He leaned over the rough bed that had been made for the wounded man, for
the black's lips moved.

"Massa do somefin for Han?" he said.

"My poor fellow, only speak," said my father, who was much moved, while
I felt choking.

"If Han die, massa be kind to Pomp?"

"No," cried the boy, with a passionate burst of grief, "Pomp die too."

"And Massa George be good to um."

"Oh, Han," I cried, in a broken voice, as I knelt on the opposite side
to my father, and held the poor fellow's other hand.

He looked keenly in both our faces, and though neither of us spoke, he
was satisfied, and half closed his eyes.

"Han sleep now," he said.

Just then the doctor bent in at the opening of the tent, and signed to
us to come out, and we obeyed.

"Let him sleep, boy," he whispered to Pomp. "Don't speak to him, but if
he asks for anything fetch me."

Pomp nodded; he could not answer, and we accompanied the doctor to his
rough tent only a few yards away.

"Well?" he said to me as I caught his hand, and questioned him with my
eyes. "Do you mean can I save him? I don't know; but I do know this--
if it had been a white his case would have been hopeless. The poor
fellow must have been in agony; but I have extracted the arrow-head, and
these blacks have a constitution that is wonderful. He may recover."

"Please God!" I said to myself, as I walked right away to try and get
somewhere quite alone to sit down and think. For I was beginning to
waken to the fact of how much I cared for the great kind-hearted,
patient fellow, who had all along devoted his life to our service, and
in the most utter self-denial offered that life in defence of ours.

Ever since the departure of the Spaniards I had slept soundly, but that
night I passed on my knees by poor old Hannibal's pillow.

It was a strange experience, for the poor fellow was delirious, and
talked rapidly in a low tone. His thoughts had evidently gone back to
his own land and other scenes, but I could not comprehend a word.

Pomp was there too, silent and watchful, and he whispered to me about
how the doctor had cut his father's side, and it took all my powers of
persuasion and insistence, upon its being right, to make the boy believe
that it was to do the wounded man good.

"If Mass' George say um good," he said at last, "Pomp b'leeve um. Oh,
Pomp poor fader. Pomp die too," he sobbed.

"He shan't die," I cried, passionately. "Don't talk like that."

There was s