Kitabı oku: «The Bungalow Boys in the Great Northwest», sayfa 10

CHAPTER XXI.
MR. CHILLINGWORTH FIRES – AND MISSES

As is often the case where a disaster so complete has overtaken men, their very powers of speech seem to be taken from them. We read of men entombed in mines sitting silently awaiting the end, and of the silence in which disabled submarines have sunk to the bed of the sea.

It was so in this case. After a brief examination had shown them, what in fact they already knew, that tons of stone blocked their escape from the cave, they had relapsed into apparent apathy.

No one even appeared to notice Tom, who presently came to himself and stood dizzily upright. The lamp still burned in the rear of the cavern, shedding a dim, yellow light. But outside its rays the place was pitchy black. The weight of the rock that had fallen blocking the cave mouth had also shut out all sound of the fury of the storm – so that the place was as silent as a graveyard.

In answer to Tom’s questions the professor told him in a dull, listless voice, what had occurred. Tom was a plucky lad and had faced a good many dangers without flinching, but as he realized their position his heart sank, and he felt a queer, sickish feeling, that, if it were not real panic, approximated it pretty closely.

“Then there is no hope?”

Tom heard the professor to the end and then spoke in the same dull, toneless voice.

The other shook his head.

“A convulsion of nature seated that stone there,” he said; “another one displaced it. It is hoping too much that a third will occur and free us.”

“Then we must sit here till we die?”

Mr. Chillingworth’s voice struck in. It was as lifeless as the tones of the others.

As for Monday and Tuesday they took no part in the conversation, but sat moodily in the rear of the cave accepting their fate in a stoical manner.

“I am afraid that the only thing for us to do is to die like men and Americans,” said the professor bravely.

“Oh, no! no! I cannot die like this. I must get out! Oh, heaven, I won’t die like this!”

As he shouted thus incoherently the rancher dashed himself against the rock that sealed the cave mouth. Tom started up to drag him from the entrance and prevent his uselessly bruising and cutting himself. But the professor laid a hand on the boy’s arm.

“Leave him alone,” he said; “poor fellow. Life was good to him. He will be quieter when that paroxysm is over.”

And so it proved. The rancher’s desperate fit left him weak and exhausted. He sank down on a bit of rock, his head buried in his hand. But his heaving shoulders told what he was enduring.

Tom felt that he, too, would have liked to leap to his feet and hurl his body at the imprisoning rock, but he restrained himself by an effort.

“If I am to die, I’ll at least try to die as a man should,” thought the boy to himself.

For some time more they sat in gloomy silence. The only sound that broke the hush was that of Chillingworth’s sobs. Presently the professor arose, and not with any real sense of finding anything, commenced, with the aid of the lantern, a thorough examination of the cave. But if he had ever expected to find any outlet, he was disappointed. The place was without any other aperture than the one the fallen mass of stone had sealed.

“Do you think that any one will ever find our – our – bodies in this dreadful place?” said Tom, as the professor, abandoning his search with a sigh, rejoined the boy.

“I am afraid not,” said the scientist gloomily. “Why, what did you have in mind, my boy?”

“Why, I have a bit of chalk here,” said Tom. “I thought we might scrawl up our names and the date and what happened on the walls of the cave. It would be a record in case – in case – ” his voice shook, but he controlled it bravely – “they ever found us,” he concluded.

“At any rate, it will be something to do,” agreed the professor, falling in with the idea heartily. “But why not leave a more complete message – an account of our strange captivity, and so on? I have a pencil somewhere, and a tablet for making scientific notes.”

“Good!” rejoined Tom. “You write the lengthy account while I chalk up a shorter record on the rocks.”

He turned toward the wall, looking about for a smooth place to letter their last message upon, while the professor began fumbling in his pockets for his pencil. The implement did not seem to be handy. At any rate, the man of science explored all his outside pockets without result. Then he began on his inside ones.

Suddenly, while he was feeling about inside his coat, he gave a cry that echoed oddly through the silences of the sealed cave. So sharp and so peculiar was the tone that Chillingworth looked up from between his hands.

