I turned back with him to the door of the shed, and he stood gazing in.

"No; he won't die this time. But I don't much like his looks, Master George. Seems the sort of fellow to turn ugly and knock me down with the big hoe, and I shan't like that, nor my wife neither. Where's young smutty?"

"Under the corn-stalks in the corner."

"What, hiding?"

"Yes."

"Here, stop a minute till I get the pitchfork; I'll soon turn him out."

"No, no," I cried; "they're to be treated gently."

"And as if they were human beings," said my father's stern voice, for he had come silently behind us. "Have the goodness to remember that, Morgan. If I am to be a slave-owner, my people shall meet with consideration, and not be treated as if they were the beasts of the field. Do you understand?"

"Oh yes, sir, I understand," said Morgan, good-humouredly; "you can count on me doing what's right by them. They can't help the colour of their skins."

"I am satisfied," said my father, quietly, and he left us staring in that heavy, sombre face before us—a face full of despair, but one to which we could not address words of sympathy.

The change that took place in the man day by day was wonderful, as far as health was concerned. In three days he was walking slowly about; in a week he was ready to take the tool in hand which Morgan gave him, and he went on clumsily with the work he was set to do, but displaying strength that was the admiration of us all. But he was moody, shrinking, and suspicious, and the boy was precisely the same. For it always seemed to me that the boy was constantly on the look-out to avoid a blow or some ill-usage on my part, and his companion to be expecting it from my father. The treatment they had been receiving for months had utterly cowed them, but when they began to realise that they had fallen among friends, the change was rapid indeed.

Of course they could not understand us, and when they spoke, which was very seldom, their language was utterly beyond our comprehension; but we got on pretty well by signs, after a few weeks when the change came.

It was one glorious afternoon, when, after worrying Morgan into getting me some bait, I prepared my rough lines for fishing, and while I was disentangling the hooks which had been thrown carelessly together, the boy who was passing nodded and looked on.

"Going fishing," I said. "Come with me?"

He looked at me without comprehension, and when I took hold of him by the arm, he shrank away.

"Oh, I say," I said, "I wish you wouldn't. Who's going to hit you? Carry this basket."

I placed one in his hand, and gave him the pot containing the bait in the other, signed to him to follow, and in a dull, sad way he came behind to where the boat was moored; but as soon as he saw me step in, he began to look wildly out into the stream, and to shrink away.

"It's all right," I said, "there's no slaver out there. Come along."

But he shrank away more and more, with his eyes dilating, and he said a few words quite fiercely in his own tongue.

"Don't be so stupid," I said, jumping out and securing him just in time to stop him from running off with my bait and lines.

He struggled for a moment, but ceased, and in a drooping, dejected way allowed me to lead him to the boat, into which he stepped sadly, and dropped down in a sitting position, with his legs under him, and his head bent upon his breast.

"Oh, I say," I cried, "don't do that. Look here; we are going fishing. Here, take an oar and row."

I had cast off the boat, and we were floating down the stream as I placed the oar in his hands, took the other, and in a sad, depressed, obedient way, he clumsily imitated my actions, rowing steadily if not ably on.

"There," I said, when we were as far out as I wished to be; "that will do. Lay your oar in like that," and I laid down my own.

He obeyed me, and then sat looking at me as mournfully as if I were going to drown him.

"Oh, I do wish you'd try and take it differently," I said, looking pleasantly at him the while. "Now, look here, I'm going to catch a fish."

As I spoke, I put a large bait on the strong hook I had ready, threw it over the side, and twisted the stout cord round my hand, while the boy sat watching me.

"Well, you have got a bit better," I said to him; "the other day you always wanted to bite. Do try and come round, because you're not a slave, after all. Oh!"

I uttered a yell, as I started up to pay out line, for, as we floated gently down stream, there was a tremendous tug which cut my hand, and seemed ready to jerk my arm from out its socket.

But I had so twisted the line that I could not pay it out, and as I stood, there came another so fierce a tug that I lost my balance, caught at the boy to save myself, and the light boat careened over, and seemed to shoot us both out into the river.

For a few moments the water thundered in my ears; the great fish, which must have been a gar pike, tugged at my hand, broke away, and I was swimming with the black head of the boy close by me, as we struggled as quickly as we could to the bank, reached it together, climbed out, and I dropped down into a sitting position, with my companion staring wonderingly at me.

His aspect was so comical, and his eyes sought mine in such a wondering way, as if asking me whether this was the way I went fishing, that I burst out into an uncontrollable roar of laughter, when, to my utter astonishment, the sad black face before me began to expand, the eyes to twinkle, the white teeth to show, and for the first time perhaps for months the boy laughed as merrily as I did.

Then, all at once, I remembered the boat, which was floating steadily away down stream toward the big river, and pointing to it, I ran as far as I could along the bank, and plunged in to swim out and secure it.

There was another plunge and the boy was by my side, and we swam on, he being ready to leave me behind, being far more active in the water than I. But he kept waiting for me, till I pointed on at the boat, and he seemed to understand, and went on.

The boat had gone into a swift current, and it was a long way from where I swam, and by degrees I began to find that I had rather miscalculated my strength. I was only lightly clad, but my clothes began to feel heavy, the banks to look a long way off, and the boat as far; while all at once the thought struck me, after I had been swimming some time, that I should never be able to reach the boat or the shore.

