"Why, we've only just had a good breakfast, and couldn't eat any more."
"Oh yes, Pomp could, big lots."
"And what are we to have to eat by and by, when we get hungry?"
"Mass' George shoot ducks; Pomp make fire an' roace um."
"No, no, no," I cried. "Here, pass me the wallet, and I'll give you a
rest."
"And Pomp carry de gun," he cried, eagerly.
"No, sir. If you can carry the gun, you can carry the wallet. Here,
give me hold."
Pomp looked disappointed as he handed over the wallet very slowly, and
after slinging it on we once more progressed, looking carefully in all
directions in search of the lost boat, but seeing nothing; and I soon
had to come to the conclusion that the chances were very greatly against
our finding the object of our search.
It was slow work, but for some miles the place was familiar, my father
having brought me as far exploring, and Pomp and I having several times
over boated through the dark forest along that bright, winding highway--
the river; generally with some difficulty, on account of the fallen
trees, and snags, and dense overgrowth, beneath which we often had to
force our way, while at other times we had almost to cut a channel
through the lilies and other water plants which choked the stream.
It was plain enough to see though, now, how comparatively easy a journey
would have been in a boat, for the large flood-waves which had swept up
the river had scoured out its bed, throwing vast rotting heaps of the
succulent water-growths ashore to rot, fester, and dry in the hot sun.
High up too I could see the traces where the flood had reached, well
marked by the dry grass hanging among the boughs.
But we kept on forcing our way slowly, soon getting into a part of the
river that was entirely new, and growing more and more fascinating to me
at every step.
For there was, in addition to the glorious beauty of the bright, sunny
river, with its banks where in places the trees drooped down and dipped
their boughs in the smooth water, and the various growths were of the
most dazzling green, always something new--bird, quadruped, insect, or
fish taking my attention to such a degree that I often forgot the boat
and the object of our journey.
Pomp was just as excited as I, touching my arm every now and then to
point with a black finger at some grey heron standing thigh-deep,
watching for the fish that nearly made the waters alive; and perhaps
just as we were waiting to see him make the next dart with his beak at
some shoal of unfortunate fry, there would be what seemed to be a great
curved bar of silver flash out of the water, to plunge in again, giving
us just a glimpse of the fierce fish's glittering scales. Every now and
then some big fellow would leap right out, to come down again with a
heavy splash, and send a whole shoal of tiny fish, invisible to us
before, flying out of the water to avoid their enemy, the river shark.
A little farther, and Pomp's lips would be close to my ear imploring me
to shoot as he indicated a bit of sandy or muddy shore where, just clear
of the water and looking like a piece of tree-stump, a great alligator
would lie basking in the hot sunshine.
But I invariably resisted his prayers, and as we went on, the reptile
would suddenly hear our coming and scuffle rapidly out of sight, making
a great swirl in the water as he disappeared.
"No, Pomp," I would say, "the first 'gator I shoot must be that one in
the bathing-pool. Come along."
On we went, with the river winding in and out through the forest, and
there was always something fresh to see: humming-birds that were not so
big as some of the butterflies and beetles that swarmed in the sunshiny
parts; great lagoon-like pools where the running of the stream became
invisible, and we could see far down in the deep water where fish were
slowly gliding in and out among the roots of the trees, which in many
places clothed the bottom with masses of fibre. Now Pomp's eyes would
be ready to start out of his head as we neared a corner, or starting off
into the forest to avoid some wild or swampy patch, we crept out to the
river's bank again, to startle a little flock of ducks which had been
preening themselves, and sent feathers like tiny boats floating down the
stream.
"Plenty of time," I would keep saying. "We don't want them yet, and
I'll shoot them when we do."
"But 'pose dey not dah to shoot when you want um, Mass' George. I
dreffle hungry now."
"Ah," I said at last, "our wallet is getting heavy. Let's pick out a
place, and have some lunch."
Pomp pricked up his ears, as he generally did when he heard a new word,
and this was one ready for him to adopt.
"Iss," he said, eagerly, "I berry fond o' lunch. I fought smell um
yesday when missie cook um."
"Cook what?" I said.
"Dat lunch, Mass' George."
I laughed, and pressed on to look for a good spot, and soon found one
where a great tree, whose roots had been undermined by the river, had
fallen diagonally with its branches half in the water, and offering us a
good seat just nicely shaded from the burning sun, while we had only to
lie out on its great trunk and reach down to be able to fill the tin can
I had with the clear water.
