Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Sixteen.Recollections of sunny days in the cotton-fields, with the men and women cramming the white bursting pods into baskets as they laughed and chattered together, and every now and then burst into some song or chorus, their natural light-heartedness making them, if well treated, forget the bonds from which they suffered. Of those many days in the hot glow, where the men were busy with great chopping-knives cutting down the tall, towering canes ready to be piled high in the mule-carts and borne off to the crushing-mills.For as time went on the visit of the slave schooner was repeated again and again, and the settlers brought more land under cultivation, and the place grew more busy week by week.But at home all remained the same, only that by the help of Hannibal our garden increased in beauty and productiveness to a wonderful extent, and Pomp and I revelled in the abundance of the fruit.I used to look at the boy and his father, and wonder how it was possible for them to have settled down so contentedly. But they had, and it did not seem to me that they had a single thought of the past, so light and easy-going they were.But I misjudged them, as time proved.I was merry and lively enough in those days, never happier than when playing Morgan some trick to arouse his wrath; but I was the perfection of quietness compared to Pomp, who was more like a monkey in his antics than a boy; and his father, the morose-looking, gloomy slave that he had been, seemed to have grown as full of life and fun as his son.I don’t think that there was anything I could have asked that pair that they would not have done. If I expressed a wish to have a pair of young squirrels for pets, they were sure to be obtained, just as the raccoon was, and the woodchuck. If I wished to fish, the baits were ready and the boat cleaned out; while if I told Hannibal I wanted him to come and row for me, his black face shone with pleasure, and he would toil on in the hot sun, hour after hour, with the oars, evidently sharing my delight whenever I caught a fish.I remember one day when my father had gone across to the settlement on some business, taking Morgan with him—I think it was to see and select from some fruit-trees and seeds which had been brought over from the old country—that I sat in our room, busy over the study which I had promised to have done by the time of my father’s return.As I sat there I glanced out of the window from time to time to see Hannibal toiling away with his hoe, in a great perspiration which glistened in the sun, but evidently supremely happy, as he chattered away to Pomp, who was also supposed to be working hard, but only at preserving his position as he squatted on the top of a post with his arms about his knees, and his hoe laid across his head, perfectly balanced.I laughed to myself, and then went on with my work, a piece of Latin translation, for my father used to say, “There is nothing to prevent you being a gentleman, my boy, even if we do live out in the wilds.”All at once I heard Sarah’s quick step, as she went out of the place, and directly after she was busy over something.Carelessly enough I looked up, and saw that she was beating and brushing my father’s uniform, previous to hanging it over a rail, so as to guard it from decay by exposure to the sun.I sat looking at the bright scarlet and gold lace, and saw that she had brought out the cap too. Then I went on with my work again, finished it, and with a sigh of satisfaction put all away, thinking that I would go down to the pool and have a bathe.The idea seemed good, and I stepped out, thinking what a patient, industrious, careful woman Sarah was, and seeing that she must have fetched is the uniform again, and put it away.I went through the fence into the garden, meaning to make Pomp go with me, but he was no longer perched on the stump, one of the many left when the garden was made; and on looking round for Hannibal to ask where the boy had gone, I found he too had left his work.“Hasn’t finished,” I said to myself, for the man’s hoe was leaning against the tree.Carelessly enough, I strolled on down to the bottom of the garden, looking at the alligator’s great grinning jaws as I went by, and out at the end, to see if the pair were in the little hut that had been built for their use, and a laugh which I heard as I drew nearer told me that I was right as far as Hannibal was concerned, while a few excited words which I could not make out proved that Pomp was there as well.“What are they doing?” I thought to myself; and with the idea of giving them a surprise, I did not go up to the door, but turned off, walked round to the back, and parting the trees by whose leaves the place was shadowed, I reached the little square window at the rear of the house, and stood looking in, hardly knowing which to do—be furiously angry, or burst out laughing.For the moment I did neither, but stood gazing in unseen. There to my left was Pomp, both his eyes twinkling with delight, squatting on the floor, and holding his knees, his favourite attitude, while his thick lips were drawn back from his milky-white teeth, from between which came a low, half-hissing, half-humming noise evidently indicative of his satisfaction, and in its way resembling the purring of a cat.To my right, slowly walking up and down, with a grave display of dignity that was most ludicrous, was Hannibal, his head erect, eyes very wide open, and arms held firmly to his sides, a position that he must have imitated from seeing some of the drilling preparations going on at the settlement, and kept up ever since the scare produced by the coming of the Indians and the Spaniards.The reason for this attitudinising and parading was plain the moment I appeared at the window and grasped the situation; for it was clear enough—Pomp had seen the gay uniform airing upon the rail, had annexed it, and carried it off to the hut, probably with his father as an abettor, in what could only have been meant for a loan; and he had followed the boy in, and possibly with his assistance put on the clothes, which fitted him fairly well; but his appearance was not perfect.For there over the white-faced scarlet coat was the shiny black face, surmounted by the military cap worn wrong way foremost, while the breeches were unbuttoned at the knee, and the leggings were not there, only Hannibal’s black legs, and below them his dusty toes, which spread out far from each other, and worked about in a way most absurd.But the most absurd thing of all was the aspect of satisfied dignity in the man’s countenance. It was as if he were supremely happy and contented with himself, the clothes having evidently raised him enormously in his own estimation.“Now what shall I do?” I thought; “go in and scold them both, or wait and see if they put the things back?”I was still hesitating and thinking how angry my father would be, when I found suddenly that there would be no need for me to speak and upset the equanimity of the happy pair, for all at once I heard a loud exclamation from the direction of the house, where Sarah had just come out to fetch in the uniform; and directly after, she jumped at the right conclusion, and made the place echo with the cry of “Pompey!”The effect was wondrous.The boy seemed for the moment turned to stone; his jaw fell, and he stared at his father, whose face seemed to grow ashy, and from whose aspect all the dignity had vanished in an instant.Then, quick as some wild animal, Pomp sprang at his father, the shock with which he struck him in the chest causing the hat to fall off back on to the floor as he tore at the buttons to get the coat off.Hannibal, with his fingers shaking and twitching, helped all he could, and hindered more, while I stood smothering my laughter and waiting to see the end of the comedy.Those garments were dragged off doubtlessly much more quickly than they were put on, and as soon as they were huddled together, father and son stood listening to Sarah’s voice, their eyes starting, and the perspiration standing in great drops upon their faces.“What will they do next?” I said to myself.Apparently they had no plans, for Hannibal looked reproachfully at his son and shook his head at him, his lips moving, and in a low, husky voice he said—“Whatebber will I do!”A way out of the difficulty seemed to come to the younger black, for he suddenly darted at the hat, picked it up, and dabbed it down on the bundle of white and scarlet clothes. Then, whispering a few words to his father—who seemed to be hanging back but to give way at last—the boy ran to the door, dropped down on all fours so as to be hidden by the trees from the house, and glided off almost as rapidly as some four-legged animal.“The young coward, to run away like that,” I said to myself, as another loud cry of “Pompey, Pompey! Where are you?” came from the front of the house.“Poor old Hannibal!” I thought to myself, as I saw the utterly cowed object before me, so strangely contrasted with the dignified being a short time back in uniform, that I could hardly restrain my merriment.But I did not laugh out, for I was sorry for the poor fellow, and tried to think of some way of extricating him from his difficulty, as he stood there with the uniform huddled up in his arms.Somehow no idea came, only a feeling of anger against the cowardly young scoundrel of a boy, who had left his father in the lurch.“If it was only he,” I said to myself, “I’d glory in seeing old Sarah pull his ears, a mischievous young dog!”But there was Hannibal before me, and whenever I looked in the poor fellow’s face I never could help a feeling of respectful liking for the unhappy slave whom I had seen lying half dead upon the bank of the stream when we first brought him ashore.Then with Sarah’s voice still heard at intervals raging and storming, I strove to think of a plan to get the poor fellow out of his hobble, while at the same time, in a confused way, the scene on the bank kept coming back, and with it thoughts of how the boy had been ready to fight for his father then, while now he had taken to his heels and fled.“I don’t know what to do,” I said at last to myself, as I felt that our civilising had spoiled Pomp. “To go and talk to her, and tell her not to make a fuss.”“Pompey! Pompey!” rang out from close by now, and Hannibal let fall the uniform, and clasped his hands.It was evident that Sarah was coming to see if the boy was in the hut, and there was nothing for it but to bear the blame.“Pompey! Do you hear me?”“A—y—ou,” came from right the other side of the house. “You call a me, missie Sarah?”“Oh, there you are, are you?” she cried; and as I peeped through the trees, I saw her turn sharply round and hurry back, talking volubly the while. Then she called again—“Pompey!”“Yes, missie.”“Come here, sir.”“You call a me, missie?”“Yes, you know I called you. Where are you?”“Hey—oh—hi—ho! Hey oh—hi oh! Ally olly hi—oh—olly olly hi!” came in musical tones from the other side of the house; and as I peeped once more through the windows I saw Hannibal’s bent back, as he stooped and picked up the clothes, brushed off some dust, and then with them held all ready and his face working with excitement, he crept to the door.“Pompey, do you hear me?” cried Sarah, who was gone up now to the house.“Hey—oh—hi—oh! Yes, missie, you call a me?” came from a little farther away.“Do you hear what I say, sir?”“Yes, missie.”“Then come here directly.”“Ole massa go along, an’ Massa George a ’top alonga.”“Pompey!”“Yes, missie; you call a me?”“Oh!” cried Sarah, fiercely, “just wait till I get hold of you, sir;” and she ran off down the path at the other side of the house, shouting for the boy, who kept on answering, and, as I realised now, purposely leading her farther and farther away to give his father time.For, stooping low down, and with wonderful speed and agility, Hannibal, who had crept out of the hut, suddenly darted into and down the garden, and as I followed, keeping well hidden among the trees, I saw him reach the front of the house, shake out the uniform, hang coat and breeches on the rail, stick the cap on the end, and dart off away in another direction, so to reach the path leading into the forest on the way to the stream.I ached with my efforts to keep down my laughter, as I saw him scud off, glad at heart though, all the same, for, poor fellow, he had escaped. Then all at once my admiration for Pomp increased to a wonderful degree, for I heard a howl from the other side of the house, the sound of blows, heavy ones too; and as Pomp shrieked and howled, it was evident that Sarah was cuffing him tremendously.Her voice grew louder every moment, so did Pomp’s cries and protestations, till I could hear every word from my hiding-place, thoroughly enjoying of course the punishment that had fallen on the boy, while delighted by his ruse to get the clothes back and save his father.“Oh don’t, missie; don’t whop a poor lil nigger,” came loudly.“You mischievous—(bang!)—young—(bang!)—Where are those clothes?”“No, haven’t got ’em, missie; no, haven’t got ’em. Oh!oh! Oh!”“Don’t tell me your wicked stories, sir. Tell me this moment, or master shall know, and you shall be flogged. You have stolen them away.”“No, no, missie, Pompey nebber ’teal, no, nebber; wouldn’t ’teal notin’.”“You—(bang!)—have taken—(bang!)—those clothes away. Where are they, sir?”“Oh, don’t whip lil nigger, missie. No got no clothes on’y lil cotton drawers, an’ lil shirtums,” howled Pomp, as he was dragged into sight now, Sarah holding on tightly by one of his ears.“And I say you have got them, sir. Nobody else could have taken them,” cried Sarah. “You wicked black magpie, you! Show me this instant where you have put them, or I don’t know what I won’t do.”I knew what was coming; it was all plain enough. But no, not quite all; but I did see thedénouementto some extent, for, as Sarah dragged the boy forward, I could contain myself no longer.“Oh don’t, missie!” howled the young dog.“Oh, but I will,” cried Sarah. “I put poor master’s uniform on that rail to air, and—Well!”“Ha—ha—ha—ha—ha!”I never laughed louder in my life, as I burst forth into quite a yell, for there stood poor Sarah, with her mouth wide open, staring at the uniform hanging on the rail, and then at Pomp, who looked up at her with his face screwed up in mock agony, but his eyes twinkling with delight.“Was dem a clothes you gone lose, missie?” he said, innocently; and Sarah panted and looked is my direction. “Dat Massa George brass out alarfin for you whip poor lil nigger nuffin tall.”“Oh—oh—oh!” burst forth Sarah at last, hysterically; “it’s a shame—a cruel shame, Master George, to play me such a good-for-nothing trick.”I ceased laughing directly, and my mouth opened now with astonishment at the turn things had taken.“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir,” cried Sarah; “and here have I been ill-using this poor boy because— Oh, Pompey, Pompey, Pompey!”She caught him in her arms and gave him a motherly hug, while I stood amongst the trees speechless.“Missie cry her eyes cos she whip Pompey?”“Yes, my poor boy,” cried Sarah. “But his father shall know. Ah, you may well stop in hiding, sir; it’s a shame.” Then, ever so much louder, “It’s a shame!”“Don’t ’cold Massa George, missie,” said Pompey. “Him nebber do nuffin.”“Do nothing, indeed!” cried Sarah. “You come along in with me, and I’m very, very sorry I whipped you.”“Pompey done mind, missie,” said the boy, showing his teeth.“There, you’re a very good, forgiving boy,” said Sarah, as she caught up the uniform to take it in; “and I wish I could forgive myself.”Then, catching Pomp by the arm, she led him into the house, from which he soon after returned with a corn-cake and half a pot of prime jam of Sarah’s own make.And there I stood all the time thinking seriously among the trees, and unable to make up my mind what to do. If I did not speak, I should bear the blame, and Sarah would remain angry with me. If I told all, poor Hannibal, who had been led into the indulgence in a bit of vanity by his boy, would be in disgrace, and I knew that the poor fellow would feel it keenly. If I did not tell all, that young rascal would triumph in his cunning and deceit, and enjoy letting me have the credit of playing the trick on Sarah.“I will tell,” I said, sharply, as I saw Pomp come out licking his thick lips, and enjoying the jam.Then I thought of how patiently he had borne Sarah’s blows, so as to save his father from getting into disgrace, and that disarmed me again; so that my mind see-sawed about in the most tiresome way, till I gave up in despair, coming to no conclusion, and leaving the matter to settle itself, but determined to give Master Pomp a good thrashing soon, so as to get some satisfaction out of the affair.“Pomp,” I said, half aloud, “Pomp. Yes, I called him Pomp; and after what I saw in the hut I ought to call old Hannibal Vanity. So I will—Pomp and Vanity. I wish I could make up my mind what to do.”I had something else to think of the next moment, for I heard a shout, and Hannibal himself came running along the path from the stream.“Hi—hi—Mass’ George!” he shouted, breathlessly.“What’s the matter?” I said, running towards the house to get a gun. “Here, quick, come in here.”I strained my eyes as I ran, expecting to see Indians in pursuit of him, but he alone was visible, and he pointed, breathless and panting, in the direction from which he came.“What is it?” I cried. “What’s the matter?”The answer came in a peculiar, low, hissing, rushing sound, as if a storm were coming through the forest. It ceased directly, and died away in a low, dull roar.