I tried to get rid of the fancy, but it would not go, and one effect of that thought was to make me swim more quickly than I should have done, or, as I should express it, use my limbs more rapidly than I ought, so that I was quickly growing tired, and at last so utterly worn out that a cold chill came over me. I looked despairingly to right and left at the beautiful tree-hung river-side, and then forward to where the boy had just reached the boat, and saw him climb in, the sun shining upon his wet back.

"Hi! Boy!" I shouted, "take the oars, and row."

I might as well have held my tongue, for he could not understand a word; and as I shouted again and again I looked at him despairingly, for he was sitting on the thwart laughing, with the boat gliding downstream faster than I seemed to be able to swim, while I knew that I should never be able to overtake it, and that I was getting deeper in the water.

"Oh, if I could only make him understand!—if I could only make him understand!" I kept thinking, as I shouted again hoarsely; and this time he did seem to comprehend that something was wrong, for I saw him jump up and begin making signs to me. Then he shouted something, and I saw that he was about to jump in again as if to come to me.

But he stopped, and took up one of the oars, to begin rowing, but of course only to send the boat round. Then, as if puzzled, he put the oar over the other side, and rowed hard like that, to send the boat's head in the other direction, repeating this again and again, and now standing up to shout to me.

I could not shout in return, only stare at him wildly, as he kept on making ineffective efforts to row to me, till all seemed to be over; the bright water and the beautiful green banks began to grow misty; and I knew that though I might keep struggling on for a few minutes, I should never reach the boat, and that he would never be able to row it to me.

I did not feel in much trouble nor get in any great alarm, for I suppose the severe exertion dulled everything, and robbed my sufferings of their poignancy as I still swam on more and more slowly, with my starting eyes fixed upon the boat still many yards away from me, and growing more and more dim as the water began to bubble about my lips.

All at once in front of me I saw the boy's black figure rise up in the boat like a shadow. Then there was a splash and the water flashed up, and I knew he must be swimming toward me to help me; but I could not see that he had taken the rope in his teeth, after finding himself unable to row in my direction, and had essayed to swim to me and tug the boat in his wake.

This in so swift a stream was impossible, but his brave act saved my life, for he was able to hold his own by swimming hard till the current bore me down to him just as I was sinking; and my next recollection is of feeling myself clutched and my hand being raised to the edge of the boat, while one arm was about my waist.

The feeling of comparative security brought back my fleeting senses, and I made a convulsive clutch with the other hand at the gunwale; while the next thing I remember is feeling myself helped over the side by the boy, who had climbed in, and lying in the bottom with the sun beating down upon me—sick almost to death.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

By a wonderfully kindly arrangement of nature we recover very rapidly when we are young; and before half an hour had passed I was seated on the thwart, using one of the oars, while the boy was using the other, but he kept leaving off rowing to gaze earnestly in my face; and when I smiled at him to show him that I was better, he showed his white teeth, and even then I could not help thinking what a bright, chubby-looking face he had, as he plunged his oar in again, and tugged at it, rowing very clumsily, of course, but helping me to get the boat along till we reached the rough logs and the stumps which formed our landing-place, where I was very glad to get ashore and make the boat fast.

"Well, George, how many fish?" cried my father, as I went up to the house, to find him in the garden trying to direct the big black how to use his hoe.

"None, father," I said, half hysterically, for I was quite broken down.

"Why, what's the matter?" he said. "Hallo! Been in?"

"Yes—been drowned—that boy."

"What!" cried my father, furiously.

"No, no! He jumped in—saved me—I was going down."

I saw my father close his eyes, and his lips moved as he stood holding my hand in his, evidently struggling with his emotion. Then he said quietly—

"Better go in and get some dry clothes, and—"

He stopped and stood listening and gazing in wonder at the great negro and my companion, for the boy had gone up to him, and gesticulating rapidly and with animated face he seemed to be relating what had passed.

The change that came over the big fellow's face was wonderful. The minute before it wore its old, hard, darkening look of misery, with the eyes wild and the forehead all wrinkled and creased; but now as he stood listening, his eyes lit up, his forehead grew smooth, and his face seemed to have grown younger; his tightly-drawn-together lips parted, showing his white teeth. So that as my father took a step or two forward, seized the boy's arm, and then laid his hand upon his head, it was a completely transformed countenance that looked in my father's. For the man caught his hand, bent down and held it against his forehead, saying a few words in a low tone, and then drew respectfully away.

"You have had a narrow escape, my boy," said my father, huskily; "but out of evil sometimes comes good; and it looks as if your accident has broken the ice. Those two are completely transformed. It is just as if we had been doing them good, instead of their doing good to us. But there, get in. I don't want to have you down with a fever."

My father was right; our two servants—I will not call them slaves, for they never were that to us—appeared indeed to be quite transformed, and from that day they always greeted me with a smile, and seemed to be struggling hard to pick up the words of our language, making, too, the most rapid progress. The heavy, hard look had gone from the black's face, and the boy was always showing his white teeth, and on the look-out either to do something for me, or to go with me on my excursions.

In a week it was "Mass' George," and in a month, in a blundering way, he could begin to express what he had to say, but only to break down and stamp, ending by bursting into a hearty laugh.

It was my doing that the pair were called Pompey and Hannibal, and day after day, as I used to be out in the garden, watching the big black, who had entirely recovered his strength, display how great that strength was, I wondered how it was possible that the great happy-looking fellow could be the same dull, morose savage that we had brought dying ashore.

At the end of another couple of months, I went in one day full of a new discovery.

