Chapter Twenty Eight.A pair of warm lips at my ear made me start again.“Dey all ’tupid, dem Injum. I know dey nebber tink we get up tree. Think we run home. All gone. Come down.”“No, no; it is not safe,” I whispered.“Yes; all gone dat way. We go oder.”He was already descending almost as rapidly as a monkey, and I followed as fast as I could, fully expecting to be seized; but all was silent, and the fire had sunk quite low as we bent down and crept along by the edge of the opening, and directly after were well in the shelter and darkness of the trees, with the fire behind only making its presence known by a dull glow.“Where are you going?” I whispered at last.“Get away from Injum. Come!”He said this shortly, and I began thinking that it was our wisest course to get right away, and, as soon as we could find a spot at daybreak, cross to the other side, and then try to thread our way back home. But a curiously dull, deadening feeling came over me, as I felt that the Indians must now get there first, and that we should be too late to give the alarm.I was just thinking this when Pomp stopped short.“Mass’ George take off um shoes,” he whispered. “Carry um. Injum no see footmarks a-morrow.”I hurriedly did as he suggested, for there was wisdom in what he said, and I hoped that the print of my stockinged feet, if our trail was found and followed, might pass for the impressions made by moccasins.I did not know much then about such matters, but still I had heard a good deal of talk about the skill of the Indians in tracking, and naturally felt nervous as I immediately began magnifying their powers, and fancied that as soon as it was day they would take up our trail like a pack of hounds, and follow it step by step, first my clumsy shoe-prints, then Pomp’s bare feet, with the great toe spreading wide out from the others, which all seemed long and loose, as I had often noticed and laughed at when I had seen them in the mud or sand. In fact, I had more than once followed him by his footprints, and as I recalled all this, I seemed to see the fierce-looking savages coming on swiftly, and urged Pomp to make haste, though my heart sank as I felt that every step took us farther into the wilderness, and with the exception of the knife the boy had secured, we were without arms.“Can’t go no fasser, Mass’ George,” he said; “so dark. But done you be ’fraid. Dem on’y ’tupid savage. Pomp too clebber let um cotch him ’gain.”In spite of my anxiety I could not help smiling at my companion’s conceit, and his reference to “’tupid” savages. Pomp’s connection with civilisation was making its mark upon him in other ways beside the rapid manner in which he had acquired our tongue.And so we tramped on hour after hour, going, as I knew by the stars whenever we got a glimpse of them, nearly due west, and trying to avoid breaking branch or trampling down thick patches of growth by making a detour.Of course this hindered us a good deal, but still it was the surest way of avoiding recapture; and at last, after our long, weary walk, whose monotony I had relieved by softly chafing my arms and wrists to get rid of the remains of the numbness produced by the bonds, there came a familiar note or two from the trees overhead, and I knew that in a very short time it would be light.“Tired, Pomp?” I said.“No, Mass’ George, but I dreffle hungly ’gain. Oh! Dem ugly tief ’teal de gun. No get duck for breakfass, eh?”“Let’s think about escaping and getting back to the house before these savages.—Ah, it’s getting light.”I remember how eagerly I said this, as I saw the pale grey appearing through the leaves, and making the tall, gloomy-looking trunks stand up like great columns in all directions.“Now,” I said, “where do you think the river is?”“Ober dah,” said Pomp, without a moment’s hesitation; and he pointed to the left.“Is it far?”“No, not far.”“Let’s get to it at once then.”We struck off again, bearing to the left, and just at sunrise found that we were at the edge of the forest once more, with a well-defined track, showing where the river ran. Where we stood we were under the shade of the great trees, where scarcely anything grew beneath the spreading, tangled branches, while just beyond them there was a dense thicket of succulent growth glittering in the sunshine, where the leaves were still moist with dew, and some hundred or a hundred and fifty yards away there once more was the other edge of the forest, rising up over a rich band of growth similar to that which was close to where we stood.The river lay between, I knew, though invisible from where we stood; and for the moment I felt more hopeful, for, after the long, dark tramp through the wilderness, we seemed to be now on the broad high-road which led straight past home.Then my heart sank again, as I felt that perhaps the Indians were already on our track, and that even if they were not, they were between us and safety.My reverie was interrupted by Pomp, who said briskly—“Now, Mass’ George, what you tink?”“We must get across the river at once.”Pomp made a grimace.“How we ’wim ober dah wid de ’gator all awaiting to hab us for breakfass, Mass’ George?”I shuddered as I thought of the task, but it seemed as if that was the only thing to do, and then tramp along the opposite bank downward.“What are you doing?” I said, as the boy began to step about, cautiously penetrating once more into the forest, and stopping at last beside a moderate-sized pine, whose trunk was dotted with the stumps of dead branches, till about fifty feet from the ground, where it formed a pretty dense tuft, whose top was well in the sunlight.“Now we go up dah and hide, and rest a bit.”“But why not try that tree, or that, or that?” I said; and I pointed rapidly to three or four more, all far more thickly clothed with branch and foliage.“If Injum come he fink p’raps we hide in dah, an’ look. No fink we get up dat oder tree. Injum berry ’tupid.”“But hadn’t we better try and get across or down the stream?”Pomp shook his head.“See Injum, and dey dreffle cross dat we run ’way. Wait a bit, Mass’ George.”“But my father—yours—and Morgan?”“Well, what ’bout um, Mass’ George?”“We ought to warn them.”“Dey must take care ob demself. No good to go and be caught. Dat not help um fader.”There was so much truth in this that I did not oppose Pomp’s plan of getting up in the tree, and hiding until the pursuit was over. For it was only reasonable to suppose that after a thorough hunt in one direction, the Indians would come in the other. Besides, I was utterly wearied out the previous evening, and glad to rest my tired limbs by hanging against the rope, and taking the weight off my feet. Since then we had tramped through the night many dreary miles, made more painful by the constant stress of avoiding obstacles, and the sensation of being hunted by a pack of savages whose cries might at any moment rise upon the ear.It was not a comfortable resting-place for one who felt as if he would give anything to throw himself down and lie at full length, but it promised to be safe, and following Pomp’s lead, I climbed steadily up the tree to where the dense head formed quite a scaffolding of crossing boughs, and here, after getting well out of sight of any one who might be passing below, we seated ourselves as securely as possible, and waited for what was to come next.“Wait Injum gone, and we kedge fis’ and roast um for dinner,” said Pomp; and then we sat for some little time in silence, listening for the slightest sound.Birds we heard from time to time, and now and then the rustle of a squirrel as it leaped from bough to bough, but nothing else till there were, one after the other, four ominous splashings in the river, which gave me a very uncomfortable feeling with regard to crossing to the other side, and I looked at Pomp.“Dat ’gators,” he said shortly. “No ’wim cross de ribber.”Then quite a couple of hours must have passed, and Pomp began to fidget about terribly, making so much noise that if the Indians had been anywhere at hand, they must have heard.“Hush!” I said; “sit still.”“Can’t, Mass’ George,” he said sharply. “I so dreffle hungly.”“Yes, so am I. What are you going to do?”“Get down again. Injum no come now.”I hesitated; and as I was heartily sick of waiting, and famished, I made myself believe that our enemies were not pursuing us, and descended quickly to look at my companion.“What we do now, Mass’ George—kedge fis?”“If we can,” I said; “but how?”“Pomp show Mass’ George.”He led on through the thick growth just outside the forest edge, and looking sharply from side to side, soon pitched upon a couple of long, thin, tapering canes, which he hacked off and trimmed neatly, so that they formed a pair of very decent fishing-rods, and he looked at me triumphantly.“Dah!” he said.“But where are the hooks and lines?”Pomp’s face was wonderful in its change.“Wha de hookum line?” he said.“Yes, you can’t catch fish like that.”Scratching the head when puzzled must be a natural act common to all peoples, for the boy gave his woolly sconce a good scratch with first one hand and then the other.“Dat berry ’tupid,” he said at last; “Pomp no ’tink of dat. What we do now?”I stood musing for a few minutes as puzzled as he was. Then the bright thought came, and I took the lighter of the two canes, cut off the most pliant part, and then tearing my silk neckerchief in thin strips, I split the end of the cane, thrust in the haft of the knife, so that it was held as by a fork, and bound the cane tightly down the length of the knife-handle, and also below, so that the wood should split no farther; and as the knife was narrow in blade, and ran to a sharp point, we now had a formidable lance, with shaft fully twelve feet long.“There!” I said triumphantly in turn, as I looked at Pomp.“’Tick um froo de fis?” he said.“Yes. We must find some deep pool, and see if we cannot spear something, so as to be food for the day.”“Mass’ George ’tick um fis, Pomp find um.”I nodded, eager enough to try and get something in the way of food, so that we might be better able to bear our day’s journey, for I felt that somehow we must get back; but I always hesitated from starting, lest we should be seen by pursuing Indians, and being recaptured, have no chance of giving the alarm at home.Pomp was not long in finding a deep hole close under the bank, in whose clear, tree-shaded water I could see about a dozen fish slowly gliding about. They were only small, but anything was food for us then; and introducing my lance cautiously, I waited my opportunity, and then struck rapidly at a fish.Vain effort! The fish was out of reach before the point of the knife could reach him; and a few more such strokes emptied the hole, but not in the way I intended.“Find another,” I said; and Pomp crept along, and soon signed to me to come.As he made way for me, and I crept to the edge, I felt a thrill of pleasure, for there, close under the bank, just balanced over some water-weed, was a fine fish about a foot and a half long.“If I can get you,” I thought, “we shall do.”Carefully getting my spear-shaft upright, I lowered the point, and aiming carefully, I struck.Whether I aimed badly, or the refraction of the water was not allowed for, I cannot say, but there was no result. I only saw a quivering of the surface and the fish was off into the river.The same result for a dozen more tries, and then Pomp said protestingly—“I nebber tink dat ob any good.”“But it is good if I could strike one,” I said, testily.“Um on’y tummle off ’gain, Mass’ George.”“Never mind; try and find another good hole, I’ll do it yet.”He gave his head a rub and went on along the river-side, peering among the overhanging bushes, and one way and another we made a trail that any one could have followed; but likely holes and pools were scarce now, and I was getting hot, faint, and weary, when, after creeping close to the edge of the stream again, Pomp signed to me to give him the lance.I hesitated for a moment, not liking to give up, but ended by passing the spear; and, taking it, Pomp lay flat down, crept to the edge where the bank overhung the river, as it proved, very gently thrust his eyes beyond, drew back, and quickly picked a good-sized bunch of long grass, which he bound at one end, opened the bunch at the other, and put it on like a cap, the result being that the long grassy strands hung right over his face loosely.He laughed at me, and crept back again, moving his head slowly to and fro for a few moments, as if to get the occupants of the pool used to his presence.Then very slowly and cautiously he manipulated the lance shaft, so that it was upright, and holding it with both hands lowered the point down and down till six feet had disappeared, then seven, eight, nine at least; and as I was thinking how deep it must be down there, the long cane became stationary, with the boy’s hands holding it above his head.I stood leaning forward, wondering what luck he would have, and full of hope, for I was too hungry to feel envious and hope that he would miss. But still he did not strike, and the moments glided on till I was getting quite out of patience, and about to creep forward and look down to see how big the fish might be, when, quick as thought, down went the shaft with a tremendous dig, and then, with the cane quivering exceedingly, Pomp seemed to be holding something he had pinned tightly down against the bottom, till its first fierce struggles were at an end.“Got him?” I exclaimed, joyfully.“Pomp ’tick knife right froo um,” he panted; and then springing up, he rapidly drew the shaft from the water, hand over hand, till, to my intense astonishment, he raised to the bank, muddy, dripping, and flapping heavily, the largest terrapin I had seen, and putting his foot upon it, he drew out the spear, which had transfixed it right in the middle of the back.“Dah!” he exclaimed; and seizing his capture, he led the way into the forest, where, risking discovery, we soon had a fire of dead sticks and pine-needles blazing merrily over the shell of our terrapin, off which we made at last, if not a good meal, a sufficiently satisfying one to give us spirit for trying to get back home.
A pair of warm lips at my ear made me start again.
“Dey all ’tupid, dem Injum. I know dey nebber tink we get up tree. Think we run home. All gone. Come down.”
“No, no; it is not safe,” I whispered.
“Yes; all gone dat way. We go oder.”
