Chapter Forty Three.Quite dark. My head confused. The alligator’s foot on my chest. No; it was the butt-end of a gun pushing me.“Here! Don’t! What’s the matter?”“I thought I should never get you to wake, sir. Come along. The Indians are here.”I sprang out of the tent, with it gradually dawning upon me that I had been sleeping heavily from early afternoon right into the darkness of night, and dreaming away in a heavily confused fashion of the various objects that had just filled my eyes and ears.“You said the Indians were here?” I said, excitedly.“Yes, my lad. Look!”I gazed in the direction pointed out, and saw there was a bustle going on at the block-house, where by a faint blaze men were throwing buckets of water.“Just caught it in time, sir,” continued Morgan. “They mean mischief now.”“Yes, I know. They fired arrows at it blazing.”“How did you know when you were asleep?”“My father expected they would; I heard him say so.”“Ah, well, they won’t do it again. We’re going to soak blankets, and lay all over the top.”“Morgan, look—look!” I exclaimed, as three fiery long-tailed stars came swiftly sailing through the air from one direction; and as if they had been sent as a signal, three more came from the opposite quarter, and directly after two more threes, and all fell blazing on different parts of the block-house, the Indians evidently aiming for the spot where the first blaze appeared—that which was rapidly being extinguished as I crept out of our tent.These fiery arrows had no doubt been prepared with tufts of cotton saturated with some resinous gum, which, after being lighted, burned furiously in its rapid passage through the air, and seemed to resist the efforts of those who were on the roof trying to extinguish the patches of glowing fire. In fact their efforts soon became useless, for the first twelve arrows were followed by dozens more, and then by hundreds, till at one time quite a fiery shower descended on the doomed place; while, emboldened by their success, amidst a fierce yelling, some of the Indians ran from their cover, their progress being marked by tiny specks of light which seemed to glide like fireflies over the fields. Then they made a sudden dart, blazed out, and stuck in the sides of the fort.This was repeated again and again before sharp orders were rung out, and from that moment whenever one of these sparks was seen gliding along toward the palisades, it was met by shot after shot, sometimes by a regular volley. Twice over as I watched I saw one of these sparks drop to the ground and begin to burn, showing by it the body of an Indian; but though scores of shots were fired, these were the only two which checked the savages, who, encouraged by their success, kept on running in and shooting at the fort.“Hard to hit a man running with a bullet,” said Morgan, in answer to one of my ejaculations of impatience.“But why are you here, Morgan?” I said, suddenly, as I felt that most of the defenders were either at work firing, or busy with buckets and water.“Because I was sent here, sir,” said Morgan, gruffly.And though I questioned him, he said no more, but chuckled a little when I made a guess, and said that my father must have sent him to look after me.The men on the roof of the block-house worked splendidly amidst the fiery shower, though they were checked several times by the horrible missiles taking effect, inflicting wounds and burning the poor fellows’ clothing as well; but they returned to their duty as soon as their comrades were passed down below into the fort, and wherever the flames got hold they were extinguished. But that which the falling arrows sent high in air, to drop almost perpendicularly on the fort, failed to do, though shot with wondrous skill, was accomplished by the arrows sent in the ordinary way point-blank against the walls.I was watching the progress of the attack with Morgan, and we were uttering congratulations about the admirable way in which the men on the roof worked, and how cleverly each fiery messenger was quenched now almost as soon as it fell, when there was a fresh attack.“Yes; we’ve done ’em, clever as they are, this time, sir,” said Morgan. “I tell you what: if I’d had the management of that affair I’d have had young Pomp up there.”“Where is he?” I said, for I had forgotten all about him.“’Long of his father carrying water, sir. But as I was saying, I’d have had young Pomp up there with a small bucket as he could handle easy, half full o’ water, and set him to catch the arrows as they fell. He’s quick as lightning, and I’ll be bound to say he’d have caught the arrows one by one in his bucket.”“Look—look!” I cried excitedly.“Eh? What? Ah!” ejaculated Morgan, as evidently from behind one of the houses, quite invisible in the darkness, we saw quite a little group of specks glide out, and almost simultaneously another group—and there seemed to be about thirty in each—came out from the other side, the two parties joining with almost military precision, and gliding as it were over the fields till quite close in, when there was a perfect blaze of light as a golden cloud of trailing lights was discharged straight at the wooden wall of the fort, and in a few seconds it was wrapped in fire from top to bottom.A tremendous yell followed this successful discharge, but it was drowned by the rapid firing which succeeded, and as I looked on excitedly, longing to go and assist, and wondering why I had received no orders, I had the satisfaction of seeing figures flitting to and fro before the blazing pine-trunks, and hearing the hiss of the water as bucketful after bucketful was discharged.“Why, Morgan!” I exclaimed suddenly; “the women and children?”“Well, sir, they’d be safe enough.”“What, if the fire is not put out?”“Oh, it’ll be put out, my lad. Look, they’re battering it now. It aren’t so fierce, but they don’t happen to be there; the captain spoke to the governor this afternoon.”“To the General?”“Yes, sir. We’re getting to call him the governor now; and the captain told him, I hear, that he was afraid the main attack would be on the block-house, and it was settled to have all the women and children out; and they’re all safe behind barricades in the middle there. Yonder, you see.”“See? No,” I said; “how can I see through this terrible darkness?”“Darkness?” said Morgan, in a peculiar tone. “I was just thinking that it was a bit lighter now, and yet they seem to be getting the fire a bit under.”“Yes,” I said; “and now the clouds of steam are rising; you can see them quite plainly now. Perhaps they are reflecting the light down upon the building. Oh, look!”I could hold back no longer, but started off at a run, closely followed by Morgan, so as to get to the other side and see what was going on there.For I had suddenly grasped the meaning of the light that had puzzled me. It was plain enough now. With their customary cunning, the Indians had fired such a flight of fiery arrows that they had forced our people to combine their forces to put out the blazing side of the block-house, and then combining their own forces, the enemy had sent low down on the opposite side, after creeping close in, a tremendous discharge, which at once took hold, and the flames as I got round were already running up the building, fanned by the wind which seemed to be rising, and there was a fluttering roar which sounded like the triumphant utterances of the flames.“That comes of using pine-logs,” said Morgan, in a low voice, as amidst the shouting of orders, the tramp of men, and the hissing of the fire, volley after volley was fired from the palisades; but naturally these shots sent forth into the darkness were aimless, and in imagination I could see the enemy, after sending in their arrows, crawling away unhurt.The progress of this last fire was rapid. Something was done to check it at first with the buckets, and the brave fellows on the roof made desperate efforts by hanging the saturated blankets over the side, but they were soon driven back by the heat and smoke; all but one, whom I saw—after working desperately, the leader evidently of the shadowy-looking, blackened band—topple forward and fall into the flames at the foot, just as a herculean black approached, bearing two buckets of water.Then there was a rush, a deal of confusion and shouting; and as I neared I saw the black coming through the crowd bearing some one on his shoulder.I needed no telling that the slave, whoever he was, had dashed in and dragged the fallen man away, and, roused to enthusiasm by the daring act, I was approaching the group, when I heard murmurs running from one to the other of the line of men we had approached, men whose duty it had been to pass water from the well to those whose task it was to scatter the fluid on the flames.“What—what did they say, Morgan?” I whispered.“Water’s give out, sir.”“What! Just as it is needed most?”“Ay, my lad, that’s just when it would be sure to go. They’ve been too generous with it t’other side.”“But look!” I said; “the fire’s getting firmer hold. Can nothing be done?”“Not that we can do, sir,” said Morgan, sadly. “It’s got it tight now.”It was too true. Started by the Indians’ fiercely-blazing arrows, the pine-logs were beginning to blaze well now, dispiriting those who had worked so bravely before; and, seeing that their attack hail been successful, the Indians ceased now to send in their fiery flights, for moment by moment the flames increased, completely enveloping one corner of the block-house, and displaying such fierce energy that we knew the place was doomed.And now, not to solve a puzzle that had troubled me, but of course to strike fresh terror into their enemies, the Indians made it plain how they had managed to keep up their supply of fiery shafts. For, all at once, a house standing back in the plantation, on each of the three sides of the fort away from the river front, began to stand out clear in the darkness of the night. One of them was the place from behind which I had seen the two groups of sparks glide out, and in these they had cunningly had parties preparing the fiery arrows ready to start alight for others to discharge.Yell after yell now arose from a distance as the three houses rapidly began to blaze and add to the lurid glare that was illumining the whole interior of the enclosure, while groups of smoke-blackened men were watching the destruction going on.“Better seek cover, my lads,” cried Colonel Preston. “Get your pieces, and be ready. We can do no more there. It must burn.”The men showed their military training by rapidly getting their piled weapons, and taking their positions behind the barricades which surrounded the temporary quarters of the women and children.“I don’t think they’ll attack,” said Colonel Preston to the General, who came up now.“No,” he said, calmly. “The men are standing well to their places round the palisades, but I have no fear of an assault to-night. By the way, how is Bruton?”I heard the words, and my throat seemed to grow dry.“Bruton? I don’t know. Tired out, I suppose.”“What!” said the General; “didn’t you know?”“Nothing; only that we have all been working like slaves to put that fire out.”“Great heavens, Preston, didn’t you hear?”“Hear?” cried the colonel, excitedly; “is he wounded?”“Not wounded, but badly hurt, I fear. Didn’t you see a man fall from the roof right into the flames?”“Yes, but—”“It was Bruton.”“Ah!”I felt as if I should have dropped, but at that moment, as I was trying to get over the horrible feeling of sickness, and to make my way to the place the doctor had been forced to take as his temporary hospital, I felt a thrill of delight run through me, for a voice exclaimed—“Gentlemen, are you all mad?”“Bruton!” exclaimed Preston, hoarsely; “then you are not badly hurt?”“Badly enough,” said my father; “but look—look! Of what are you thinking?”“Thinking?” cried the General. “We can do no more; the place is doomed.”“But are we to be doomed too, man?” cried my father, furiously; and he looked as if he might have had the question he had first asked put to him. For his face was blackened and wild, his long hair burned, and a terrible look of excitement was in his starting eyes.“Doomed?” exclaimed the General and the colonel in a breath, as the men gathered round.“Yes; the women—the children. This enclosure will be swept away. Have you forgotten the powder—the magazine?”