The gun was leaned up against the tree-roots; we each sat astride facing
each other, the bigness of the tree making it rather an uneasy seat; I
slung the wallet round and placed it between us, and had just thrust in
my hand, while Pomp wrenched himself round to hang the ammunition
pouches close to the gun on a ragged root behind him, when, all at once,
the boy's left leg flew over and kicked the wallet out of my hands, and
he bounded a couple of yards away to stand grinning angrily and rubbing
himself.
"Too bad, Mass' George. What do dat for?"
"Do what?" I cried, roaring with laughter, as I stooped down and picked
up the wallet, out of which fortunately nothing had fallen.
"'Tick um pin in poor lil nigger."
"I didn't," I said; "and see what you've done."
"Yes, Mass' George did. Pomp felt um. You wait bit, I serb you out."
"But I tell you I did not, Pomp," I cried, as I wiped my eyes. "Oh, you
ridiculous-looking little chap! Come and sit down."
"No, won't. You 'tick um pin in poor lil nigger behind leg 'gain."
"I will not, 'pon my honour," I cried. "Oh, you did look comic."
"Made um feel comic dicklus," cried Pomp, catching up the two words I
had used. "Did hurt."
"Come and sit down."
"You no 'tick um pin in 'gain?"
"I haven't got a pin," I said.
"Den I know; it was um big forn."
"It wasn't, Pomp. Come and sit down and have some lunch."
"No. Won't come. Don't want no lunchum. Hurt poor Pomp dreffle. You
alway play um trick."
"I tell you I didn't do anything, Pomp. There, come along."
He caught sight of the food I brought now from the wallet, and it was
irresistible.
"You no 'tick pin in nigger 'gain?"
"No."
"Nor yet um forn?"
"No. Come along, you little unbeliever. Come along."
"I serb you out fo dat, Mass' George, you see," he said, sidling back to
the tree, watching me cautiously the while.
"Oh, very well, I'll forgive you," I said, as he retook his place. "I
say, Pomp, I am thirsty."
"So 'm I, Mass' George. Dat lunchum?"
"Yes; that's lunch," I said, as I laid the neatly-done-up napkin
containing provision of some kind on the tree-trunk between us, and
taking out the tin can I leaned right back, gripping the tree with both
legs, and lowering my hand I dipped the vessel full of water.
I was just in the act of rising cautiously and very slowly, when a sharp
pain in the fleshy part of my leg made me spring forward in agony,
dashing the water in Pomp's face, knocking the wallet and its contents
over sidewise, and in my pain and rage I seized the boy to begin cuffing
him, while he wrestled with me to get away, as we hugged and struggled
like two fighting men in a _melee_ on the same horse.
"How dare you!" I panted; "that was the point of your knife. I'll
teach you to--Oh, murder!"
"Oh, Mass' George, don't! _Oh_! Oh! Oh!"
We both made a bound together, went off the trunk sidewise, and Pomp
struggled up, tore off his shirt and drawers, and began to beat and
shake them, and then peep inside, pausing every moment to have a rub;
while I, without going to his extreme, was doing the best I could to rid
myself of my pain.
"Nas' lil fing!" cried Pomp, stamping on something in the grass. "Look,
look, Mass' George, make hase; dey eat all de lunchum."
The mystery was out. We had seated ourselves upon the home of a vicious
kind of ant, whose nest was under the rotten bark of the tree, and as
soon as Pomp realised the truth he danced about with delight.
"I fought you 'tick pin in lil nigger. You fought I 'tick um knife in
Mass' George! You catch um, too."
"Yes," I said, wriggling under my clothes, and rubbing myself. "Oh!
Quick! Back of my neck, Pomp, look. Biting."
Pomp sprang to me in an instant.
"I got um, Mass' George. Dah!" he cried, as he placed the vicious
little insect between his teeth, and bit it in two. "You no bite young
massa 'gain. How you like be bite, sah? Make you feel dicklus, eh?
Oh! Ugh! Tiff! Tiff! Tiff! Oh, um do tase nasty."
Pomp spat and shuddered and ended by washing out his mouth by running a
little way, lying flat with his head over the bank, and scooping up some
water with his hand.
Meanwhile I cautiously picked up the provisions, the napkin and wallet,
and carefully shook them clear of the vicious little things--no easy
job, by the way; after which, stinging and smarting still, I sought
another place where we could eat our meal in peace.