He was already descending almost as rapidly as a monkey, and I followed as fast as I could, fully expecting to be seized; but all was silent, and the fire had sunk quite low as we bent down and crept along by the edge of the opening, and directly after were well in the shelter and darkness of the trees, with the fire behind only making its presence known by a dull glow.
“Where are you going?” I whispered at last.
“Get away from Injum. Come!”
He said this shortly, and I began thinking that it was our wisest course to get right away, and, as soon as we could find a spot at daybreak, cross to the other side, and then try to thread our way back home. But a curiously dull, deadening feeling came over me, as I felt that the Indians must now get there first, and that we should be too late to give the alarm.
I was just thinking this when Pomp stopped short.
“Mass’ George take off um shoes,” he whispered. “Carry um. Injum no see footmarks a-morrow.”
I hurriedly did as he suggested, for there was wisdom in what he said, and I hoped that the print of my stockinged feet, if our trail was found and followed, might pass for the impressions made by moccasins.
I did not know much then about such matters, but still I had heard a good deal of talk about the skill of the Indians in tracking, and naturally felt nervous as I immediately began magnifying their powers, and fancied that as soon as it was day they would take up our trail like a pack of hounds, and follow it step by step, first my clumsy shoe-prints, then Pomp’s bare feet, with the great toe spreading wide out from the others, which all seemed long and loose, as I had often noticed and laughed at when I had seen them in the mud or sand. In fact, I had more than once followed him by his footprints, and as I recalled all this, I seemed to see the fierce-looking savages coming on swiftly, and urged Pomp to make haste, though my heart sank as I felt that every step took us farther into the wilderness, and with the exception of the knife the boy had secured, we were without arms.
“Can’t go no fasser, Mass’ George,” he said; “so dark. But done you be ’fraid. Dem on’y ’tupid savage. Pomp too clebber let um cotch him ’gain.”
In spite of my anxiety I could not help smiling at my companion’s conceit, and his reference to “’tupid” savages. Pomp’s connection with civilisation was making its mark upon him in other ways beside the rapid manner in which he had acquired our tongue.
And so we tramped on hour after hour, going, as I knew by the stars whenever we got a glimpse of them, nearly due west, and trying to avoid breaking branch or trampling down thick patches of growth by making a detour.
Of course this hindered us a good deal, but still it was the surest way of avoiding recapture; and at last, after our long, weary walk, whose monotony I had relieved by softly chafing my arms and wrists to get rid of the remains of the numbness produced by the bonds, there came a familiar note or two from the trees overhead, and I knew that in a very short time it would be light.
“Tired, Pomp?” I said.
“No, Mass’ George, but I dreffle hungly ’gain. Oh! Dem ugly tief ’teal de gun. No get duck for breakfass, eh?”
“Let’s think about escaping and getting back to the house before these savages.—Ah, it’s getting light.”
I remember how eagerly I said this, as I saw the pale grey appearing through the leaves, and making the tall, gloomy-looking trunks stand up like great columns in all directions.
“Now,” I said, “where do you think the river is?”
“Ober dah,” said Pomp, without a moment’s hesitation; and he pointed to the left.
“Is it far?”
“No, not far.”
“Let’s get to it at once then.”
We struck off again, bearing to the left, and just at sunrise found that we were at the edge of the forest once more, with a well-defined track, showing where the river ran. Where we stood we were under the shade of the great trees, where scarcely anything grew beneath the spreading, tangled branches, while just beyond them there was a dense thicket of succulent growth glittering in the sunshine, where the leaves were still moist with dew, and some hundred or a hundred and fifty yards away there once more was the other edge of the forest, rising up over a rich band of growth similar to that which was close to where we stood.
The river lay between, I knew, though invisible from where we stood; and for the moment I felt more hopeful, for, after the long, dark tramp through the wilderness, we seemed to be now on the broad high-road which led straight past home.
Then my heart sank again, as I felt that perhaps the Indians were already on our track, and that even if they were not, they were between us and safety.
My reverie was interrupted by Pomp, who said briskly—
“Now, Mass’ George, what you tink?”
“We must get across the river at once.”
Pomp made a grimace.
“How we ’wim ober dah wid de ’gator all awaiting to hab us for breakfass, Mass’ George?”
I shuddered as I thought of the task, but it seemed as if that was the only thing to do, and then tramp along the opposite bank downward.
“What are you doing?” I said, as the boy began to step about, cautiously penetrating once more into the forest, and stopping at last beside a moderate-sized pine, whose trunk was dotted with the stumps of dead branches, till about fifty feet from the ground, where it formed a pretty dense tuft, whose top was well in the sunlight.
“Now we go up dah and hide, and rest a bit.”
“But why not try that tree, or that, or that?” I said; and I pointed rapidly to three or four more, all far more thickly clothed with branch and foliage.
“If Injum come he fink p’raps we hide in dah, an’ look. No fink we get up dat oder tree. Injum berry ’tupid.”
“But hadn’t we better try and get across or down the stream?”
Pomp shook his head.
“See Injum, and dey dreffle cross dat we run ’way. Wait a bit, Mass’ George.”
“But my father—yours—and Morgan?”
“Well, what ’bout um, Mass’ George?”
“We ought to warn them.”
“Dey must take care ob demself. No good to go and be caught. Dat not help um fader.”
There was so much truth in this that I did not oppose Pomp’s plan of getting up in the tree, and hiding until the pursuit was over. For it was only reasonable to suppose that after a thorough hunt in one direction, the Indians would come in the other. Besides, I was utterly wearied out the previous evening, and glad to rest my tired limbs by hanging against the rope, and taking the weight off my feet. Since then we had tramped through the night many dreary miles, made more painful by the constant stress of avoiding obstacles, and the sensation of being hunted by a pack of savages whose cries might at any moment rise upon the ear.
It was not a comfortable resting-place for one who felt as if he would give anything to throw himself down and lie at full length, but it promised to be safe, and following Pomp’s lead, I climbed steadily up the tree to where the dense head formed quite a scaffolding of crossing boughs, and here, after getting well out of sight of any one who might be passing below, we seated ourselves as securely as possible, and waited for what was to come next.
“Wait Injum gone, and we kedge fis’ and roast um for dinner,” said Pomp; and then we sat for some little time in silence, listening for the slightest sound.
Birds we heard from time to time, and now and then the rustle of a squirrel as it leaped from bough to bough, but nothing else till there were, one after the other, four ominous splashings in the river, which gave me a very uncomfortable feeling with regard to crossing to the other side, and I looked at Pomp.
“Dat ’gators,” he said shortly. “No ’wim cross de ribber.”
Then quite a couple of hours must have passed, and Pomp began to fidget about terribly, making so much noise that if the Indians had been anywhere at hand, they must have heard.
“Hush!” I said; “sit still.”
“Can’t, Mass’ George,” he said sharply. “I so dreffle hungly.”
“Yes, so am I. What are you going to do?”
“Get down again. Injum no come now.”
I hesitated; and as I was heartily sick of waiting, and famished, I made myself believe that our enemies were not pursuing us, and descended quickly to look at my companion.
“What we do now, Mass’ George—kedge fis?”
“If we can,” I said; “but how?”
“Pomp show Mass’ George.”
He led on through the thick growth just outside the forest edge, and looking sharply from side to side, soon pitched upon a couple of long, thin, tapering canes, which he hacked off and trimmed neatly, so that they formed a pair of very decent fishing-rods, and he looked at me triumphantly.
“Dah!” he said.
“But where are the hooks and lines?”
Pomp’s face was wonderful in its change.
“Wha de hookum line?” he said.
“Yes, you can’t catch fish like that.”
Scratching the head when puzzled must be a natural act common to all peoples, for the boy gave his woolly sconce a good scratch with first one hand and then the other.
“Dat berry ’tupid,” he said at last; “Pomp no ’tink of dat. What we do now?”
I stood musing for a few minutes as puzzled as he was. Then the bright thought came, and I took the lighter of the two canes, cut off the most pliant part, and then tearing my silk neckerchief in thin strips, I split the end of the cane, thrust in the haft of the knife, so that it was held as by a fork, and bound the cane tightly down the length of the knife-handle, and also below, so that the wood should split no farther; and as the knife was narrow in blade, and ran to a sharp point, we now had a formidable lance, with shaft fully twelve feet long.
“There!” I said triumphantly in turn, as I looked at Pomp.
“’Tick um froo de fis?” he said.
“Yes. We must find some deep pool, and see if we cannot spear something, so as to be food for the day.”
“Mass’ George ’tick um fis, Pomp find um.”
I nodded, eager enough to try and get something in the way of food, so that we might be better able to bear our day’s journey, for I felt that somehow we must get back; but I always hesitated from starting, lest we should be seen by pursuing Indians, and being recaptured, have no chance of giving the alarm at home.
Pomp was not long in finding a deep hole close under the bank, in whose clear, tree-shaded water I could see about a dozen fish slowly gliding about. They were only small, but anything was food for us then; and introducing my lance cautiously, I waited my opportunity, and then struck rapidly at a fish.
Vain effort! The fish was out of reach before the point of the knife could reach him; and a few more such strokes emptied the hole, but not in the way I intended.
“Find another,” I said; and Pomp crept along, and soon signed to me to come.
As he made way for me, and I crept to the edge, I felt a thrill of pleasure, for there, close under the bank, just balanced over some water-weed, was a fine fish about a foot and a half long.
“If I can get you,” I thought, “we shall do.”
Carefully getting my spear-shaft upright, I lowered the point, and aiming carefully, I struck.
Whether I aimed badly, or the refraction of the water was not allowed for, I cannot say, but there was no result. I only saw a quivering of the surface and the fish was off into the river.
The same result for a dozen more tries, and then Pomp said protestingly—
“I nebber tink dat ob any good.”
“But it is good if I could strike one,” I said, testily.
“Um on’y tummle off ’gain, Mass’ George.”
“Never mind; try and find another good hole, I’ll do it yet.”
He gave his head a rub and went on along the river-side, peering among the overhanging bushes, and one way and another we made a trail that any one could have followed; but likely holes and pools were scarce now, and I was getting hot, faint, and weary, when, after creeping close to the edge of the stream again, Pomp signed to me to give him the lance.
I hesitated for a moment, not liking to give up, but ended by passing the spear; and, taking it, Pomp lay flat down, crept to the edge where the bank overhung the river, as it proved, very gently thrust his eyes beyond, drew back, and quickly picked a good-sized bunch of long grass, which he bound at one end, opened the bunch at the other, and put it on like a cap, the result being that the long grassy strands hung right over his face loosely.
He laughed at me, and crept back again, moving his head slowly to and fro for a few moments, as if to get the occupants of the pool used to his presence.
Then very slowly and cautiously he manipulated the lance shaft, so that it was upright, and holding it with both hands lowered the point down and down till six feet had disappeared, then seven, eight, nine at least; and as I was thinking how deep it must be down there, the long cane became stationary, with the boy’s hands holding it above his head.
I stood leaning forward, wondering what luck he would have, and full of hope, for I was too hungry to feel envious and hope that he would miss. But still he did not strike, and the moments glided on till I was getting quite out of patience, and about to creep forward and look down to see how big the fish might be, when, quick as thought, down went the shaft with a tremendous dig, and then, with the cane quivering exceedingly, Pomp seemed to be holding something he had pinned tightly down against the bottom, till its first fierce struggles were at an end.
“Got him?” I exclaimed, joyfully.
“Pomp ’tick knife right froo um,” he panted; and then springing up, he rapidly drew the shaft from the water, hand over hand, till, to my intense astonishment, he raised to the bank, muddy, dripping, and flapping heavily, the largest terrapin I had seen, and putting his foot upon it, he drew out the spear, which had transfixed it right in the middle of the back.
“Dah!” he exclaimed; and seizing his capture, he led the way into the forest, where, risking discovery, we soon had a fire of dead sticks and pine-needles blazing merrily over the shell of our terrapin, off which we made at last, if not a good meal, a sufficiently satisfying one to give us spirit for trying to get back home.