Recollections of sunny days in the cotton-fields, with the men and women cramming the white bursting pods into baskets as they laughed and chattered together, and every now and then burst into some song or chorus, their natural light-heartedness making them, if well treated, forget the bonds from which they suffered. Of those many days in the hot glow, where the men were busy with great chopping-knives cutting down the tall, towering canes ready to be piled high in the mule-carts and borne off to the crushing-mills.

For as time went on the visit of the slave schooner was repeated again and again, and the settlers brought more land under cultivation, and the place grew more busy week by week.

But at home all remained the same, only that by the help of Hannibal our garden increased in beauty and productiveness to a wonderful extent, and Pomp and I revelled in the abundance of the fruit.

I used to look at the boy and his father, and wonder how it was possible for them to have settled down so contentedly. But they had, and it did not seem to me that they had a single thought of the past, so light and easy-going they were.

But I misjudged them, as time proved.

I was merry and lively enough in those days, never happier than when playing Morgan some trick to arouse his wrath; but I was the perfection of quietness compared to Pomp, who was more like a monkey in his antics than a boy; and his father, the morose-looking, gloomy slave that he had been, seemed to have grown as full of life and fun as his son.

I don’t think that there was anything I could have asked that pair that they would not have done. If I expressed a wish to have a pair of young squirrels for pets, they were sure to be obtained, just as the raccoon was, and the woodchuck. If I wished to fish, the baits were ready and the boat cleaned out; while if I told Hannibal I wanted him to come and row for me, his black face shone with pleasure, and he would toil on in the hot sun, hour after hour, with the oars, evidently sharing my delight whenever I caught a fish.

I remember one day when my father had gone across to the settlement on some business, taking Morgan with him—I think it was to see and select from some fruit-trees and seeds which had been brought over from the old country—that I sat in our room, busy over the study which I had promised to have done by the time of my father’s return.

As I sat there I glanced out of the window from time to time to see Hannibal toiling away with his hoe, in a great perspiration which glistened in the sun, but evidently supremely happy, as he chattered away to Pomp, who was also supposed to be working hard, but only at preserving his position as he squatted on the top of a post with his arms about his knees, and his hoe laid across his head, perfectly balanced.

I laughed to myself, and then went on with my work, a piece of Latin translation, for my father used to say, “There is nothing to prevent you being a gentleman, my boy, even if we do live out in the wilds.”

All at once I heard Sarah’s quick step, as she went out of the place, and directly after she was busy over something.

Carelessly enough I looked up, and saw that she was beating and brushing my father’s uniform, previous to hanging it over a rail, so as to guard it from decay by exposure to the sun.

I sat looking at the bright scarlet and gold lace, and saw that she had brought out the cap too. Then I went on with my work again, finished it, and with a sigh of satisfaction put all away, thinking that I would go down to the pool and have a bathe.

The idea seemed good, and I stepped out, thinking what a patient, industrious, careful woman Sarah was, and seeing that she must have fetched is the uniform again, and put it away.

I went through the fence into the garden, meaning to make Pomp go with me, but he was no longer perched on the stump, one of the many left when the garden was made; and on looking round for Hannibal to ask where the boy had gone, I found he too had left his work.

“Hasn’t finished,” I said to myself, for the man’s hoe was leaning against the tree.

Carelessly enough, I strolled on down to the bottom of the garden, looking at the alligator’s great grinning jaws as I went by, and out at the end, to see if the pair were in the little hut that had been built for their use, and a laugh which I heard as I drew nearer told me that I was right as far as Hannibal was concerned, while a few excited words which I could not make out proved that Pomp was there as well.

“What are they doing?” I thought to myself; and with the idea of giving them a surprise, I did not go up to the door, but turned off, walked round to the back, and parting the trees by whose leaves the place was shadowed, I reached the little square window at the rear of the house, and stood looking in, hardly knowing which to do—be furiously angry, or burst out laughing.

For the moment I did neither, but stood gazing in unseen. There to my left was Pomp, both his eyes twinkling with delight, squatting on the floor, and holding his knees, his favourite attitude, while his thick lips were drawn back from his milky-white teeth, from between which came a low, half-hissing, half-humming noise evidently indicative of his satisfaction, and in its way resembling the purring of a cat.

To my right, slowly walking up and down, with a grave display of dignity that was most ludicrous, was Hannibal, his head erect, eyes very wide open, and arms held firmly to his sides, a position that he must have imitated from seeing some of the drilling preparations going on at the settlement, and kept up ever since the scare produced by the coming of the Indians and the Spaniards.

The reason for this attitudinising and parading was plain the moment I appeared at the window and grasped the situation; for it was clear enough—Pomp had seen the gay uniform airing upon the rail, had annexed it, and carried it off to the hut, probably with his father as an abettor, in what could only have been meant for a loan; and he had followed the boy in, and possibly with his assistance put on the clothes, which fitted him fairly well; but his appearance was not perfect.

