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Mass' George: A Boy's Adventures in the Old Savannah, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 18 |
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_ 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. _ |
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