Chapter Twenty Nine.“Now, Pomp,” I said, after we had each lain down and had a good hearty drink of clear water, “the way to get home is to make a raft and float down the river.”“Don’t want raft—want um boat,” he said.“Do you know what a raft is?” I said.“No, Mass’ George.”I explained to him, and he shook his head.“’Gator come and pick Pomp and Mass’ George off.”“We must make it so big that they could not.”“How make big raft?—no chopper to cut down tree.”“We must cut down and tie together bundles of canes,” I said, after a long pause, well occupied by thinking. “They will bear us if we lie down upon them. We have a knife; let’s try.”It was no easy task to get the knife free, for the threads by which it was bound into the split end of the cane had swollen; but it was clear at last, and selecting a suitable spot where the shore was quite a cane brake, we toiled away cutting and tying together bundle after bundle of canes, till we had six which roughly resembled as many big trusses of straw. These we secured to four of the stoutest canes we could find, passing them through the bands crosswise, and after a good deal of difficulty, and at the risk of undoing our work, we managed to thrust it off the bank into the river, where, to my great delight, upon trying it, the buoyancy far exceeded my expectations. In fact, though we could not have stood upon it, lying down it supported us well, and without any hesitation, after cutting a couple of light poles for steering or directing, we thrust off from the side, and began gliding down the stream.From that moment it seemed as if our troubles were over, for we had little difficulty in keeping well out from the overhanging boughs, while a thrust or two with our poles enabled us to avoid fallen trees and patches of growth rising from the river shallows.I soon felt convinced that if the bands we had made would hold out, we should have no difficulty in floating down, for I could recall no rapids or falls likely to give us trouble. Certainly we had seen nor heard neither. Our risks were from the collapse of our raft, from the reptiles that we kept seeing from time to time as we glided slowly on, and from the Indians, whom, as I scanned the bank, I expected moment by moment to see start from the dense growth which fringed the sides with a yell.If we could have felt secure, the ride down the river would have been delightful, for it was all in the bright sunshine, with a wall of the loveliest verdure on either side. Flowers hung in clusters, or sprang from the moist banks; birds flitted here and there, and every now and then some great heron or crane sprang up with flapping wings and harsh cry at being disturbed while fishing.But every now and then an excited movement on the part of Pomp told me that an alligator was in sight, sunning himself on a shoal, or where he had beaten down the reedy growth as he had crawled out upon the bank.Such movements on the boy’s part were perilous, the side of the raft going down slowly and steadily, till I forced him to lie still.“They will not touch us,” I said, “unless we are struggling in the water. Do you want to fall in or upset the raft?”He shuddered, and his eyes rolled a little, but he lay still, and we glided on till we must have gone down a couple of miles, when all at once Pomp uttered a cry.“Hush!” I said, despairingly. “You will be heard.”“Nebber mind. Quick, Mass’ George! Push! Push!”I could not understand what he meant, but it was evident that something was wrong, and there was no time to ask for an explanation; so I helped all I could to push the raft toward the farther shore, convinced that the Indians were upon us, and that we must seek safety in the forest once again.It was easy enough to float with the stream, but hard work to make the raft to move as we wished, and we must have gone down fully a hundred yards farther before there was a chance to seize an overhanging branch, and tow the raft to a clear piece of the farther bank, on to which Pomp scrambled at once.“Quick, Mass’ George, quick!” he cried; and leaving me to follow, he disappeared at once in the dense cane and bush.I was not long in following; and as I got ashore I saw the raft caught by an eddy, as it rose relieved from my weight, and as I plunged into the thicket I had a glimpse of it being carried out into the swift stream.I was too much excited and hurried to follow Pomp, whom I heard crashing on before me, to pause to think about our retreat being now cut off by water, unless we made a new raft. The Indians must be there within view, I felt; but why did no arrows come; and why did not my companion plunge at once into the forest?The explanation came directly, as I struggled on, seeing my route marked by trampled down reed and broken twig, for Pomp suddenly shouted—“I got um, Mass’ George.”What had he got? Something eatable, I felt, for he was always hungry; and to obtain this we had lost our raft, and should have all the work to do over again.“Hush!” I whispered, angrily; “you will be heard.”“Done matter now,” came from close at hand, though I could see nothing yet. “Pomp fine um.”I struggled out of the low brushwood, and came into a more open part of the bank, and there stood in astonishment, to find my companion dancing with delight, and pointing to where, six feet above my head, just as it had been left by the subsiding of the water, and on a nearly even keel, was the lost boat, perched among the bushes, and apparently none the worse for its journey.“Oh, Pomp!” I cried, as excited now as he, “this is a find.”“See juss lit’ bit ob um back up dah, Mass’ George,” he said. “Come try and get um down.”I beat and pressed down the bushes as much as I could, and together we reached the stern of the boat; but as I touched it a fresh thought arose to damp my spirits.There was the boat, but in what condition was it? It did not seem possible that it could have been drifting about in that flood and left here without damage—a hole made by some jagged projecting tree branch, or a plank started.“Now den, Mass’ George, pull.”I dragged at the stem, and then uttered a warning cry and threw myself back, for the boat was so lightly perched on the bushes that it came down with a rush, and as we started up again, and examined it, as far as I could see it was completely uninjured, and even the oars were in their places beneath the thwarts.The rest of the journey toward the water was not quite so easy, but we tugged and lifted, and by degrees got it on the few yards farther, and at last had the satisfaction of sending it crashing down into a bed of reedy growth, and springing in to push it onward into the stream, where, once clear of the dense water grasses, it began to glide down easily and well.Now that the excitement of the discovery and launching of the boat was over, it all seemed to have been a kind of day-dream; and though I took my seat on a thwart, and got an oar over the side, I could hardly believe it real till I recalled that it was possible that our actions had all been watched, and that amongst the trees and bushes of the other side dozens of keen eyes might be aiming arrows at us, and the oar almost dropped from my hand.Pomp was thinking of our enemies too, for, as he got his oar over the side, and was looking down stream, he exclaimed suddenly—“Yah! Who ’fraid now? Look, Mass’ George, dat big ugly ole ’gator, dah.”“Pomp!” I cried, in an excited whisper; and I half rose to fling myself down, to lie in shelter of the boat’s side.For at that moment, from some distance off, came a cry that I recognised as an Indian yell.
“Now, Pomp,” I said, after we had each lain down and had a good hearty drink of clear water, “the way to get home is to make a raft and float down the river.”
“Don’t want raft—want um boat,” he said.
“Do you know what a raft is?” I said.
“No, Mass’ George.”
I explained to him, and he shook his head.
“’Gator come and pick Pomp and Mass’ George off.”
“We must make it so big that they could not.”
“How make big raft?—no chopper to cut down tree.”
“We must cut down and tie together bundles of canes,” I said, after a long pause, well occupied by thinking. “They will bear us if we lie down upon them. We have a knife; let’s try.”
It was no easy task to get the knife free, for the threads by which it was bound into the split end of the cane had swollen; but it was clear at last, and selecting a suitable spot where the shore was quite a cane brake, we toiled away cutting and tying together bundle after bundle of canes, till we had six which roughly resembled as many big trusses of straw. These we secured to four of the stoutest canes we could find, passing them through the bands crosswise, and after a good deal of difficulty, and at the risk of undoing our work, we managed to thrust it off the bank into the river, where, to my great delight, upon trying it, the buoyancy far exceeded my expectations. In fact, though we could not have stood upon it, lying down it supported us well, and without any hesitation, after cutting a couple of light poles for steering or directing, we thrust off from the side, and began gliding down the stream.
From that moment it seemed as if our troubles were over, for we had little difficulty in keeping well out from the overhanging boughs, while a thrust or two with our poles enabled us to avoid fallen trees and patches of growth rising from the river shallows.
I soon felt convinced that if the bands we had made would hold out, we should have no difficulty in floating down, for I could recall no rapids or falls likely to give us trouble. Certainly we had seen nor heard neither. Our risks were from the collapse of our raft, from the reptiles that we kept seeing from time to time as we glided slowly on, and from the Indians, whom, as I scanned the bank, I expected moment by moment to see start from the dense growth which fringed the sides with a yell.
If we could have felt secure, the ride down the river would have been delightful, for it was all in the bright sunshine, with a wall of the loveliest verdure on either side. Flowers hung in clusters, or sprang from the moist banks; birds flitted here and there, and every now and then some great heron or crane sprang up with flapping wings and harsh cry at being disturbed while fishing.
But every now and then an excited movement on the part of Pomp told me that an alligator was in sight, sunning himself on a shoal, or where he had beaten down the reedy growth as he had crawled out upon the bank.
Such movements on the boy’s part were perilous, the side of the raft going down slowly and steadily, till I forced him to lie still.
“They will not touch us,” I said, “unless we are struggling in the water. Do you want to fall in or upset the raft?”
He shuddered, and his eyes rolled a little, but he lay still, and we glided on till we must have gone down a couple of miles, when all at once Pomp uttered a cry.
“Hush!” I said, despairingly. “You will be heard.”
“Nebber mind. Quick, Mass’ George! Push! Push!”
I could not understand what he meant, but it was evident that something was wrong, and there was no time to ask for an explanation; so I helped all I could to push the raft toward the farther shore, convinced that the Indians were upon us, and that we must seek safety in the forest once again.
It was easy enough to float with the stream, but hard work to make the raft to move as we wished, and we must have gone down fully a hundred yards farther before there was a chance to seize an overhanging branch, and tow the raft to a clear piece of the farther bank, on to which Pomp scrambled at once.
“Quick, Mass’ George, quick!” he cried; and leaving me to follow, he disappeared at once in the dense cane and bush.
I was not long in following; and as I got ashore I saw the raft caught by an eddy, as it rose relieved from my weight, and as I plunged into the thicket I had a glimpse of it being carried out into the swift stream.
I was too much excited and hurried to follow Pomp, whom I heard crashing on before me, to pause to think about our retreat being now cut off by water, unless we made a new raft. The Indians must be there within view, I felt; but why did no arrows come; and why did not my companion plunge at once into the forest?
The explanation came directly, as I struggled on, seeing my route marked by trampled down reed and broken twig, for Pomp suddenly shouted—
“I got um, Mass’ George.”
What had he got? Something eatable, I felt, for he was always hungry; and to obtain this we had lost our raft, and should have all the work to do over again.
“Hush!” I whispered, angrily; “you will be heard.”
“Done matter now,” came from close at hand, though I could see nothing yet. “Pomp fine um.”
I struggled out of the low brushwood, and came into a more open part of the bank, and there stood in astonishment, to find my companion dancing with delight, and pointing to where, six feet above my head, just as it had been left by the subsiding of the water, and on a nearly even keel, was the lost boat, perched among the bushes, and apparently none the worse for its journey.
“Oh, Pomp!” I cried, as excited now as he, “this is a find.”
“See juss lit’ bit ob um back up dah, Mass’ George,” he said. “Come try and get um down.”
I beat and pressed down the bushes as much as I could, and together we reached the stern of the boat; but as I touched it a fresh thought arose to damp my spirits.
There was the boat, but in what condition was it? It did not seem possible that it could have been drifting about in that flood and left here without damage—a hole made by some jagged projecting tree branch, or a plank started.
“Now den, Mass’ George, pull.”
I dragged at the stem, and then uttered a warning cry and threw myself back, for the boat was so lightly perched on the bushes that it came down with a rush, and as we started up again, and examined it, as far as I could see it was completely uninjured, and even the oars were in their places beneath the thwarts.
The rest of the journey toward the water was not quite so easy, but we tugged and lifted, and by degrees got it on the few yards farther, and at last had the satisfaction of sending it crashing down into a bed of reedy growth, and springing in to push it onward into the stream, where, once clear of the dense water grasses, it began to glide down easily and well.
Now that the excitement of the discovery and launching of the boat was over, it all seemed to have been a kind of day-dream; and though I took my seat on a thwart, and got an oar over the side, I could hardly believe it real till I recalled that it was possible that our actions had all been watched, and that amongst the trees and bushes of the other side dozens of keen eyes might be aiming arrows at us, and the oar almost dropped from my hand.
Pomp was thinking of our enemies too, for, as he got his oar over the side, and was looking down stream, he exclaimed suddenly—
“Yah! Who ’fraid now? Look, Mass’ George, dat big ugly ole ’gator, dah.”
“Pomp!” I cried, in an excited whisper; and I half rose to fling myself down, to lie in shelter of the boat’s side.
For at that moment, from some distance off, came a cry that I recognised as an Indian yell.