Quite dark. My head confused. The alligator’s foot on my chest. No; it was the butt-end of a gun pushing me.
“Here! Don’t! What’s the matter?”
“I thought I should never get you to wake, sir. Come along. The Indians are here.”
I sprang out of the tent, with it gradually dawning upon me that I had been sleeping heavily from early afternoon right into the darkness of night, and dreaming away in a heavily confused fashion of the various objects that had just filled my eyes and ears.
“You said the Indians were here?” I said, excitedly.
“Yes, my lad. Look!”
I gazed in the direction pointed out, and saw there was a bustle going on at the block-house, where by a faint blaze men were throwing buckets of water.
“Just caught it in time, sir,” continued Morgan. “They mean mischief now.”
“Yes, I know. They fired arrows at it blazing.”
“How did you know when you were asleep?”
“My father expected they would; I heard him say so.”
“Ah, well, they won’t do it again. We’re going to soak blankets, and lay all over the top.”
“Morgan, look—look!” I exclaimed, as three fiery long-tailed stars came swiftly sailing through the air from one direction; and as if they had been sent as a signal, three more came from the opposite quarter, and directly after two more threes, and all fell blazing on different parts of the block-house, the Indians evidently aiming for the spot where the first blaze appeared—that which was rapidly being extinguished as I crept out of our tent.
These fiery arrows had no doubt been prepared with tufts of cotton saturated with some resinous gum, which, after being lighted, burned furiously in its rapid passage through the air, and seemed to resist the efforts of those who were on the roof trying to extinguish the patches of glowing fire. In fact their efforts soon became useless, for the first twelve arrows were followed by dozens more, and then by hundreds, till at one time quite a fiery shower descended on the doomed place; while, emboldened by their success, amidst a fierce yelling, some of the Indians ran from their cover, their progress being marked by tiny specks of light which seemed to glide like fireflies over the fields. Then they made a sudden dart, blazed out, and stuck in the sides of the fort.
This was repeated again and again before sharp orders were rung out, and from that moment whenever one of these sparks was seen gliding along toward the palisades, it was met by shot after shot, sometimes by a regular volley. Twice over as I watched I saw one of these sparks drop to the ground and begin to burn, showing by it the body of an Indian; but though scores of shots were fired, these were the only two which checked the savages, who, encouraged by their success, kept on running in and shooting at the fort.
“Hard to hit a man running with a bullet,” said Morgan, in answer to one of my ejaculations of impatience.
“But why are you here, Morgan?” I said, suddenly, as I felt that most of the defenders were either at work firing, or busy with buckets and water.
“Because I was sent here, sir,” said Morgan, gruffly.
And though I questioned him, he said no more, but chuckled a little when I made a guess, and said that my father must have sent him to look after me.
The men on the roof of the block-house worked splendidly amidst the fiery shower, though they were checked several times by the horrible missiles taking effect, inflicting wounds and burning the poor fellows’ clothing as well; but they returned to their duty as soon as their comrades were passed down below into the fort, and wherever the flames got hold they were extinguished. But that which the falling arrows sent high in air, to drop almost perpendicularly on the fort, failed to do, though shot with wondrous skill, was accomplished by the arrows sent in the ordinary way point-blank against the walls.
I was watching the progress of the attack with Morgan, and we were uttering congratulations about the admirable way in which the men on the roof worked, and how cleverly each fiery messenger was quenched now almost as soon as it fell, when there was a fresh attack.
“Yes; we’ve done ’em, clever as they are, this time, sir,” said Morgan. “I tell you what: if I’d had the management of that affair I’d have had young Pomp up there.”
“Where is he?” I said, for I had forgotten all about him.
“’Long of his father carrying water, sir. But as I was saying, I’d have had young Pomp up there with a small bucket as he could handle easy, half full o’ water, and set him to catch the arrows as they fell. He’s quick as lightning, and I’ll be bound to say he’d have caught the arrows one by one in his bucket.”
“Look—look!” I cried excitedly.
“Eh? What? Ah!” ejaculated Morgan, as evidently from behind one of the houses, quite invisible in the darkness, we saw quite a little group of specks glide out, and almost simultaneously another group—and there seemed to be about thirty in each—came out from the other side, the two parties joining with almost military precision, and gliding as it were over the fields till quite close in, when there was a perfect blaze of light as a golden cloud of trailing lights was discharged straight at the wooden wall of the fort, and in a few seconds it was wrapped in fire from top to bottom.
A tremendous yell followed this successful discharge, but it was drowned by the rapid firing which succeeded, and as I looked on excitedly, longing to go and assist, and wondering why I had received no orders, I had the satisfaction of seeing figures flitting to and fro before the blazing pine-trunks, and hearing the hiss of the water as bucketful after bucketful was discharged.
“Why, Morgan!” I exclaimed suddenly; “the women and children?”
“Well, sir, they’d be safe enough.”
“What, if the fire is not put out?”
“Oh, it’ll be put out, my lad. Look, they’re battering it now. It aren’t so fierce, but they don’t happen to be there; the captain spoke to the governor this afternoon.”
“To the General?”
“Yes, sir. We’re getting to call him the governor now; and the captain told him, I hear, that he was afraid the main attack would be on the block-house, and it was settled to have all the women and children out; and they’re all safe behind barricades in the middle there. Yonder, you see.”
“See? No,” I said; “how can I see through this terrible darkness?”
“Darkness?” said Morgan, in a peculiar tone. “I was just thinking that it was a bit lighter now, and yet they seem to be getting the fire a bit under.”
“Yes,” I said; “and now the clouds of steam are rising; you can see them quite plainly now. Perhaps they are reflecting the light down upon the building. Oh, look!”
I could hold back no longer, but started off at a run, closely followed by Morgan, so as to get to the other side and see what was going on there.
For I had suddenly grasped the meaning of the light that had puzzled me. It was plain enough now. With their customary cunning, the Indians had fired such a flight of fiery arrows that they had forced our people to combine their forces to put out the blazing side of the block-house, and then combining their own forces, the enemy had sent low down on the opposite side, after creeping close in, a tremendous discharge, which at once took hold, and the flames as I got round were already running up the building, fanned by the wind which seemed to be rising, and there was a fluttering roar which sounded like the triumphant utterances of the flames.
“That comes of using pine-logs,” said Morgan, in a low voice, as amidst the shouting of orders, the tramp of men, and the hissing of the fire, volley after volley was fired from the palisades; but naturally these shots sent forth into the darkness were aimless, and in imagination I could see the enemy, after sending in their arrows, crawling away unhurt.
The progress of this last fire was rapid. Something was done to check it at first with the buckets, and the brave fellows on the roof made desperate efforts by hanging the saturated blankets over the side, but they were soon driven back by the heat and smoke; all but one, whom I saw—after working desperately, the leader evidently of the shadowy-looking, blackened band—topple forward and fall into the flames at the foot, just as a herculean black approached, bearing two buckets of water.
Then there was a rush, a deal of confusion and shouting; and as I neared I saw the black coming through the crowd bearing some one on his shoulder.
I needed no telling that the slave, whoever he was, had dashed in and dragged the fallen man away, and, roused to enthusiasm by the daring act, I was approaching the group, when I heard murmurs running from one to the other of the line of men we had approached, men whose duty it had been to pass water from the well to those whose task it was to scatter the fluid on the flames.
“What—what did they say, Morgan?” I whispered.
“Water’s give out, sir.”
“What! Just as it is needed most?”
“Ay, my lad, that’s just when it would be sure to go. They’ve been too generous with it t’other side.”
“But look!” I said; “the fire’s getting firmer hold. Can nothing be done?”
“Not that we can do, sir,” said Morgan, sadly. “It’s got it tight now.”
It was too true. Started by the Indians’ fiercely-blazing arrows, the pine-logs were beginning to blaze well now, dispiriting those who had worked so bravely before; and, seeing that their attack hail been successful, the Indians ceased now to send in their fiery flights, for moment by moment the flames increased, completely enveloping one corner of the block-house, and displaying such fierce energy that we knew the place was doomed.
And now, not to solve a puzzle that had troubled me, but of course to strike fresh terror into their enemies, the Indians made it plain how they had managed to keep up their supply of fiery shafts. For, all at once, a house standing back in the plantation, on each of the three sides of the fort away from the river front, began to stand out clear in the darkness of the night. One of them was the place from behind which I had seen the two groups of sparks glide out, and in these they had cunningly had parties preparing the fiery arrows ready to start alight for others to discharge.
Yell after yell now arose from a distance as the three houses rapidly began to blaze and add to the lurid glare that was illumining the whole interior of the enclosure, while groups of smoke-blackened men were watching the destruction going on.
“Better seek cover, my lads,” cried Colonel Preston. “Get your pieces, and be ready. We can do no more there. It must burn.”
The men showed their military training by rapidly getting their piled weapons, and taking their positions behind the barricades which surrounded the temporary quarters of the women and children.
“I don’t think they’ll attack,” said Colonel Preston to the General, who came up now.
“No,” he said, calmly. “The men are standing well to their places round the palisades, but I have no fear of an assault to-night. By the way, how is Bruton?”
I heard the words, and my throat seemed to grow dry.
“Bruton? I don’t know. Tired out, I suppose.”
“What!” said the General; “didn’t you know?”
“Nothing; only that we have all been working like slaves to put that fire out.”
“Great heavens, Preston, didn’t you hear?”
“Hear?” cried the colonel, excitedly; “is he wounded?”
“Not wounded, but badly hurt, I fear. Didn’t you see a man fall from the roof right into the flames?”
“Yes, but—”
“It was Bruton.”
“Ah!”
I felt as if I should have dropped, but at that moment, as I was trying to get over the horrible feeling of sickness, and to make my way to the place the doctor had been forced to take as his temporary hospital, I felt a thrill of delight run through me, for a voice exclaimed—
“Gentlemen, are you all mad?”
