It was a long, long, weary night, but towards morning the poor fellow slept peacefully, and soon after daylight the doctor was there, as indefatigable in his attentions as he had been over my father, for the colour of a man’s skin did not trouble him.
“Less fever,” he said to me. “I’ve got a nurse for him now, so you go and get some sleep.”
I was about to protest, but just then I saw who the nurse was, for Sarah stooped down to enter the shelter, and I knew that poor old Hannibal would be safe with her.
Chapter Fifty Five.
That day the embargo was taken off, and one by one the settlers began to return to their homes, those whose houses were standing sharing them with the unfortunates whose places had been burned, so that at night the camp wore a peculiarly silent and solemn aspect, one which, depressed as I felt by Hannibal’s state, seemed strange indeed.
A certain number of men stayed in the enclosure, and there were ten wounded in our temporary hospital; but the doctor set others of those who had crowded the place free.
One thing struck me directly, and that was the change in Pomp, who could hardly be persuaded to leave his father’s side, but sat holding his hand, or else nestled down beside him, with his black curly head just touching the great black’s arm, and gently raising it whenever I went to the tent.
I can recall it all very vividly as I now write these my recollections of the early incidents in my life, and how in the days which followed I gradually found that Hannibal fully justified the doctor’s words about his fine healthy state; for after the first few days, during which his life seemed to be on the balance, he rapidly began to mend, and his being out of danger was the signal for a change.