Chapter Thirty.I do not suppose that many who read this have ever heard a Red Indian’s cry, and I hope those who have not never will. It was no doubt invented on purpose to scare an enemy, and it answers its purpose thoroughly.To me it sounded blood-curdling, and a curious sensation ran through me, as if the blood was chilling in my veins. But on thinking of it afterwards, I did not believe that it curdled, and on talking the matter over just before sitting down to write this narrative of my boyish adventures, my doctor said it was all nonsense; that the sensation was produced by the nerves, and that if a body’s blood curdled there would be an end of him at once.Of course the doctor was right, for the effect of that cry was to make me drop down in the boat again, whisper to Pomp to pull, and row with all my might.Then another yell came from our right, and was answered from the forest, the Indian who shouted evidently being not very far away.“Hear dat, Mass’ George?” said Pomp.“Yes; pull hard. It is the Indians.”“Well, who car’ for old Injum? Dey can’t cotch us now.”“Don’t be too sure,” I whispered. “There may be some of them waiting to shoot at us with their bows and arrows.”Pomp turned his head quickly over his right shoulder to look at the low bushes and reedy plants by the river-bank, and in doing so thrust his oar too deeply down, with the result that he received a blow in the chest, his legs rose up in the air, and his head went down between my legs.He lay on his back for a moment staring wildly up at me over his forehead, his eyes rolling and his mouth wide.“Why Mass’ George do dat?” he cried.“I didn’t, you stupid little nigger,” I cried, angrily. “Get up and mind your oar. You caught a crab. Pull!”Pomp scrambled back in his place, and began to pull again as hard as he could, for my voice had rather startled him.“What Mass’ George say?” he whispered.“Pull!”“Yes, I pull; but what Mass’ George say ’fore dat?”“I said you caught a crab.”“Didn’t! It was great big terrapum.”“I mean you put your oar in too deep.”“Den what for say catch um crab? Mass’ George say Injum in de bush shootin’ at Pomp, and den he look round an’ no Injum dah; Mass’ George play trick to fright um, and den call poor Pomp ’tupid lil nigger.”“Will you hold your tongue and row?” I whispered fiercely.“Pomp can’t hold um tongue and pull de oar bofe togedder.”“Hush!”Pow—ow—ow—ow—ow—ow! Came faintly from among the trees, and Pomp turned sharply round, with circles of white showing round the dark part of his eyes; but this time he kept his oar out of the water, and the boat instead of turning toward the side continued to glide swiftly down the stream.“Dat de Injum?” he whispered.“Yes. Pull—hard!”He swung round in his place, and began to row again so sturdily that I had to work hard to keep the boat’s head straight; and the stream favouring us, we went on down at a rapid rate, though every now and then I was obliged to whisper to him to easy as we neared some sharp curve or sandbank, to avoid which obstacles I had to keep turning round to look ahead.We had been rowing steadily like this for some time now without hearing the cries of the Indians, but I did not feel any the more confident, for I knew enough of their habits to think that when they were most silent the greatest danger might be near. The banks glided slowly by us, and we had this great advantage, that even if we slackened speed the boat still travelled fast. But Pomp worked hard, and evidently believing that the danger was entirely past, his spirits rose again and he began to laugh.“Poor ole Injum,” he said; “I berry sorry for um. Poor ole Injum lose um knife. Pomp wonner what um say. How soon we get home now, Mass’ George?”“Oh, it will take hours yet,” I replied; and just then I turned my head to see that we were rapidly approaching a ridge of sand right in the middle of the river. I was about to give my oar a vigorous tug, when I noted that the stream divided, and ran in two swift currents on either side of the ridge. As we then were, I saw that the boat would go through the narrower one—the swifter evidently; and at the same moment a pile of wood and dead rubbish on the sandspit ceased to obstruct the view, and to my horror I saw that the little long islet, whose sands were only just above the level of the water, was occupied by a group of seven or eight alligators, the nearest being a monster, the rest varying to the smallest, which was not above three feet long.I involuntarily ceased rowing and Pomp did the same, just as we were entering the narrow channel, and so close to the sandspit, that the blade of the boy’s oar held ready for the next dip swept over the sand.Pomp was gazing in the other direction, scanning the river-bank; and as I saw what was about to happen, I said in a quick whisper—“Look out!”Almost as I spoke, the blade of Pomp’s oar swept over the rugged horny coat of the largest alligator, which, like the rest, was sleeping in the hot sunshine perfectly ignorant of our near approach.The effect was instantaneous. As the boy turned sharply round to look out, the great reptile sprang up, opened its huge jaws, and made a snap at the oar-blade, whisked round its tail, striking the boat, and then made a series of plunges to reach the water on the other side, its actions alarming the rest, which on their retreat made the sandspit seem alive, and the water splash and foam; while Pomp uttered a yell of horror, loosed his hold of his oar, and dived down into the boat, to rise again and stare over the stern as soon as I told him the danger was past.It was all the work of a few moments, during which I was startled enough, especially when I saw the gaping jaws of the great reptile, and heard the snap it made at the oar-blade; but we were going swiftly by, and mingled with the terror there was something so comic in Pomp’s actions, that in the reaction I began to laugh.This brought Pomp’s face round directly, and his reproachful black eyes seemed to ask me what I could see to laugh at.“Come,” I said, “you can’t tell me I was playing tricks then.—Why, Pomp, your oar’s overboard,” I cried as I realised that fact.“Yes, Mass’ George. Dat great ’gator ’wallow um.”“Nonsense!” I cried, as I tried to check the progress of the boat on catching sight of the oar gliding swiftly down stream twenty yards away. “There it is. Wait till it comes close. I’ll try and manage to get you near it.”“Dah it am! Whah?”“There, just off to your left.”“So um are, Mass’ George. ’Gator no like um, an’ ’pit um out ’gain.”“There: mind! Now then, quick! Catch hold.”I had managed to check the boat enough to let the oar overtake us, and Pomp made a snatch at it, but drew back sharply with a low cry of horror.“What’s the matter now?” I said. “Make haste; you’ll lose it.”“Great big Injum down dah,” he whispered, hoarsely. “Um want to bite off poor Pomp arm.”“Nonsense! How could an Indian be there?” I said, as we floated on side by side with the oar.“Injum? Pomp say great big ’gator. You look, Mass’ George.”“You said Indian, Pomp,” I continued, as I drew in my oar, picked up the boat-hook, and went cautiously to the side to look down into the transparent water, where, sure enough, one of the reptiles was swimming along; but it was quite a small one, and a sharp dig down with the boat-hook sent it undulating away, and I recovered the oar, passing it to Pomp with a gesture, as there arose once more a cry from the forest right away back, and it was answered in two places.Pomp took the oar and began to row again steadily, staring back at the sandspit, now fast growing distant. Then all at once, as the faint cry arose from the forest—“Dat not Injum,” he cried sharply; “dat fock.”“Fox!” I said, recalling the little jackal-like creatures, of which I had seen one or two that had been shot by Morgan.“Yes, dat fock. Um shout like dat to noder fock in um wood when um lose umself.”“Yes, but that would be at night,” I said, wondering whether he was right.“’Pose um lose umself in de day. Make um cry?”“No,” I said, thoughtfully. “It is like the cry of the fox, Pomp, but I think it’s the Indians making it.”“Why Injum cry out like fock when um can cry like Injum?”“To deceive any one who hears them.”“What deceive?” said Pomp.“Cheat—trick.”“Oh!” he said, and we rowed on steadily hour after hour, realising how we must have increased our distance from home in the night.Sometimes as we swept round one of the river bends we encountered a breath of fresh air, but mostly deep down in that narrow way winding through the forest the heat was intense; and there were times when, as I paused to sweep the perspiration from my face, I felt that I must give up, and lie down at the bottom of the boat.But almost invariably at these times I heard faintly what I believed to be the Indians calling to each other as they came on through the forest; and in the hope that perhaps after all we had got the start, and would reach home in time to give the alarm, I tugged at my oar again, and so long as I rowed Pomp never for a moment flagged.But I could not keep his tongue quiet. Now he would be making derisively defiant remarks about the ’gators; then he had something disparaging to say about the Indians; and when I spoke to him angrily he would be quiet for a time, but only to burst out with reproaches at me for calling him a “’tupid lil nigger.”Nothing ever hurt Pomp’s feelings more than that term, which seemed to him the very extreme of reviling, and always went straight to his heart.It was getting toward evening, and a rich orange glow was beginning to glorify the long reach of the river down which we were rowing—sluggishly now, for we were both tired out—when it struck me that I had not heard the cry for some time now, and I made the remark to Pomp.“No; fock gone asleep now till de moon get up. Den fock get up too, an’ holler.”“No, Pomp,” I said, “it’s the Indians, and they are silent because they are getting near the house now.”“So Pomp get near de house, and don’t care for de Injum. He so dreffle hungry.”So was I; but my intense anxiety drove away all that, and I tried to tug harder at the oar, for I knew that we were near home now; familiar trees and corners of the stream kept coming into view, and I was just thinking that very soon I should be able to look behind me and see our landing-place, when a faintly-heard hail came along the river.We both turned sharply, and Pomp exclaimed in words what I only too gratefully saw—“Dah de capen an Mass’ Morgan in ’noder boat. Wha my fader too?”I stood up for a moment and waved my hand, and then sat down, and we both pulled our best, after Pomp had grumbled a little, and wanted to let the boat float down alone.A few minutes later I was holding on to the gunwale of the strange boat in which my father was seated, almost too much exhausted to speak.“I was getting uneasy about you, my boy,” my father said, “for there have been some fresh rumours at the settlement about Indians, and Morgan went round and borrowed this boat; we were coming on to see after you. Why, George, is anything the matter?”“Yes, father,” I panted. “The Indians—they are coming on.”“No,” said Pomp sharply, and he struck his hand on the side of the boat to emphasise his words. “Mass’ George hear de fock—lose him lil self an holler, and he only tink it de— Ah, look! Look, Mass’ George, look! Who dat?”He pointed back up the steam, where at the edge of the bank that the river swept round previous to passing along the straight reach, there stood two tall figures, their feathers and wild dress thrown up by the bright glare of the setting sun. They were evidently reconnoitring, and though we saw them clearly for a few seconds, the next moment they seemed to have died away.“Indians,” said my father, drawing in his breath with a low hiss; “and we must not neglect this warning. Morgan, I’ll get in here with the boys; you go back, make your boat fast at the landing-place, and run up to the house, and bring your wife and Hannibal down.”“But the things in the house, sir?”“Lives are of more importance than chattels, man,” said my father, in his sternest and most military way. “Tell your wife she is to stop for nothing, but to come.”“An’ s’pose she won’t, sir?” said Morgan sharply.“Carry her,” said my father laconically, as he stepped into our boat and pushed the other off.“But bring nothing else, sir?” said Morgan, piteously.“Yes; two guns, and all the ammunition you can carry; but be quick, man, we shall be waiting at the landing-place. The Indians are coming in earnest now. We shall stop till you come, and open fire if it is necessary.” My father capped the gun he had brought from the boat. “Stop. Hand me your gun and pouches.”Morgan gave a stroke or two with his oar, and brought the boats alongside of each other again, then handed the gun to me.“Now then,” said my father, “off! Remember, I shall be trying to keep the Indians at bay if they show, and delay on your part may mean the loss of our lives and—your own.”Morgan gave his head a sharp nod, bent to his oars, and my father turned to me, and cried, as if he were addressing a line of men—“Load!”
I do not suppose that many who read this have ever heard a Red Indian’s cry, and I hope those who have not never will. It was no doubt invented on purpose to scare an enemy, and it answers its purpose thoroughly.
To me it sounded blood-curdling, and a curious sensation ran through me, as if the blood was chilling in my veins. But on thinking of it afterwards, I did not believe that it curdled, and on talking the matter over just before sitting down to write this narrative of my boyish adventures, my doctor said it was all nonsense; that the sensation was produced by the nerves, and that if a body’s blood curdled there would be an end of him at once.
Of course the doctor was right, for the effect of that cry was to make me drop down in the boat again, whisper to Pomp to pull, and row with all my might.
Then another yell came from our right, and was answered from the forest, the Indian who shouted evidently being not very far away.
“Hear dat, Mass’ George?” said Pomp.
“Yes; pull hard. It is the Indians.”
“Well, who car’ for old Injum? Dey can’t cotch us now.”
“Don’t be too sure,” I whispered. “There may be some of them waiting to shoot at us with their bows and arrows.”
Pomp turned his head quickly over his right shoulder to look at the low bushes and reedy plants by the river-bank, and in doing so thrust his oar too deeply down, with the result that he received a blow in the chest, his legs rose up in the air, and his head went down between my legs.