“Bruton!” exclaimed Preston, hoarsely; “then you are not badly hurt?”
“Badly enough,” said my father; “but look—look! Of what are you thinking?”
“Thinking?” cried the General. “We can do no more; the place is doomed.”
“But are we to be doomed too, man?” cried my father, furiously; and he looked as if he might have had the question he had first asked put to him. For his face was blackened and wild, his long hair burned, and a terrible look of excitement was in his starting eyes.
“Doomed?” exclaimed the General and the colonel in a breath, as the men gathered round.
“Yes; the women—the children. This enclosure will be swept away. Have you forgotten the powder—the magazine?”
Chapter Forty Four.There was an involuntary movement amongst those within hearing at this, and for the moment it was as if every one present was about to seek safety in flight, as my father stood pointing wildly toward the blazing fort. Then, recovering himself from the shock of my father’s words, the General exclaimed, hoarsely—“I had forgotten that.” And then in his customary firm way, he said, “The reserve supply of ammunition is in the little magazine, men. Twelve volunteers to bring it out.”A deathly silence for a few minutes, only broken by the terrible crackle and roar of the flames; and then my father stepped toward the blazing building.“I am too much hurt to carry,” he said, “but I will lead. Now, my lads, for Old England!”“Hurray!” shouted Morgan, darting to his side, “and bonny Cymrw.”A great black figure with torn and scorched cotton garments was the next to step forward, and, carried away by a strange feeling of enthusiasm which mastered the horrible dread I felt, I ran to my father’s side.“No, no, no, my boy,” he groaned. “Go back!”“With you, father,” I said; and he uttered a sob as he grasped my hand.“God be with us!” I heard him whisper; and he said no more, but halting and resting wearily on me, as a dozen men now came forward with a cheer, he led the way to the door of the blazing pile.Twice over I felt my legs tremble beneath me, but the tremor passed away in the excitement, and with the flames seeming to roar more fiercely, as if resenting an attempt to save that which was their prey, we passed from the eye-aching blaze of light through the strong doors into the black darkness of the fort, all reeking with smoke and steam.
There was an involuntary movement amongst those within hearing at this, and for the moment it was as if every one present was about to seek safety in flight, as my father stood pointing wildly toward the blazing fort. Then, recovering himself from the shock of my father’s words, the General exclaimed, hoarsely—
“I had forgotten that.” And then in his customary firm way, he said, “The reserve supply of ammunition is in the little magazine, men. Twelve volunteers to bring it out.”
A deathly silence for a few minutes, only broken by the terrible crackle and roar of the flames; and then my father stepped toward the blazing building.
“I am too much hurt to carry,” he said, “but I will lead. Now, my lads, for Old England!”
“Hurray!” shouted Morgan, darting to his side, “and bonny Cymrw.”
A great black figure with torn and scorched cotton garments was the next to step forward, and, carried away by a strange feeling of enthusiasm which mastered the horrible dread I felt, I ran to my father’s side.
“No, no, no, my boy,” he groaned. “Go back!”
“With you, father,” I said; and he uttered a sob as he grasped my hand.
“God be with us!” I heard him whisper; and he said no more, but halting and resting wearily on me, as a dozen men now came forward with a cheer, he led the way to the door of the blazing pile.
Twice over I felt my legs tremble beneath me, but the tremor passed away in the excitement, and with the flames seeming to roar more fiercely, as if resenting an attempt to save that which was their prey, we passed from the eye-aching blaze of light through the strong doors into the black darkness of the fort, all reeking with smoke and steam.
Chapter Forty Five.I often sit back in my chair pondering about those old days, and thinking about them in a very different way to that in which I looked upon them then. For to be quite frank, though something in me kept tugging me on, and seeming to say to me, “Be a man; go bravely on and support your poor lame, suffering father, who is going to risk his life to save the poor people around!” there was something else which would keep suggesting that I might be killed, and that I should see the bright sunshine no more; that I was bidding farewell to everything; and I know I felt as if I would have given the world to have heard him say, “Go back. It is too dangerous for you.”But he only hesitated a few moments, and then, as I have said, he grasped my shoulder as if glad of my help, and went on into the great dark place.On thinking over these things, I often tell myself that though my father may not have been a hero—and I don’t believe much in heroes myself—I know they do brave deeds sometimes; but I have often found that they have what an American friend from the North—Pennsylvania way—called a great deal of human nature in them, and that sometimes when you come to know them, you find that they are very much like looking-glasses. I do not mean because they pander to your vanity and show you your own face, but because they are all bright and shining and surrounded by gold that is not solid, and have a side, generally kept close to the wall, which is all rough wood, paint, and glue.Let me see! Where have I got to? Ah, I remember. I said my father may not have been a hero, but he had a great deal of that sterling stuff in him which you find in really sterling people; and in addition, he performed his brave acts in a quiet, unassuming way, so that often enough they passed unnoticed; and when he had finished, he sank back into his perfectly simple life, and never marched about in metaphorical uniform with a drawn sword, and men before him beating drums, and banging cymbals, and blowing trumpets for the people to see, and hear, and say, “Oh, what a brave man!”Some may think it was not the act of a brave, self-denying man to let his young son go with him into that awful place to try and remove the powder. I am not going to set up as his judge. He thought as a true man thinks, as a soldier, one of the thousands of true men we have had, who, without a word, have set their teeth fast, and marched for their country’s sake straight away to where cannons were belching forth their terrible contents, and it has seemed as if the next step they took must be the last.My father no doubt thought that as he was so weak he must have help, and that it would be better for his son to die helping him to save the lives of hundreds, than to hang back at such a time as that, when we marched straight into the steam and smoke of the burning block-house.I can remember now that, although overhead the logs were burning and splitting and hissing in the fierce fire, and I knew that almost at any moment the burning timbers might come crashing down upon us, or the fire reach the little magazine of spare powder, the feeling of cowardice gave place to a strange sensation of exaltation, and I stood by my father, supporting him as he gave his orders firmly, the men responding with a cheer, and groping their way boldly to the corner of the building beyond the roughly-made rooms, where the good-sized place, half cellar, half closet, had been formed.It was quite dark, and the men had to feel their way, while the air we breathed was suffocating, but we had to bear it.My father, Morgan, and I were the first to reach the place, and there and then seized the cumbrous door which was made on a slope, like a shutter, to slide sidewise, while just above was a small opening leading into a rough room beyond, between the magazine and the outer wall, in which was a sort of port-hole well closed and barred.“Shall I get through and open that port, sir?” cried Morgan, his voice sounding muffled and hoarse. “It will give us fresh air and light.”“Yes, and perhaps flames and sparks,” cried my father. “No, no, down with you and hand out the powder-kegs. Form a line, men, and pass them along to the door.”“Hurrah!” came in muffled tones; and directly after, from somewhere below, Morgan’s voice cried—“Ready there! One!”“Ready!—right!” cried a man by me, and a quick rustling sound told that the first powder-keg was being passed along.“Ready!—two!” cried Morgan; and I pictured in my own mind Morgan down in the half cellar, handing out keg after keg, the men working eagerly in the dark, as they passed the kegs along, and a cheer from the outside reaching our ears, as we knew that the dangerous little barrels were being seized and borne to some place of safety. Not that in my own mind I could realise any place of safety in an open enclosure where sparks might be falling from the burning building, and where, if the Indians could only guess what was going on, flaming arrows would soon come raining down.It was a race with death within there, as I well knew; and as I stood fast with my father’s hand clutching my shoulder, and counted the kegs that were handed out, my position, seemed to me the most painful of all. If I had been hard at work I should not have felt it so much, but I was forced to be inert, and the sounds I heard as I stood breathing that suffocating air half maddened me.Hissing that grew fiercer and fiercer as the fire licked up the moisture, sharp cracking explosions as the logs split, and must, I knew, be sending off bursts of flame and spark, and above all a deep fluttering roar that grew louder and louder till all at once there was a crash, a low crackling, and then, not two yards away from where I stood, a broad opening all glowing fire.The men nearest to us uttered a yell, and there was the rush of feet, but my father’s voice rose clear above all.“Halt!” he cried; and discipline prevailed, as through the smoke I could now see all that was going on; Morgan still in the magazine, and Hannibal standing ready to take the kegs he passed out, while the men, instead of being in line, had crowded together by the entrance.“How many more, Morgan?” said my father, calmly, as he backed a little toward the fiery opening at the end where I could feel the fierce glow on my back.“Three more, sir. Shall we leave them and go?”“Leave them? Come, my men, you can see what you are doing now. Morgan—Hannibal—the next keg.”It looked to be madness to bring out that keg into a low, earthen-floored room, one end of which was blazing furiously, with great tongues of fire darting toward us. But it was done; for Morgan stooped down and reappeared directly with a keg, which he handed to the great black, who took it quietly as if there was no danger, but only to have it snatched excitedly away by the next man, who passed it along the line.“Steady, men!” said my father. “Don’t make danger by being excited and dropping one of those barrels.”Those moments seemed to me to be hours. The heat was terrific, and the back of my neck was scorching as the second and third kegs were handed out.“Last,” shouted Morgan, with a wild cry of thankfulness.“Look again,” said my father. “Stand fast all.”Morgan dropped down again, and as he did so there was another crash behind us, a shower of sparks were literally shot into the place, and one burning ember fell right into the opening of the magazine, to be followed as Morgan leaped out by a quick sputtering noise, and then the smell of powder. There was a rush for the door, and we four were alone.“Only a little loose powder lying about,” said Morgan, huskily. “That was the last. Look out, Master George—quick!”The task was done, the place saved from hideous ruin by an explosion; and as the last man rushed from the place, the energy my father had brought to bear was ended, and I had just time, in response to Morgan’s warning, to save him from falling as he lurched forward.But there was other help at hand, and we three bore him out fainting just as a burst of flame, sparks, and burning embers filled the place where we had stood a minute before, and we emerged weak and staggering, bearing my father’s insensible form out into the bright light shed by the burning building.“Bravely done! Bravely done!” we heard on all sides; and then there was a burst of cheering.But I hardly seemed to hear it, as I was relieved by willing hands from my share in the burden, and I only recollected then finding myself kneeling beside a blanket under the rough canvas of our extemporised tent, waiting until the surgeon had ended, when I panted forth—“Is—is he very bad?”“Very, my lad,” said the surgeon as he rose, “but not bad enough for you to look like that. Come, cheer up; I won’t let him die. We can’t spare a man like your father.”