For there over the white-faced scarlet coat was the shiny black face, surmounted by the military cap worn wrong way foremost, while the breeches were unbuttoned at the knee, and the leggings were not there, only Hannibal’s black legs, and below them his dusty toes, which spread out far from each other, and worked about in a way most absurd.

But the most absurd thing of all was the aspect of satisfied dignity in the man’s countenance. It was as if he were supremely happy and contented with himself, the clothes having evidently raised him enormously in his own estimation.

“Now what shall I do?” I thought; “go in and scold them both, or wait and see if they put the things back?”

I was still hesitating and thinking how angry my father would be, when I found suddenly that there would be no need for me to speak and upset the equanimity of the happy pair, for all at once I heard a loud exclamation from the direction of the house, where Sarah had just come out to fetch in the uniform; and directly after, she jumped at the right conclusion, and made the place echo with the cry of “Pompey!”

The effect was wondrous.

The boy seemed for the moment turned to stone; his jaw fell, and he stared at his father, whose face seemed to grow ashy, and from whose aspect all the dignity had vanished in an instant.

Then, quick as some wild animal, Pomp sprang at his father, the shock with which he struck him in the chest causing the hat to fall off back on to the floor as he tore at the buttons to get the coat off.

Hannibal, with his fingers shaking and twitching, helped all he could, and hindered more, while I stood smothering my laughter and waiting to see the end of the comedy.

Those garments were dragged off doubtlessly much more quickly than they were put on, and as soon as they were huddled together, father and son stood listening to Sarah’s voice, their eyes starting, and the perspiration standing in great drops upon their faces.

“What will they do next?” I said to myself.

Apparently they had no plans, for Hannibal looked reproachfully at his son and shook his head at him, his lips moving, and in a low, husky voice he said—

“Whatebber will I do!”

A way out of the difficulty seemed to come to the younger black, for he suddenly darted at the hat, picked it up, and dabbed it down on the bundle of white and scarlet clothes. Then, whispering a few words to his father—who seemed to be hanging back but to give way at last—the boy ran to the door, dropped down on all fours so as to be hidden by the trees from the house, and glided off almost as rapidly as some four-legged animal.

“The young coward, to run away like that,” I said to myself, as another loud cry of “Pompey, Pompey! Where are you?” came from the front of the house.

“Poor old Hannibal!” I thought to myself, as I saw the utterly cowed object before me, so strangely contrasted with the dignified being a short time back in uniform, that I could hardly restrain my merriment.

But I did not laugh out, for I was sorry for the poor fellow, and tried to think of some way of extricating him from his difficulty, as he stood there with the uniform huddled up in his arms.

Somehow no idea came, only a feeling of anger against the cowardly young scoundrel of a boy, who had left his father in the lurch.

“If it was only he,” I said to myself, “I’d glory in seeing old Sarah pull his ears, a mischievous young dog!”

But there was Hannibal before me, and whenever I looked in the poor fellow’s face I never could help a feeling of respectful liking for the unhappy slave whom I had seen lying half dead upon the bank of the stream when we first brought him ashore.

Then with Sarah’s voice still heard at intervals raging and storming, I strove to think of a plan to get the poor fellow out of his hobble, while at the same time, in a confused way, the scene on the bank kept coming back, and with it thoughts of how the boy had been ready to fight for his father then, while now he had taken to his heels and fled.

“I don’t know what to do,” I said at last to myself, as I felt that our civilising had spoiled Pomp. “To go and talk to her, and tell her not to make a fuss.”

“Pompey! Pompey!” rang out from close by now, and Hannibal let fall the uniform, and clasped his hands.

It was evident that Sarah was coming to see if the boy was in the hut, and there was nothing for it but to bear the blame.

“Pompey! Do you hear me?”

“A—y—ou,” came from right the other side of the house. “You call a me, missie Sarah?”

“Oh, there you are, are you?” she cried; and as I peeped through the trees, I saw her turn sharply round and hurry back, talking volubly the while. Then she called again—

“Pompey!”

“Yes, missie.”

“Come here, sir.”

“You call a me, missie?”

“Yes, you know I called you. Where are you?”

“Hey—oh—hi—ho! Hey oh—hi oh! Ally olly hi—oh—olly olly hi!” came in musical tones from the other side of the house; and as I peeped once more through the windows I saw Hannibal’s bent back, as he stooped and picked up the clothes, brushed off some dust, and then with them held all ready and his face working with excitement, he crept to the door.

“Pompey, do you hear me?” cried Sarah, who was gone up now to the house.

“Hey—oh—hi—oh! Yes, missie, you call a me?” came from a little farther away.

“Do you hear what I say, sir?”

“Yes, missie.”

“Then come here directly.”

“Ole massa go along, an’ Massa George a ’top alonga.”

“Pompey!”

“Yes, missie; you call a me?”

“Oh!” cried Sarah, fiercely, “just wait till I get hold of you, sir;” and she ran off down the path at the other side of the house, shouting for the boy, who kept on answering, and, as I realised now, purposely leading her farther and farther away to give his father time.

For, stooping low down, and with wonderful speed and agility, Hannibal, who had crept out of the hut, suddenly darted into and down the garden, and as I followed, keeping well hidden among the trees, I saw him reach the front of the house, shake out the uniform, hang coat and breeches on the rail, stick the cap on the end, and dart off away in another direction, so to reach the path leading into the forest on the way to the stream.

I ached with my efforts to keep down my laughter, as I saw him scud off, glad at heart though, all the same, for, poor fellow, he had escaped. Then all at once my admiration for Pomp increased to a wonderful degree, for I heard a howl from the other side of the house, the sound of blows, heavy ones too; and as Pomp shrieked and howled, it was evident that Sarah was cuffing him tremendously.

Her voice grew louder every moment, so did Pomp’s cries and protestations, till I could hear every word from my hiding-place, thoroughly enjoying of course the punishment that had fallen on the boy, while delighted by his ruse to get the clothes back and save his father.

“Oh don’t, missie; don’t whop a poor lil nigger,” came loudly.

“You mischievous—(bang!)—young—(bang!)—Where are those clothes?”

“No, haven’t got ’em, missie; no, haven’t got ’em. Oh!oh! Oh!”

“Don’t tell me your wicked stories, sir. Tell me this moment, or master shall know, and you shall be flogged. You have stolen them away.”

“No, no, missie, Pompey nebber ’teal, no, nebber; wouldn’t ’teal notin’.”

“You—(bang!)—have taken—(bang!)—those clothes away. Where are they, sir?”

“Oh, don’t whip lil nigger, missie. No got no clothes on’y lil cotton drawers, an’ lil shirtums,” howled Pomp, as he was dragged into sight now, Sarah holding on tightly by one of his ears.

“And I say you have got them, sir. Nobody else could have taken them,” cried Sarah. “You wicked black magpie, you! Show me this instant where you have put them, or I don’t know what I won’t do.”

I knew what was coming; it was all plain enough. But no, not quite all; but I did see thedénouementto some extent, for, as Sarah dragged the boy forward, I could contain myself no longer.

“Oh don’t, missie!” howled the young dog.

“Oh, but I will,” cried Sarah. “I put poor master’s uniform on that rail to air, and—Well!”

“Ha—ha—ha—ha—ha!”

I never laughed louder in my life, as I burst forth into quite a yell, for there stood poor Sarah, with her mouth wide open, staring at the uniform hanging on the rail, and then at Pomp, who looked up at her with his face screwed up in mock agony, but his eyes twinkling with delight.

“Was dem a clothes you gone lose, missie?” he said, innocently; and Sarah panted and looked is my direction. “Dat Massa George brass out alarfin for you whip poor lil nigger nuffin tall.”

“Oh—oh—oh!” burst forth Sarah at last, hysterically; “it’s a shame—a cruel shame, Master George, to play me such a good-for-nothing trick.”

I ceased laughing directly, and my mouth opened now with astonishment at the turn things had taken.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir,” cried Sarah; “and here have I been ill-using this poor boy because— Oh, Pompey, Pompey, Pompey!”

She caught him in her arms and gave him a motherly hug, while I stood amongst the trees speechless.

“Missie cry her eyes cos she whip Pompey?”

“Yes, my poor boy,” cried Sarah. “But his father shall know. Ah, you may well stop in hiding, sir; it’s a shame.” Then, ever so much louder, “It’s a shame!”

“Don’t ’cold Massa George, missie,” said Pompey. “Him nebber do nuffin.”

“Do nothing, indeed!” cried Sarah. “You come along in with me, and I’m very, very sorry I whipped you.”

“Pompey done mind, missie,” said the boy, showing his teeth.

“There, you’re a very good, forgiving boy,” said Sarah, as she caught up the uniform to take it in; “and I wish I could forgive myself.”

Then, catching Pomp by the arm, she led him into the house, from which he soon after returned with a corn-cake and half a pot of prime jam of Sarah’s own make.

And there I stood all the time thinking seriously among the trees, and unable to make up my mind what to do. If I did not speak, I should bear the blame, and Sarah would remain angry with me. If I told all, poor Hannibal, who had been led into the indulgence in a bit of vanity by his boy, would be in disgrace, and I knew that the poor fellow would feel it keenly. If I did not tell all, that young rascal would triumph in his cunning and deceit, and enjoy letting me have the credit of playing the trick on Sarah.

“I will tell,” I said, sharply, as I saw Pomp come out licking his thick lips, and enjoying the jam.

Then I thought of how patiently he had borne Sarah’s blows, so as to save his father from getting into disgrace, and that disarmed me again; so that my mind see-sawed about in the most tiresome way, till I gave up in despair, coming to no conclusion, and leaving the matter to settle itself, but determined to give Master Pomp a good thrashing soon, so as to get some satisfaction out of the affair.

“Pomp,” I said, half aloud, “Pomp. Yes, I called him Pomp; and after what I saw in the hut I ought to call old Hannibal Vanity. So I will—Pomp and Vanity. I wish I could make up my mind what to do.”

I had something else to think of the next moment, for I heard a shout, and Hannibal himself came running along the path from the stream.

“Hi—hi—Mass’ George!” he shouted, breathlessly.

“What’s the matter?” I said, running towards the house to get a gun. “Here, quick, come in here.”

