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The Black Bar, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 39. Desperate Measures |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. DESPERATE MEASURES "Powder? An explosion?" "Yes, sir; blow the whole thing out just when they didn't expect it." "The powder?" cried Mark, excitedly. "Yes, of course. Why, Tom, I _never_ thought of that. We will in the morning, when they are not so strictly on the watch." He looked excitedly at Tom Fillot for a few moments, and then his countenance changed. "No," he said; "it is impossible." "Not it, sir. Lay the powder snug again the door, make a train, fire it, get out of the way. Then _bang_ it goes; smash tumbles the door and hatch and all the rest of it, and then out we rushes, knocks 'em over one at a time, and the schooner's ours." "Man, man, can't you see that if we did that we should blow ourselves up as well?" "No, we wouldn't sir, because we'd lie down." "Well, what difference would that make?" "All on it, sir. Powder flies up, and it wouldn't hurt us." "Think not?" "Sure on it, sir." "Tom, I'm not sure; but dare we risk--" "O' course, sir." Mark sat thinking for a few moments. "We might try it with a little." "It must be a big dose or none at all, sir." "Yes, and we must risk it," said Mark. "Now, then, it must be done quietly, for depend upon it that scoundrel is watching us." "Then I tell you what," said Tom, "as now it's dark he can see us, and we can't see him, I say, sir, let's all have a nap, and directly after the sun's up get ready." "That's good advice, Tom. We can sleep in peace with the way of escape open to us--that is, _if_ we can." "T'others can, sir," said Tom; "they're all sound enough." Mark glanced at their companions, who had been unheeded during their earnest conversation, and could see that his lieutenant's words were correct. "Let's lie down, then;" and, setting the example, his mind was so utterly weary, and yet so much at peace, that he was soundly asleep in less than five minutes, Tom Fillot in two. Meanwhile on deck, after a bit of a consultation, the American skipper had determined to get rid of his dangerous prisoners; and to this end he had had the worst boat slightly provisioned with biscuit and water, and she hung at the davits, ready for the midshipman and his followers to be had up one by one, soon after daylight, and disarmed and bundled into the boat to make for the shore. "We'll get too far out for 'em to nab us again," the skipper said, as he glanced shoreward through his night-glass, where the coast lay some seven or eight miles away. In profound ignorance of all this, Mark slept on till he was awakened by Tom Fillot, and started up, staring and wondering, till he recalled that which was before him. Then he felt a chill of dread, for it would be a terrible thing to do-- that firing off a sufficient charge of powder to blow out the door and yet leave the occupants of the cabin uninjured. Tom Fillot had no such dread, and after trying to make out whether they were watched, he quietly thrust an arm beneath the lid of the locker and drew out a tin of powder, which he carried across, and placed with the neck opened and on its side, so that a little of the contents ran out close by the cabin entrance. This he did three more times, laying the tins neck to neck, each open, and helping to make a little hill of black grains, while his comrades looked gloomily on. Then, fetching a fifth, he opened it, and laid a zigzag train completely along the cabin floor right to beneath the window, and returned carefully to empty the remainder on the little heap and about the necks of the other tins. Five pounds of gunpowder! Plenty to bring destruction upon all within the cabin, as well as knock out the door and hatch beyond. "There we are, sir," said Tom Fillot, seeking for a box of matches and coolly taking one out. "Now we'll all lie down together when you think it's a good time, and keep our heads close to the floor. The blaze'll go right over us, and you understand, lads, as soon as the blow up comes, we shall all rush out, take 'em by surprise, and capter the schooner. That's right, sir, ain't it?" "Yes, that's right, Tom. Be ready, my lads." "Ay, ay, sir," said the men, coolly; and the black grasped a cutlass as well, looking prepared for anything. "It'll be sharp work, my lads, but we must win." "And we will," said Tom, grimly. "Think I can do better with the powder, sir?" "No; that will be excellent for the purpose," said Mark. "Now give me the box and lie down." "Give you--the box o' matches, sir?" stammered Tom Fillot. "Yes. I shall fire the train." Tom handed over the box unwillingly. "Hadn't I better, sir? You might be burnt." "Well, if I am, what then? Ready, my lads?" whispered Mark. "All is quiet now." "Ay, ay, sir, ready," said the men, as they pressed closely to the floor, holding down their heads for the most part; but Tom Fillot with a face full of anxiety watched. "Then the moment after the explosion spring up and follow me." As Mark spoke he lay down close to the end of the train right beneath the open window, took a match from the box, struck it, and, as it burst into flame, touched the powder, which began to burn along the zigzag train with a peculiar rushing hiss. _ |
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