I often sit back in my chair pondering about those old days, and thinking about them in a very different way to that in which I looked upon them then. For to be quite frank, though something in me kept tugging me on, and seeming to say to me, “Be a man; go bravely on and support your poor lame, suffering father, who is going to risk his life to save the poor people around!” there was something else which would keep suggesting that I might be killed, and that I should see the bright sunshine no more; that I was bidding farewell to everything; and I know I felt as if I would have given the world to have heard him say, “Go back. It is too dangerous for you.”
But he only hesitated a few moments, and then, as I have said, he grasped my shoulder as if glad of my help, and went on into the great dark place.
On thinking over these things, I often tell myself that though my father may not have been a hero—and I don’t believe much in heroes myself—I know they do brave deeds sometimes; but I have often found that they have what an American friend from the North—Pennsylvania way—called a great deal of human nature in them, and that sometimes when you come to know them, you find that they are very much like looking-glasses. I do not mean because they pander to your vanity and show you your own face, but because they are all bright and shining and surrounded by gold that is not solid, and have a side, generally kept close to the wall, which is all rough wood, paint, and glue.
Let me see! Where have I got to? Ah, I remember. I said my father may not have been a hero, but he had a great deal of that sterling stuff in him which you find in really sterling people; and in addition, he performed his brave acts in a quiet, unassuming way, so that often enough they passed unnoticed; and when he had finished, he sank back into his perfectly simple life, and never marched about in metaphorical uniform with a drawn sword, and men before him beating drums, and banging cymbals, and blowing trumpets for the people to see, and hear, and say, “Oh, what a brave man!”
Some may think it was not the act of a brave, self-denying man to let his young son go with him into that awful place to try and remove the powder. I am not going to set up as his judge. He thought as a true man thinks, as a soldier, one of the thousands of true men we have had, who, without a word, have set their teeth fast, and marched for their country’s sake straight away to where cannons were belching forth their terrible contents, and it has seemed as if the next step they took must be the last.
My father no doubt thought that as he was so weak he must have help, and that it would be better for his son to die helping him to save the lives of hundreds, than to hang back at such a time as that, when we marched straight into the steam and smoke of the burning block-house.
I can remember now that, although overhead the logs were burning and splitting and hissing in the fierce fire, and I knew that almost at any moment the burning timbers might come crashing down upon us, or the fire reach the little magazine of spare powder, the feeling of cowardice gave place to a strange sensation of exaltation, and I stood by my father, supporting him as he gave his orders firmly, the men responding with a cheer, and groping their way boldly to the corner of the building beyond the roughly-made rooms, where the good-sized place, half cellar, half closet, had been formed.
It was quite dark, and the men had to feel their way, while the air we breathed was suffocating, but we had to bear it.
My father, Morgan, and I were the first to reach the place, and there and then seized the cumbrous door which was made on a slope, like a shutter, to slide sidewise, while just above was a small opening leading into a rough room beyond, between the magazine and the outer wall, in which was a sort of port-hole well closed and barred.
“Shall I get through and open that port, sir?” cried Morgan, his voice sounding muffled and hoarse. “It will give us fresh air and light.”
“Yes, and perhaps flames and sparks,” cried my father. “No, no, down with you and hand out the powder-kegs. Form a line, men, and pass them along to the door.”
“Hurrah!” came in muffled tones; and directly after, from somewhere below, Morgan’s voice cried—
“Ready there! One!”
“Ready!—right!” cried a man by me, and a quick rustling sound told that the first powder-keg was being passed along.
“Ready!—two!” cried Morgan; and I pictured in my own mind Morgan down in the half cellar, handing out keg after keg, the men working eagerly in the dark, as they passed the kegs along, and a cheer from the outside reaching our ears, as we knew that the dangerous little barrels were being seized and borne to some place of safety. Not that in my own mind I could realise any place of safety in an open enclosure where sparks might be falling from the burning building, and where, if the Indians could only guess what was going on, flaming arrows would soon come raining down.
It was a race with death within there, as I well knew; and as I stood fast with my father’s hand clutching my shoulder, and counted the kegs that were handed out, my position, seemed to me the most painful of all. If I had been hard at work I should not have felt it so much, but I was forced to be inert, and the sounds I heard as I stood breathing that suffocating air half maddened me.
Hissing that grew fiercer and fiercer as the fire licked up the moisture, sharp cracking explosions as the logs split, and must, I knew, be sending off bursts of flame and spark, and above all a deep fluttering roar that grew louder and louder till all at once there was a crash, a low crackling, and then, not two yards away from where I stood, a broad opening all glowing fire.
The men nearest to us uttered a yell, and there was the rush of feet, but my father’s voice rose clear above all.
“Halt!” he cried; and discipline prevailed, as through the smoke I could now see all that was going on; Morgan still in the magazine, and Hannibal standing ready to take the kegs he passed out, while the men, instead of being in line, had crowded together by the entrance.
“How many more, Morgan?” said my father, calmly, as he backed a little toward the fiery opening at the end where I could feel the fierce glow on my back.
“Three more, sir. Shall we leave them and go?”
“Leave them? Come, my men, you can see what you are doing now. Morgan—Hannibal—the next keg.”
It looked to be madness to bring out that keg into a low, earthen-floored room, one end of which was blazing furiously, with great tongues of fire darting toward us. But it was done; for Morgan stooped down and reappeared directly with a keg, which he handed to the great black, who took it quietly as if there was no danger, but only to have it snatched excitedly away by the next man, who passed it along the line.
“Steady, men!” said my father. “Don’t make danger by being excited and dropping one of those barrels.”
Those moments seemed to me to be hours. The heat was terrific, and the back of my neck was scorching as the second and third kegs were handed out.
“Last,” shouted Morgan, with a wild cry of thankfulness.
“Look again,” said my father. “Stand fast all.”
Morgan dropped down again, and as he did so there was another crash behind us, a shower of sparks were literally shot into the place, and one burning ember fell right into the opening of the magazine, to be followed as Morgan leaped out by a quick sputtering noise, and then the smell of powder. There was a rush for the door, and we four were alone.
“Only a little loose powder lying about,” said Morgan, huskily. “That was the last. Look out, Master George—quick!”
The task was done, the place saved from hideous ruin by an explosion; and as the last man rushed from the place, the energy my father had brought to bear was ended, and I had just time, in response to Morgan’s warning, to save him from falling as he lurched forward.
But there was other help at hand, and we three bore him out fainting just as a burst of flame, sparks, and burning embers filled the place where we had stood a minute before, and we emerged weak and staggering, bearing my father’s insensible form out into the bright light shed by the burning building.
“Bravely done! Bravely done!” we heard on all sides; and then there was a burst of cheering.
But I hardly seemed to hear it, as I was relieved by willing hands from my share in the burden, and I only recollected then finding myself kneeling beside a blanket under the rough canvas of our extemporised tent, waiting until the surgeon had ended, when I panted forth—
“Is—is he very bad?”
“Very, my lad,” said the surgeon as he rose, “but not bad enough for you to look like that. Come, cheer up; I won’t let him die. We can’t spare a man like your father.”