I strained my eyes as I ran, expecting to see Indians in pursuit of him, but he alone was visible, and he pointed, breathless and panting, in the direction from which he came.

“What is it?” I cried. “What’s the matter?”

The answer came in a peculiar, low, hissing, rushing sound, as if a storm were coming through the forest. It ceased directly, and died away in a low, dull roar.

Chapter Seventeen.“Here, what’s the matter?” I cried; and at that moment Sarah came running out again, looking inquiringly from one to the other.“What was that noise?” she said.“De ribber—de ribber,” panted Hannibal. Then he tried to say more, but he was so excited that his command of English failed him, and he turned to Pomp, who had just come back from the hut, and said something to him volubly in his own tongue. Pomp’s mouth opened wide, and he stared wildly at his father. Then turning to me, he caught hold of my arm.“Come, get up the tree, Mass’ George. Pull missie up the tree.”“What for? What’s the matter?” I said, as the dull roaring seemed to be coming back.“Ribber run all ober; water take away de boat, and all gone.”“River running over? What do you mean—a flood?”“Yes, dat’s flood. Come, get up a tree.”“Oh, nonsense! Come and see.”“No, no, Mass’ George, mustn’t go,” cried Pomp, seizing my arm, and I was making for the path leading to the stream. “Hark! Hear dat?”I certainly did hear a low, ominous roar rising and falling in the air, but it sounded like distant thunder dying away. I began to be startled now, for the look of dread in Hannibal’s features was not without its effect upon me. Just then Pomp began to drag Sarah toward the biggest cypress about the place, chattering to her excitedly the while.“No, no, I can’t; my good boy, no,” she cried. “What! Get up the tree? Oh, nonsense! Here, Master George, my dear boy, what does it all mean?”“I don’t know. I’m as puzzled as you are, but it means that we’re going to have a flood. I wish my father was here.”“Look here, Pomp,” I said; “we need not climb a tree; it’s a great chance if the water reaches as high as the garden;” and I looked round, thinking how wise my father had been to select this spot, which was the only rising bit of ground near, though he had not chosen it on account of fears of flood, but so as to be well above the swamp damp and mists.Hannibal said something excitedly to his son.“Yes; climb up a tree, Mass’ George. Big water come roll down, wash um all away. Ah! Make um hase, Mass’ George.” He seized me by the arm, and pushed me toward the tree, which was about a hundred feet away down the slope at the back, but almost instantaneously a wave of water came washing and sighing through the forest slowly but surely, and lapped onward as it swept out from the forest line at a rate which, deliberate as it seemed, was sufficient for it to reach the big cypress before we could; and I stopped short appalled and looked round for a place of refuge.The water came on, and in another minute would have been up to where we stood, but it shrank back again toward the forest, and I felt that the danger was over, when to my great delight I heard a shout, the splashing of some one running through water, and my father came into sight to run up the slope to the place where we stood, closely followed by Morgan, and both at first too much exhausted to speak.“Thank God!” he cried at last. “Don’t speak. Flood. The settlement deep in water. Rising fast. The boat?”“Wash away, massa,” cried Pomp.“Ah!” cried my father, despairingly. “Quick, all of you. It is coming now.”As he spoke I heard the deep roar increasing, and after a glance round, my father pointed to the tree.“We must get up into that. No: too late.”For the flood came in a great, smooth, swelling wave out from the edge of the forest, and then glided toward us, rising rapidly up the slope.“I’m with you,” cried my father, and catching Sarah by the hand, he dragged her into the house, seized the rough ladder, and made her climb up silent and trembling into the loft, where, before we could join her, the water was over the doorsteps and had risen to our knees.But the moment Sarah was in the loft, my father ordered Pomp and me to follow, then Hannibal and Morgan, coming up last himself, by which time the water was up to his waist.As soon as he was in the little low loft, my father forced out the wooden bars across one of the windows and looked out, to take in the extent of our danger, and I pressed close to his side.“Is there any danger?” I said, rather huskily.“I hope not, my boy,” he said, sadly. “The question is whether the house will be swept right away. Everything depends upon whether it comes with a fierce rash, or rises slowly.”I looked round and could see that the flood kept coming in little swells or waves from the edge of the forest, the water rushing out from among the tall trunks, and then seeming to undulate gently toward the house. The garden was covered deeply, and where I had been accustomed to look at the pleasant sand-walks, and the young fruit-trees, all was now water, out of which rose the tops of trees here and there.The thatched roof of the blacks’ hut was just visible as a grey point seen amongst the tree-tops, and all at once I saw it rise up high out of the water and then settle down again and float slowly away.At that moment my father uttered a low sigh, and then there was another loud dull roar, and a great wave came rolling out of the edge of the forest, swelling onward, the tops of the trees bending towards us as it came on and on slowly, but with a force that bore all before it, and I felt my father’s hand clasp mine in his.“Quick!” he whispered; “climb out, and get on the ridge of the roof.”“Are you coming too, father?” I said.“Out, quick!” he answered, but before I was clear of the window, he had hold of me and half drew me back, holding to me tightly, and not without need, for there was a dull thud, the house quivered from the tremendous blow, and I felt the water leap over me, deluging me from head to foot, and making me gasp for breath as I struggled to get back.“Quiet!” said my father, sternly, and I remained still, expecting to feel the house swept away, to go floating like the roof of the hut, right away.But it stood firm, the wave gliding off, but leaving the water now rippling up between the boards, telling that the lower floor was filled, and the flood rising through the ceiling.An anxious ten minutes ensued, during which wave after wave came rolling out of the forest, each to deliver a heavy blow at our house, making the roof crack, but never yield, and with the last came so great an influx of water that our position rapidly began to grow untenable.My father made no effort to induce me to climb up after the first wave struck us, till the water had risen well up into the loft, when he said quietly—“Up with you, Morgan, on to the ridge.”“Begging your pardon, sir, I—”“Silence, sir! Out and up with you, and be ready to take your wife’s hands.”It was the officer spoke then, and Morgan crept out through the rough dormer window, and directly after shouted briefly—“Ready.”“Now, Sarah, my good woman, be brave and firm; creep out here,” said my father. “Don’t think about the water, and grasp your husband’s hands at once.”I heard Sarah give a deep sigh, and she caught at and pressed my shoulder as she passed; then with an activity I should not have expected of her, she crept out of the window, my father holding her dress tightly; there was a loud scrambling sound heard above the hissing and roaring of the water, and my father spoke again.“Safe!” he muttered. Then aloud, “Now, boys—both of you—up, and on to the ridge.”“You first, Pomp,” I said; and the boy scrambled out, and I followed, the task being, of course, mere play to us as we crept up the well-timbered roof, and got outside of the ridge-pole.We had not been there a minute before Hannibal and my father were beside us, and the waste of water all around.“Not much too soon,” said my father, cheerfully. “Do you see, George?”“Yes, father,” I said, feeling rather white, or as I suppose any one would feel if he were white, for the water was level now with the bottom of the window; “will it rise higher?”“I am afraid so,” he said, gravely, as he looked sharply round at the various trees standing out of the water. “Yes,” he continued, with the firmness of one who has made his decision; “Morgan, you swim well, and the current sets in the right direction. If the house gives way—”“Oh, but it won’t, sir; we made it too strong for that.”“Then if the water compels us to leave here, do you think you can support your wife to that tree, if I swim beside and help you?”“I will support her there, sir,” said Morgan, firmly.“That’s right. Hannibal, you can easily reach there?”“Yes, sah.”“And you boys can, of course. We may have to take to that tree, for I think it will stand.”We all declared our ability to reach the new refuge, and Pomp gave me a nod and a smile, for it was the tree we had before meant to reach; and then we sat there awe-struck, and wondering whether the house would give way, and be swept from its position.But now no fresh waves came rolling out of the forest, only a current swept gently past, and after a long silence my father said—“Yes, that must be it. A terrible series of storms must have been occurring, hundreds, perhaps a thousand miles away up in the highlands and mountains, gathering force, till a flood has swept down to here like a series of huge waves passing down the rivers, and flooding all their banks. The first violence has passed, and I think we may hope that the waters will go down as rapidly as they rose.”But his words did not seem likely to prove correct, for as we sat there, with evening creeping on, it was plain to see that the water was still rising—very slowly, but creeping steadily on. At first it was only level with the dormer window; then by slow degrees it was half way up; and as darkness was coming on, the top of the window was nearly reached.The roof was high in pitch, so that we were well out of the reach of the cold current as yet; but calculating by the rate of advance, it was plain that before many hours had passed the water would have risen to us; and the question my father had to ask us all was, whether we should stay there in the hope that at any time the highest point of the flood might have been reached, or try and swim at once to the great cypress, and take refuge among its boughs.“What do you say, Morgan?” said my father at last. “Shall we go or stay?”“Don’t know what to say, sir. We are dry now, but if we swim to the tree we shall all be drenched, except these two blacks, and they can easily wring out their things. Then it means sitting in our wet clothes half perished through the night. I don’t so much mind, but it would be terrible for her.”“Don’t study me, sir, please,” said Sarah, firmly. “Do what is for the best.”“I think what you say is right, Morgan. We can but swim to the tree when the water rises too high for us to stay here longer.”“But you don’t really think it’ll get any higher, sir, do you?”“I am afraid to say what I think,” replied my father. “We are in a vast continent whose rivers are enormous. You see the water is still rising.”“Oh yes, sir, it’s still rising,” grumbled Morgan; “but I wish it would keep still. Going to stop or go, sir? If we go it had better be at once.”“We will stay,” said my father; and as terrible a vigil as ever poor creatures kept commenced.Fortunately for us the night was glorious, and as the last gleam of daylight passed away, the great stars came out rapidly, till the darkened heavens were one blaze of splendour, while the scene was made more grand by the glittering being reflected from the calm surface of the waters all around, till we seemed to be sitting there in the midst of a sea of gold, with blackened figures standing up dotted here and there, and beyond them the dark line of the forest.The silence for a time was awful, for the current now ran very slowly, and the rise of the water was so insidious that it could hardly be perceived.From time to time my father tried to raise our spirits by speaking hopefully and prayerfully of our position, but it was hard work to raise the spirits of poor creatures in so perilous a strait, and after a time he became silent, and we all sat wondering, and bending down to feel if the water was still rising.Then all at once a curious thrill of horror ran through me, for the hideous bellow of an alligator was heard, and Morgan’s hand went involuntarily to his pocket.“Got knives, everybody?” he said. “Don’t want them cowardly beasts to tackle us now.”“It is hardly likely,” said my father, but at that moment as he spoke Pomp touched my arm.“Dah ’gator!” he said, pointing.I could see nothing, only that there was a broken lustre of the stars reflected on the water; and if it was one of the monsters it slowly glided away.Then it began to grow colder and colder, and as I sat and gazed before me, the dark trees standing above the flood grew misty, and a pleasant sensation was stealing over me, when I felt my arm grasped tightly, and I gave quite a jump.“No, no, my boy!” said my father, sternly. “You must not give way to that.”“I—I—” I faltered.“You were dropping off to sleep,” said my father, firmly. “You must master the desire. Hannibal, take care that Pomp does not go to sleep.”“Him sleep long time, sah,” said the black. “Wake um up?”“No; let him sleep; only keep watch over him, or he may slide into the water.”There was silence again, only broken by a low sigh or two from Sarah, to whom Morgan muttered something again and again as the time crawled slowly on and the waters still rose higher and higher toward our feet.Never did the night seem so long before, and the only relief I had in my wearisome position was derived from the efforts I had to make from time to time to master the terrible feeling of drowsiness which would keep coming on.Every now and then there was a little buzz of conversation, and I made out that my father asked every one’s opinion, and made all try to make out how much higher the water had risen, so as to excite their interest, though it was all plain enough.And so the night wore on, with the flood gliding up and up, and strange splashings and bellowings heard from time to time, now far off, now nearer, and every eye was strained to see if the creatures that made these noises were appearing.Then all was silent again, and we waited, with the water still rising.All at once I caught at my father’s arm.“What’s that?” I whispered, in awe-stricken tones, for there was a curious quivering thrill in the timbers of the house, and it felt to me as if it was at last yielding to the presence of the water, and preparing to break up and float away.My father did not answer for a few moments, and I knew that he was listening intently.“I am not sure,” he said at last. “I think—and hope—that it was something heavy swept against the house, and that it has passed on.”The alarm died out, and we sat either in silence or talking together of the state of affairs at the settlement, and the possibility of help coming in the shape of boats at daybreak, when Pomp’s sharp voice suddenly rang out—“Hi! Who did dat? Who pour cole water on nigger leg?”In spite of the cold and misery and peril of my position, I could not help laughing heartily as I heard Hannibal speaking angrily.Pomp retorted just as sharply, but though his father spoke in their West African tongue the boy replied in his broken English, to which he was daily becoming more accustomed, while his father acquired it far more slowly.“How I know?” cried Pomp, irritably. “I tought Mass’ George play trick. Hi! Mass’ George, you dah?”“Yes,” I said. “What is it?”“You got anyfing to eat? I so dreffle hungry.”“No, Pomp,” I replied, sadly; “nothing at all.”“You been sleep, sah?” he continued, turning to my father.“No, my lad, no,” replied my father, good-humouredly, and I heard the boy yawn loudly.There was no need to measure the water now, or to be in doubt as to whether it was rising, for it had wetted our feet as we sat astride, or eased the position by sitting in the ordinary way. But the stars still shone, and the night dragged its slow way on.“Will morning never come?” I said, despairingly to my father at last. “Oh, I am so—so sleepy.”He took my hand and pressed it. “Try and bear it all like a man, my boy,” he whispered. “There is a woman with us, and you have not heard her make a single complaint.”“No; it was very selfish and cowardly of me, father,” I whispered back, “and I will try.”I did, and I conquered, for I know that not a single complaint afterwards escaped my lips.And higher still rose the black, gold-spangled water over our ankles, creeping chilly and numbing up our legs, and we knew that before long the effort would have to be made to reach the great black mound of boughs which we could dimly see a short distance away.“How far do you think it is from daybreak, Morgan?” said my father suddenly, after what seemed to me a terrible time of suspense.“Don’t know, sir. Daren’t guess at it,” said Morgan, despondently. “Time has gone so slowly that it may be hours off yet.”“No,” said my father, “it cannot be very far away. If I could feel sure I would still wait before making our attempt, but I am afraid to wait long. We are getting chilled and numb.”“Just so, sir,” said Morgan, sadly. “You think for us all, sir, and give your orders. I’ll do my best.”There was another pause, and I heard my father draw a deep breath, and then speak sharply—“Well, George,” he said; “how do you feel for your swim?”I tried to answer, but a feeling of despair choked me, as I looked across at the dark boughs, thought of the depth of water between, and that I could not swim there now.“Oh, come, come, lad, pick up,” cried my father. “The distance is nothing. I shall want you to help me.”“Yes, father,” I said, despondently; and I heard him draw a deep, catching breath.But he knew that on him lay the task of saving us all, and he said cheerfully—“You can easily swim that, Hannibal?”“Yes, sah,” said the black, quietly.“And you, Pompey?”“Eh, massa? Swim dat? Yes, Pomp swim all dat, sah.”“We shall be forced to start directly,” said my father. “Do you hear, Morgan? We must not wait to be floated off.”“No, sir,” replied Morgan; and his voice sounded sad and grave, and a low sigh came from by his side. Then arose in a low voice—“Master George, dear, could you get here?”“Yes,” I said, trying to stir myself; and, catching hold of my father’s hand, I stood up with a foot on each side of the ridge, stiff, cramped, and with the water streaming from me.“That’s right,” said my father, cheerfully. “Mind how you go, my lad. It will stretch your legs. Take hold of Hannibal; don’t slip and get a ducking.”He said all this cheerily, and I knew it was to encourage us all; but as I passed by him, stepping right over his legs, he whispered, “Speak cheerily to the poor woman.”“Yes, father,” I whispered back.“Don’t keep him, Sarah,” said my father. “I want to come there myself; I shall swim by your other side.”She did not answer, and I crept by Hannibal and then over Pomp, who gave me a hug, his teeth chattering as he said—“Oh, I say, Mass’ George, I so dreffle cold. Water right up a-top.”The next moment I was seated again on the ridge, feeling that the water really was right up to the top, as Sarah’s cold arms closed round me, and her wet face was pressed to mine as she kissed me.“Good-bye; God bless you, my darling!”“Don’t, don’t talk like that,” I said. “We’ll all mount the tree, and the water will go down.”A piteous, despairing sigh came into my ear, and I felt Morgan’s hand seek mine, and give me what I knew was meant for a farewell grip.A bad preparation for a swim to save one’s life, and the chill of the rising water began now to increase as I fancied it made a leap at us, as if to snatch us off and bear us away to the far-off dark shores beyond which there was a newer life.“Come, George, my lad. Back with you,” cried my father; “I want to come there. Be ready every one; we must start in a few minutes.”“Yes, father,” I said; and I was on my way back, passing Pomp, who began to follow me, and together we crept, splashing through the water, holding tight by Hannibal, and then by my father.“You too, my lad?” he said, kindly.“Yes, massa,” replied Pomp.“Swim steadily, both of you. The distance is very short, and there is nothing to mind.” Then as if to himself— “Oh, if I could only tell when morning would come!”“Massa want know when time to get up to go to work?” said Pomp, sharply.“Yes.”“Oh, quite soon, sah. Sun come up dreckly, and warm poor little nigger; I so dreffle cold.”“How do you know?” cried my father, clinging as it were like a drowning man to a straw of hope.“Oh, Pomp know, sah. Dah! You ope bofe ear, and listum to lil bird. Dat him. Lil blackum yallow bird, gopinkum-winkum-wee.”A dead silence fell upon us, and what had been inaudible to me, but quite plain to the boy, came faintly from the distance—the twittering cry of a bird in one of the trees at the edge of the forest; and directly after it was answered from far away, and I felt my father’s cold wet hand grasp mine as he exclaimed hoarsely—“Thank God.”I could hear him breathing hard, and the tears ran down my cheeks as my head rested on his breast, and I clung to him for a few seconds.Then he drew another deep breath, and his voice and manner were entirely changed, as he cried out—“Do you hear, Morgan? Daybreak in a few minutes, and the sun before long. I think we could hold out here for an hour at a pinch. We shall have our swim long before that, and with heaven’s good light to help us safely there.”“Hurrah!” shouted Morgan, hoarsely. And then we all joined in a hearty cheer, while the cry of the bird rang out directly after from close at hand.