"Do you know who Pomp is, father?" I exclaimed.

"Yes; an unfortunate young negro from the west coast of Africa."

"Yes, father, but more than that. Hannibal has been telling me, and I think I understand him, though it's rather hard. They lived in a village up the country, and the enemy came in the night, and killed some, and took the rest prisoners to march them down to the coast, and sell them for slaves. Pomp's mother was one of them, and she fell down and died on the march."

"Did Hannibal tell you this?"

"Yes, father, and sat and cried as he told me; and Pompey's his son."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, yes. He always calls Pompey 'my boy,' and Pomp called him 'fader' to-day."

"Ah, but that may merely be imitation."

"I don't think it is," I said, eagerly; and I proved to be right, for they certainly were father and son.

The winter came and passed rapidly away, and it was never cold to signify, and with the coming spring all thoughts of the Indians and the Spaniards died away.

My father would talk about the Indians' visitation sometimes, but he considered that it was only to see if we were disposed to be enemies, and likely to attack them; but finding we did not interfere in the least, and were the most peaceable of neighbours, they were content to leave us alone.

"And the Spaniards only tried to frighten us away, Morgan," I said one day.

"Well, I s'pose so, Master George; but you see we're so shut up here we never know what's going to take place unless a ship puts in. It's a very beautiful place, but there isn't a road, you see, that's worth calling a road. Ah, there were roads in Carnarvon!"

"I don't believe you'd care to go back to them though, Morgan," I said.

"Well, I hardly know, Master George; you see this place don't 'pear to agree with our Sarah's temper. It gets very trying sometimes when it's hot. It was very hot this morning, and she was so put out that when young Pomp put his black head in at the door she threw the big wooden shovel at him."

"But what for?"

"That's what I said to her, Master George. 'Sarah,' I says, 'what had the poor black boy done to make you throw things at him?'

"'Done,' she says; 'didn't you see him put his head round the door and grin at me?'

"'Well,' I says, 'Sarah, my girl, that's only his way of showing that he likes you.'

"'Then I don't want him to like me, and he's more trouble than he's worth.' And there's a lot of truth in that, Master George."

"Why he works hard, Morgan," I said.

"Yes, just so long as you are watching him. Then he's off to play some prank or another. That boy always seems to me as if he must be doing something he ought not to do."

"Oh, he's a very good boy."

"Never make such a man as his father, my lad. Humph! Here he is."

I turned, and there, sure enough, was Pomp making a large display of his white teeth, and holding something behind so that we should not see.

"What have you got?" I said.

He drew a basket forward and displayed four good-sized terrapins, and offered them to Morgan for a present.

"No, no," grumbled the man, "I don't want them, and I'm sure that the missus would find fault if I took them in. She hates them; besides, I'm not going to be sugared over like that, to keep me from speaking out. Now, look here, you've been fishing."

"Yes, sah. Kedge de terrupum."

"And I told you to hoe down between those yams, didn't I?"

"Yes, Mass' Morgan, I going to hoe down de yam-yam."

"But why isn't it done?"

"I d'know," said Pomp, innocently.

"You don't know?"

"No, sah, don't know 'tall."

"But I told you to do them," said Morgan, angrily. "Didn't I?"

"Yes, sah."

"Then why didn't you do them?"

"Wanted to go and kedge terrupum."

"Now, look here, sir, you've got to do what you're told."

"What you tell me, den?"

"I told you to go and hoe those yams, and you neglected the duty to go fishing."

"Yes, sir, go fishing; kedge terrupum."

"Instead of doing your work."

"Mass' Morgan, sah," began Pomp, in a tone of protest, but Morgan interrupted him.

"Now then, how is it those yams are not hoed?"

"Don't know, sah. Tell Hannibal hoe them."

"You told Hannibal to hoe them—your father?"

"Yes, tell um fader hoe um; Mass' Morgan want um done."

"Yes, but I wanted you to do them."

"Yes, sah, and I want um fader to hoe um yam while I go kedge terrupum. You make big holler at um for not do um."

"Now then, look you, Master George, oughtn't this fellow to be flogged?"

"You say no, Mass' George, and—"

Morgan darted out a hand to catch Pomp's arm, but the boy was too quick, and dodged behind me.

"Let him be," I said; "he doesn't know any better."

"But I want to teach him better," grumbled Morgan.

"Hist! Mass' George. I find great 'gator."

"Where?" I asked, eagerly, for I had long had an idea that I should like to see another of the monsters.

"Down by de ribber. All lay long so, out in de hot sun."

Pomp threw himself on the ground, and wallowed along a little way. "All along so, sah, while I done kedge de terrupum, and then all along tell Mass' George come and shoot um."

"How big was it?" I said, eagerly.

"Big as ebber so much. Come on, see um, Mass' George."

"It's only some little one, half as big as the one we pulled out of the hole," said Morgan. "You never want to go on them games now you've got that black chap."

"Oh, I'll go with you any time, if you'll come."

"Too busy, sir, too busy. Going to get a gun?"

"Yes, I'll go and see. It may be a big one. Colonel Preston's man told me there are some very big ones up the river on the mud-banks."

"Yes, sir, but nobody ever sees them."

"Well, I'll try this time, and if my father asks for me, say where I've gone."

I heard Morgan mutter something, but paid no heed, knowing that it was something about being careful with the gun, for I was not without my share of conceit and belief in my capacity of taking care of a gun. For my father had rather encouraged me to practise with his fowling-piece, as also with one of the heavy fire-locks we had in the house.

