CHAPTER II.

POMPEY IN WAR.

“Dis yer gemmen ob color orter for to go to war, dat am sartin. While de rest am sheddin’ dar blood round dese parts, it ain’t right for him to be idle.”

Thus soliloquized Pompey when the forces marched from his village to join those in invading the Indian country. The reason he gave himself, however, was not the true step that influenced him. Through his thick skull there crept some such logic as this:

“If de best men lebe dis place, den dis place becomes de weakes’. De Injins will find dis out, and den what’s to sabe us dat stays behind? Whereas and wherefore dem dat goes away will be de safes’. _Darfore_, inasmuch as, de best ting I can do is to go wid _’em_. _Darfore_, howsumever, I go.”

He hurried along and overtook the party before they had penetrated any great distance in the forest. The leaders were disposed to send him back; but he was so earnest in his entreaties to be allowed to go that they finally consented, and he formed one of the party.

When the attack was made, Pompey broke for cover. His prudent resolve was to remain out of sight as long as there was danger, and then to be “in at the death,” and claim his share of the glory.

Such being his situation, it was out of his power, as a matter of course, to comprehend at once the disaster that had befallen Colonel Sandford and his command. When he found the whites were scattering and seeking individual safety, and the Indians roaming everywhere in search of victims, he began to suspect that all had not gone as well as he had hoped.

“Gerrynation! I begin to tink it’s time dis yer black man was tinking of libing.”

At the time he gave expression to this thought, Pompey was crouched beneath some thick undergrowth, and glaring out upon the Indians, who seemed to be passing all around and in every direction. Here he remained until broad daylight. He had wit enough to understand that it was now impossible for him to escape discovery. The place in which he lay was the very one which a frightened fugitive would naturally secrete himself, and was therefore the one which the Shawnees would search. It would be certain death to attempt to escape by fleeing. His huge feet and short legs could not be compared with those of his enemies. He therefore hit upon the brilliant idea of feigning death until nightfall, when he could make off under cover of darkness.

He had barely made this resolution, when a stalwart Indian walked straight to the bushes, and pulling them aside, peered in. Perhaps the glare of the sun, or the utter darkness of Pompey himself, made the negro invisible for a few moments; for it is certain that some considerable time elapsed ere the savage uttered his all-expressive “Ugh!”

Pompey kept his eyes open until he saw the red-skin glaring down upon him, and then he shut his orbs as tightly as if he were expecting to hold a fly beneath each lid. At the same moment he drew in a long breath, stoutly resolved to hold it until the Indian went away. But as second after second passed, his discomfort rapidly became overwhelming. But he held out like a hero, until absolutely human nature could do no more. Suddenly he gave a tremendous puff, somewhat after the fashion of a laboring steam-engine.

“Gosh hang it! dar! no use tryin’! If I’d kept in any longer I’d busted!”

The Shawnee indulged in a huge grin as he discerned the African stretched out upon the ground, his eyes rolling, and his great white teeth chattering with fear.

“Ugh! come out—me kill.”

“Oh, good Mr. Injin, I love you ’most to death. Please don’t hurt me! Oh, good Mr. Injin, please don’t hurt a feller like me!”

“What do here?”

“Please don’t hurt me. I come along, good Mr. Injin jes’ to keep de rest from hurtin’ _you_. You can ax any of ’em if I didn’t.”

What would have been the ultimate result of all this it is impossible to say, but there can be little doubt but that the negro would have been tomahawked had not a peculiar whoop attracted the attention of the Indian. Without further noticing the supplicant he leaped away in the woods, uttering a reply to the signal, and disappeared almost instantly.

Pompey took advantage of this opportunity. He left that part of the neighborhood as fast as he could travel, and continued walking all night.

The whole distance back to the settlement was made alone, without encountering a single human being. A kind Providence watched over the poor fellow’s footsteps. The first man he saw was the sentinel of the town, who discharged his gun at him, excusing himself on the plea that he was so dark he thought it was night itself, and fired his gun into it to clean out the barrel.