“Here, what’s the matter?” I cried; and at that moment Sarah came running out again, looking inquiringly from one to the other.

“What was that noise?” she said.

“De ribber—de ribber,” panted Hannibal. Then he tried to say more, but he was so excited that his command of English failed him, and he turned to Pomp, who had just come back from the hut, and said something to him volubly in his own tongue. Pomp’s mouth opened wide, and he stared wildly at his father. Then turning to me, he caught hold of my arm.

“Come, get up the tree, Mass’ George. Pull missie up the tree.”

“What for? What’s the matter?” I said, as the dull roaring seemed to be coming back.

“Ribber run all ober; water take away de boat, and all gone.”

“River running over? What do you mean—a flood?”

“Yes, dat’s flood. Come, get up a tree.”

“Oh, nonsense! Come and see.”

“No, no, Mass’ George, mustn’t go,” cried Pomp, seizing my arm, and I was making for the path leading to the stream. “Hark! Hear dat?”

I certainly did hear a low, ominous roar rising and falling in the air, but it sounded like distant thunder dying away. I began to be startled now, for the look of dread in Hannibal’s features was not without its effect upon me. Just then Pomp began to drag Sarah toward the biggest cypress about the place, chattering to her excitedly the while.

“No, no, I can’t; my good boy, no,” she cried. “What! Get up the tree? Oh, nonsense! Here, Master George, my dear boy, what does it all mean?”