He lay on his back for a moment staring wildly up at me over his forehead, his eyes rolling and his mouth wide.
“Why Mass’ George do dat?” he cried.
“I didn’t, you stupid little nigger,” I cried, angrily. “Get up and mind your oar. You caught a crab. Pull!”
Pomp scrambled back in his place, and began to pull again as hard as he could, for my voice had rather startled him.
“What Mass’ George say?” he whispered.
“Pull!”
“Yes, I pull; but what Mass’ George say ’fore dat?”
“I said you caught a crab.”
“Didn’t! It was great big terrapum.”
“I mean you put your oar in too deep.”
“Den what for say catch um crab? Mass’ George say Injum in de bush shootin’ at Pomp, and den he look round an’ no Injum dah; Mass’ George play trick to fright um, and den call poor Pomp ’tupid lil nigger.”
“Will you hold your tongue and row?” I whispered fiercely.
“Pomp can’t hold um tongue and pull de oar bofe togedder.”
“Hush!”
Pow—ow—ow—ow—ow—ow! Came faintly from among the trees, and Pomp turned sharply round, with circles of white showing round the dark part of his eyes; but this time he kept his oar out of the water, and the boat instead of turning toward the side continued to glide swiftly down the stream.
“Dat de Injum?” he whispered.
“Yes. Pull—hard!”
He swung round in his place, and began to row again so sturdily that I had to work hard to keep the boat’s head straight; and the stream favouring us, we went on down at a rapid rate, though every now and then I was obliged to whisper to him to easy as we neared some sharp curve or sandbank, to avoid which obstacles I had to keep turning round to look ahead.
We had been rowing steadily like this for some time now without hearing the cries of the Indians, but I did not feel any the more confident, for I knew enough of their habits to think that when they were most silent the greatest danger might be near. The banks glided slowly by us, and we had this great advantage, that even if we slackened speed the boat still travelled fast. But Pomp worked hard, and evidently believing that the danger was entirely past, his spirits rose again and he began to laugh.
“Poor ole Injum,” he said; “I berry sorry for um. Poor ole Injum lose um knife. Pomp wonner what um say. How soon we get home now, Mass’ George?”
“Oh, it will take hours yet,” I replied; and just then I turned my head to see that we were rapidly approaching a ridge of sand right in the middle of the river. I was about to give my oar a vigorous tug, when I noted that the stream divided, and ran in two swift currents on either side of the ridge. As we then were, I saw that the boat would go through the narrower one—the swifter evidently; and at the same moment a pile of wood and dead rubbish on the sandspit ceased to obstruct the view, and to my horror I saw that the little long islet, whose sands were only just above the level of the water, was occupied by a group of seven or eight alligators, the nearest being a monster, the rest varying to the smallest, which was not above three feet long.
I involuntarily ceased rowing and Pomp did the same, just as we were entering the narrow channel, and so close to the sandspit, that the blade of the boy’s oar held ready for the next dip swept over the sand.
Pomp was gazing in the other direction, scanning the river-bank; and as I saw what was about to happen, I said in a quick whisper—
“Look out!”
Almost as I spoke, the blade of Pomp’s oar swept over the rugged horny coat of the largest alligator, which, like the rest, was sleeping in the hot sunshine perfectly ignorant of our near approach.
The effect was instantaneous. As the boy turned sharply round to look out, the great reptile sprang up, opened its huge jaws, and made a snap at the oar-blade, whisked round its tail, striking the boat, and then made a series of plunges to reach the water on the other side, its actions alarming the rest, which on their retreat made the sandspit seem alive, and the water splash and foam; while Pomp uttered a yell of horror, loosed his hold of his oar, and dived down into the boat, to rise again and stare over the stern as soon as I told him the danger was past.
It was all the work of a few moments, during which I was startled enough, especially when I saw the gaping jaws of the great reptile, and heard the snap it made at the oar-blade; but we were going swiftly by, and mingled with the terror there was something so comic in Pomp’s actions, that in the reaction I began to laugh.
This brought Pomp’s face round directly, and his reproachful black eyes seemed to ask me what I could see to laugh at.
“Come,” I said, “you can’t tell me I was playing tricks then.—Why, Pomp, your oar’s overboard,” I cried as I realised that fact.
“Yes, Mass’ George. Dat great ’gator ’wallow um.”
“Nonsense!” I cried, as I tried to check the progress of the boat on catching sight of the oar gliding swiftly down stream twenty yards away. “There it is. Wait till it comes close. I’ll try and manage to get you near it.”
“Dah it am! Whah?”
“There, just off to your left.”
“So um are, Mass’ George. ’Gator no like um, an’ ’pit um out ’gain.”
“There: mind! Now then, quick! Catch hold.”
I had managed to check the boat enough to let the oar overtake us, and Pomp made a snatch at it, but drew back sharply with a low cry of horror.
“What’s the matter now?” I said. “Make haste; you’ll lose it.”
“Great big Injum down dah,” he whispered, hoarsely. “Um want to bite off poor Pomp arm.”
“Nonsense! How could an Indian be there?” I said, as we floated on side by side with the oar.
“Injum? Pomp say great big ’gator. You look, Mass’ George.”
“You said Indian, Pomp,” I continued, as I drew in my oar, picked up the boat-hook, and went cautiously to the side to look down into the transparent water, where, sure enough, one of the reptiles was swimming along; but it was quite a small one, and a sharp dig down with the boat-hook sent it undulating away, and I recovered the oar, passing it to Pomp with a gesture, as there arose once more a cry from the forest right away back, and it was answered in two places.
Pomp took the oar and began to row again steadily, staring back at the sandspit, now fast growing distant. Then all at once, as the faint cry arose from the forest—
“Dat not Injum,” he cried sharply; “dat fock.”
“Fox!” I said, recalling the little jackal-like creatures, of which I had seen one or two that had been shot by Morgan.
“Yes, dat fock. Um shout like dat to noder fock in um wood when um lose umself.”
“Yes, but that would be at night,” I said, wondering whether he was right.
“’Pose um lose umself in de day. Make um cry?”
“No,” I said, thoughtfully. “It is like the cry of the fox, Pomp, but I think it’s the Indians making it.”
“Why Injum cry out like fock when um can cry like Injum?”
“To deceive any one who hears them.”
“What deceive?” said Pomp.
“Cheat—trick.”
“Oh!” he said, and we rowed on steadily hour after hour, realising how we must have increased our distance from home in the night.
Sometimes as we swept round one of the river bends we encountered a breath of fresh air, but mostly deep down in that narrow way winding through the forest the heat was intense; and there were times when, as I paused to sweep the perspiration from my face, I felt that I must give up, and lie down at the bottom of the boat.
But almost invariably at these times I heard faintly what I believed to be the Indians calling to each other as they came on through the forest; and in the hope that perhaps after all we had got the start, and would reach home in time to give the alarm, I tugged at my oar again, and so long as I rowed Pomp never for a moment flagged.
But I could not keep his tongue quiet. Now he would be making derisively defiant remarks about the ’gators; then he had something disparaging to say about the Indians; and when I spoke to him angrily he would be quiet for a time, but only to burst out with reproaches at me for calling him a “’tupid lil nigger.”
Nothing ever hurt Pomp’s feelings more than that term, which seemed to him the very extreme of reviling, and always went straight to his heart.
It was getting toward evening, and a rich orange glow was beginning to glorify the long reach of the river down which we were rowing—sluggishly now, for we were both tired out—when it struck me that I had not heard the cry for some time now, and I made the remark to Pomp.
“No; fock gone asleep now till de moon get up. Den fock get up too, an’ holler.”
“No, Pomp,” I said, “it’s the Indians, and they are silent because they are getting near the house now.”
“So Pomp get near de house, and don’t care for de Injum. He so dreffle hungry.”
So was I; but my intense anxiety drove away all that, and I tried to tug harder at the oar, for I knew that we were near home now; familiar trees and corners of the stream kept coming into view, and I was just thinking that very soon I should be able to look behind me and see our landing-place, when a faintly-heard hail came along the river.
We both turned sharply, and Pomp exclaimed in words what I only too gratefully saw—
“Dah de capen an Mass’ Morgan in ’noder boat. Wha my fader too?”
I stood up for a moment and waved my hand, and then sat down, and we both pulled our best, after Pomp had grumbled a little, and wanted to let the boat float down alone.
A few minutes later I was holding on to the gunwale of the strange boat in which my father was seated, almost too much exhausted to speak.
“I was getting uneasy about you, my boy,” my father said, “for there have been some fresh rumours at the settlement about Indians, and Morgan went round and borrowed this boat; we were coming on to see after you. Why, George, is anything the matter?”
“Yes, father,” I panted. “The Indians—they are coming on.”
“No,” said Pomp sharply, and he struck his hand on the side of the boat to emphasise his words. “Mass’ George hear de fock—lose him lil self an holler, and he only tink it de— Ah, look! Look, Mass’ George, look! Who dat?”
He pointed back up the steam, where at the edge of the bank that the river swept round previous to passing along the straight reach, there stood two tall figures, their feathers and wild dress thrown up by the bright glare of the setting sun. They were evidently reconnoitring, and though we saw them clearly for a few seconds, the next moment they seemed to have died away.
“Indians,” said my father, drawing in his breath with a low hiss; “and we must not neglect this warning. Morgan, I’ll get in here with the boys; you go back, make your boat fast at the landing-place, and run up to the house, and bring your wife and Hannibal down.”
“But the things in the house, sir?”
“Lives are of more importance than chattels, man,” said my father, in his sternest and most military way. “Tell your wife she is to stop for nothing, but to come.”
“An’ s’pose she won’t, sir?” said Morgan sharply.
“Carry her,” said my father laconically, as he stepped into our boat and pushed the other off.
“But bring nothing else, sir?” said Morgan, piteously.
“Yes; two guns, and all the ammunition you can carry; but be quick, man, we shall be waiting at the landing-place. The Indians are coming in earnest now. We shall stop till you come, and open fire if it is necessary.” My father capped the gun he had brought from the boat. “Stop. Hand me your gun and pouches.”
Morgan gave a stroke or two with his oar, and brought the boats alongside of each other again, then handed the gun to me.
“Now then,” said my father, “off! Remember, I shall be trying to keep the Indians at bay if they show, and delay on your part may mean the loss of our lives and—your own.”
Morgan gave his head a sharp nod, bent to his oars, and my father turned to me, and cried, as if he were addressing a line of men—
“Load!”