"An emergency might come," he said; and what with his instructions and those of Morgan, I was, if not a good marksman, as fairly expert as could be expected from a boy of my years.

I soon had the gun from its slings, and, providing myself with powder and ball, rejoined Pomp, whose eyes rolled with excitement at the sight of the piece.

"Me carry de powder shot bag," he cried, eagerly; and I let him sling the pouches over his shoulder, and followed behind him, as he marched off with head erect, and a look of pride that was ludicrous. He was, as a rule, a creature apparently made up of springs, which were always setting him in motion; but when bound upon any shooting or fishing excursion the natural pride in his brain rose above everything else, and I was often turned into quite a secondary personage, and had to obey.

It was so upon this occasion, for just as we reached the edge of the forest he stopped short, and in a stern whisper said—

"'Top here and load um gun, or wake ole 'gator where um sleep."

I obeyed, of course, ramming home a bullet, and as I was in the act of removing the rod from the barrel, Pomp suddenly exclaimed—

"Top um bit."

He ran off at full speed, and came back with his eyes flashing, and flourishing a small axe which he had fetched from the shed. This he directly after thrust into his belt, and holding up his hand, whispered—

"Now, no make noise. I go first."

He went on, leading me through the drier part of the swamp, and right away from the river, to my great wonderment; but after walking silently about half an hour he stopped, again held up his hand, and then with the greatest of caution crept on through the bushes, and in and out among the swamp-trees, never making the slightest sound, and I followed as well as I could for about a quarter of an hour, when he signed to me to stop, and I knew by the bright light a little farther on that the river was pretty near.

The next moment he was down flat, crawling slowly over the mossy ground, looking back to see if I was watching him, and pausing at last close to a gnarled old tree, which he tried to keep between him and the water.

I had been watching him lying there for about five minutes, when I became aware of the fact that he was returning as silently as he had gone, and as he reached me he put his lips to my ear.

"'Gator sleep in de mud. Mass' George, crawl up to de big tree, look 'long gun, and shoot um."

I was skilled enough then in the huntsman's craft to know what to do, and divesting myself of hat and boots, I went down and crawled cautiously in the trail made by the boy, trying hard to go as silently and with as little effort, but the nervous excitement set my heart beating, and by the time I reached the great gnarled tree I felt breathless, and my hands trembled exceedingly.

I lay quite still for a few minutes before venturing to do more, and then inch by inch I drew myself sidewise, and peered round the rugged trunk of the tree.

The next moment I was quite paralysed by the surprise I felt, for there, not twenty feet away from the spot where I lay, was a monstrous alligator, evidently fast asleep on a glistening mud-bank, his trail from the water being distinctly marked in the soft mud. There were the prints of his paws, and of his long tapering tail, and I could do nothing but gaze at his great proportions.

As far as I could judge he was about fourteen feet long, but evidently of great age, from his bulk, his horny hide banded and barred and corrugated, while the strength of such a beast must be, I knew, tremendous.

How long I watched the sleeping monster I cannot tell, but it was some time before I woke up to the fact that I had come on purpose to put an end to its destructive career, and that I had a gun ready charged in my hand lying close alongside.

Then with my heart beating fast I slowly pushed the barrel forward, resting it upon one of the mossy buttresses at the tree-trunk, my eyes fixed all the time upon the great closed and smiling mouth, and the peculiar heavily-browed eyes.

As if I were moved by something that was not myself, I gradually got the gun into position, grasping it firmly and pressing the butt home, while I carefully sighted the monster, wondering a little what the consequences would be if I missed, whether I should be attacked, and whether I should have time to get away. But directly after every sense was concentrated upon the task I had in hand, and just as I was about to draw trigger the creature quickly raised its head, as if suspecting the nearness of danger.

I was well ready though now, and raised the barrel of my gun slightly, pressed it against the tree, and fired.

There was the roar of the gun, a tremendous kick on the shoulder, and beyond the heavy sour-smelling smoke by which I was surrounded I heard a tremendous splashing and thrashing noise, accompanied by heavy blows, as if the monster was striking hard at something near.

But I lay perfectly still, feeling that the wounded monster would on seeing me make a spring, and if it did I knew that my life was at an end.

The splashings and the dull beating sound continued, but I kept behind the sheltering tree, now wondering whether the creature would have strength to get back into the river, or whether it would be there waiting for its assailant. At last, fascinated as it were by the desire to peep round the tree-trunk which sheltered me from my victim, I gently peered out, and stared in astonishment, for there was Pomp busy at work with his axe cutting off the reptile's head, while the tail kept writhing and lashing the stream, alongside which it had nearly crawled.

"Dat's got um," cried Pomp. "Hi! Ohey! Mass' George."

I was already on my legs, and, gun in hand, I parted the bushes, and joined the boy just as the monster gave a tremendous heave and a writhe, and rolled off the bank with a tremendous splash in the water.

"Ah, you no kedge fish and eat um no more, eh, Mass' George?" he cried. "'Gator no good widout um head, eh?"

I looked down on the mud, and there, sure enough, lay the creature's head.

"Why, Pomp!" I exclaimed; "what have you been doing?"

"Cut off um head, Mass' George. He no like dat."

Pomp broke out with one of his laughs, hooked hold of the grinning head, and dragged it out of the mud up to the side of a clear pool, a little way back in the swamp.

