week glided away, made memorable by the deaths of two
of the brave fellows who had been wounded.

It was the evening after the last of these two had been sadly laid in
his resting-place, that Morgan startled me by saying suddenly--

"He's only a black, certainly, Master George, but somehow one's got to
like him."

"Why, what has Pomp been doing now?" I said.

"I was talking about his father, sir."

"Hannibal? Well, what of him? I haven't seen him to-day--no; now I
come to think of it, nor yesterday neither."

"No; he hasn't been up."

"Why, Morgan," I said, "I was out round the plantations yesterday with
Colonel Preston, and I've been with my father and Sarah all to-day; is
poor old Hannibal ill?"

"Very bad, I think, sir. I asked the doctor to go and see him."

I ran off to the rough tent he and Pomp had contrived for themselves,
and to my horror I found the doctor inside, and that my father had
contrived to get there by the help of a couple of sticks.

"I didn't know Han was ill," I exclaimed.

"Hush! Don't speak loud," said the doctor. "The poor fellow is in a
serious condition."

I crept into the hut to find Pomp on his knees by his father's head, and
with his face buried in his hands, while a startled feeling came over me
as I saw how still and helpless the great broad-shouldered giant lay,
his brow wrinkled up, and his cheeks hollow; but his countenance changed
as he caught sight of me.

"Mass' George," he said, and he tried to raise one of his hands.

"Oh, Hannibal!" I cried. "I did not know you were so ill. Pomp, why
didn't you tell me?"

The boy raised his face all wet with tears, and his eyes swollen. "How
Pomp know?" he cried. "Fader nebber tell um."

"Don't talk, Hannibal, my man," said my father, gently. "We none of us
knew, my boy. The poor fellow was wounded, and has been going about all
this time with an arrow-head in his side, saying nothing, but patiently
bearing it all. My poor brave fellow," he continued, taking the man's
hand, "you have always been risking your life in our defence."

"Han belong to Mass' Capen," he said, feebly, as he smiled at us. "If
arrow not hit um, hit massa."

"What!" said my father, eagerly, as if he suddenly recollected
something; "was it that night when you dragged me back, as the arrows
flew so fast?"

Hannibal smiled, and clung to the hand which held his.

"Yes; I remember now feeling you start," said my father. "Yes--what is
it?"