Mass' George Part 92

"Ma.s.s' George won't go 'way an' leave his fader?"

"No," I replied, fiercely. "We must get him away too, Han, and Pomp."

"Suah, suah," said the great fellow, quietly. "Could carry de capen down to de boat. Find Pomp and make him swim out for boat all ready."

"Yes," I cried, eagerly, "we must save them both."

The next minute we were close to where our men fought bravely, driving back the Indians, who were close up now, avoiding the firing by crawling right in, and then leaping up suddenly out of the darkness to seize the barrels of the men's pieces, and strike at them with their tomahawks.

But they were always beaten back, and twice over I was able to go and tell my father of the success on our side, Hannibal following close behind me; but these checks were only temporary. The Indians literally swarmed about the frail stronghold, and as fast as they were driven back in one place, they seemed to run along the sides of our defences and begin a fresh attack somewhere else, while our men's firing, being necessarily very ineffective in the darkness, began to lose its effect; the savages, finding how few of them dropped from the discharges, beginning to look upon the guns with contempt.

Their attacks grew so bold at last, that twice over, as I saw dimly one of our poor fellows go down, I felt that all was over, and that the time had come for me to go and try whether I could get my father away before the last terrible catastrophe, though how it was to be contrived, with the place surrounded as it was by Indians, I could not tell.

Can you think out what my position was, with all this firing and desperate fighting going on, our men striking desperately at the Indians to keep them out as they swarmed and leaped up at us; and all the time there were the women, children, and wounded huddled up together in the inner shelter formed of barrels, boxes, and half-burned planks?

It was horrible.

Minute after minute crept by, and I began to blame myself for not going.

Then a lull would make me determine to wait a little longer, just perhaps as some louder burst of firing made me believe that it was the first keg of powder gone, till a round of cheering told me that it was not, and I was able to go and report that our men were still holding their own.

I was returning from one of these visits to my father, picking my way in the darkness over broken guns snapped off at the stock through being used as clubs, and in and out among groaning men over whom the doctor was busy, when all seemed to me to be unusually silent, and then I found that I was able to see a little more as I got right forward to where Colonel Preston was making his men close up together, and handing fresh ammunition. It was rapidly growing lighter, and I saw dimly enough at a short distance, just behind where the block-house stood, the misty-looking figures of a large body of Indians.

"Look, quick!" I panted.

"Ah!" exclaimed the colonel. "Good! You can see now, my men. Hold your fire till they are close in, and then let them have a volley."

A low murmur ran along the line of men, and a feeling of elation thrilled me, but only for a deathly cold chill to run through every vein. For this was evidently such a desperate season as Morgan or his confederates might choose.

I could not stir for the moment. Then, as I mastered the horrible feeling of inaction, I drew back and made my way through the confusion within our defences to where I could be opposite to the covered-in kegs, which lay not twenty yards away untouched.

The light increased rapidly as it does down south, and I caught sight of a dark figure crawling half-way between our rough works and the tarpaulin.

One moment I thought it was a dead or wounded man; the next I recognised Morgan by the back of his head, and a cry arose to my lips, but it was drowned by a deafening volley followed by a cheer.

I glanced to my left, and saw the body of fully a couple of hundred Indians checked and wavering, when a second volley was fired and they fled.

The smoke hid the rest from my eyes, and when it rose, Morgan was standing close beside me watching the Indians, who had all crowded through the palisade where a great piece was torn down, dragging with them their dead and wounded.

CHAPTER FIFTY.

"Morgan," I whispered, and he started and looked at me wildly, the morning dawn showing his face smeared with blood, and blackened with the grime of powder.

"Yes, my lad," he said, sadly; "I thought it was all over, and as soon as they were well at their work I meant to fire it."

I could not speak, and I knew it would be useless, so I shrank away, and crept back past scores of despairing faces, to where my father lay eagerly waiting for news.