"Stop a bit," I said; "I want to have a good look at it."

"Wait till I wash um, Mass' George. No; must wash umself fus. Here a mess."

Pomp was about to jump into the pool to wash the mud from his legs, when he suddenly clapped his hands.

"Oh, here's game, Mass' George; only look. Dat's ole 'gator's house a water, where he keep all 'um lil pickaninny. Look at 'um."

Sure enough, there were five or six small alligators at the far end— little fellows not very long out of the shell.

"Oh dear!" cried Pomp, "I very sorry for you poor fellows. Poor old fader got um head cut off. What, you no b'lieve um? Den look dah."

He threw the great head into the pool with a splash, and then jumped in to stand up to his knees, washing it about till it was free from mud, and his legs too, when he dragged it out again on to the green moss, and we proceeded to examine the horrible jaws.

"Him much worse den Pomp."

"What do you mean?"

"Mass' Morgan and de capen say Pomp do lot o' mischuff. Dat do more mischuff den Pomp."

"Yes, I should think so," I said, as I examined the dripping head, and saw plainly that my bullet must have gone right through the monster's brain, probably only stunning it for the time being, and enough to give the boy time to hack off its head. For these creatures have an amount of vitality that is wonderful, and after injuries that are certain in the end to prove fatal, contrive to get back into the water and swim away.

It was a long time before I was satisfied with gazing at the grinning head, with its great teeth and holes in the upper jaw into which they seemed to fit as into a sheath. At last though I turned to the boy.

"We must take it home, Pomp," I said.

"No," he said, with a look of disgust. "Um quite dead now. Frow um into de ribber."

"Oh no! I want my father to see it, and Morgan."

"We go an' fess um den."

"No, no. You must carry it home."

"No, too heaby, Mass' George, and um begin to 'tink."

I laughed, for Pomp was beginning to show his natural disinclination for work, though certainly the hideous head did send forth an unpleasant, musky odour. So long as an exciting task was on hand which interested him, Pomp would work most industriously; but over anything plodding and approaching drudgery he was laziness itself.

"I frow um in de ribber, or you frow um in, Mass' George."

"Neither," I said. "It must be carried home."

"What, dat great heaby head?"

"Yes."

"What, all de way fro' de tree?"

"Yes."

"No, no, Mass' George, um too heaby. Dat kill a poor nigger all dead, oh!"

"Nonsense! It is not so heavy as all that."

"Oh, yes; um drefful heaby. Frow um in."

"But I want my father to see it, and Morgan would like to."

"Eh? I see."

He ducked down quickly, and lifted the head on to an old stump. Then, breaking off a bough of dead wood, he chopped a short piece off and propped open the huge jaws.

"Dah!" he exclaimed, gleefully. "Dat make um laugh, and de fly come in an' out, an' um no snap at um no more."

"But don't I tell you that I want them to see it at home. Sarah would like to see it too."

"Eh? Oh, no, Mass' George," cried Pomp, excitedly, and beginning to imitate poor Sarah's sharp acid way so accurately that I roared with laughter. For every tone of her voice—every gesticulation—was exactly true to nature.

"'What!'" he cried; "'what you mean, you nast' black young rascal, bring dat ting in my clean kitchun? I get hold ob you, I box your ears. How dah you—how dah you! Take um away—take um away!' Dat what Misses Sarah say."

"But we will not take it into her clean kitchen, Pomp. We'll put it on that pine-stump at the bottom of the garden."

"Oh, no, Mass' George. Sun shine on um, and de fly come on. Make um 'mell horrid."

"Oh, that will soon go off," I said. "Come, let's get back. Wait till I've loaded again though. Here, give me the powder and a bullet. We might see something else."

"Eh?"

"I said give me the powder and a bullet. Halloa! Where's the ammunition?"

"Eh? Now where I put dat amnisham, Mass' George? I dunno."

"Why, you must have laid it down on the ground when we came after the alligator."

"Sure I did, Mass' George. Ah, you are clebber boy. Come 'long, we find um we go back."

"No, no, stop. I want that head carried home."

"But um so heaby, Mass' George, and poor Pomp drefful hot an' tire."

"Dreadful lazy you mean," I cried, angrily. "Come, sir."

"Now, Mass' George cross again, and goin' break poor lil nigger heart," he whimpered.

"Stuff! Sham! Lay hold of that head."

"Break um back den, carry dat great heaby thing."

"It will not. You didn't think it heavy when you dragged it along with the axe."

"Head all hot den, Mass' George; got cold now."

"Why, you lazy, cunning young rascal!" I cried; "if you don't pick that head up directly, and bring it along!"

"Ugh!" ejaculated Pomp, with a shudder; "um so dreffel ugly, Pomp frighten to deff."

I could not help laughing heartily at his faces, and the excuses he kept inventing, and he went on—

"Pomp wouldn't mind a bit if de head dry, but um so dreffel wet an' nasty. An' you come close here, Mass' George, an' 'mell um. Ugh!"

He pinched his nose between his fingers, and turned his back on the monster.

"Now, no nonsense, sir," I said, severely. "I will have that carried home."

"For de massa see um, an' Mass' Morgan?"

"Yes," I said.

"Oh!" exclaimed the boy, in a tone which suggested that he at last understood me; "for de massa and Mass' Morgan see um. I run home fess um here."

He was off like a shot, but my voice checked him.

"Stop, sir."

"You call, Mass' George?"

"Come here, you young rascal!"