Chapter Forty Six.Everybody considered it was all over then, as we stood regularly at bay behind our palisades and barricades of boxes, cases, and furniture with which the women and children were surrounded, watching the flames of the great block-house rising higher and higher in the still night air, in a way that to me was awful.So there we were waiting for the final onslaught, gloomy, weary, and dispirited. The men were chilled, many of them, with the water, and worn out by their efforts, and as I went round from group to group silently, in search of some one I knew to talk to, I could not help seeing that they were beaten, and thinking that the Indians would have an easy task now when they came.“It’s very horrible,” I thought; and I went over the past, and dwelt upon the numbers that we must have killed. I knew that there would be no mercy; that the men would all be butchered, and the women and children, if they escaped that fate, would be carried off into a horrible captivity.Pomp seemed to have disappeared, for though I came upon group after group of black faces whose owners sat about in a stolid indifferent way, as if the affair did not concern them, and they were resting until called upon to work once more, I did not see our boy.I could not see Colonel Preston, and Morgan had gone away from my side on being summoned by one of the men.There were plenty of our people about, but all the same I seemed to be alone, and I was wandering along in the fitful glare of the fire, when I saw at last a group of men standing together by a pile of something wet and glistening, over which one man was scattering with his hand some water from a bucket as if to keep the surface wet, and in this man I recognised Morgan.“What’s he doing?” I asked myself; and it was some few moments before I could grasp the truth, and then in a shrinking manner, with sensations similar to those I had felt when I was going into the burning block-house, I slowly advanced toward the group.Sparks were being hurled high in the air at every fall of beam or timber, and they rushed round and round, as if agitated by a whirlwind, to be carried far away, but every now and then flashes of fire that escaped the whirl floated softly here and there, making it seem horrible to me as I watched them drop slowly to earth, some to be extinguished and disappear just as a great pat of snow will melt away when it touches the moist ground, while others remained alight and burned for a few moments.“If one did,” I said to myself as I approached timidly, for I knew now that I was opposite to the little heap of powder-kegs that had been brought out of the magazine with so much risk, and were lying covered over with canvas and a tarpaulin, whose surface was being kept wet.“The powder, Morgan?” I said, as I approached, just as the men were talking earnestly together, Morgan standing by and holding his empty bucket.“Yes, sir; the powder,” he replied, turning and giving me a nod before looking back at his companions and saying sadly—“Then you do mean it, my lads?”“I do,” said one of the men, sternly; “and I think it’s what we ought to do.”“Without waiting for orders from our officers?”“I shouldn’t say do it while they can lead us and help us to fight and drive these demons back. I say when all’s over and we’ve got to the last. I mean when the Indians have got in and are butchering us.”“Yes, yes,” came in a murmur from one man, “It will be quite right then, and they’ll feel it too.”“Yes,” said the first, “it wants doing just as they’ve crowded into the place, and the lad among us left living must swear he’ll do it.”“Don’t need any swearing,” said Morgan, in a low deep voice. “I’m afraid that you’re right, my lads, and for one I’ll promise to do it when it’s all over.”“Do what?” I said in a whisper, though I felt that I did not need telling.Morgan looked round at the others.“There’s no harm in telling him,” he said.“Not a bit. Tell him.”Morgan coughed as if to clear his throat, and he raised the bucket and threw a few drops from the bottom on the glistening heap.“You see, Master George,” he said, “we’re afraid that we’re getting close to the time when the Indians will quite get the better of us, and we shall be beaten.”“Englishmen are never beaten,” I said, looking round proudly.“Ah, that’s only a bit of brag, Master George,” said Morgan, quietly. “That’s what we all say, and perhaps we never are in spirit, but our bodies aren’t much stronger than other men’s bodies, and there are times when the enemy gets too strong for us. I’ve been beaten many a time, and I’ve beat many a time. This is one of the times when I’ve been beat.”“But we are not beaten yet,” I said, excitedly. “When the Indians come and attack we shall drive them off.”“If we can, my lad—if we can. Eh, my lads?”“Yes, yes,” came in a loud murmur.“Don’t you be afraid about that. As long as our officers can lead us we shall fight, and some say we shall do our best when we haven’t one left to lead us. In plain honest English, Master George, we shall fire as long as we can load; when we can’t use our guns we shall use our fists, and when we can’t raise an arm we shall kick.”“Yes, I know, I know,” I said, excitedly. “But what you are thinking of it so dreadful.”“So’s lying down beat out to let savages knock out your brains, my lad; and so we’ve all made up our minds that when the worst comes to the very worst, it will be an act of kindness to everybody and a big lesson to the Indians to let settlers alone, and perhaps be the means of saving the lives of hundreds of poor creatures in times to come, if one of us—”“Yes, I know,” I half groaned—“sets fire to this powder and blows everything away.”“That’s it, Master George, and the right thing too.”“Oh!” I cried, with a shudder.“Don’t take on, my lad,” said Morgan, gently. “It’s fate, that’s what it is. We shan’t do it till the place is full of Indians, and they’ve begun their terrible work; then one touch with a spark and it’ll be all over.”“Morgan!” I cried.“Ay, my lad, it seems very horrid, and I don’t want to have it to do; but when we’re all half dead, and can’t lift a hand, it will be a mercy to every one; and I know if your poor father was here and listening to what we say, he’d think so too.”“But—but—” I faltered, despairingly, “I don’t want to die.”“More don’t I, my lad,” he said, taking my hand; and I saw by the light of the burning building that the tears stood in his eyes. “I’d give anything to live, and go back yonder and work like a man to put everything straight again, and see my trees and plants growing more beautiful every day in God’s bright sunshine; but if it aren’t to be, Master George, why, it aren’t. I haven’t been a man who hasn’t done his duty.”“No, no,” I said; “they’ve all fought bravely.”“Ay, that they have, and are going to fight bravely to the very end. Why, look at those poor niggers too. See how they’ve fought, brave lads! No one would have thought they were slaves to see the way they’ve gone at it, just as if this was their own place, and they’d never been sold and bought. There, my lad, once more, don’t you go thinking we’re all going to turn cowards, because we’re not. Our officers have done their duty by us, and we’ve tried to do our duty by them; and if it comes to the worst, I say what’s been proposed is only doing our duty still; what say you?”“Ay, ay,” came in a chorus; and I could not say a word. I felt choked as I looked round at the enclosure, all lit up by the glow, with black shadows cast here and there by the various piles of cases and the tents, and then I seemed to see beyond the great fence, and the black and pale-faced men, right away through the forest to our own bright home, close to the pleasant river, where all was sunshine, and glorious with bird and flower and tree. It was impossible to believe that I was never to see it all again, never to wander through the forest, never to ride on the stream and pause to watch the brightly-plumaged birds and the glittering insects or the gorgeously-scaled fish gliding through the clear waters, down where I had so often seen them amongst the roots of the overhanging trees.It all came back like some bright dream—the creeper-covered house, my father seated at his window, about which the flowers bloomed, as he sat and studied some book, Morgan and Hannibal busy in their long fight with the weeds, and a magpie-like patch under some tree, where black Pomp lay asleep in his white shirt and short drawers, while from the end of the house came the busy sounds made by poor Sarah.I think it was at that moment most of all that I quite thoroughly realised what a delightful home we had built up in the wilderness. And now it was a heap of ashes; my father, Hannibal, and poor Sarah seriously hurt; Pomp gone too for aught I could tell; and Morgan here talking so calmly and coolly of setting alight to the pile of destruction lying there by our side.Was it all true? I asked myself, and felt ready to rub my eyes and try to rouse myself from the horrible nightmare dream from which I was suffering.I was awakened sufficiently the next moment by Morgan’s words, as he said in a quiet, decided manner—“Yes, Master George, we’ve done our duty as far as we can, and there’s only one more thing left to do—when the time comes, sir; when the time comes.”Just then, to my utter astonishment, there was a movement among the men, and one of them came up close to me.“You’ll shake hands, sir,” he said. “I’ve taken a deal of notice of you, different times.”I held out my hand mechanically, felt it warmly wrung, and then had it seized in turn by the others, while I was struggling to speak words that would not come. At last though they burst forth.“But the women and children!” I cried, as my heart seemed to stand still.“Better than being butchered by those savages,” said Morgan, gloomily. “I’d sooner see my poor wife die than fall into their hands.”His words silenced me, for I knew that they could expect no mercy. Then feeling utterly exhausted, I was munching a piece of bread, where I sat on a rough case, and sipping a little water from time to time, when just as the fire was at its height, with great waves of flame floating gently away from the great pine-wood building and illumining the wide clearing all round, I heard a familiar voice behind me say in his droll, dry fashion—“What pity!”“Ah, Pomp!” I cried, turning to him; “you there?”“Iss, Mass’ George. When we go home again? Pomp done like dis place ’tall.”“No, nor nobody else, boy,” said Morgan, sadly. “Hark! Hear anything?”He seized his gun as he spoke, but it was only a hissing scream made by one of the water-soaked timbers as the steam was forced out.“Nobody come. Injum all gone away.”“How do you know?” I cried, eagerly.“Pomp done know. Tink um all gone. No shoot arrow now.”“Wrong, boy,” said Morgan. “They are hatching some fresh scheme, and they’ll be down upon us directly.”There was a pause.“And then it will be all over,” muttered Morgan, as he turned towards Pomp, looked at him firmly, and then held out his hand.“Come here, boy,” he said.“Wha’ for? Pomp no do nuffum. Can’t do nuffum here.”“Come and shake hands.”Pomp laughed and held out his hand, which Morgan took.“If I don’t see you again, boy, good-bye, and I’m sorry I’ve been so rough to you sometimes.”“Mass’ Morgan go walking out in wood? Take Pomp.”Morgan heaved a deep sigh. “Ah, you don’t bear any malice,” he said.Pomp shook his head, and looked at me, for it was Greek to him.“Not so bad as that,” I said. “Come, cheer up.”“Can’t any more, my lad,” said Morgan. “No one can’t say, look you, that I haven’t cheered up through thick and thin. But, look here, Master George, speaking fair now, what is the good of Injuns?”“Injum no good,” said Pomp, sharply.“Right, boy; no good at all. Phew!” he whistled; “how them logs do burn!”“Ah! No duck, no fis’, no turkey roace on ’tick!” said Pomp, regretfully. “Shoot, shoot, shoot, lot time, an’ no shoot nuffum to eat. Pomp dreffle hungly.”“There’s plenty of bread,” I said, smiling at the boy’s utter unconcern about our position of peril.“Yah, ’tuff! Nas’ ’tuff. Pomp too dreffle hungly eat any more bread. Why no go now and kill all Injum? Pomp fine de way.”The boy looked quite vexed at his proposition being declined, and squatted down to gaze at the fire, till after a time he lay down to look at it, and at last Morgan said to me—“Don’t trouble him much, lad. Fast asleep.”It was quite true. There lay Pomp enjoying a good rest, while we watched the progress of the flames, which rose and fell and gleamed from the pieces of the watchful men dotted round the great place, then left them in shadow, while a terrible silence had now fallen upon the camp. The fierce fire crackled and roared, and the flames fluttered as a great storm of sparks kept floating far away, but no one spoke, and it was only when an officer went round to the various posts that there seemed to be the slightest motion in the camp.“Takes a cleverer man than me to understand Injun,” said Morgan at last, just before daybreak, as I returned from the tent where my father was sleeping peacefully, and Hannibal outside wrapped in a blanket quite calmly taking his rest.“What do you mean?” I said, wearily.“I mean I can’t make out the ways of Injuns. Here have we been watching all night, expecting to have a big fight by way of finish up, and Pomp’s right after all. They seem to have gone.”“If I could only think so!” I replied, with a sigh.“Well, lad, I think they are,” said Morgan. “They might have had it all their own way, and beaten us pretty easy a time back, but they’ve let their chance go by; and I suppose they’re satisfied with the mischief they’ve done for one night, and have gone back to their camp to sing and dance and brag to one another about what brave fellows they all are.”It soon proved to be as Morgan had said, for the day broke, and the sun rose soon after, to shine down warm and bright upon as dejected, weary-looking, and besmirched a body of men as could have been seen. For they were all blackened with powder and smoke; some were scorched, and in every face I could read the same misery, dejection, and despair. But the General, Colonel Preston, and several of the leading gentlemen soon sent a different spirit through the camp. A few orders were given, the sentries changed, three parts being withdrawn; the women, who looked one half-hour haggard, pale, and scared, wore quite a changed aspect, as they hurriedly prepared food for their defenders; and in a very short time cries and shouts from the children helped to make some of us think that matters were not quite so desperate after all.