As I went I saw that the officers were giving orders for restoring portions of our torn down defences, and that the day had given the men fresh energy, for they were working eagerly with their loaded pieces laid ready, while food and drink were being rapidly pa.s.sed along the front.

"Only a temporary check, I'm afraid," said my father, as I described everything. "Brave fellows! What a defence! But you have waited too long," he said. "Where is that man?"

"Hannibal?" I exclaimed; "I had forgotten him." For he had evidently glided away in the dark; but almost as I spoke he came up.

"Boat ready, Ma.s.s' George," he said. "Pomp swam out and got him.

Waiting to take Ma.s.s' George and capen."

A warning cry just then rang out, and my father caught my arm. "Go and see," he whispered; "don't keep me waiting so long."

I hurried to the front again, seeing Morgan and another man in earnest conversation, but they separated before I reached them, and as Morgan went in the direction from whence he would pa.s.s out from our piled-up defence to get to the powder, I followed him, seeing now clearly enough he had his gun in his hand.

I forgot about my own escape--the coming on of the Indians, of whom I had a glimpse outside the palisades--everything, in my intense desire to stop this man from carrying out his terrible plan. I was very near him now, and should have caught him up had I not stumbled over a poor fellow lying in my way, and nearly fallen. As I recovered I could hear a fearful yelling, and saw Morgan's hard-set face as he climbed backward down from the boxes, one of the men, whom I recognised as his confederate, helping him by holding his gun.

In a wild fit of despair, as I saw Morgan's hard-set face, I shouted to him to stop, but my voice was drowned by the yelling of the Indians now coming on again with a rush, brandishing their axes, and evidently bent on carrying all before them.

As I reached the edge, Morgan was half-way to the powder, crawling on his chest, the Indians to our left, and the men I was trying to pa.s.s firing over Morgan's head.

They shouted to me, but I glided between two of them; and as they tried to pull me back, Han pressed them apart, and the next moment I was creeping after Morgan.

The firing went on over us, and the Indians dashed forward on our left, yelling more loudly than ever. Then I heard a volley, and just caught a glimpse of the half-naked figures pa.s.sing through the smoke. It was but a glance, for my attention was fixed upon Morgan, who had now reached the tarpaulin and canvas, thrown it partly aside, examined the priming of his gun, and I thought he was about to fire right into the midst of the powder-kegs, but he turned first to see whether the fight had yet reached the most desperate stage.

That was my time, and I leaped upon him, and tried to wrench the gun away, as his wildly desperate face looked into mine.

"No, no, Morgan," I cried. "You must not; you shall not do that."

"Let go!" he cried, roughly; and the eyes that glared at mine seemed almost those of a madman.

"No," I cried, "I will not."

"Don't you hear, Master George? Hark at them; the wretches have begun their work."

I still clung to the gun, and turned my head as a wild burst of shrieks rose from behind--the firing had ceased, but the shouting and yelling were blood-curdling, as in that horrible moment I felt sure that our men were beaten, and a ma.s.sacre had begun.

But my father was there, and it seemed too horrible for such a deed as this to be done. If we were to die by the Indians' hands, I felt that we must. But quietly stand by and let Morgan do this thing I would not, and I clung to the gun.

"Let go before it's too late, boy," panted Morgan, tugging fiercely now to get the gun from me.

"No," I panted; "you shall not."

"I must, boy. There: hark at them. I shall be too late. Look, boy; run for your life. I'll wait till I see you over the big fence first."

"No," I panted again; "you shall not."

"Will you run for your life?"

"No!" I cried, as I seemed to see my helpless father stretching out his hands to me.

"Then I must have it," cried Morgan, fiercely, and as we knelt together, he twisted the gun in one direction, then in the other; and, boy as I was in strength, in another moment he would have torn it from my grasp, when a great black hand darted from just behind me, caught Morgan by the throat, forced him back, and with a cry of triumph I dragged away the piece, and fired it right away from the powder.