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.