Mass' George Part 50

"Yes. Be still, or you'll make it leap at us."

"Why, dat lil tree."

There was a tone of such astonishment in the boy's voice that I bent lower and lower down, knowing how much better Pomp's eyes were than mine; and as I looked, I saw that the object was clear, and that it was indeed a low patch of shrub getting plainer and plainer rapidly now, for it was morning once more.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

"Now, Ma.s.s' George," said Pomp, as we stood at the foot of the tree, and stamped about to get rid of the stiffness, and cold brought on by our cramped position on the branch, "de fuss ting am breckfuss. I so dreffle hungry."

"But we ate everything last night," I said.

"Neb mind; plenty duck in de ribber. You go shoot four lil duck, dat two piece, while Pomp make fire to roace um."

"But how are we to get a light?"

"You see," he said, as he busily began to get together all the loose sticks he could find lying about, at the same time showing me a stone and his knife with a little bag full of tinder. "I soon get light, Ma.s.s' George; I get big fire much soon you get de duck."

The proposition was so sensible that I went off with the gun, and following the course of the river beyond the bluff, I was not long before I heard a familiar noise, and creeping forward in the grey dawn, I was soon crouching behind the low growth by a wide pool of the river, where quite a flock of ducks were disporting themselves, preening their feathers, diving, making the bright drops run over their backs like pearls, and ending by flapping and beating the water heavily with their wings, exactly as I had seen them perform in the pond at home.

I waited my opportunity, lying flat now on my chest, and at last, after nearly firing three or four times and always waiting for a better chance, I drew trigger upon a knot of the ducks after getting several well in a line. There was a deafening report, a sensation as if my shoulder was broken, and a thick film of smoke hid everything from my sight. But as the shot went echoing along the side of the forest, I could hear the whistling and whirring of wings where the ducks flapped along the water, rose, and swept away over the trees. Then the smoke rose, and to my great delight there lay five of the unfortunate ducks; three perfectly still, and floating slowly to the shallow below the pool, the other two flapping wildly and trying to reach the farther sh.o.r.e.

To get the three was easy. I had but to wait and then wade in over the shallow to where I could see the sandy and pebbly bottom quite plain.

To get the wounded ducks meant a swim, and perhaps a long hunt.

"Better shoot at them again," I thought, when I shuddered, for something dark appeared behind one; there was a snap, and it disappeared, while almost at the same moment the other, which must have been nearly twenty yards away, was suddenly struck down beneath the water by something which puzzled me at first, but which the next minute I knew to be an alligator's tail.

I turned to my three, now well over the shallows, and hesitated as to whether I dared risk going after them, not knowing but that an alligator might make a rush out of the deep black pool and seize them first, or failing them perhaps seize me.

But I was hungry too, and leaping in, I secured all three birds after splashing through the water a bit, and reached the sh.o.r.e again in safety, but not without many an excited look round at the deep place where I knew the monsters were lurking; and as I shook the water from my legs, and stamped about on the bank, I found myself thinking what a pity it was such a lovely country should be marred by dangerous beasts and horrible reptiles like the rattlesnakes and alligators.

Then I thought of the ducks, and as I held them all three by their orange legs, and looked down at their beautifully-coloured plumage, all soft browns and chestnuts, and with wing-spots of lovely green, and having a head of the same colour, my conscience smote me, and I found myself wondering what the ducks thought that beautiful morning when they were having their baths and preening themselves ready for a long flight or a good swim. And I seemed to see them all again playing about, and pa.s.sing their heads over their backs, and rubbing the points of their beaks in the oil-gland to make their plumage keep off the water. And how soft and close it was!

"What must they have thought," I said to myself, "about a monster who came with a horrible, fire-dealing weapon that strikes them down like a flash of lightning? Not much room for me to complain about the alligators!" I exclaimed. "But if I had not killed the ducks they would have killed all kinds of insects and little fishes, and if they did not kill the insects and fishes, the insects and fishes would have killed smaller ones. Everything seems to be killing everything else, and I suppose it's because we are all hungry, as I am now."

I walked sharply back along the river-bank with the sun now well up, and before long came in sight of a little cloud of smoke rising softly above the trees, and soon after I could hear the crackling of wood, and as I drew near, there was Pomp dodging about in the smoke, piling up pieces of dried stick, and making a roaring fire.

The sight of this took away all my feelings of compunction, and in imagination I began to see the brown sides of the well-roasted ducks, to smell their appetising odour, and to taste the juicy, tender bits about the bones.

"I heard you shoot um, Ma.s.s' George," cried Pomp, excitedly. "Got lubbly fire. How many?"

"Three," I said.

"Oh!"

"What's the matter?"

"On'y got flee. Dat two Ma.s.s' George, and on'y one for Pomp, an' I so dreffle hungly, I mose eat bit a 'gator."

"There'll be plenty," I said. "I shall only eat one."

"Eh? Ma.s.s' George on'y eat one duck-bird?"

"That's all."

"Ma.s.s' George sure?"

"Yes. Let's cook them."

"But is Ma.s.s' George quite sure?"

"Yes--yes--yes!"

"Oh! Den Ma.s.s' George hab dis bewfler one wid um green head. Dat's biggess and bess."

"Here, what are you going to do?" I cried, as Pomp suddenly seized the three ducks and threw them into the fire. "That's not the way to roast ducks."

"Pomp know dat, Ma.s.s' George," cried the boy, poking the birds about with a long, sharp-pointed stick, one of several which he had cut ready.

"Pomp fader show um how to do ober dah."

"Ober dah" evidently meant Africa.

"Dat a way to get all de fedder off fuss. Dah, see dat?" he cried, as he turned one out scorched brown. "Now Ma.s.s' George see."

As I watched him, he cleverly ran his sharp-pointed stick through this first duck, stuck the point down into the sand, so that the bird was close in to the glowing embers, and then deftly served the others the same.

"Ma.s.s' George shoot um duck, Pomp cook um; same Pomp cook and make de cake at home. Pomp fader nebber cook. Pomp cook de fis, and de yam, and make um hominy. Pomp berry clebber 'deed, Ma.s.s' George. Ah, you try burn you 'tick an' tummle in de fire, would you, sah? No, you don't! You 'top dah an' get rock nice for Ma.s.s' George."

As he spoke he made a s.n.a.t.c.h at one of the sticks, and turned the bird, as he stuck it afresh in the sand, closer to the glowing embers, for the flame and smoke had nearly gone now, and the ducks were sputtering, browning, and beginning to give forth a tempting odour.

As the boy was evidently, as he modestly said, so "clebber," I did not interfere, but took off my shoes and stockings, wrung the latter well out, and laid them and the shoes in the warm glow to dry, a little rubbing about in the hot dry sand from the bluff soon drying my feet.

Then I carefully reloaded the gun, in accordance with Morgan's instructions, making the ramrod leap well on the powder charge and wad, while Pomp looked on eagerly, his fingers working, his lips moving, and his eyes seeming to devour everything that was done.

"Pomp load um gun," he said all at once.

"You go on with your cooking," I replied; "that one's 'burning um 'tick.'"

Pomp darted at the wooden spit, and drawing it out replaced it in a better position.

"Dat duck lil rarksle," he said, showing his teeth. "Dat free time try to burn um 'tick and tummle in de fire, rock umself. Dah, you 'tan 'till, will you? Oh, I say, Ma.s.s' George, done um 'mell good?"

"Yes; they begin to smell nice."

"Dat de one hab green head. He berry juicy 'deed; dat one for Ma.s.s'

George. What Ma.s.s' George going to do?"

"Put the gun and powder and shot farther away from the fire."