"Come dah, Mass' George? No fess um here?" he said, coming slowly cringing up.

"No, sir. Now then, no nonsense; take hold of that head."

Pomp stuck the handle of the axe into the band of his short cotton drawers, wiped a tear out of each eye, and took the hideous great head off the stump, looking at me reproachfully, as he bent with its weight.

"Is it very heavy?" I said.

"Kill poor boy carry um all dat way, Mass' George."

I stood the gun up against the nearest tree, and went to him and lifted the head, to find that it really was a pretty good weight.

"Yes," I said, replacing it on the stump; "it is heavy, Pomp."

"Den I go fess Mass' Bruton here," he cried, joyfully.

"No. Give me that axe."

He took the little chopper out of his belt, and slowly and shrinkingly gave me the handle; then dropped on his knees, crossed his hands on his breast, and lowered his head.

"Don' kill um dis time, Mass' George. Pomp berry sorry such a lazy rascal."

"Get up, and don't to stupid," I said, roughly. "Who's going to kill you?" and looking round, I had soon found and cut down a stout young sapling, which I trimmed into a pole, Pomp watching me the while with a piteous expression on his countenance.

"There," I said, when I had done, and provided myself with a stout pole about ten feet long.

"Oh! Ow!" burst forth Pomp in a terrified howl.

"What's the matter now?" I cried in astonishment.

"Nebber tink Mass' George such coward."

"Eh? What do you mean?"

"Lil bit do, Mass' George."

"No, it wouldn't."

"Off!"

"Here, what's the matter? What do you mean?" I cried, as he threw himself down on the moss, and kept on drawing up his legs as if in agony, and kicking them out again like a frog.

"Nebber tink Mass' George such coward."

"I'm not, sir. Why?"

"Cut great big 'tick like dat to beat poor lil nigger like Pomp."

"Lil nigger like Pomp!" I cried, mockingly; "why, you're as big as I am. Get up, you great tar-coloured stupid."

"No, no, Mass' George; hit um lyem down, please; not hurt so much."

"Get up!" I shouted; and I poked him in the ribs with the end of the pole.

"Ow! Ow!" yelled Pomp at every touch, and the more he shouted the more I laughed and stirred him up, till he suddenly sat up, drew his knees to his chest, put his arms round them, and wrinkling his forehead into lines, he looked up at me pitifully.

"Arn't done nuff yet, Mass' George?" he whimpered.

"Enough?" I cried. "Did you think I cut this great pole to whop you?"

"Yes, Mass' George."

"Why, it was to carry the head on, one at each end."

"Oh!" cried Pomp, jumping up as if made of springs, and showing his teeth; "I knew dat a hall de time."

"You wicked young story-teller," I cried, raising the pole quarter-staff fashion, and making an offer at him, when Pomp dropped on his knees again, and raised his hands for mercy.

"Ah, you deserve it," I said; "telling a fib like that."

"Was dat a fib, Mass' George?"

"Yes; you didn't know it all the time."

"No, Mass' George; not till you tell um. I tought you cut de big 'tick to whop poor nigger all black and blue."

"Why, how could I?" and I roared with laughter as I looked at his shiny, ebony skin.

"Dunno, Mass' George. Hit berry hard, make um bruisum all ober de body, same as you say when you tumble down—you say make um all black and blue."

"There, come along," I said; "let's get the thing home. Phew! Look at the flies already."

"Whish—whoosh—whoosh!" cried Pomp, breaking off a bough and sweeping it round. "Nebber mind, Mass' George; fly keep on eat lit bit all de way home; not hab so much a carry."

"But how are we to manage? Here, you must find some tough cane to lay the head on."

"I know now," cried Pomp, taking the pole.

"What are you going to do?" I said.

"Put um down um troat. So."

As he spoke, he ran the pole through the open jaws and out at the neck, so that the head was safely swinging in the middle.

"Dah," he said, "now you carry dat end, I carry dis end. Dat end nice an' tin for Mass' George."

"Why, you cunning young rascal," I said, "you want me to carry the dirty wet end, do you?"

Pomp grinned, and broke off some thick leaves to carefully clean the sullied end, chuckling merrily the while.

"Um was horrid nassy, Mass' George," he said. "Now all right."

I took up and shouldered the gun, and then seizing one end of the pole, we marched triumphantly back with our grisly trophy, accompanied by quite a cloud of flies which kept up a tremendous humming noise.

I went first, and easily found the spot where the ammunition had been set down by Pomp in his excitement; and after he had thrown the pouch-straps over his shoulder and I had decided not to load again, as we were going straight home, we prepared for a fresh start.

"Mass' George like to come dis end?" said Pomp.

"No," I said; "I'll go first;" and we went on till Pomp began to grunt and shudder.

"What's the matter?" I said, looking back.

"Poor Pomp get all de 'mell ob de head dis end."

"All right," I said; "it won't hurt you."

"But um do 'tink horrid, Mass' George."

"We'll carry it the other way, side by side, as soon as we get out of the trees," I said; and we went on a little further, when the boy uttered a shout.

"What's the matter now?" I said.

"De fly, Mass' George."

"Never mind the flies," I said; "they will not hurt you."

"But dey do, Mass' George. Dey keep tink Pomp am de head, and sit on um and bite lil bit out ob um arm and neck. Poor nigger hardly got a bit ob clothes on."

"And a good job too, Pomp," I cried. "I wish I hadn't. Phew! It is hot!"

