Chapter Thirty Seven.
That day passed quietly enough, with scouts going and coming to report that the Indians’ trail was plainly to be seen going along the north bank of our little stream, as if they were making right away for their own country, and after the scouts had gone as far as they dared, they had returned with their good news. This was quickly debated in a little council, and the result was a firm determination not to put any faith in appearances, but to keep everything on a war footing, scouting carefully so as not to be surprised by an enemy full of cunning and treachery; and though there was some little demur amongst those whose houses and plantations were farthest from the fort, all soon settled down to what resolved itself during the next week into a pleasant kind of camping out.
Rough tents were rigged up, and the different parties vied with each other in their efforts to make their homes attractive. Fresh things were brought in by the help of the slaves from the most outlying of the houses, and when lights were lit in the evening the place looked pretty in the extreme, so that more than once I found myself thinking that we were to be the only sufferers from the Indian attack, and wondered, now that the enemy had had so severe a lesson read them, how long it would be before my father decided to go back and get our neighbours’ help to rebuild the house.
A fortnight glided by—fourteen days of uninterruptedly fine weather. I had almost forgotten my injuries. Pomp had taken his wounded limb out of the sling, and only remembered the injury when he tried to move his hand, when he would utter a cry and begin softly rubbing the place.
Sarah too was recovering fast, and I knew no reason now why we should still go on living such a military life, with the General and his officers seeming to take delight in drilling, practising the men in the use of their weapons, and setting guards by night, and sending out scouts by day, with the gates closed rigorously at a certain time.
There was another thing done too, the idea being suggested by my father—a lesson taught by our own misfortune—and this was that every tub and cask that could be obtained in the settlement should be put about in handy places, and kept well filled with water always, these being supplemented by pails and buckets, which every one was bound to set outside his place full of water every night, while the men were all well practised in the extremely simple art of passing and refilling buckets—so as to be ready in case of fire.
“There’s some talk of giving up all this here playing at soldiers, Master George,” said Morgan to me one day.
“Is there?” I said, eagerly.
“Yes, and if you ar’n’t tired of it, I am. Never so much as had a chance to go out and scout like the others have.”
“Well, I haven’t either, nor Hannibal, nor Pomp.”