“I don’t know. I’m as puzzled as you are, but it means that we’re going to have a flood. I wish my father was here.”

“Look here, Pomp,” I said; “we need not climb a tree; it’s a great chance if the water reaches as high as the garden;” and I looked round, thinking how wise my father had been to select this spot, which was the only rising bit of ground near, though he had not chosen it on account of fears of flood, but so as to be well above the swamp damp and mists.

Hannibal said something excitedly to his son.

“Yes; climb up a tree, Mass’ George. Big water come roll down, wash um all away. Ah! Make um hase, Mass’ George.” He seized me by the arm, and pushed me toward the tree, which was about a hundred feet away down the slope at the back, but almost instantaneously a wave of water came washing and sighing through the forest slowly but surely, and lapped onward as it swept out from the forest line at a rate which, deliberate as it seemed, was sufficient for it to reach the big cypress before we could; and I stopped short appalled and looked round for a place of refuge.

The water came on, and in another minute would have been up to where we stood, but it shrank back again toward the forest, and I felt that the danger was over, when to my great delight I heard a shout, the splashing of some one running through water, and my father came into sight to run up the slope to the place where we stood, closely followed by Morgan, and both at first too much exhausted to speak.

“Thank God!” he cried at last. “Don’t speak. Flood. The settlement deep in water. Rising fast. The boat?”

“Wash away, massa,” cried Pomp.

“Ah!” cried my father, despairingly. “Quick, all of you. It is coming now.”

As he spoke I heard the deep roar increasing, and after a glance round, my father pointed to the tree.

“We must get up into that. No: too late.”

For the flood came in a great, smooth, swelling wave out from the edge of the forest, and then glided toward us, rising rapidly up the slope.

“I’m with you,” cried my father, and catching Sarah by the hand, he dragged her into the house, seized the rough ladder, and made her climb up silent and trembling into the loft, where, before we could join her, the water was over the doorsteps and had risen to our knees.

But the moment Sarah was in the loft, my father ordered Pomp and me to follow, then Hannibal and Morgan, coming up last himself, by which time the water was up to his waist.

As soon as he was in the little low loft, my father forced out the wooden bars across one of the windows and looked out, to take in the extent of our danger, and I pressed close to his side.

“Is there any danger?” I said, rather huskily.

“I hope not, my boy,” he said, sadly. “The question is whether the house will be swept right away. Everything depends upon whether it comes with a fierce rash, or rises slowly.”

I looked round and could see that the flood kept coming in little swells or waves from the edge of the forest, the water rushing out from among the tall trunks, and then seeming to undulate gently toward the house. The garden was covered deeply, and where I had been accustomed to look at the pleasant sand-walks, and the young fruit-trees, all was now water, out of which rose the tops of trees here and there.

The thatched roof of the blacks’ hut was just visible as a grey point seen amongst the tree-tops, and all at once I saw it rise up high out of the water and then settle down again and float slowly away.

At that moment my father uttered a low sigh, and then there was another loud dull roar, and a great wave came rolling out of the edge of the forest, swelling onward, the tops of the trees bending towards us as it came on and on slowly, but with a force that bore all before it, and I felt my father’s hand clasp mine in his.

“Quick!” he whispered; “climb out, and get on the ridge of the roof.”

“Are you coming too, father?” I said.

“Out, quick!” he answered, but before I was clear of the window, he had hold of me and half drew me back, holding to me tightly, and not without need, for there was a dull thud, the house quivered from the tremendous blow, and I felt the water leap over me, deluging me from head to foot, and making me gasp for breath as I struggled to get back.

“Quiet!” said my father, sternly, and I remained still, expecting to feel the house swept away, to go floating like the roof of the hut, right away.

But it stood firm, the wave gliding off, but leaving the water now rippling up between the boards, telling that the lower floor was filled, and the flood rising through the ceiling.

An anxious ten minutes ensued, during which wave after wave came rolling out of the forest, each to deliver a heavy blow at our house, making the roof crack, but never yield, and with the last came so great an influx of water that our position rapidly began to grow untenable.

My father made no effort to induce me to climb up after the first wave struck us, till the water had risen well up into the loft, when he said quietly—

“Up with you, Morgan, on to the ridge.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, I—”

“Silence, sir! Out and up with you, and be ready to take your wife’s hands.”

It was the officer spoke then, and Morgan crept out through the rough dormer window, and directly after shouted briefly—

“Ready.”

“Now, Sarah, my good woman, be brave and firm; creep out here,” said my father. “Don’t think about the water, and grasp your husband’s hands at once.”

I heard Sarah give a deep sigh, and she caught at and pressed my shoulder as she passed; then with an activity I should not have expected of her, she crept out of the window, my father holding her dress tightly; there was a loud scrambling sound heard above the hissing and roaring of the water, and my father spoke again.

“Safe!” he muttered. Then aloud, “Now, boys—both of you—up, and on to the ridge.”

“You first, Pomp,” I said; and the boy scrambled out, and I followed, the task being, of course, mere play to us as we crept up the well-timbered roof, and got outside of the ridge-pole.

We had not been there a minute before Hannibal and my father were beside us, and the waste of water all around.

“Not much too soon,” said my father, cheerfully. “Do you see, George?”

“Yes, father,” I said, feeling rather white, or as I suppose any one would feel if he were white, for the water was level now with the bottom of the window; “will it rise higher?”

“I am afraid so,” he said, gravely, as he looked sharply round at the various trees standing out of the water. “Yes,” he continued, with the firmness of one who has made his decision; “Morgan, you swim well, and the current sets in the right direction. If the house gives way—”

“Oh, but it won’t, sir; we made it too strong for that.”

“Then if the water compels us to leave here, do you think you can support your wife to that tree, if I swim beside and help you?”

“I will support her there, sir,” said Morgan, firmly.

“That’s right. Hannibal, you can easily reach there?”

“Yes, sah.”

“And you boys can, of course. We may have to take to that tree, for I think it will stand.”

We all declared our ability to reach the new refuge, and Pomp gave me a nod and a smile, for it was the tree we had before meant to reach; and then we sat there awe-struck, and wondering whether the house would give way, and be swept from its position.

But now no fresh waves came rolling out of the forest, only a current swept gently past, and after a long silence my father said—

“Yes, that must be it. A terrible series of storms must have been occurring, hundreds, perhaps a thousand miles away up in the highlands and mountains, gathering force, till a flood has swept down to here like a series of huge waves passing down the rivers, and flooding all their banks. The first violence has passed, and I think we may hope that the waters will go down as rapidly as they rose.”

But his words did not seem likely to prove correct, for as we sat there, with evening creeping on, it was plain to see that the water was still rising—very slowly, but creeping steadily on. At first it was only level with the dormer window; then by slow degrees it was half way up; and as darkness was coming on, the top of the window was nearly reached.

The roof was high in pitch, so that we were well out of the reach of the cold current as yet; but calculating by the rate of advance, it was plain that before many hours had passed the water would have risen to us; and the question my father had to ask us all was, whether we should stay there in the hope that at any time the highest point of the flood might have been reached, or try and swim at once to the great cypress, and take refuge among its boughs.

“What do you say, Morgan?” said my father at last. “Shall we go or stay?”

“Don’t know what to say, sir. We are dry now, but if we swim to the tree we shall all be drenched, except these two blacks, and they can easily wring out their things. Then it means sitting in our wet clothes half perished through the night. I don’t so much mind, but it would be terrible for her.”

“Don’t study me, sir, please,” said Sarah, firmly. “Do what is for the best.”

“I think what you say is right, Morgan. We can but swim to the tree when the water rises too high for us to stay here longer.”

“But you don’t really think it’ll get any higher, sir, do you?”

“I am afraid to say what I think,” replied my father. “We are in a vast continent whose rivers are enormous. You see the water is still rising.”

“Oh yes, sir, it’s still rising,” grumbled Morgan; “but I wish it would keep still. Going to stop or go, sir? If we go it had better be at once.”

“We will stay,” said my father; and as terrible a vigil as ever poor creatures kept commenced.

Fortunately for us the night was glorious, and as the last gleam of daylight passed away, the great stars came out rapidly, till the darkened heavens were one blaze of splendour, while the scene was made more grand by the glittering being reflected from the calm surface of the waters all around, till we seemed to be sitting there in the midst of a sea of gold, with blackened figures standing up dotted here and there, and beyond them the dark line of the forest.

The silence for a time was awful, for the current now ran very slowly, and the rise of the water was so insidious that it could hardly be perceived.

From time to time my father tried to raise our spirits by speaking hopefully and prayerfully of our position, but it was hard work to raise the spirits of poor creatures in so perilous a strait, and after a time he became silent, and we all sat wondering, and bending down to feel if the water was still rising.

Then all at once a curious thrill of horror ran through me, for the hideous bellow of an alligator was heard, and Morgan’s hand went involuntarily to his pocket.

“Got knives, everybody?” he said. “Don’t want them cowardly beasts to tackle us now.”

“It is hardly likely,” said my father, but at that moment as he spoke Pomp touched my arm.

“Dah ’gator!” he said, pointing.

I could see nothing, only that there was a broken lustre of the stars reflected on the water; and if it was one of the monsters it slowly glided away.

Then it began to grow colder and colder, and as I sat and gazed before me, the dark trees standing above the flood grew misty, and a pleasant sensation was stealing over me, when I felt my arm grasped tightly, and I gave quite a jump.

“No, no, my boy!” said my father, sternly. “You must not give way to that.”

“I—I—” I faltered.

“You were dropping off to sleep,” said my father, firmly. “You must master the desire. Hannibal, take care that Pomp does not go to sleep.”

“Him sleep long time, sah,” said the black. “Wake um up?”

“No; let him sleep; only keep watch over him, or he may slide into the water.”

There was silence again, only broken by a low sigh or two from Sarah, to whom Morgan muttered something again and again as the time crawled slowly on and the waters still rose higher and higher toward our feet.

Never did the night seem so long before, and the only relief I had in my wearisome position was derived from the efforts I had to make from time to time to master the terrible feeling of drowsiness which would keep coming on.