Chapter Thirty One.I believe my hands trembled, but I stood up firmly in the boat and charged the heavy piece, making the ramrod leap, as I had been told, examined the priming, and then, in obedience to my father’s sign, sat down.Pomp had taken both oars, and was dipping them gently from time to time, to keep the boat’s head straight, and after a long look up the reach, my father sat down too.“Let’s see, George,” he said, “we are about a mile above the landing-place, and we must give Morgan plenty of time to get there, up to the house, and back. Hold up your gun, and let the Indians see it if they are watching, and I suppose they are. These bow-and-arrow people have a very wholesome dread of powder.”“But suppose they keep creeping near us under shelter, father,” I said, “and shoot?”“They will in all probability miss; let’s hope so, at all events. Come, my lad, you have a gun, and you must play soldier now. Will you lie down under shelter of the boat’s side?”“Soldiers don’t lie down,” I said firmly, though I wanted to do so very badly indeed.“Oh, yes, they do sometimes. We will as soon as it is necessary; but what I want to do now, my boy, is to gain time. If we row swiftly to the landing-place, the Indians will come on rushing from tree to tree, and be upon us in a few minutes, for I presume they are in force.”I told him quickly how many we had seen.“It is a mercy that you went and were taken, George,” he said; “it has saved our lives, no doubt. But as I was saying, we want to gain time, and while we sit here slowly drifting down, with these menacing guns pointing in their direction, they will advance very slowly, and keep under cover. If it becomes necessary, I shall have the boat turned, and advance to meet them.”“And then, father?”“They will retire for a time, not being able to understand so bold an advance, and think that an attack is about to be made upon them from the other side. We must keep them back, and it is to be done by preserving a bold front. They are cruel and treacherous, and can fight well when they think they are in strength over a weak adversary; but from what I learned of those who have had to do with them, they are as cowardly as they are cruel. Look!”I gazed sharply up the wooded bank of the river, but I could see nothing, and said so.“No; they were gone directly. They were two spies who had stolen closer up. It means war in earnest now, I am afraid.”He changed his position a little, and examined his gun.“Mass’ goin’ shoot dat gun?” said Pomp, excitedly, after watching and listening with all his energy.“Yes, my lad,” said my father, smiling.“Mass’ won’t shoot Pomp?”“No. Attend to the oars, and keep the boat’s head straight. Don’t speak.”“No, massa. Oh, look, dat dah!”Pomp’s loud exclamation was due to the fact that an arrow came flying from a low clump of bushes nearly two hundred yards away, its reed shaft glistening in the ruddy light, and its wings looking as if of fire, till it dropped without a splash into the river, far away from where we sat.“Now I should like to return their fire,” said my father, “but I am very doubtful about my gun doing any harm at this distance, so we must wait. Pull a little, boy, but very gently, so that they will hardly be able to see that we are doing anything to get away.”Pomp dipped the oars, and I sat with my heart beating, waiting to see another arrow come, but for quite a minute there was no sign.“Good practice for one beginning a frontier life, George,” said my father. “Sweep the bank well, and note the smallest movement of a bough. You see there is no wind to move them now.”“I am watching, father,” I said, “but I cannot see anything.”“Pomp see lil bit o’ one,” came from behind us.“Where, boy?”“Dah by dat big tree. See um arm. Going to shoot.”Almost as the words left the boy’s lips, an arrow came spinning through the air, describing a good arc, and falling in a direct line with the boat, some twenty yards short.“That’s better,” said my father, coolly resting his gun on the stern, and half lying down in the boat. “Hah! I could see that.”I had also seen what appeared to be a quick movement of the bushes a short distance from the edge of the bank, a movement which seemed such as would have been made by an animal dashing through.The waving of the foliage stopped just by a great swamp oak, and upon this tree I fancied that my father fixed his eye.“Dah again,” said Pomp, excitedly. “Going shoot um bow an’ arrow.”Bang!The boat rocked a little with the concussion, and as the smoke lifted, I saw an arrow drop into the river a long way to our left.“I don’t think I hit him,” said my father; “but I disarranged his aim, and it will check him for a bit.”His words proved correct, for though he stood up in the boat to re-charge his piece, and offered a striking object for the Indian’s arrows, none came; and as we floated on and on, it began to seem as if the one shot had been enough to scare the enemy. I said so, but my father shook his head.“No such good fortune, my boy.”“What are you going to do, father?” I said, after some minutes’ watching, and thinking how strange it was that my calm, quiet father, who was so fond of his studies and his garden, should in a time of emergency like this prove himself to be a firm soldier, ready to fight or scheme against our dangerous foes.“Escape to the settlement if we can get safely away.”“But—”I stopped short.“Well?” he said.“I was thinking about the house and garden, the furniture and books, and all our treasures.”“Doomed, I’m afraid, George,” he said with a sigh. “We must think about saving our lives. We can build up the house again.”“Build it up again, father?”“Yes, if it is burnt, and replace our books; but we cannot restore life, my boy. Besides, all these things that we shall lose are not worth grieving over. There, I think we have waited long enough now to give them time, and we are near the landing-place. Pull steadily now, boy, right for the posts.”Pomp obeyed, and the boat glided on, swept round a wooded point, and the landing-place with its overhanging trees was in sight.“Are they there?” said my father, sharply.“I can’t see them, father.”A sharp stamp with his foot on the thwart of the boat told of the excitement he felt, and made me realise more than ever the peril we were in.“Pull, boy—pull!” he said.I sat down in front of Pomp, laid my gun across the thwarts, and placing my hands on the oars, helped with a good thrust at every tug, sending the boat well along, so that in a couple of minutes more we were at the landing-place, where I leaped out, and secured the boat by passing the rope through a ring-bolt.“Don’t fasten it tightly,” said my father; “leave it so that you can slip it at a moment’s notice. No, no, boy, sit still ready to row.”Pomp, who was about to spring out, plumped down again, his brow wrinkled up, and his twinkling dark eyes watching my father, of whom he stood in terrible awe.“They ought to have been here; they ought to have been here,” said my father, unfastening the other boat, and making a loop of the rope that could be just hung over one of the posts, besides bringing the boat close in.“I cannot go, George,” he said sharply. “This is our only means of escape, and it would be like throwing it away: they ought to have been here.”“Pomp hear um come,” cried the boy eagerly; and we both listened, but for a few moments I could make out nothing.Then as my father was eagerly scanning the edge of the river, gun in hand, on the look-out for the first approach of the Indians, I heardplod—plod—plod—plod, and directly after Morgan came into sight laden with the guns and ammunition, followed by Hannibal with a box on his shoulder; and lastly there was Sarah, red-faced and panting, as she bore a large white bundle that looked like a feather-bed tied up in a sheet.“What madness!” cried my father, angrily stamping his foot. “Quick, Morgan! Quick!”Morgan broke into a trot, and soon reached us, rapidly placed his load in the boat, and took up one of the pieces.“How could you waste time by letting that woman come loaded in this ridiculous way?”“She would bring them, sir; she wouldn’t come without.”“No,” said Sarah, who came up completely breathless, “I wasn’t going to.”“Into the boat,” cried my father, “if you value your life!”Hannibal was already in with his box, and my father tried to drag the bundle from Sarah, but she held on with such tenacity that she was forced in bundle and all.Hannibal placed the huge white sphere in the stern, where it rose up high and projected far over the sides. Then, in obedience to my father’s orders, he seized the oars and sat down.“Quick, Morgan!” said my father; “be ready to fire steadily as you can if I give the order. Stop!” he cried quickly, as a sudden thought struck him; “pass that box into this boat. There, across the stern, as you have placed that bundle.”The boats were drawn together, and the transfer was made, while my hands grew wet with perspiration as I scanned the edge of the forest, fancying I could hear the breaking and rustling of twigs and leaves.“Here dey come,” said Pomp, huskily, just as my father exclaimed, “Cast off!” and the boats were thrust out into the stream.It was only just in time, for as our boat was being thrust away with the oar there was a fierce yell, and a score of savages rushed out of the edge of the forest, ran rapidly over the bushy ground between, and the two first sprang into the shallow water, one of them seizing an oar, the other coming further out, and catching at the boat’s side with one hand, striking at my father with an axe at the same time.I felt as if the blow had struck me, so keen was the agony I endured; but relief came on the instant, for the axe edge was warded off by the barrel of the piece my father held, and before the savage could strike again he received the butt of the piece full in his forehead, and dropped back into the water.Meanwhile the other savage was trying to tear the oar from Pomp’s grasp, and he would have succeeded had not the boy drawn the knife he had stuck in his waist, and given the Indian quickly a sharp cut across the hands, making him yell and loosen his hold.The others were so near that we must have been captured had it not been for the sharp stream which had caught the boat, and was bearing us away.In the second boat another struggle had taken place, three of the Indians, as I saw at my second glance, making for it; but they fared no better than their companions. Hannibal had already pushed off, and was standing up with one oar in his hand. This he swept round as if it were a huge two-handed sword, and one Indian went down at once; the second caught and clung to the oar, and he too struck at Hannibal with his axe; but the great black caught the handle, gave it a wrench round, tore it from the man’s grasp, and I closed my eyes for a moment as I saw what was about to follow. When I opened them again the Indian was floating in the river, and a companion was drawing him to land, while another was helping the Indian who had attacked Morgan, and was struck down by a blow with the gun-barrel.The boats were now moving fast, and as I saw the Indians all there bending their bows, my father shouted “Fire!” Our three pieces went off nearly simultaneously with a tremendous roar, and when the smoke rose I saw three men on the ground by our landing-place, and the others in full flight for the forest. I stared at these three in horror, when, to my surprise, they leaped up and ran after their companions. But three others lay where their comrades had dragged them half drowned, and stunned by the blows they had received. Those who got up and ran were no doubt knocked down by their companions in their flight and dismay, for I do not think our fire did them any harm. But I was brought to myself by a sharp command to reload.“Quick! Crouch down!” said my father; and as he spoke a shower of arrows whistled by, fortunately without doing hurt. “Morgan,” continued my father, “make a breastwork of that bundle; it will protect you. Hannibal, row straight out, so as to get that bundle between you and the enemy.”The great black’s response was a pull or two with one oar, while, in obedience to my father’s instructions, Pomp did the same; and I now saw the good of the box placed across the stern, behind which we two sheltered, and kept up as rapid a fire as we could, doing but little harm, for the Indians were well sheltered among the trees, and rarely showed more than a hand and arm with one side of the face, the rest of the body being always hidden behind the trunk of some great tree. But our shots did good to this extent, for whenever the enemy made a determined rush, as if to reach a spot opposite to where the boats glided down stream, a little volley invariably sent them back to cover.Still by darting from tree to tree, or crawling under the thick bushes, they kept close in our wake, and poor Sarah’s encumbrances proved invaluable, the box and huge bundle forming excellent shelter, from behind which we could fire, saving the woman too as she lay right in the bottom of the boat; for the arrows came fast—whizz, whizz, whizz, now sticking in the box with a hollow sounding rap, or into the big bundle in the other boat with a dull, thudding sound, till both box and bundle actually bristled with the missiles.“Keep your head down, my boy,” my father kept saying to me. “Only look up when you are going to fire.”This was good advice, but I did not see that he took it to himself, and I kept feeling a curious shrinking sensation as some better-aimed arrow than usual struck the box close to his head.And so we went slowly on, my father dividing his time between loading, firing, and directing Pomp and Hannibal how to row, so as to keep the boats one behind the other, and diagonally across the stream, so that our sheltering defences might be presented square to the enemy, who followed us along the bank.I’m afraid—and yet I do not know that I ought to speak like that of a set of savages who were thirsting for our blood—several of the Indians went down severely wounded, not from my firing, but from that of Morgan, for I saw them stagger and fall three times over after his shots. What happened after my father’s I could not see, for we were close together, and the smoke obscured everything.For fully ten minutes this duel between lead and arrow went on, but no one on our side was hurt, though we had some very narrow escapes. I felt one arrow give quite a twitch at my hair as it passed close to my temple, and another went through my father’s hat. In the other boat too Morgan kept answering to our inquiries, and telling us that all was right, only that some of the arrows had come, as he termed it, “precious nigh, look you.”“We shall not shake them off,” said my father, “till we reach the mouth and get into the big river, when I hope our firing will be heard and put them on their guard at the settlement. So don’t spare your shots when we get well out. They will be doing double duty—scaring the enemy and warning our friends. That’s right, Pompey, my lad, pull steadily.”“Iss, massa, pull berry ’tead’ly,” said the boy, grinning.“As soon as we get a little farther we will relieve you, my lad; and then, George,” he said, turning to me, “we must row hard for the settlement, unless,” he added, sadly, “the enemy are before us, and then— Hah!”I started at the moment when my father uttered that ejaculation, for an arrow dropped between us, and stuck quivering in the thwart, standing nearly upright, as if it had fallen from the clouds.