“Have you found the pencil?” asked Tom, in a steady voice, turning from his work with the chalk and coming toward the professor.

The next instant he felt a sharp chilling of his senses. The professor’s mind had undoubtedly given way under the strain of the terrible situation.

He was creeping toward Tom, holding something with the utmost care between his long fingers. He was regarding this object, which, Tom thought from its shape, must be a pencil, with smiles of what seemed insane delight and foolish, meaningless gibberings.

“What’s the matter, professor?” asked Tom, stepping briskly toward him and adopting a tone like one would use toward a child. “Come, brace up, sir. Don’t give way!”

For the professor was now giggling hysterically. The Kanakas, sullenly crouched by the lamp in a far corner, regarded him curiously. Monday tapped his forehead significantly.

“Tom, my boy,” breathed the professor, laying a bony hand on the boy’s shoulder – “Tom, I’m not crazy! Listen to me.” Then evidently making a strong effort to control himself, he sank his voice into a hard, level tone: “We have a chance of escape!”

Tom gave an amazed gasp. Words – he had none to fit this staggering statement.

“Do you see this little tube?” the professor went on.

He held up the long, thin, cylindrical object which Tom had mistaken for a pencil. He now saw that it was a glass tube about ten inches long and filled with a yellow, pasty-looking substance.

“In that tube are four ounces of my explosive,” whispered the professor, his eyes burning.

“The same stuff that blew Mrs. Bijur’s roof up?” gasped Tom, but without a hint of laughter in his voice or on his face. He began to see what was in the wind now.

“Yes,” was the rejoinder; “at least what exploded there was not more than a hundredth part of this tube, and it was not of anything like similar strength, being diluted. I had this explosive with me on the yawl, thinking that I might use it in geological work – diluted, of course. When the collision came I recollect seizing up this tube of my invention and thrusting it into my coat. In this rush of recent events I had forgotten it till this moment, when, in my search for a pencil, I encountered it.”

“What do you mean to do with it?” asked Tom, in the same breathless tones. Without knowing it, he was clutching the professor in the intensity of his excitement and eager hope.

“I mean to attempt to blow up the rock that blocks the entrance of this cave,” was the calm reply. “We have tools – a drill, and we can use that long stick I cut as a walking staff, for a tampon to drive the charge home.”

“But how are we to fire it?” asked Tom. “We have no fuse and no means of getting one.”

“Confound it!” exclaimed the professor, his hopes dashed to the lowest ebb once more. “What a fellow I am to forget details. What are we to do? Here we have the means of escape within our grasp almost, only to see them snatched away by such an unlucky chance as this. In any event, an ordinary fuse would do us no good. My explosive only ignites by detonation – in other words, by being dealt a hard blow. If only we had a fulminate of mercury cap – ”

“Might as well wish that the stone hadn’t fallen,” said Tom briskly. “I tell you what, Professor, let us start those Kanakas drilling a hole in the rock where it seems thinnest. While they are doing it we, perhaps, can think of some plan to explode the charge.”

It is a striking example of the effect of action on men that the Kanakas, once they were set to work, became far less gloomy. They tapped the rock eagerly to ascertain, while the professor listened to see, where it sounded the least solid. He finally selected a place and ordered the two South Sea natives to commence their bore there. They at once set to work at the task, while Mr. Chillingworth, who had been roused from his lethargy by even this remote chance of gaining freedom, talked over eagerly with the others the possibility of hitting upon a way to explode the charge and shatter the stone without using a detonator. The rancher had had considerable experience with dynamite and giant powder on his ranch, where he had blown up scores of big tree roots, so that his contributions to the discussion were intelligent ones.

At last he sprang to his feet with a sharp cry: “I’ve got it. I know how we can explode that stuff.”

The others looked eagerly.

“How?” asked the professor bluntly.

“By hitting it with a bullet.”

“What?”

“I mean what I say. We have a pistol and two of us at least are good shots. We will place that explosive in the hole in the rock when it is drilled and then fire it by striking it with a bullet from the revolver, Tom secured when Lake dropped it.”

“That is a good idea,” said the professor dryly, “but when the explosion comes what is to become of us?”