Every now and then there was a little buzz of conversation, and I made out that my father asked every one’s opinion, and made all try to make out how much higher the water had risen, so as to excite their interest, though it was all plain enough.

And so the night wore on, with the flood gliding up and up, and strange splashings and bellowings heard from time to time, now far off, now nearer, and every eye was strained to see if the creatures that made these noises were appearing.

Then all was silent again, and we waited, with the water still rising.

All at once I caught at my father’s arm.

“What’s that?” I whispered, in awe-stricken tones, for there was a curious quivering thrill in the timbers of the house, and it felt to me as if it was at last yielding to the presence of the water, and preparing to break up and float away.

My father did not answer for a few moments, and I knew that he was listening intently.

“I am not sure,” he said at last. “I think—and hope—that it was something heavy swept against the house, and that it has passed on.”

The alarm died out, and we sat either in silence or talking together of the state of affairs at the settlement, and the possibility of help coming in the shape of boats at daybreak, when Pomp’s sharp voice suddenly rang out—

“Hi! Who did dat? Who pour cole water on nigger leg?”

In spite of the cold and misery and peril of my position, I could not help laughing heartily as I heard Hannibal speaking angrily.

Pomp retorted just as sharply, but though his father spoke in their West African tongue the boy replied in his broken English, to which he was daily becoming more accustomed, while his father acquired it far more slowly.

“How I know?” cried Pomp, irritably. “I tought Mass’ George play trick. Hi! Mass’ George, you dah?”

“Yes,” I said. “What is it?”

“You got anyfing to eat? I so dreffle hungry.”

“No, Pomp,” I replied, sadly; “nothing at all.”

“You been sleep, sah?” he continued, turning to my father.

“No, my lad, no,” replied my father, good-humouredly, and I heard the boy yawn loudly.

There was no need to measure the water now, or to be in doubt as to whether it was rising, for it had wetted our feet as we sat astride, or eased the position by sitting in the ordinary way. But the stars still shone, and the night dragged its slow way on.

“Will morning never come?” I said, despairingly to my father at last. “Oh, I am so—so sleepy.”

He took my hand and pressed it. “Try and bear it all like a man, my boy,” he whispered. “There is a woman with us, and you have not heard her make a single complaint.”

“No; it was very selfish and cowardly of me, father,” I whispered back, “and I will try.”

I did, and I conquered, for I know that not a single complaint afterwards escaped my lips.

And higher still rose the black, gold-spangled water over our ankles, creeping chilly and numbing up our legs, and we knew that before long the effort would have to be made to reach the great black mound of boughs which we could dimly see a short distance away.

“How far do you think it is from daybreak, Morgan?” said my father suddenly, after what seemed to me a terrible time of suspense.

“Don’t know, sir. Daren’t guess at it,” said Morgan, despondently. “Time has gone so slowly that it may be hours off yet.”

“No,” said my father, “it cannot be very far away. If I could feel sure I would still wait before making our attempt, but I am afraid to wait long. We are getting chilled and numb.”

“Just so, sir,” said Morgan, sadly. “You think for us all, sir, and give your orders. I’ll do my best.”

There was another pause, and I heard my father draw a deep breath, and then speak sharply—

“Well, George,” he said; “how do you feel for your swim?”

I tried to answer, but a feeling of despair choked me, as I looked across at the dark boughs, thought of the depth of water between, and that I could not swim there now.

“Oh, come, come, lad, pick up,” cried my father. “The distance is nothing. I shall want you to help me.”

“Yes, father,” I said, despondently; and I heard him draw a deep, catching breath.

But he knew that on him lay the task of saving us all, and he said cheerfully—

“You can easily swim that, Hannibal?”

“Yes, sah,” said the black, quietly.

“And you, Pompey?”

“Eh, massa? Swim dat? Yes, Pomp swim all dat, sah.”

“We shall be forced to start directly,” said my father. “Do you hear, Morgan? We must not wait to be floated off.”

“No, sir,” replied Morgan; and his voice sounded sad and grave, and a low sigh came from by his side. Then arose in a low voice—

“Master George, dear, could you get here?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to stir myself; and, catching hold of my father’s hand, I stood up with a foot on each side of the ridge, stiff, cramped, and with the water streaming from me.

“That’s right,” said my father, cheerfully. “Mind how you go, my lad. It will stretch your legs. Take hold of Hannibal; don’t slip and get a ducking.”

He said all this cheerily, and I knew it was to encourage us all; but as I passed by him, stepping right over his legs, he whispered, “Speak cheerily to the poor woman.”

“Yes, father,” I whispered back.

“Don’t keep him, Sarah,” said my father. “I want to come there myself; I shall swim by your other side.”

She did not answer, and I crept by Hannibal and then over Pomp, who gave me a hug, his teeth chattering as he said—

“Oh, I say, Mass’ George, I so dreffle cold. Water right up a-top.”

The next moment I was seated again on the ridge, feeling that the water really was right up to the top, as Sarah’s cold arms closed round me, and her wet face was pressed to mine as she kissed me.

“Good-bye; God bless you, my darling!”

“Don’t, don’t talk like that,” I said. “We’ll all mount the tree, and the water will go down.”

A piteous, despairing sigh came into my ear, and I felt Morgan’s hand seek mine, and give me what I knew was meant for a farewell grip.

A bad preparation for a swim to save one’s life, and the chill of the rising water began now to increase as I fancied it made a leap at us, as if to snatch us off and bear us away to the far-off dark shores beyond which there was a newer life.

“Come, George, my lad. Back with you,” cried my father; “I want to come there. Be ready every one; we must start in a few minutes.”

“Yes, father,” I said; and I was on my way back, passing Pomp, who began to follow me, and together we crept, splashing through the water, holding tight by Hannibal, and then by my father.

“You too, my lad?” he said, kindly.

“Yes, massa,” replied Pomp.

“Swim steadily, both of you. The distance is very short, and there is nothing to mind.” Then as if to himself— “Oh, if I could only tell when morning would come!”

“Massa want know when time to get up to go to work?” said Pomp, sharply.

“Yes.”

“Oh, quite soon, sah. Sun come up dreckly, and warm poor little nigger; I so dreffle cold.”

“How do you know?” cried my father, clinging as it were like a drowning man to a straw of hope.

“Oh, Pomp know, sah. Dah! You ope bofe ear, and listum to lil bird. Dat him. Lil blackum yallow bird, gopinkum-winkum-wee.”

A dead silence fell upon us, and what had been inaudible to me, but quite plain to the boy, came faintly from the distance—the twittering cry of a bird in one of the trees at the edge of the forest; and directly after it was answered from far away, and I felt my father’s cold wet hand grasp mine as he exclaimed hoarsely—“Thank God.”

I could hear him breathing hard, and the tears ran down my cheeks as my head rested on his breast, and I clung to him for a few seconds.

Then he drew another deep breath, and his voice and manner were entirely changed, as he cried out—

“Do you hear, Morgan? Daybreak in a few minutes, and the sun before long. I think we could hold out here for an hour at a pinch. We shall have our swim long before that, and with heaven’s good light to help us safely there.”

“Hurrah!” shouted Morgan, hoarsely. And then we all joined in a hearty cheer, while the cry of the bird rang out directly after from close at hand.