Everybody considered it was all over then, as we stood regularly at bay behind our palisades and barricades of boxes, cases, and furniture with which the women and children were surrounded, watching the flames of the great block-house rising higher and higher in the still night air, in a way that to me was awful.
So there we were waiting for the final onslaught, gloomy, weary, and dispirited. The men were chilled, many of them, with the water, and worn out by their efforts, and as I went round from group to group silently, in search of some one I knew to talk to, I could not help seeing that they were beaten, and thinking that the Indians would have an easy task now when they came.
“It’s very horrible,” I thought; and I went over the past, and dwelt upon the numbers that we must have killed. I knew that there would be no mercy; that the men would all be butchered, and the women and children, if they escaped that fate, would be carried off into a horrible captivity.
Pomp seemed to have disappeared, for though I came upon group after group of black faces whose owners sat about in a stolid indifferent way, as if the affair did not concern them, and they were resting until called upon to work once more, I did not see our boy.
I could not see Colonel Preston, and Morgan had gone away from my side on being summoned by one of the men.
There were plenty of our people about, but all the same I seemed to be alone, and I was wandering along in the fitful glare of the fire, when I saw at last a group of men standing together by a pile of something wet and glistening, over which one man was scattering with his hand some water from a bucket as if to keep the surface wet, and in this man I recognised Morgan.
“What’s he doing?” I asked myself; and it was some few moments before I could grasp the truth, and then in a shrinking manner, with sensations similar to those I had felt when I was going into the burning block-house, I slowly advanced toward the group.
Sparks were being hurled high in the air at every fall of beam or timber, and they rushed round and round, as if agitated by a whirlwind, to be carried far away, but every now and then flashes of fire that escaped the whirl floated softly here and there, making it seem horrible to me as I watched them drop slowly to earth, some to be extinguished and disappear just as a great pat of snow will melt away when it touches the moist ground, while others remained alight and burned for a few moments.
“If one did,” I said to myself as I approached timidly, for I knew now that I was opposite to the little heap of powder-kegs that had been brought out of the magazine with so much risk, and were lying covered over with canvas and a tarpaulin, whose surface was being kept wet.
“The powder, Morgan?” I said, as I approached, just as the men were talking earnestly together, Morgan standing by and holding his empty bucket.
“Yes, sir; the powder,” he replied, turning and giving me a nod before looking back at his companions and saying sadly—
“Then you do mean it, my lads?”
“I do,” said one of the men, sternly; “and I think it’s what we ought to do.”
“Without waiting for orders from our officers?”
“I shouldn’t say do it while they can lead us and help us to fight and drive these demons back. I say when all’s over and we’ve got to the last. I mean when the Indians have got in and are butchering us.”
“Yes, yes,” came in a murmur from one man, “It will be quite right then, and they’ll feel it too.”
“Yes,” said the first, “it wants doing just as they’ve crowded into the place, and the lad among us left living must swear he’ll do it.”
“Don’t need any swearing,” said Morgan, in a low deep voice. “I’m afraid that you’re right, my lads, and for one I’ll promise to do it when it’s all over.”
“Do what?” I said in a whisper, though I felt that I did not need telling.
Morgan looked round at the others.
“There’s no harm in telling him,” he said.
“Not a bit. Tell him.”
Morgan coughed as if to clear his throat, and he raised the bucket and threw a few drops from the bottom on the glistening heap.
“You see, Master George,” he said, “we’re afraid that we’re getting close to the time when the Indians will quite get the better of us, and we shall be beaten.”
“Englishmen are never beaten,” I said, looking round proudly.
“Ah, that’s only a bit of brag, Master George,” said Morgan, quietly. “That’s what we all say, and perhaps we never are in spirit, but our bodies aren’t much stronger than other men’s bodies, and there are times when the enemy gets too strong for us. I’ve been beaten many a time, and I’ve beat many a time. This is one of the times when I’ve been beat.”
“But we are not beaten yet,” I said, excitedly. “When the Indians come and attack we shall drive them off.”
“If we can, my lad—if we can. Eh, my lads?”
“Yes, yes,” came in a loud murmur.
“Don’t you be afraid about that. As long as our officers can lead us we shall fight, and some say we shall do our best when we haven’t one left to lead us. In plain honest English, Master George, we shall fire as long as we can load; when we can’t use our guns we shall use our fists, and when we can’t raise an arm we shall kick.”
“Yes, I know, I know,” I said, excitedly. “But what you are thinking of it so dreadful.”
“So’s lying down beat out to let savages knock out your brains, my lad; and so we’ve all made up our minds that when the worst comes to the very worst, it will be an act of kindness to everybody and a big lesson to the Indians to let settlers alone, and perhaps be the means of saving the lives of hundreds of poor creatures in times to come, if one of us—”
“Yes, I know,” I half groaned—“sets fire to this powder and blows everything away.”
“That’s it, Master George, and the right thing too.”
“Oh!” I cried, with a shudder.
“Don’t take on, my lad,” said Morgan, gently. “It’s fate, that’s what it is. We shan’t do it till the place is full of Indians, and they’ve begun their terrible work; then one touch with a spark and it’ll be all over.”
“Morgan!” I cried.
“Ay, my lad, it seems very horrid, and I don’t want to have it to do; but when we’re all half dead, and can’t lift a hand, it will be a mercy to every one; and I know if your poor father was here and listening to what we say, he’d think so too.”
“But—but—” I faltered, despairingly, “I don’t want to die.”
“More don’t I, my lad,” he said, taking my hand; and I saw by the light of the burning building that the tears stood in his eyes. “I’d give anything to live, and go back yonder and work like a man to put everything straight again, and see my trees and plants growing more beautiful every day in God’s bright sunshine; but if it aren’t to be, Master George, why, it aren’t. I haven’t been a man who hasn’t done his duty.”
“No, no,” I said; “they’ve all fought bravely.”
“Ay, that they have, and are going to fight bravely to the very end. Why, look at those poor niggers too. See how they’ve fought, brave lads! No one would have thought they were slaves to see the way they’ve gone at it, just as if this was their own place, and they’d never been sold and bought. There, my lad, once more, don’t you go thinking we’re all going to turn cowards, because we’re not. Our officers have done their duty by us, and we’ve tried to do our duty by them; and if it comes to the worst, I say what’s been proposed is only doing our duty still; what say you?”
“Ay, ay,” came in a chorus; and I could not say a word. I felt choked as I looked round at the enclosure, all lit up by the glow, with black shadows cast here and there by the various piles of cases and the tents, and then I seemed to see beyond the great fence, and the black and pale-faced men, right away through the forest to our own bright home, close to the pleasant river, where all was sunshine, and glorious with bird and flower and tree. It was impossible to believe that I was never to see it all again, never to wander through the forest, never to ride on the stream and pause to watch the brightly-plumaged birds and the glittering insects or the gorgeously-scaled fish gliding through the clear waters, down where I had so often seen them amongst the roots of the overhanging trees.
It all came back like some bright dream—the creeper-covered house, my father seated at his window, about which the flowers bloomed, as he sat and studied some book, Morgan and Hannibal busy in their long fight with the weeds, and a magpie-like patch under some tree, where black Pomp lay asleep in his white shirt and short drawers, while from the end of the house came the busy sounds made by poor Sarah.
I think it was at that moment most of all that I quite thoroughly realised what a delightful home we had built up in the wilderness. And now it was a heap of ashes; my father, Hannibal, and poor Sarah seriously hurt; Pomp gone too for aught I could tell; and Morgan here talking so calmly and coolly of setting alight to the pile of destruction lying there by our side.
Was it all true? I asked myself, and felt ready to rub my eyes and try to rouse myself from the horrible nightmare dream from which I was suffering.
I was awakened sufficiently the next moment by Morgan’s words, as he said in a quiet, decided manner—
“Yes, Master George, we’ve done our duty as far as we can, and there’s only one more thing left to do—when the time comes, sir; when the time comes.”
Just then, to my utter astonishment, there was a movement among the men, and one of them came up close to me.
“You’ll shake hands, sir,” he said. “I’ve taken a deal of notice of you, different times.”
I held out my hand mechanically, felt it warmly wrung, and then had it seized in turn by the others, while I was struggling to speak words that would not come. At last though they burst forth.
“But the women and children!” I cried, as my heart seemed to stand still.
“Better than being butchered by those savages,” said Morgan, gloomily. “I’d sooner see my poor wife die than fall into their hands.”
His words silenced me, for I knew that they could expect no mercy. Then feeling utterly exhausted, I was munching a piece of bread, where I sat on a rough case, and sipping a little water from time to time, when just as the fire was at its height, with great waves of flame floating gently away from the great pine-wood building and illumining the wide clearing all round, I heard a familiar voice behind me say in his droll, dry fashion—
“What pity!”
“Ah, Pomp!” I cried, turning to him; “you there?”
“Iss, Mass’ George. When we go home again? Pomp done like dis place ’tall.”
“No, nor nobody else, boy,” said Morgan, sadly. “Hark! Hear anything?”
He seized his gun as he spoke, but it was only a hissing scream made by one of the water-soaked timbers as the steam was forced out.
“Nobody come. Injum all gone away.”
“How do you know?” I cried, eagerly.
“Pomp done know. Tink um all gone. No shoot arrow now.”
“Wrong, boy,” said Morgan. “They are hatching some fresh scheme, and they’ll be down upon us directly.”
There was a pause.
“And then it will be all over,” muttered Morgan, as he turned towards Pomp, looked at him firmly, and then held out his hand.
“Come here, boy,” he said.
“Wha’ for? Pomp no do nuffum. Can’t do nuffum here.”
“Come and shake hands.”
Pomp laughed and held out his hand, which Morgan took.
“If I don’t see you again, boy, good-bye, and I’m sorry I’ve been so rough to you sometimes.”
“Mass’ Morgan go walking out in wood? Take Pomp.”
Morgan heaved a deep sigh. “Ah, you don’t bear any malice,” he said.