Chillingworth’s enthusiasm vanished like the effervescence of a wet rocket.

“I didn’t think of that,” he said. “There is a chance that we might be blown to pieces by the same explosion that rends the rock.”

“Perfectly correct,” agreed the professor, with a curious ring in his voice, “but not necessary. The force of my explosive, when confined, is invariably downward and inward. That is to say, in this case if we bore a hole at a steep angle into the rock, we may be able to shatter part of it without hurting ourselves.”

The Kanakas were at once set to work boring another hole slanting in the proposed direction. When this was accomplished, the professor gingerly placed the tube of high explosive within the aperture and announced that, so far as he was concerned, all was ready.

“Hold on a minute,” exclaimed Tom, as a sudden idea struck him.

Drawing out his chalk, he marked a ring round the mouth of the bore.

“There,” he exclaimed, “that makes a good target and the hole containing the explosive is the bull’s-eye.”

“Hitting which in this case may mean annihilation, swift and terrible,” said the professor dryly.

“We must make up our minds to take that chance,” said Mr. Chillingworth firmly, and Tom was rejoiced to see that the rancher’s nerve had come back.

“Will you take the first shot?” he asked, handing the pistol to the rancher.

The Kanakas gazed on curiously. They had been told of the daring attempt that was to be made, and had no objection. A shrug of the shoulders was their way of saying:

“As well death one way as another.”

Mr. Chillingworth accepted the pistol and weighed it curiously to ascertain its balance.

“A nice little weapon,” he said, in a calm voice.

“I think we had all better shake hands,” said the professor, “before we retire to the rear of the cave.”

Seriously the trio imprisoned in the living tomb shook hands and then started back to the extreme end of the cavern. Just before they did this, the lantern had been placed where its light would fall on the target. This left the rear part of the cave in blackness. Perhaps they each were glad of this. Tom knew he had no wish to look at the others’ faces, although he hoped that no trace of fear showed on his own.

Packing themselves as compactly as possible against the rear wall of the place, they fell into silence as Chillingworth made ready to fire. Only by a constant wetting of his lips with the tip of his tongue did the rancher betray his excitement. Tom could feel his pulses pounding and his heart beating till it seemed it would burst his ribs. The sweat rolled off his face. He wondered how the professor felt. Would Chillingworth never stop his everlasting balancing of the pistol and aiming of it at the target? What would Jack – ?

“Now!”

The rancher’s exclamation was followed by a sharp report, all the more deafening for the tiny space in which they were confined. Tom threw himself on his face, and so did the others, waiting a second and a more terrible shock.

But it didn’t come. For once in his life Chillingworth, who was rated a first-class shot, had missed his target.

CHAPTER XXII.
MUTINY

“Flunked!” choked out the rancher, with a bitter little laugh. He handed the pistol to Tom.

“Here, you try. I’m free to admit that I haven’t the grit to go through with it again.”

Tom took the pistol almost mechanically. His disappointment was as keen as that of the others. They had keyed themselves up to the last notch of courage and determination, it seemed, and now it was all to be done over again. No wonder that the Kanakas’ reserve gave way under the strain, and that they sat chattering hysterically as Tom dully examined the chambers of the revolver.

Right then he made a discovery that startled him. Their next attempt would be their last in very fact. Evidently Lake had been firing off his pistol before they set out for the hills – target practice was a common diversion of his, – and only two shells had been left in the chamber when Tom appropriated the weapon. Chillingworth had fired one, leaving a solitary cartridge undischarged.

Without another word – without even notifying them of his discovery, – Tom balanced the revolver for an instant in his hand, and then taking fair aim hesitated no longer, but pulled the trigger.

Hardly had his finger crooked before the sharp crack of the pistol was followed by another roar, infinitely more awful and awe-inspiring. A blast of hot gas swept back in their faces, and Tom felt himself being picked up bodily by some mysterious force and dashed against the rock. He realized no more. How much later he recovered his senses he did not know, but he opened his eyes to find daylight streaming into the cave.