“They have altered their tactics,” said my father. “Look there.”Another arrow fell with a faintplopinto the river close to the edge of the boat. “They find our breastwork too much for them,” said my father; “and they are shooting up right over us, so as to try and hit us that way.”“Oh! Oh! Oh!” came in wild yells of pain from Pomp, as I heard a dull thud just behind me; and turning sharply, there was the boy dancing about in his agony, and tugging to free his hand from an arrow which had fallen and gone right through, pinning it to one of the oars.“Stop! Don’t struggle, boy,” cried my father, laying his gun across the box.“But um hurt dreffle, massa. Oh, Mass’ George, lookye here—lookye dah.”The boat was drifting now, and turning slowly side on to the shore, when my father made a sign, and I left my gun lying across the box and crept into Pomp’s place, while my father seized the boy’s hand, held it tightly, detached the arrow with a tug from where it stuck in the oar, and then as I began to row he pulled Pomp down into the bottom of the boat, the boy sobbing with the pain.Whizz! An arrow made me duck my head, and I don’t know how I looked, but I felt as if I must have turned pale.“Pull your right, George; pull your right,” said my father, coolly. “Now, Pomp, my boy, let me look. Come, be a man.”My father took his hand, and the boy jumped and uttered a cry of pain, but he evidently mastered himself, and rising to his knees, he resigned himself to my father, but doubled his other fist and shook it in the direction of the shore as he shouted fiercely—“Ah, you wait bit, great big coward—great big ugly Injum tief. You wait bit—Pomp and um fader get hold you, gib you de ’tick. Hab you flog—hab you—Oh! Oh, Mass’ Capen, done, done,” he cried piteously, changing his tone and appealing to my father, as he saw him take out and open his great gardening knife, which was as sharp as a razor.“Be quiet,” said my father; “I will not hurt you much.”“No, no,” whimpered Pomp. “Mass’ George, ask massa not cut arm off. Cut off lil toe, Massa Capen; cut off um foot. What poor lil nigger do wif ony one arm?”“Be quiet, you cowardly little rascal,” said my father, smiling, as with one sharp cut he took off the head of the arrow, and then easily drew the shaft back from where it had passed right through Pomp’s black hand.As soon as he saw the arrow-head cut off, and understood what my father meant, Pomp knelt there as coolly as could be.“Hurt much?” said my father, pressing his finger and thumb on the wound at the back and palm of the boy’s hand.“Um tickle, sah: dat all. Pomp tought you cut um arm off. Hi! You dah,” he shouted excitedly; “you wait till Pomp get lil bit of rag round um hand, you see how I serb you. Yah! You big coward Injum tief.”My father rapidly drew his handkerchief from his pocket, tore a piece off, divided it in two, and making the two pieces into little pads, applied one each to the back and front of the boy’s hand before binding them securely there.As soon as this was done, Pomp looked up at him with his eyes sparkling and showing his teeth.“Pomp not mind a bit,” he said. “Here, Mass’ George, come here an’ shoot um. Let Pomp hab de oars.”“No,” said my father. “Sit down there in the bottom of the boat. Hah!”He seized his gun and fired; then caught up mine, waited till the smoke had risen a little, and fired again, a shot coming almost at the same moment from the other boat.It was quite time, for the Indians, encouraged by the cessation of the firing, and seeing that some one was wounded, were coming on well abreast of us. But the first shot warned them, and the two which followed sent them once more back under cover, leaving one of their number, to Pomp’s great delight, motionless among the canes.“Ha, ha!” he laughed; “you cotch it dis time, sah. How you like feel de shot, eh? You no ’tick arrow froo poor lil nigger hand again, you no—Oh, Mass’ George, look dah!”For the prostrate man suddenly rolled over, half rose, darted amongst the canes, and we could see by his movements that he was rapidly getting ahead. Then another and another darted to him, and to our misery we saw that they were making for a wooded point a couple of hundred yards ahead.“Mean to take us between two fires,” said my father, who was coolly reloading, in spite of the arrows which kept on dropping down in and about the boat as the Indians sent them right up in the air.“Morgan!” shouted my father.“Yes, sir.”“Turn your fire in the other direction, and drive those fellows out of that clump of trees on the point.”“Yes, sir.”The next minute there was a sharp report, and then another.“That’s right, boy,” said my father to Pomp, who was eagerly watching him reloading, and handing the ammunition. “Why, George— Ah, that arrow was near; did it hurt you?”“Only scratched me, father,” I said, as I winced a little, for one of the Indians’ missiles had fallen, ploughed my leg a little, and pinned the fold of my breeches to the thwart on which I sat.Pomp crept to my side and pulled out the arrow, examining the hole in the thwart, and saying merrily—“I no ’tink you want lil bit rag round you, sah.”“No, Pomp; go back and help to load.”Bang—bang! Was heard again from the foremost boat; but arrows came now fast from the wooded point we were approaching.“How does Morgan manage to load so quickly?” said my father, who kept on talking calmly, as I believe now to encourage us.“I think Morgan is—I mean I think Sarah is loading for him,” I replied, rather confusedly, as the trees and the wooded bank began to grow misty and dim.“Ah, very likely. Great—”The one word came in a very different tone of voice, as a wild shriek rang out from the foremost boat, followed by a momentary silence.“What is it?” said my father, sternly.His demand was almost accompanied by a couple more shots in close succession.“One down, sir,” said Morgan, coolly; but his voice sounded to me distant and strange.“Pull hard, George, my lad—your right. We must give that point as wide a berth as we can.”I obeyed as well as I could, and half wondered at the singing noise in my ears.Bang! Came from the foremost boat, and I seemed to know that Morgan had no one to load for him now, and that poor Sarah had uttered that shriek we had heard. Then I saw that my father was resting his gun on the foremost part of the boat, and he too fired at the woody point, from which arrow after arrow came in quick succession.And still I rowed hard, with the perspiration streaming down to soak me.Whizz—thud—whizz—whizz, and an angry ejaculation from my father; I did not know why, nor yet why Pomp uttered a shrill ejaculation, for I was pulling with all my might like one in a dream. I felt once as if I should like to look back and see how near we were to the point that I knew must be close at hand; but everything was getting dark, and a horrible sensation of sickness was coming on. Then the sharp report of my father’s piece made me start and pull harder, as I thought, and I tried to look toward the shore, where a wild yelling had arisen; but Pomp’s words uttered close to me took my attention, and in a dreamy way I supposed that another Indian had been killed.Then the boy spoke again in a low whimpering way—“Massa—massa—look at de blood. Oh, Mass’ George! Mass’ George!”
I believe my hands trembled, but I stood up firmly in the boat and charged the heavy piece, making the ramrod leap, as I had been told, examined the priming, and then, in obedience to my father’s sign, sat down.
Pomp had taken both oars, and was dipping them gently from time to time, to keep the boat’s head straight, and after a long look up the reach, my father sat down too.
“Let’s see, George,” he said, “we are about a mile above the landing-place, and we must give Morgan plenty of time to get there, up to the house, and back. Hold up your gun, and let the Indians see it if they are watching, and I suppose they are. These bow-and-arrow people have a very wholesome dread of powder.”
“But suppose they keep creeping near us under shelter, father,” I said, “and shoot?”
“They will in all probability miss; let’s hope so, at all events. Come, my lad, you have a gun, and you must play soldier now. Will you lie down under shelter of the boat’s side?”
“Soldiers don’t lie down,” I said firmly, though I wanted to do so very badly indeed.
“Oh, yes, they do sometimes. We will as soon as it is necessary; but what I want to do now, my boy, is to gain time. If we row swiftly to the landing-place, the Indians will come on rushing from tree to tree, and be upon us in a few minutes, for I presume they are in force.”
I told him quickly how many we had seen.
“It is a mercy that you went and were taken, George,” he said; “it has saved our lives, no doubt. But as I was saying, we want to gain time, and while we sit here slowly drifting down, with these menacing guns pointing in their direction, they will advance very slowly, and keep under cover. If it becomes necessary, I shall have the boat turned, and advance to meet them.”
“And then, father?”
“They will retire for a time, not being able to understand so bold an advance, and think that an attack is about to be made upon them from the other side. We must keep them back, and it is to be done by preserving a bold front. They are cruel and treacherous, and can fight well when they think they are in strength over a weak adversary; but from what I learned of those who have had to do with them, they are as cowardly as they are cruel. Look!”
I gazed sharply up the wooded bank of the river, but I could see nothing, and said so.
“No; they were gone directly. They were two spies who had stolen closer up. It means war in earnest now, I am afraid.”
He changed his position a little, and examined his gun.
“Mass’ goin’ shoot dat gun?” said Pomp, excitedly, after watching and listening with all his energy.
“Yes, my lad,” said my father, smiling.
“Mass’ won’t shoot Pomp?”
“No. Attend to the oars, and keep the boat’s head straight. Don’t speak.”
“No, massa. Oh, look, dat dah!”
Pomp’s loud exclamation was due to the fact that an arrow came flying from a low clump of bushes nearly two hundred yards away, its reed shaft glistening in the ruddy light, and its wings looking as if of fire, till it dropped without a splash into the river, far away from where we sat.
“Now I should like to return their fire,” said my father, “but I am very doubtful about my gun doing any harm at this distance, so we must wait. Pull a little, boy, but very gently, so that they will hardly be able to see that we are doing anything to get away.”
Pomp dipped the oars, and I sat with my heart beating, waiting to see another arrow come, but for quite a minute there was no sign.
“Good practice for one beginning a frontier life, George,” said my father. “Sweep the bank well, and note the smallest movement of a bough. You see there is no wind to move them now.”
“I am watching, father,” I said, “but I cannot see anything.”
“Pomp see lil bit o’ one,” came from behind us.
“Where, boy?”
“Dah by dat big tree. See um arm. Going to shoot.”
Almost as the words left the boy’s lips, an arrow came spinning through the air, describing a good arc, and falling in a direct line with the boat, some twenty yards short.
“That’s better,” said my father, coolly resting his gun on the stern, and half lying down in the boat. “Hah! I could see that.”
I had also seen what appeared to be a quick movement of the bushes a short distance from the edge of the bank, a movement which seemed such as would have been made by an animal dashing through.
The waving of the foliage stopped just by a great swamp oak, and upon this tree I fancied that my father fixed his eye.
“Dah again,” said Pomp, excitedly. “Going shoot um bow an’ arrow.”
Bang!
The boat rocked a little with the concussion, and as the smoke lifted, I saw an arrow drop into the river a long way to our left.
“I don’t think I hit him,” said my father; “but I disarranged his aim, and it will check him for a bit.”
His words proved correct, for though he stood up in the boat to re-charge his piece, and offered a striking object for the Indian’s arrows, none came; and as we floated on and on, it began to seem as if the one shot had been enough to scare the enemy. I said so, but my father shook his head.
“No such good fortune, my boy.”
“What are you going to do, father?” I said, after some minutes’ watching, and thinking how strange it was that my calm, quiet father, who was so fond of his studies and his garden, should in a time of emergency like this prove himself to be a firm soldier, ready to fight or scheme against our dangerous foes.
“Escape to the settlement if we can get safely away.”
“But—”
I stopped short.
“Well?” he said.
“I was thinking about the house and garden, the furniture and books, and all our treasures.”
“Doomed, I’m afraid, George,” he said with a sigh. “We must think about saving our lives. We can build up the house again.”
“Build it up again, father?”
“Yes, if it is burnt, and replace our books; but we cannot restore life, my boy. Besides, all these things that we shall lose are not worth grieving over. There, I think we have waited long enough now to give them time, and we are near the landing-place. Pull steadily now, boy, right for the posts.”
Pomp obeyed, and the boat glided on, swept round a wooded point, and the landing-place with its overhanging trees was in sight.
“Are they there?” said my father, sharply.
“I can’t see them, father.”
A sharp stamp with his foot on the thwart of the boat told of the excitement he felt, and made me realise more than ever the peril we were in.
“Pull, boy—pull!” he said.
I sat down in front of Pomp, laid my gun across the thwarts, and placing my hands on the oars, helped with a good thrust at every tug, sending the boat well along, so that in a couple of minutes more we were at the landing-place, where I leaped out, and secured the boat by passing the rope through a ring-bolt.
“Don’t fasten it tightly,” said my father; “leave it so that you can slip it at a moment’s notice. No, no, boy, sit still ready to row.”
Pomp, who was about to spring out, plumped down again, his brow wrinkled up, and his twinkling dark eyes watching my father, of whom he stood in terrible awe.
“They ought to have been here; they ought to have been here,” said my father, unfastening the other boat, and making a loop of the rope that could be just hung over one of the posts, besides bringing the boat close in.
“I cannot go, George,” he said sharply. “This is our only means of escape, and it would be like throwing it away: they ought to have been here.”
“Pomp hear um come,” cried the boy eagerly; and we both listened, but for a few moments I could make out nothing.
Then as my father was eagerly scanning the edge of the river, gun in hand, on the look-out for the first approach of the Indians, I heardplod—plod—plod—plod, and directly after Morgan came into sight laden with the guns and ammunition, followed by Hannibal with a box on his shoulder; and lastly there was Sarah, red-faced and panting, as she bore a large white bundle that looked like a feather-bed tied up in a sheet.
“What madness!” cried my father, angrily stamping his foot. “Quick, Morgan! Quick!”
Morgan broke into a trot, and soon reached us, rapidly placed his load in the boat, and took up one of the pieces.
“How could you waste time by letting that woman come loaded in this ridiculous way?”
“She would bring them, sir; she wouldn’t come without.”
“No,” said Sarah, who came up completely breathless, “I wasn’t going to.”
“Into the boat,” cried my father, “if you value your life!”
Hannibal was already in with his box, and my father tried to drag the bundle from Sarah, but she held on with such tenacity that she was forced in bundle and all.