Pomp shook his head, and looked at me, for it was Greek to him.
“Not so bad as that,” I said. “Come, cheer up.”
“Can’t any more, my lad,” said Morgan. “No one can’t say, look you, that I haven’t cheered up through thick and thin. But, look here, Master George, speaking fair now, what is the good of Injuns?”
“Injum no good,” said Pomp, sharply.
“Right, boy; no good at all. Phew!” he whistled; “how them logs do burn!”
“Ah! No duck, no fis’, no turkey roace on ’tick!” said Pomp, regretfully. “Shoot, shoot, shoot, lot time, an’ no shoot nuffum to eat. Pomp dreffle hungly.”
“There’s plenty of bread,” I said, smiling at the boy’s utter unconcern about our position of peril.
“Yah, ’tuff! Nas’ ’tuff. Pomp too dreffle hungly eat any more bread. Why no go now and kill all Injum? Pomp fine de way.”
The boy looked quite vexed at his proposition being declined, and squatted down to gaze at the fire, till after a time he lay down to look at it, and at last Morgan said to me—
“Don’t trouble him much, lad. Fast asleep.”
It was quite true. There lay Pomp enjoying a good rest, while we watched the progress of the flames, which rose and fell and gleamed from the pieces of the watchful men dotted round the great place, then left them in shadow, while a terrible silence had now fallen upon the camp. The fierce fire crackled and roared, and the flames fluttered as a great storm of sparks kept floating far away, but no one spoke, and it was only when an officer went round to the various posts that there seemed to be the slightest motion in the camp.
“Takes a cleverer man than me to understand Injun,” said Morgan at last, just before daybreak, as I returned from the tent where my father was sleeping peacefully, and Hannibal outside wrapped in a blanket quite calmly taking his rest.
“What do you mean?” I said, wearily.
“I mean I can’t make out the ways of Injuns. Here have we been watching all night, expecting to have a big fight by way of finish up, and Pomp’s right after all. They seem to have gone.”
“If I could only think so!” I replied, with a sigh.
“Well, lad, I think they are,” said Morgan. “They might have had it all their own way, and beaten us pretty easy a time back, but they’ve let their chance go by; and I suppose they’re satisfied with the mischief they’ve done for one night, and have gone back to their camp to sing and dance and brag to one another about what brave fellows they all are.”
It soon proved to be as Morgan had said, for the day broke, and the sun rose soon after, to shine down warm and bright upon as dejected, weary-looking, and besmirched a body of men as could have been seen. For they were all blackened with powder and smoke; some were scorched, and in every face I could read the same misery, dejection, and despair. But the General, Colonel Preston, and several of the leading gentlemen soon sent a different spirit through the camp. A few orders were given, the sentries changed, three parts being withdrawn; the women, who looked one half-hour haggard, pale, and scared, wore quite a changed aspect, as they hurriedly prepared food for their defenders; and in a very short time cries and shouts from the children helped to make some of us think that matters were not quite so desperate after all.
Chapter Forty Seven.It is astonishing what can be done in the most painful times when there are good leaders, and a spirit of discipline reigns. I remember how I noted it here that noontide; when, after food and rest, the fresher men relieved sentries, and strove to listen to the General as he pointed out that though the block-house was gone and our retreat cut off, we were in nearly as good a position of defence as ever, for our barriers were firm, and it was not certain, even in the most fierce of assaults, that the enemy could win. In addition, he pointed out that at any hour a British ship might appear in the river, whose presence alone would startle the Indians; while if the worst came to the worst, there would be a place for us to find safety.“There, Morgan,” I said, feeling quite inspirited, as I noted the change which seemed to have come over the men. “You see how mad all that was last night.”He smiled as he laid his hand on my arm. “Look you, Master George,” he said, “you always forget that I only talked of that as being something to be done if it came to the worst.”“And it has not come to the worst,” I said.“And I hope it never may,” he replied.I hurried to my father’s side to tell him what had gone on; and I found him in a great deal of pain, but apparently quite cheerful and grateful to the big black, who now declared himself well enough to attend to “de massa,” and forgetful of his own injuries, which were serious enough, the cuts on his arms being still bad, while he had been a good deal scorched by the fire.“I can never be grateful enough to you, Hannibal,” said my father again. “You saved my life.”“Massa sabe Hannibal life,” said the great negro, with a grave smile. “Can’t say well, but tink great deal ’bout all massa done for us.”“Don’t talk about it,” said my father, quietly.“No, sah,” replied the great black, turning to me, “not talk ’bout; tink about much—much more.”“Well, Hannibal, if we live to get clear of this dreadful trouble, I will try to be fair to—” He stopped for a few moments, wincing evidently from pain.“Better now,” he said, with a smile. “I was going to say, I have never considered either you, Hannibal, or your boy as slaves.”“No, massa,” said the big black, calmly.“But you are considered to be so here; and from this day I give you both your liberty.”Hannibal smiled, and shook his head.“Do you not understand me?”“Massa give holiday. Han done want holiday,” said the black, laboriously.“No, no; I set you both perfectly free.”“Massa tink Pomp lazy—Hannibal no fight ’nuff?”“My good fellow, no,” said my father, drawing his breath hard. “You do not fully understand. You were brought to this place and sold for a slave.”“Yes, understand. Massa bought Hannibal.”“Then now you are quite free to go where you like.”“Where go to, sah?”“As soon as we have beaten off these Indians, back to your own country.”The black shook his head.“You would like to go back to your own country?”“No,” said the black, thoughtfully. “’Top fight for capen and Mass’ George.”“But we shall have done fighting soon, I hope, and then you can go in peace.”“No peace in Han country.”“What?”“Alway fight—make prisoner—sell slave. Han want Pomp here talk for um.”“Ah, well, wait till we get peace, and things are getting on smoothly again, then we can talk.”“Capen cross wif Hannibal?”“Cross? No; grateful.”“Han stay here ’long massa and Mass’ George.”“Ah, George, any good news?” said my father, turning to me. “You see I am forced to be a slave-owner.”I shook my head rather sadly as I thought of Morgan’s words.“Oh, don’t despair, my boy,” he said, cheerfully. “It has seemed very desperate several times, but the Indians are still at bay, and we are alive.”“Yes, father, but—”“Well?”“The fort is burnt down.”“Yes; the enemy got the better of us there, but we are not beaten yet. Things looked black last night; after rest and food they are as different as can be. When shall you be ready to start home to begin rebuilding?”“You are only talking like that, father, to cheer me up,” I said, sadly. “Do you think I don’t know that it is all over?”“I do not think—I am sure you don’t know, my boy,” he said, smiling. “How can you? A battle is never lost till it is won. Did you ever see two cocks fight?”“Yes; once or twice, father,” I said, wonderingly.“So have I,” he replied, “not in the case of so-called sport, but naturally, as such birds will fight; and I have seen one beaten down, apparently quite conquered, and the victor as he believed himself has leaped upon his fallen adversary and begun to crow.”“Yes, I know,” I cried, eagerly; “and then the beaten bird has struggled and spurred the other so fiercely that he has run away in turn.”“Yes; you have finished my anecdote for me. It is too soon yet for the Indians to begin to crow. They are still outside our place, and the powder is plentiful yet.”I shivered a little at the mention of the powder, and tried to tell him what I had heard, but somehow the words would not come, and soon after as he dropped asleep I went down into the open space about the block-house.To reach it I had to pass the powder, which still lay covered as before, and it seemed to me that some fresh place might be found for it, since if the Indians began to send their fiery arrows into the camp again, one might fall there, and the destruction talked of befall us at once.But a little thought told me that if arrows came now, they would be aimed at men and not at buildings. There was nothing more within for the fire to burn, so I went in and walked round the pile of smouldering ashes, and tried to recall the scene of the previous night, and the position of the magazine. But it was rather hard to do now, there being nothing left by which I could judge, and I was going on, when I caught sight of something which made me alter my course, and walk softly up behind where Pomp was busy with a shovel at the edge of a great heap of smouldering ashes.“What are you doing?” I said.“Eh? Mass’ George ’top bit and see.”“No, I can’t stop,” I cried. “What are you doing with that shovel?”“Dat to ’crape de fire up. You no see? Pomp bake cake for de capen.”“What?”“Oh yes. Plenty cake in de hot ash. Hot bread for um. ’Top see if um done.”He looked up at me and laughed as merrily as if there was no danger near.“Mass’ George see more Injum?”“No,” I said. “They are in the forest somewhere.”“Pomp like roace all de whole lot. Come burn fellow place down like dat. Ah, you don’t want come, sah! Hah, I pob you in dah lil soft wet dab ob dough, and now you got to come out nice cake all hot.”He felt about in the fine embers with the shovel, and directly after thrust it under something invisible, drew it out, blew off a quantity of glowing ash, tossed his find round and brown up in the air, caught it again on the shovel, and held just under my nose a hot, well-cooked bread-cake, showing his teeth the while, as he exclaimed triumphantly—“Dah!”“Bread,” I said, mechanically.“Nice hot cake, sah, for de capen, and Pomp got fibe more juss done. Dat one for capen, one for Mass’ George, one for Pomp fader, one for Pomp. How many dat make?”“Four,” I said, in the same mechanical way.“Four, and den dah two more for a-morrow mornin’.”“Oh, Pomp,” I said, “how can you think of such things now!”“Eh? Cos such boofle fire, and Pomp know where de barl ob flour. Mass’ George not glad to hab nice hot cake?”I shook my head, but the boy was too busy fetching out his loaves, and soon had the whole six, well-cooked and of a delicate creamy-brown, beside him ready to be replaced in a little heap on the shovel.“Dah!” he said; “now go take um home ready for tea.”“Why, Pomp,” I said, sadly, “suppose the Indians come, what then?”“What den? Dey ’tupid ’nuff to come, we shoot dem all, sah. Pomp don’t fink much ob Injum.”“Do you think they’ll come to-night?”“Pomp done know. ’Pose so.”“You think so, then?”“Yes, Mass’ George. Injum very ’tupid. Come be shot.”Evening was coming on so fast that it would soon, I felt, be put to the proof, and followed by the boy with his cakes balanced on the shovel held over his shoulder, I went back to our apology for a tent.My coming in awoke my father, and he sat up wincing with pain, but trying hard directly to hide his sufferings from me.“Give me your hand,” he said. “I must get out now and help.”I gave him my hand, and he rose, but sank back with his eyes half closed.“No,” he said, sadly; “I have no strength. Go out and see what preparations are being made, and—”“Here is Colonel Preston, father,” I whispered.It was he, but he was not alone, for the General was with him, and both exclaimed loudly against my father attempting to move, but stayed both of them some time discussing the position, and asking his candid opinion about certain things which they had done for strengthening the defences, and they ended by proposing that I should accompany them as a sort of aide-de-camp, and bear messages to and fro.I followed them, and was soon after going with them from post to post, to see that the men were well supplied with ammunition; and I could not help noticing that in spite of all they had gone through, they looked rested and self-reliant; quite ready in fact for a fresh encounter with our hidden foe.For as the setting sun turned the plantations and edge of the forest to ruddy gold, all was perfectly calm, and for aught we could see there was no sign of an enemy. In fact to judge from appearances the Indians might have departed finally to their home, satisfied with the harm they had done.As night fell all fires were extinguished, and we then commenced our dreary watch, every one feeling that the attack was coming, but how soon or from what quarter it was impossible to say.