Chapter Eighteen.Black night comes quickly down there in the south, with but little of the twilight of the north, and after the night’s dark reign there is but a short dawn before the sun springs up to shed hope and light, and the bright thoughts of a new day.And now, with the blood seeming to flow more swiftly through our chilled frames, came the pipings and twitterings of the birds at the edge of the forest; there was a misty light, then a roseate flush overhead which rapidly changed to orange above and below. The black mirror spangled with diamonds and gold had gone, and as we sat there with the water lapping now over the ridge, which was quite invisible, the sun’s edge rose over the forest, glorifying the tops of the trees, and the great green cypress stood up with golden gleams darting through it, and offering us an inviting refuge from the peril in which we were placed.“Now, Morgan, ready?” said my father, as he stood up and shook his limbs.“Yes, sir, ready. Cheer up, old lass; we’ll soon get you there.”I caught a glimpse of Sarah’s white despairing face, but my attention was taken up directly by my father’s words.“Come, Pompey, brave lad, jump in and swim across to the big tree, and show us the way.”“Iss, massa,” cried the boy; and he started up and dived in plump, to disappear, and then his black head popped up. “Come ’long, Mass’ George,” he cried; “so lubbly warm.”“Yes; in with you!” cried my father; and I rose, hesitated a moment, and then plunged in, to find that by comparison with the air the water was quite warm.“I dab fuss,” cried Pompey, and he swam on to soon reach one of the boughs, and turn round to wait for me.I did not keep him long; and as soon as we had seated ourselves astride of the great branch just level with the water, we stayed to watch the coming of the rest.That little swim after the effort required to make the first plunge was simplicity itself to us boys; and consequently I looked almost wonderingly at the effort it caused my father and Morgan to get across with Sarah, whom they supported between them.They started well, swimming of course abreast, and with Hannibal coming behind, but after a time they began to get deeper in the water, and to be swimming with more effort, fighting so fiercely at last that if it had not been for Hannibal lending them a helping hand, they would have been swept away.I could not understand the reason for some time, but at last made out that they had drifted into a spot where two little currents met, and were striving against a force which I had not encountered, and were being carried away.At last, by making a desperate effort, they swam on up the swift little current, and were nearing the tree fast, getting well toward the bough on which we two boys were seated, when all at once they stopped and began struggling again.They were so near the end of the bough, that had we been there I could almost have reached them, and yet, so close to safety, they were, as I at last realised, completely helpless.“What is it? What’s the matter, father?” I cried, excitedly.“Caught—caught among the boughs underneath,” he panted, hoarsely; and I knew now that they had swum into and become entangled among the submerged boughs.Just then I heard Sarah say piteously—“It’s of no use. Try and save yourselves.”I looked at Pomp, and he nodded his head, as if he fully comprehended me, beginning at once to creep along the bough we were on, like a monkey, and I followed as well as I could, pretty quickly, but not with his agility.The bough was thick where we sat, about a couple of feet above the water, and rose up at the end to about ten feet above. But as I hoped, when we were some distance along, it began to bend more and more, and the thinner branch we now reached bent so rapidly that we were soon only five feet, after climbing to six, then four, three—two—then one, and then touching the water into which we sank now, going along hand over hand, making the rough bough act as a natural rope, till Pomp was at the full extent of the thinnest twigs and nearly within reach of the helpless group.“Now, Mass’ George, come,” he said.I grasped his meaning and passed on abreast of him, took a good hold with one hand grasping quite a bunch of twigs, while the boy took the other and reached out toward where Morgan was just able to keep himself afloat, with the others beyond him, and all growing weaker minute by minute.Pomp got out as far as he could and stretched out his hand, but he was a full yard off still, and in a despairing way I looked at Morgan’s upturned face.“No catch hold, massa?” cried Pomp; and then he said something in his own tongue, whose effect was to make Hannibal swim rapidly towards him from where he had been supporting my father, he being the only one not entangled by the boughs.The peril taught the man how to act, and catching his son’s hand, he bridged the space and extended his other hand to Morgan, so that we formed a human chain in the water, dependent upon the strength of my wrist and the bunch of twigs and leaves I held.“Now, father,” I said; “can you get clear?”He struggled feebly, and I began to tremble for my hold.“No,” he said; “my foot is caught in a fork among the boughs, and if you draw, it only tightens it.”A dead silence ensued. What was to be done? I could not answer the question, and I knew that everything depended upon how long I could hold on. Was all our effort to result in failure after all? It seemed so, and I tried to say something about kicking free, but no words would come, and once more I began to feel a horrible sensation of fear. The difficulty was solved by my father, who roused himself to a final effort just in the height of our despair.“Get her into the tree,” he said, hoarsely. “Never mind me.”What followed seems to me now like part of a confused dream. Nearly all my early adventures stand out, when I go back, brightly vivid and distinct, but a mist comes over my brain when I try to recall that scene.I can remember though how Pomp changed his grasp of my hand after a struggle, by getting his teeth well into the skirt of the loose black garment I wore, thus setting both my hands at liberty, so that I was able to get a double hold upon the boughs, and drag and draw with such good effect that Pomp was soon within reach of another.He seized this, and together we managed to draw Hannibal and then Morgan within reach, so that they too got a good grip of the bended twigs, and were in comparative safety.But my father?I looked from where I held on, up to my chin in the water, outward toward the spot in which I had seen him last. But he was not there. He had really been the only one entangled, and as soon as he had loosened his hold of poor Sarah, a good struggle in the outward direction had set him free, and I saw him now striking out feebly and floating helplessly away.My first thought was to swim to his help, but I was utterly unnerved and overdone. A few strokes would have been all that I could have taken, and then I might have gone down, but a hand was stretched-out and caught me by the collar, and Morgan’s voice whispered—“No, no, my lad, leave it to them.”And now for the first time, in a confused way, I understood that Hannibal and Pompey were swimming to my father’s help, while I remained clinging there.More misty than ever all that follows seems, but I have a recollection of seeing the two black heads nearing where my father was still struggling to keep afloat, drifting farther and farther away, and next of his being close up to the great fork of the tree some dozen yards from where we clung.It was no easy task to join them, but the danger was past now, and after a rest we three—Morgan, Sarah, and myself—managed to get along the bough to where we could reach another, lower down, and level with the water.The rest was simple, and before many more minutes had elapsed, we were all gathered together in the great fork among the huge branches, wringing away part of the water that drenched us, and mentally thankful for our narrow escape from death as we revelled in the warm beams of the sun.

Black night comes quickly down there in the south, with but little of the twilight of the north, and after the night’s dark reign there is but a short dawn before the sun springs up to shed hope and light, and the bright thoughts of a new day.

And now, with the blood seeming to flow more swiftly through our chilled frames, came the pipings and twitterings of the birds at the edge of the forest; there was a misty light, then a roseate flush overhead which rapidly changed to orange above and below. The black mirror spangled with diamonds and gold had gone, and as we sat there with the water lapping now over the ridge, which was quite invisible, the sun’s edge rose over the forest, glorifying the tops of the trees, and the great green cypress stood up with golden gleams darting through it, and offering us an inviting refuge from the peril in which we were placed.

“Now, Morgan, ready?” said my father, as he stood up and shook his limbs.

“Yes, sir, ready. Cheer up, old lass; we’ll soon get you there.”

I caught a glimpse of Sarah’s white despairing face, but my attention was taken up directly by my father’s words.

“Come, Pompey, brave lad, jump in and swim across to the big tree, and show us the way.”

“Iss, massa,” cried the boy; and he started up and dived in plump, to disappear, and then his black head popped up. “Come ’long, Mass’ George,” he cried; “so lubbly warm.”

“Yes; in with you!” cried my father; and I rose, hesitated a moment, and then plunged in, to find that by comparison with the air the water was quite warm.

“I dab fuss,” cried Pompey, and he swam on to soon reach one of the boughs, and turn round to wait for me.

I did not keep him long; and as soon as we had seated ourselves astride of the great branch just level with the water, we stayed to watch the coming of the rest.

That little swim after the effort required to make the first plunge was simplicity itself to us boys; and consequently I looked almost wonderingly at the effort it caused my father and Morgan to get across with Sarah, whom they supported between them.

They started well, swimming of course abreast, and with Hannibal coming behind, but after a time they began to get deeper in the water, and to be swimming with more effort, fighting so fiercely at last that if it had not been for Hannibal lending them a helping hand, they would have been swept away.

I could not understand the reason for some time, but at last made out that they had drifted into a spot where two little currents met, and were striving against a force which I had not encountered, and were being carried away.

At last, by making a desperate effort, they swam on up the swift little current, and were nearing the tree fast, getting well toward the bough on which we two boys were seated, when all at once they stopped and began struggling again.

They were so near the end of the bough, that had we been there I could almost have reached them, and yet, so close to safety, they were, as I at last realised, completely helpless.

“What is it? What’s the matter, father?” I cried, excitedly.

“Caught—caught among the boughs underneath,” he panted, hoarsely; and I knew now that they had swum into and become entangled among the submerged boughs.

Just then I heard Sarah say piteously—

“It’s of no use. Try and save yourselves.”

I looked at Pomp, and he nodded his head, as if he fully comprehended me, beginning at once to creep along the bough we were on, like a monkey, and I followed as well as I could, pretty quickly, but not with his agility.

The bough was thick where we sat, about a couple of feet above the water, and rose up at the end to about ten feet above. But as I hoped, when we were some distance along, it began to bend more and more, and the thinner branch we now reached bent so rapidly that we were soon only five feet, after climbing to six, then four, three—two—then one, and then touching the water into which we sank now, going along hand over hand, making the rough bough act as a natural rope, till Pomp was at the full extent of the thinnest twigs and nearly within reach of the helpless group.

“Now, Mass’ George, come,” he said.

I grasped his meaning and passed on abreast of him, took a good hold with one hand grasping quite a bunch of twigs, while the boy took the other and reached out toward where Morgan was just able to keep himself afloat, with the others beyond him, and all growing weaker minute by minute.

Pomp got out as far as he could and stretched out his hand, but he was a full yard off still, and in a despairing way I looked at Morgan’s upturned face.

“No catch hold, massa?” cried Pomp; and then he said something in his own tongue, whose effect was to make Hannibal swim rapidly towards him from where he had been supporting my father, he being the only one not entangled by the boughs.

The peril taught the man how to act, and catching his son’s hand, he bridged the space and extended his other hand to Morgan, so that we formed a human chain in the water, dependent upon the strength of my wrist and the bunch of twigs and leaves I held.

“Now, father,” I said; “can you get clear?”

He struggled feebly, and I began to tremble for my hold.

“No,” he said; “my foot is caught in a fork among the boughs, and if you draw, it only tightens it.”

A dead silence ensued. What was to be done? I could not answer the question, and I knew that everything depended upon how long I could hold on. Was all our effort to result in failure after all? It seemed so, and I tried to say something about kicking free, but no words would come, and once more I began to feel a horrible sensation of fear. The difficulty was solved by my father, who roused himself to a final effort just in the height of our despair.

“Get her into the tree,” he said, hoarsely. “Never mind me.”

What followed seems to me now like part of a confused dream. Nearly all my early adventures stand out, when I go back, brightly vivid and distinct, but a mist comes over my brain when I try to recall that scene.

I can remember though how Pomp changed his grasp of my hand after a struggle, by getting his teeth well into the skirt of the loose black garment I wore, thus setting both my hands at liberty, so that I was able to get a double hold upon the boughs, and drag and draw with such good effect that Pomp was soon within reach of another.

He seized this, and together we managed to draw Hannibal and then Morgan within reach, so that they too got a good grip of the bended twigs, and were in comparative safety.

But my father?

I looked from where I held on, up to my chin in the water, outward toward the spot in which I had seen him last. But he was not there. He had really been the only one entangled, and as soon as he had loosened his hold of poor Sarah, a good struggle in the outward direction had set him free, and I saw him now striking out feebly and floating helplessly away.

My first thought was to swim to his help, but I was utterly unnerved and overdone. A few strokes would have been all that I could have taken, and then I might have gone down, but a hand was stretched-out and caught me by the collar, and Morgan’s voice whispered—

“No, no, my lad, leave it to them.”

And now for the first time, in a confused way, I understood that Hannibal and Pompey were swimming to my father’s help, while I remained clinging there.

More misty than ever all that follows seems, but I have a recollection of seeing the two black heads nearing where my father was still struggling to keep afloat, drifting farther and farther away, and next of his being close up to the great fork of the tree some dozen yards from where we clung.

It was no easy task to join them, but the danger was past now, and after a rest we three—Morgan, Sarah, and myself—managed to get along the bough to where we could reach another, lower down, and level with the water.

The rest was simple, and before many more minutes had elapsed, we were all gathered together in the great fork among the huge branches, wringing away part of the water that drenched us, and mentally thankful for our narrow escape from death as we revelled in the warm beams of the sun.

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