I could not sleep, for there was a dull, gnawing pain in my wound; and so I sat in discomfort and misery, thinking that though the sentries were all on the watch, the place would not be so safe now that my father was asleep.
The moon was hidden, but the stars shone down brightly, and I sat back, leaning against Sarah’s big bundle, in which some of the arrows were still sticking, gazing up at the spangled heavens, listening to the bull-frogs, and thinking how far off they sounded as compared to when I had heard them at home.
I was listening and wondering whether the Indians would come, when I heard a rustling sound close by, and directly after a low muttering. But I did not pay any heed, thinking that Morgan or one of the blacks had turned in his sleep; but the noise came again and again, and then there was a loud ejaculation, and directly after I heard a familiar voice exclaim—
“Bodder de ole han’! Oh, how um do hurt!”
“Can’t you sleep, Pomp?” I whispered, as I crept softly to his side.
“Dat you, Mass’ George?”
“Yes; I say, can’t you sleep?”
“Yes, Mass’ George. Pomp can’t sleep ebber so, but dis ’tupid han’ won’t let um.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes. Big hot fly in um keep goin’ froo. Pomp goin’ take off de rag.”