After divers changes about, in which I got my fair share of the nuisance, we reached the house, to find my father at home; and he, Morgan, and Hannibal came on to meet our triumphant procession.

"Bravo, George!" said my father; "why, that's quite a patriarch. How did you manage to kill him?"

"Mass' George shoot um, and Pomp cut um head off," cried the boy, proudly.

"Yes," I said; "Pomp found him asleep, and fetched me. Morgan, I want it on that stump."

"No, no, sir," said Morgan. "I'll get the hammer and a big spike-nail, and drive it through the back of the skin into that big tree at the bottom."

"Capital!" I cried.

"But it will be a nuisance," said my father.

"Oh no, sir. It's full in the hot sun, and the flies will clean it. Before a week's out it will be dry."

Hannibal fetched the short ladder, and held the head, while Morgan drove in the nail so that the great head with its propped open jaws hung there grinning at the bottom of the garden; the skin soon shrinking away so that the head hung as it were by a skin loop; and before a month was past it was perfectly inoffensive, and had preserved in drying its natural appearance in a wonderful way.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

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

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

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

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

But I misjudged them, as time proved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hasn't finished," I said to myself, for the man's hoe was leaning against the tree.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The effect was wondrous.

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

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

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

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

"What will they do next?" I said to myself.

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

"Whatebber will I do!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pompey! Do you hear me?"

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

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

"Pompey!"

"Yes, missie."

"Come here, sir."

"You call a me, missie?"

"Yes, you know I called you. Where are you?"

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

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

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

"Do you hear what I say, sir?"

"Yes, missie."

"Then come here directly."

"Ole massa go along, an' Massa George a 'top alonga."

"Pompey!"

"Yes, missie; you call a me?"

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

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

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

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

"Oh don't, missie; don't whop a poor lil nigger," came loudly.

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

"No, haven't got 'em, missie; no, haven't got 'em. Oh! oh! Oh!"

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

"No, no, missie, Pompey nebber 'teal, no, nebber; wouldn't 'teal notin'."

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

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

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

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

"Oh don't, missie!" howled the young dog.

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

"Ha—ha—ha—ha—ha!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Missie cry her eyes cos she whip Pompey?"

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

"Don't 'cold Massa George, missie," said Pompey. "Him nebber do nuffin."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hi—hi—Mass' George!" he shouted, breathlessly.

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

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

"What is it?" I cried. "What's the matter?"

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



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

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

"What was that noise?" she said.

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

"Come, get up the tree, Mass' George. Pull missie up the tree."

"What for? What's the matter?" I said, as the dull roaring seemed to be coming back.

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

"River running over? What do you mean—a flood?"

"Yes, dat's flood. Come, get up a tree."

"Oh, nonsense! Come and see."

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

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

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

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

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

Hannibal said something excitedly to his son.

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

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

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

"Wash away, massa," cried Pomp.

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

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

"We must get up into that. No: too late."

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

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

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

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

"Is there any danger?" I said, rather huskily.

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you coming too, father?" I said.

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

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

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

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

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

"Up with you, Morgan, on to the ridge."

"Begging your pardon, sir, I—"

"Silence, sir! Out and up with you, and be ready to take your wife's hands."

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

"Ready."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, but it won't, sir; we made it too strong for that."

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

"I will support her there, sir," said Morgan, firmly.

"That's right. Hannibal, you can easily reach there?"

"Yes, sah."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't study me, sir, please," said Sarah, firmly. "Do what is for the best."

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

"But you don't really think it'll get any higher, sir, do you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Got knives, everybody?" he said. "Don't want them cowardly beasts to tackle us now."

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

"Dah 'gator!" he said, pointing.

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

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

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

"I—I—" I faltered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How I know?" cried Pomp, irritably. "I tought Mass' George play trick. Hi! Mass' George, you dah?"

"Yes," I said. "What is it?"

"You got anyfing to eat? I so dreffle hungry."

"No, Pomp," I replied, sadly; "nothing at all."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You can easily swim that, Hannibal?"

"Yes, sah," said the black, quietly.

"And you, Pompey?"

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

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

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

"Master George, dear, could you get here?"

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

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

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

"Yes, father," I whispered back.

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

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

"Oh, I say, Mass' George, I so dreffle cold. Water right up a-top."

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

"Good-bye; God bless you, my darling!"

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

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

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

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

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

"You too, my lad?" he said, kindly.

"Yes, massa," replied Pomp.

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

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

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

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

"Yes, sir, ready. Cheer up, old lass; we'll soon get you there."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is it? What's the matter, father?" I cried, excitedly.

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

Just then I heard Sarah say piteously—

"It's of no use. Try and save yourselves."

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

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

"Now, Mass' George, come," he said.

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

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

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

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

"Now, father," I said; "can you get clear?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But my father?

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

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

"No, no, my lad, leave it to them."

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

Very little was said for some time, every one being glad of the calm and silence, and drawing in the genial warmth which was delicious to our cramped and thoroughly weary limbs.

And as I sat there, gazing out over the waters at what seemed to be a vast lake, it did not appear like a scene of desolation, for the sunbeams danced on the rippled water, or turned it to a glittering mirror, where it flowed calm and still; the trees stood out at intervals all green and beautiful; and the forest beyond the clearings, though dwarfed, was unchanged. Now and then a fish flashed out like a bar of silver, and the birds twittered, piped, and sang as if nothing had happened. It was only the poor human beings who were helpless, and beginning to feel, now that the excitement had passed, the pangs of a trouble that it was impossible to meet.

