back as rapidly as we could, expecting to hear arrows whizzing by us every moment. But we reached the landing-place in safety, secured the boat, and ran to the newly-erected house to give the alarm. I saw my father’s brow contract with agony, but he was prompt in his measures.

“We will face them here,” he said, “if they come.” And, summoning in Morgan and Hannibal, the door and windows were barricaded, the weapons loaded, and we waited for the attack.

But we waited in vain. The severe lesson dealt to the Indians by our people and the Spaniards had had its result, and though I had not understood it then, the savages were more frightened of us than we of them; and the very next day, while we were still expecting attack, Colonel Preston came over from the settlement in company with the doctor, who wished to see his three patients once again, while the former announced a visit from some of the chiefs to make peace with our people, and to ask permission to trade.

That was the last alarm we had from the Indians, who would often come afterwards to barter skins, and some of their basket-work, with venison and fish, for knives and tobacco. And in the course of time my father and I had them for guides in many a pleasant hunting expedition, and for allies against the Spaniards, when they resumed their pretensions to the country, and carried on a feeble, desultory warfare, which kept the settlement always on the alert, but never once disturbed us, for our home lay quite out of their track and beyond them, when they came up the river upon one of their expeditions.

At such times my father always answered the call to arms; and as time went on, in addition to Morgan and the black, he had two great strapping fellows in Pomp and me—both young and loose-jointed, but able hands with a firelock.

Such calls were exciting; but after two or three, so little damage was done, that they ceased to cause us much anxiety; and after a bold attempt or two at retaliation, in which the war was carried right into the Spaniards’ own land, and away up to their Floridan fort, matters gradually settled down.

For our settlement had prospered and increased, the broad savannahs grew year by year into highly-cultivated cotton land; the sugar-cane nourished; coffee was grown; and as the plantations spread, the little settlement gradually developed into a town and fort, to which big ships came with merchandise from the old country, and took back the produce of our fields. Then as the town increased, and the forest disappeared in the course of years, we found ourselves in a position to laugh at the pretensions of the Spaniards.

But over all that there seems to hang a mist, and I recall but little of the troubles of those later days. It is of the early I write—of the times when all was new and fresh; and I have only to close my eyes to see again our old home surrounded by forest, that was always trying to reclaim the portions my father had won; but the skirmishers of Nature gained nothing, and a pleasant truce ensued. For my father was too wealthy to need to turn his land into plantations and trouble himself about the produce; he loved to keep it all as he had made it at first, save that now and again pleasant little additions were made, and the comforts of civilisation were not forgotten.

But as time went on, and I grew up, my pleasant life there had to come to an end, and I was obliged to go out into the world as became a man.

It was my great delight though as the years rolled on to get down south for a month’s stay at the old place, and with Hannibal and Pomp for companions, and an Indian or two for guides, to penetrate the wilds for days and days together, boating, fishing, shooting, and studying the glories of the wondrous water-ways of the forest and swamps.

Such trips seemed always fresh, and when I returned there was the delightful old home in which my father had elected to end his days; and I picture one of those scenes outside the embowered house with its broad veranda, and the pretty cottages a couple of hundred yards away beyond the noble garden, Morgan’s pride. The home was simple still, for my father did not increase his establishment, save that a couple of young black girls elected to come from the settlement to place themselves under old Sarah’s management.

I should not have mentioned this but for one little incident which took place two years after.

I had been in England for a long stay, and at the termination of my visit I had taken passage, landed at the settlement, made a hasty call on two old friends, and then walked across to my father’s, where, after my warm welcome from within doors, including a kiss from our Sarah for the great swarthy man she always would call “My dear boy,” I went out to have my hand crunched by grey-headed old Morgan, and to grasp old Hannibal’s broad palm as well.

“Why, where’s Pomp?” I said.

“Him heah, Mass’ George,” was shouted from the direction of one of the cottages. “I come, sah, but she juss like ’tupid lil nigger. Come ’long, will you; Mass’ George won’t eat you.”

I opened my eyes a little as I recognised in the smart, pleasant-looking black girl by his side, Salome, one of the maids I had seen at the cottage before I sailed for Europe.

“Why, Pomp,” I said, laughing, “what does this mean?”

“Dab juss what I tell her, Mass’ George,” he cried. “I know you be quite please, on’y she all ashame and foolis like.”

“But, Pomp, my good fellow, you don’t mean—”

“Oh yes, I do, Mass’ George; and I know you be dreffle glad—dat my wife.”

Yes; I can picture it all—that old plantation life started by brave-enduring Englishmen, who were ready to face stern dangers, and determined to hold their own—picture it all more vividly than perhaps I have done for you; but as far as in me lay, I have tried to place before you who read the incidents of a boy’s life in those distant days; and if I have been somewhat prosy at times, and made much of trifles, which were serious matters to us, forgive my shortcomings as I lay down my pen.

The End.