Mass' George Part 35

"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, ma.s.sa? 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 pa.s.sed 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, Ma.s.s' 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; G.o.d 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 s.n.a.t.c.h us off and bear us away to the far-off dark sh.o.r.es 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, pa.s.sing 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, ma.s.sa," 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!"

"Ma.s.sa 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 n.i.g.g.e.r; 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 black.u.m yallow bird, go _pink.u.m-wink.u.m-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 hoa.r.s.ely--"Thank G.o.d."

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.