It is astonishing what can be done in the most painful times when there are good leaders, and a spirit of discipline reigns. I remember how I noted it here that noontide; when, after food and rest, the fresher men relieved sentries, and strove to listen to the General as he pointed out that though the block-house was gone and our retreat cut off, we were in nearly as good a position of defence as ever, for our barriers were firm, and it was not certain, even in the most fierce of assaults, that the enemy could win. In addition, he pointed out that at any hour a British ship might appear in the river, whose presence alone would startle the Indians; while if the worst came to the worst, there would be a place for us to find safety.
“There, Morgan,” I said, feeling quite inspirited, as I noted the change which seemed to have come over the men. “You see how mad all that was last night.”
He smiled as he laid his hand on my arm. “Look you, Master George,” he said, “you always forget that I only talked of that as being something to be done if it came to the worst.”
“And it has not come to the worst,” I said.
“And I hope it never may,” he replied.
I hurried to my father’s side to tell him what had gone on; and I found him in a great deal of pain, but apparently quite cheerful and grateful to the big black, who now declared himself well enough to attend to “de massa,” and forgetful of his own injuries, which were serious enough, the cuts on his arms being still bad, while he had been a good deal scorched by the fire.
“I can never be grateful enough to you, Hannibal,” said my father again. “You saved my life.”
“Massa sabe Hannibal life,” said the great negro, with a grave smile. “Can’t say well, but tink great deal ’bout all massa done for us.”
“Don’t talk about it,” said my father, quietly.
“No, sah,” replied the great black, turning to me, “not talk ’bout; tink about much—much more.”
“Well, Hannibal, if we live to get clear of this dreadful trouble, I will try to be fair to—” He stopped for a few moments, wincing evidently from pain.
“Better now,” he said, with a smile. “I was going to say, I have never considered either you, Hannibal, or your boy as slaves.”
“No, massa,” said the big black, calmly.
“But you are considered to be so here; and from this day I give you both your liberty.”
Hannibal smiled, and shook his head.
“Do you not understand me?”
“Massa give holiday. Han done want holiday,” said the black, laboriously.
“No, no; I set you both perfectly free.”
“Massa tink Pomp lazy—Hannibal no fight ’nuff?”
“My good fellow, no,” said my father, drawing his breath hard. “You do not fully understand. You were brought to this place and sold for a slave.”
“Yes, understand. Massa bought Hannibal.”
“Then now you are quite free to go where you like.”
“Where go to, sah?”
“As soon as we have beaten off these Indians, back to your own country.”
The black shook his head.
“You would like to go back to your own country?”
“No,” said the black, thoughtfully. “’Top fight for capen and Mass’ George.”
“But we shall have done fighting soon, I hope, and then you can go in peace.”
“No peace in Han country.”
“What?”
“Alway fight—make prisoner—sell slave. Han want Pomp here talk for um.”
“Ah, well, wait till we get peace, and things are getting on smoothly again, then we can talk.”
“Capen cross wif Hannibal?”
“Cross? No; grateful.”
“Han stay here ’long massa and Mass’ George.”
“Ah, George, any good news?” said my father, turning to me. “You see I am forced to be a slave-owner.”
I shook my head rather sadly as I thought of Morgan’s words.
“Oh, don’t despair, my boy,” he said, cheerfully. “It has seemed very desperate several times, but the Indians are still at bay, and we are alive.”
“Yes, father, but—”
“Well?”
“The fort is burnt down.”
“Yes; the enemy got the better of us there, but we are not beaten yet. Things looked black last night; after rest and food they are as different as can be. When shall you be ready to start home to begin rebuilding?”
“You are only talking like that, father, to cheer me up,” I said, sadly. “Do you think I don’t know that it is all over?”
“I do not think—I am sure you don’t know, my boy,” he said, smiling. “How can you? A battle is never lost till it is won. Did you ever see two cocks fight?”
“Yes; once or twice, father,” I said, wonderingly.
“So have I,” he replied, “not in the case of so-called sport, but naturally, as such birds will fight; and I have seen one beaten down, apparently quite conquered, and the victor as he believed himself has leaped upon his fallen adversary and begun to crow.”
“Yes, I know,” I cried, eagerly; “and then the beaten bird has struggled and spurred the other so fiercely that he has run away in turn.”
“Yes; you have finished my anecdote for me. It is too soon yet for the Indians to begin to crow. They are still outside our place, and the powder is plentiful yet.”
I shivered a little at the mention of the powder, and tried to tell him what I had heard, but somehow the words would not come, and soon after as he dropped asleep I went down into the open space about the block-house.
To reach it I had to pass the powder, which still lay covered as before, and it seemed to me that some fresh place might be found for it, since if the Indians began to send their fiery arrows into the camp again, one might fall there, and the destruction talked of befall us at once.
But a little thought told me that if arrows came now, they would be aimed at men and not at buildings. There was nothing more within for the fire to burn, so I went in and walked round the pile of smouldering ashes, and tried to recall the scene of the previous night, and the position of the magazine. But it was rather hard to do now, there being nothing left by which I could judge, and I was going on, when I caught sight of something which made me alter my course, and walk softly up behind where Pomp was busy with a shovel at the edge of a great heap of smouldering ashes.
“What are you doing?” I said.
“Eh? Mass’ George ’top bit and see.”
“No, I can’t stop,” I cried. “What are you doing with that shovel?”
“Dat to ’crape de fire up. You no see? Pomp bake cake for de capen.”
“What?”
“Oh yes. Plenty cake in de hot ash. Hot bread for um. ’Top see if um done.”
He looked up at me and laughed as merrily as if there was no danger near.
“Mass’ George see more Injum?”
“No,” I said. “They are in the forest somewhere.”
“Pomp like roace all de whole lot. Come burn fellow place down like dat. Ah, you don’t want come, sah! Hah, I pob you in dah lil soft wet dab ob dough, and now you got to come out nice cake all hot.”
He felt about in the fine embers with the shovel, and directly after thrust it under something invisible, drew it out, blew off a quantity of glowing ash, tossed his find round and brown up in the air, caught it again on the shovel, and held just under my nose a hot, well-cooked bread-cake, showing his teeth the while, as he exclaimed triumphantly—
“Dah!”
“Bread,” I said, mechanically.
“Nice hot cake, sah, for de capen, and Pomp got fibe more juss done. Dat one for capen, one for Mass’ George, one for Pomp fader, one for Pomp. How many dat make?”
“Four,” I said, in the same mechanical way.
“Four, and den dah two more for a-morrow mornin’.”
“Oh, Pomp,” I said, “how can you think of such things now!”
“Eh? Cos such boofle fire, and Pomp know where de barl ob flour. Mass’ George not glad to hab nice hot cake?”
I shook my head, but the boy was too busy fetching out his loaves, and soon had the whole six, well-cooked and of a delicate creamy-brown, beside him ready to be replaced in a little heap on the shovel.
“Dah!” he said; “now go take um home ready for tea.”
“Why, Pomp,” I said, sadly, “suppose the Indians come, what then?”
“What den? Dey ’tupid ’nuff to come, we shoot dem all, sah. Pomp don’t fink much ob Injum.”
“Do you think they’ll come to-night?”
“Pomp done know. ’Pose so.”
“You think so, then?”
“Yes, Mass’ George. Injum very ’tupid. Come be shot.”
Evening was coming on so fast that it would soon, I felt, be put to the proof, and followed by the boy with his cakes balanced on the shovel held over his shoulder, I went back to our apology for a tent.
My coming in awoke my father, and he sat up wincing with pain, but trying hard directly to hide his sufferings from me.
“Give me your hand,” he said. “I must get out now and help.”
I gave him my hand, and he rose, but sank back with his eyes half closed.
“No,” he said, sadly; “I have no strength. Go out and see what preparations are being made, and—”
“Here is Colonel Preston, father,” I whispered.
It was he, but he was not alone, for the General was with him, and both exclaimed loudly against my father attempting to move, but stayed both of them some time discussing the position, and asking his candid opinion about certain things which they had done for strengthening the defences, and they ended by proposing that I should accompany them as a sort of aide-de-camp, and bear messages to and fro.
I followed them, and was soon after going with them from post to post, to see that the men were well supplied with ammunition; and I could not help noticing that in spite of all they had gone through, they looked rested and self-reliant; quite ready in fact for a fresh encounter with our hidden foe.
For as the setting sun turned the plantations and edge of the forest to ruddy gold, all was perfectly calm, and for aught we could see there was no sign of an enemy. In fact to judge from appearances the Indians might have departed finally to their home, satisfied with the harm they had done.
As night fell all fires were extinguished, and we then commenced our dreary watch, every one feeling that the attack was coming, but how soon or from what quarter it was impossible to say.