"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.