Hannibal placed the huge white sphere in the stern, where it rose up high and projected far over the sides. Then, in obedience to my father’s orders, he seized the oars and sat down.
“Quick, Morgan!” said my father; “be ready to fire steadily as you can if I give the order. Stop!” he cried quickly, as a sudden thought struck him; “pass that box into this boat. There, across the stern, as you have placed that bundle.”
The boats were drawn together, and the transfer was made, while my hands grew wet with perspiration as I scanned the edge of the forest, fancying I could hear the breaking and rustling of twigs and leaves.
“Here dey come,” said Pomp, huskily, just as my father exclaimed, “Cast off!” and the boats were thrust out into the stream.
It was only just in time, for as our boat was being thrust away with the oar there was a fierce yell, and a score of savages rushed out of the edge of the forest, ran rapidly over the bushy ground between, and the two first sprang into the shallow water, one of them seizing an oar, the other coming further out, and catching at the boat’s side with one hand, striking at my father with an axe at the same time.
I felt as if the blow had struck me, so keen was the agony I endured; but relief came on the instant, for the axe edge was warded off by the barrel of the piece my father held, and before the savage could strike again he received the butt of the piece full in his forehead, and dropped back into the water.
Meanwhile the other savage was trying to tear the oar from Pomp’s grasp, and he would have succeeded had not the boy drawn the knife he had stuck in his waist, and given the Indian quickly a sharp cut across the hands, making him yell and loosen his hold.
The others were so near that we must have been captured had it not been for the sharp stream which had caught the boat, and was bearing us away.
In the second boat another struggle had taken place, three of the Indians, as I saw at my second glance, making for it; but they fared no better than their companions. Hannibal had already pushed off, and was standing up with one oar in his hand. This he swept round as if it were a huge two-handed sword, and one Indian went down at once; the second caught and clung to the oar, and he too struck at Hannibal with his axe; but the great black caught the handle, gave it a wrench round, tore it from the man’s grasp, and I closed my eyes for a moment as I saw what was about to follow. When I opened them again the Indian was floating in the river, and a companion was drawing him to land, while another was helping the Indian who had attacked Morgan, and was struck down by a blow with the gun-barrel.
The boats were now moving fast, and as I saw the Indians all there bending their bows, my father shouted “Fire!” Our three pieces went off nearly simultaneously with a tremendous roar, and when the smoke rose I saw three men on the ground by our landing-place, and the others in full flight for the forest. I stared at these three in horror, when, to my surprise, they leaped up and ran after their companions. But three others lay where their comrades had dragged them half drowned, and stunned by the blows they had received. Those who got up and ran were no doubt knocked down by their companions in their flight and dismay, for I do not think our fire did them any harm. But I was brought to myself by a sharp command to reload.
“Quick! Crouch down!” said my father; and as he spoke a shower of arrows whistled by, fortunately without doing hurt. “Morgan,” continued my father, “make a breastwork of that bundle; it will protect you. Hannibal, row straight out, so as to get that bundle between you and the enemy.”
The great black’s response was a pull or two with one oar, while, in obedience to my father’s instructions, Pomp did the same; and I now saw the good of the box placed across the stern, behind which we two sheltered, and kept up as rapid a fire as we could, doing but little harm, for the Indians were well sheltered among the trees, and rarely showed more than a hand and arm with one side of the face, the rest of the body being always hidden behind the trunk of some great tree. But our shots did good to this extent, for whenever the enemy made a determined rush, as if to reach a spot opposite to where the boats glided down stream, a little volley invariably sent them back to cover.
Still by darting from tree to tree, or crawling under the thick bushes, they kept close in our wake, and poor Sarah’s encumbrances proved invaluable, the box and huge bundle forming excellent shelter, from behind which we could fire, saving the woman too as she lay right in the bottom of the boat; for the arrows came fast—whizz, whizz, whizz, now sticking in the box with a hollow sounding rap, or into the big bundle in the other boat with a dull, thudding sound, till both box and bundle actually bristled with the missiles.
“Keep your head down, my boy,” my father kept saying to me. “Only look up when you are going to fire.”
This was good advice, but I did not see that he took it to himself, and I kept feeling a curious shrinking sensation as some better-aimed arrow than usual struck the box close to his head.
And so we went slowly on, my father dividing his time between loading, firing, and directing Pomp and Hannibal how to row, so as to keep the boats one behind the other, and diagonally across the stream, so that our sheltering defences might be presented square to the enemy, who followed us along the bank.
I’m afraid—and yet I do not know that I ought to speak like that of a set of savages who were thirsting for our blood—several of the Indians went down severely wounded, not from my firing, but from that of Morgan, for I saw them stagger and fall three times over after his shots. What happened after my father’s I could not see, for we were close together, and the smoke obscured everything.
For fully ten minutes this duel between lead and arrow went on, but no one on our side was hurt, though we had some very narrow escapes. I felt one arrow give quite a twitch at my hair as it passed close to my temple, and another went through my father’s hat. In the other boat too Morgan kept answering to our inquiries, and telling us that all was right, only that some of the arrows had come, as he termed it, “precious nigh, look you.”
“We shall not shake them off,” said my father, “till we reach the mouth and get into the big river, when I hope our firing will be heard and put them on their guard at the settlement. So don’t spare your shots when we get well out. They will be doing double duty—scaring the enemy and warning our friends. That’s right, Pompey, my lad, pull steadily.”
“Iss, massa, pull berry ’tead’ly,” said the boy, grinning.
“As soon as we get a little farther we will relieve you, my lad; and then, George,” he said, turning to me, “we must row hard for the settlement, unless,” he added, sadly, “the enemy are before us, and then— Hah!”
I started at the moment when my father uttered that ejaculation, for an arrow dropped between us, and stuck quivering in the thwart, standing nearly upright, as if it had fallen from the clouds.
“They have altered their tactics,” said my father. “Look there.”
Another arrow fell with a faintplopinto the river close to the edge of the boat. “They find our breastwork too much for them,” said my father; “and they are shooting up right over us, so as to try and hit us that way.”
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” came in wild yells of pain from Pomp, as I heard a dull thud just behind me; and turning sharply, there was the boy dancing about in his agony, and tugging to free his hand from an arrow which had fallen and gone right through, pinning it to one of the oars.
“Stop! Don’t struggle, boy,” cried my father, laying his gun across the box.
“But um hurt dreffle, massa. Oh, Mass’ George, lookye here—lookye dah.”
The boat was drifting now, and turning slowly side on to the shore, when my father made a sign, and I left my gun lying across the box and crept into Pomp’s place, while my father seized the boy’s hand, held it tightly, detached the arrow with a tug from where it stuck in the oar, and then as I began to row he pulled Pomp down into the bottom of the boat, the boy sobbing with the pain.
Whizz! An arrow made me duck my head, and I don’t know how I looked, but I felt as if I must have turned pale.
“Pull your right, George; pull your right,” said my father, coolly. “Now, Pomp, my boy, let me look. Come, be a man.”
My father took his hand, and the boy jumped and uttered a cry of pain, but he evidently mastered himself, and rising to his knees, he resigned himself to my father, but doubled his other fist and shook it in the direction of the shore as he shouted fiercely—
“Ah, you wait bit, great big coward—great big ugly Injum tief. You wait bit—Pomp and um fader get hold you, gib you de ’tick. Hab you flog—hab you—Oh! Oh, Mass’ Capen, done, done,” he cried piteously, changing his tone and appealing to my father, as he saw him take out and open his great gardening knife, which was as sharp as a razor.
“Be quiet,” said my father; “I will not hurt you much.”
“No, no,” whimpered Pomp. “Mass’ George, ask massa not cut arm off. Cut off lil toe, Massa Capen; cut off um foot. What poor lil nigger do wif ony one arm?”
“Be quiet, you cowardly little rascal,” said my father, smiling, as with one sharp cut he took off the head of the arrow, and then easily drew the shaft back from where it had passed right through Pomp’s black hand.
As soon as he saw the arrow-head cut off, and understood what my father meant, Pomp knelt there as coolly as could be.
“Hurt much?” said my father, pressing his finger and thumb on the wound at the back and palm of the boy’s hand.
“Um tickle, sah: dat all. Pomp tought you cut um arm off. Hi! You dah,” he shouted excitedly; “you wait till Pomp get lil bit of rag round um hand, you see how I serb you. Yah! You big coward Injum tief.”
My father rapidly drew his handkerchief from his pocket, tore a piece off, divided it in two, and making the two pieces into little pads, applied one each to the back and front of the boy’s hand before binding them securely there.
As soon as this was done, Pomp looked up at him with his eyes sparkling and showing his teeth.
“Pomp not mind a bit,” he said. “Here, Mass’ George, come here an’ shoot um. Let Pomp hab de oars.”
“No,” said my father. “Sit down there in the bottom of the boat. Hah!”
He seized his gun and fired; then caught up mine, waited till the smoke had risen a little, and fired again, a shot coming almost at the same moment from the other boat.
It was quite time, for the Indians, encouraged by the cessation of the firing, and seeing that some one was wounded, were coming on well abreast of us. But the first shot warned them, and the two which followed sent them once more back under cover, leaving one of their number, to Pomp’s great delight, motionless among the canes.
“Ha, ha!” he laughed; “you cotch it dis time, sah. How you like feel de shot, eh? You no ’tick arrow froo poor lil nigger hand again, you no—Oh, Mass’ George, look dah!”
For the prostrate man suddenly rolled over, half rose, darted amongst the canes, and we could see by his movements that he was rapidly getting ahead. Then another and another darted to him, and to our misery we saw that they were making for a wooded point a couple of hundred yards ahead.
“Mean to take us between two fires,” said my father, who was coolly reloading, in spite of the arrows which kept on dropping down in and about the boat as the Indians sent them right up in the air.
“Morgan!” shouted my father.
“Yes, sir.”
“Turn your fire in the other direction, and drive those fellows out of that clump of trees on the point.”
“Yes, sir.”
The next minute there was a sharp report, and then another.
“That’s right, boy,” said my father to Pomp, who was eagerly watching him reloading, and handing the ammunition. “Why, George— Ah, that arrow was near; did it hurt you?”
“Only scratched me, father,” I said, as I winced a little, for one of the Indians’ missiles had fallen, ploughed my leg a little, and pinned the fold of my breeches to the thwart on which I sat.
Pomp crept to my side and pulled out the arrow, examining the hole in the thwart, and saying merrily—
“I no ’tink you want lil bit rag round you, sah.”
“No, Pomp; go back and help to load.”
Bang—bang! Was heard again from the foremost boat; but arrows came now fast from the wooded point we were approaching.
“How does Morgan manage to load so quickly?” said my father, who kept on talking calmly, as I believe now to encourage us.
“I think Morgan is—I mean I think Sarah is loading for him,” I replied, rather confusedly, as the trees and the wooded bank began to grow misty and dim.
“Ah, very likely. Great—”
The one word came in a very different tone of voice, as a wild shriek rang out from the foremost boat, followed by a momentary silence.
“What is it?” said my father, sternly.
His demand was almost accompanied by a couple more shots in close succession.
“One down, sir,” said Morgan, coolly; but his voice sounded to me distant and strange.
“Pull hard, George, my lad—your right. We must give that point as wide a berth as we can.”
I obeyed as well as I could, and half wondered at the singing noise in my ears.
Bang! Came from the foremost boat, and I seemed to know that Morgan had no one to load for him now, and that poor Sarah had uttered that shriek we had heard. Then I saw that my father was resting his gun on the foremost part of the boat, and he too fired at the woody point, from which arrow after arrow came in quick succession.
And still I rowed hard, with the perspiration streaming down to soak me.
Whizz—thud—whizz—whizz, and an angry ejaculation from my father; I did not know why, nor yet why Pomp uttered a shrill ejaculation, for I was pulling with all my might like one in a dream. I felt once as if I should like to look back and see how near we were to the point that I knew must be close at hand; but everything was getting dark, and a horrible sensation of sickness was coming on. Then the sharp report of my father’s piece made me start and pull harder, as I thought, and I tried to look toward the shore, where a wild yelling had arisen; but Pomp’s words uttered close to me took my attention, and in a dreamy way I supposed that another Indian had been killed.
Then the boy spoke again in a low whimpering way—
“Massa—massa—look at de blood. Oh, Mass’ George! Mass’ George!”