One of my first acts, as soon as I began to grow dry and warm, was to take my knife from my pocket and cut a notch in the tree just on a level with the water.

Pomp looked at me and then shook his head.

"No," he said; "no, Mass' George, no get sug gum dah, an' Pomp dreffle hungry."

"I know that," I said, rather surlily, for my notch was not meant for the purpose he thought, and I knew the difference between a cypress and a sugar maple.

"Den what for cut um tree?"

"To see whether the water is rising or going down."

"Not do nuffum," said the boy, eagerly. "'Top so."

"Yes, he is right," said my father, who had been higher up the tree, trying to get a glimpse in the direction of the settlement, in the hope of help in the shape of a boat being on the way. "The flood seems to have reached its highest point, and we may begin to hope that it will go down now."

But the hours glided by and there was no help, and no sign of the flood sinking. Pomp was quite right; it did "'top so," and we began to suffer keenly from hunger.

We had long got well warm in the sunshine, and the thirst we felt was easily assuaged, though there was very little temptation to partake of the turbid water; but our sensations of hunger grew apace, and I saw that while we white people sat there about the fork of the tree, trying to bear our sufferings stoically, both the blacks were in constant movement, and they had always something to say, Hannibal confining his remarks however to his son.

"Look, look!" cried Pomp, excitedly; "dah um fis. No got hookum line, no got net."

He shook his head despondently, evidently quite oblivious of the fact that even with hook and line he had no bait, and that it was impossible to use a net.

Then he was off up the tree, first ascending one great bough and then another, to lean out, staring away between the twigs in search of something, but he always came down again looking quite disconsolate.

"What have you been looking for?" I said on one of these occasions.

"Simmon tree, Mass' George. No see one nowhere 'bout."

"But you couldn't get there if you could see them."

"No get um?" he said with a laugh. "Pomp no get um? Wait a bit."

"Why, how could you manage?"

"No manage 'tall. 'Wim dah, and 'wim back."

Then we scanned the waste of waters in the hope that we might see something, even if it was only some drowned animal, but nothing came in sight till well on in the afternoon, when Hannibal made some remark which sent Pompey into a tremendous state of excitement.

"What is it?" I cried, eagerly rising from where I had been down to examine my notch, to find that the water remained nearly unchanged.

"Pomp and um fader see some fis' good to eat," said the boy. "Come see."

I climbed up to where he was, and he pointed; but for some time I could make out nothing but driftwood, a tree floating roots upward, and some great patches of grass that seemed to have been scooped out of a bank, roots and all.

"I can't see anything," I said at last.

"What, not dah?" cried Pomp.

"No."

"All 'long side dat tree?"

"Oh, yes," I cried; "what is it—a big fish?"

"No; dat nice lil 'gator, sah."

"What? Why, we couldn't eat alligator."

"Oh, yes; eat um, got nuffum else," cried Pomp, to my great disgust.

"But even if you would eat the nasty wretch, you can't catch it."

"No," said Pomp. "Tell um fader can't catch. Pomp wish dat, but lil 'gator, see um come on, cock um tail up and go right to de bottom. Oh, oh, Mass' George, I so dreffle hungry. Feel as if um eatum own fader."

There was something so comic in the poor fellow's trouble that I could not forbear smiling as I went along to where Morgan was seated quietly enough by Sarah, and I felt something like anger and disgust as I saw that the former was eating something.

"Oh, Morgan!" I said, sharply; "if I had had something to eat I would have shared it."

"Isn't much, but you shall have some if you like, sir. Sarah here won't touch it."

He took a flat brass box out of his pocket, opened it, and held it to me.

"Tobacco!" I said, looking with disgust at the black, twisted leaf.

"Yes, sir, 'bacco keeps off the hunger."

"I'd rather have the hunger," I said; and he shut the box with a snap.

Restless as Pomp now, and growing more and more miserable, I climbed to where my father was sitting watching one break among the trees in the direction of the settlement, and he turned to me with a smile.

"Tired and hungry?" he said. "Yes, I know. But patience, my boy, patience. Our lives have been spared, and help may come at any moment."

"But do you think we shall escape?"

"Why not?" he said, calmly. "We were in much greater peril last night."

"Yes, father," I said; "but we weren't half so hungry."

My remark brought the first smile I had seen to his lip for hours.

"Yes, yes; I know," he said; "but patience. I think we shall soon see the water begin to fall, for when I was at the settlement yesterday, the tide was turning and going down about this time. If it does not take with it the inundation, we must divide ourselves into two parties, one to sit and watch while the other sleeps. By to-morrow the flood will either have fallen, or help will have come."

"Sleep, father!" I said, dolefully; "who can sleep at a time like this?"

"All of us, I hope," he said. "We shall easily drop off after our past night's watch."

"But who could go to sleep feeling so hungry as this?" I protested.

"You," he said, smiling; "and recollect the French proverb, Qui dort dine. You know what that means."

"No, father," I said, dolefully.

"Shame! You should not forget your French. He who sleeps dines, my boy."

"Perhaps that's so in France, father, but it isn't so here, in the midst of a flood, and I don't think any Frenchman would say so if he were up in this tree like we are now."

I climbed down again to look at the notch I had made, and see if there was any difference, then sent up a shout of delight, for the water had sunk a foot, and was going down so rapidly that I could almost trace its descent.