Chapter Forty Seven.
It is astonishing what can be done in the most painful times when there are good leaders, and a spirit of discipline reigns. I remember how I noted it here that noontide; when, after food and rest, the fresher men relieved sentries, and strove to listen to the General as he pointed out that though the block-house was gone and our retreat cut off, we were in nearly as good a position of defence as ever, for our barriers were firm, and it was not certain, even in the most fierce of assaults, that the enemy could win. In addition, he pointed out that at any hour a British ship might appear in the river, whose presence alone would startle the Indians; while if the worst came to the worst, there would be a place for us to find safety.
“There, Morgan,” I said, feeling quite inspirited, as I noted the change which seemed to have come over the men. “You see how mad all that was last night.”
He smiled as he laid his hand on my arm. “Look you, Master George,” he said, “you always forget that I only talked of that as being something to be done if it came to the worst.”
“And it has not come to the worst,” I said.
“And I hope it never may,” he replied.
I hurried to my father’s side to tell him what had gone on; and I found him in a great deal of pain, but apparently quite cheerful and grateful to the big black, who now declared himself well enough to attend to “de massa,” and forgetful of his own injuries, which were serious enough, the cuts on his arms being still bad, while he had been a good deal scorched by the fire.
“I can never be grateful enough to you, Hannibal,” said my father again. “You saved my life.”