Chapter Fifty Four.

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.

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.

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.

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