A bad preparation for a swim to save one’s life, and the chill of the rising water began now to increase as I fancied it made a leap at us, as if to snatch us off and bear us away to the far-off dark shores beyond which there was a newer life.
“Come, George, my lad. Back with you,” cried my father; “I want to come there. Be ready every one; we must start in a few minutes.”
“Yes, father,” I said; and I was on my way back, passing Pomp, who began to follow me, and together we crept, splashing through the water, holding tight by Hannibal, and then by my father.
“You too, my lad?” he said, kindly.
“Yes, massa,” replied Pomp.
“Swim steadily, both of you. The distance is very short, and there is nothing to mind.” Then as if to himself— “Oh, if I could only tell when morning would come!”
“Massa want know when time to get up to go to work?” said Pomp, sharply.
“Yes.”
“Oh, quite soon, sah. Sun come up dreckly, and warm poor little nigger; I so dreffle cold.”
“How do you know?” cried my father, clinging as it were like a drowning man to a straw of hope.