Under the tremendously powerful forces of Professor Dingle’s explosive the great rocking stone had been, not blown to bits, but literally melted away. But this they did not find out till later. Tom’s first task was to arouse the others who lay in a semi-stupor all about him. He got the water canteen which had been brought with them and dashed some of its contents in his companions’ faces. Presently they began to stir. Except for a cut above the professor’s eye, where a flying stone had struck him, they were uninjured.

But the gases of the explosive had given them all splitting headaches, and as soon as they had recovered enough to be able to stand upright they hastened toward the glorious daylight which came pouring in – the daylight they thought they had forever bidden farewell to.

The storm had passed away, only distant grumblings of thunder remaining to tell of it. The sky was blue and clear once more. The lowness of the sun showed that it must be late in the afternoon. They must, therefore, have lain unconscious for some time. The first thing to be done was, of course, to make all haste away from the spot. A glance about them showed that by good fortune the ledge of rock remained intact. But at its edge, and quite close to them, lay a curious object which it was some time before they made out to be a rifle.

It must have been Simon Lake’s, and the weapon had probably been torn from his pocket by some freak of the same shaft of lightning that sent him to his death in the depths below. The electric fluid had actually melted the steel and fused stock, lock and barrel into one mass of molten metal. Tom shuddered as he thought of the shock that must have passed through Lake when the bolt struck.

A feeling of gloom came over the party, for base as Lake had been in life the manner of his death was surely a terrible one. Perhaps it was a retribution for his wild, lawless life. Tom at least felt that perhaps this was so. One thing was certain, the depths of the narrow rift would prove his sepulchre, for to have recovered his body from those profundities would have been impossible.

“Boss, me think me know um way to de cove wot bad man tell about,” said Monday suddenly, as they were discussing their next step.

“You do? Good boy!” cried Tom; “then lead ahead.”

“Yes, go in front,” said the professor, “but first tell us how you come to know anything about the path.”

“Long time ago, boss, as I tell you, me here in whaler,” said Monday; “captain he bad man. Beat me and Tuesday. Pretty soon we desert. We come hide up in here. Find plenty paths every place.”

Before many minutes they had climbed the steep flight of natural steps leading to the cliff summit, and stood there with a glorious panorama at their feet. At least the beauty was there to be enjoyed had they had the inclination or the opportunity to gaze upon it.

To the south lay the settlement. Its huts looked like tiny toys from that height, and at that distance. Between them and the settlement the dark gorge stretched forbiddingly, and beyond the gorge the eye rested on the endless wastes of greenish-brown thicket. All about was stretched the sea, and perhaps they did scan this rather more closely than they had the rest of the outlook. But if any of them had hoped to spy a vessel – as men will hope for vain things – they were disappointed. The vast stretches of ocean about them were as empty of life as a desert. Under the sun the waves glistened and danced as if in mockery of their helplessness.

“Well, what’s the course now?” inquired Mr. Chillingworth presently, with an assumption of cheerfulness.

“We will head through the bush under Monday’s guidance,” said the professor, “and find the boat which Lake mentioned as being moored in the cove. When we have found it we will row as close to the settlement as we dare and try in some way to secure food. But, of course, you do not need to be told that my main object in going there is to recover my boy. It was a grievous oversight not to have brought him with us; but it cannot be helped now. I think it only fair to add that if any one is opposed to my program that I will strike off alone when we reach the coast and the rest of you can take the boat.”

“As if we would!” said Tom. “No, sir, we’ll stand by you, and if we get recaptured trying to get your boy, why, we won’t be any worse off than we were before.”

“That’s right,” agreed Mr. Chillingworth, “we’ll stay with you till the finish, professor.”

As Monday and Tuesday had appeared to entertain no doubts as to their place being at the professor’s side, no more words were exchanged. A start was at once made down the rough path Monday declared would lead them in due course to the cove where the boat, which Zeb Hunt and Lake had used on their visits to the cave, was moored. After some time spent in laboriously traversing slippery rocks and pushing through thorny scrub, they emerged at length on the shores of a small cove.

Tom gave a shout as he discerned under some overhanging bushes the outline of a small white boat secured to the same clump which partially concealed it from view.

“The boat!” he cried. “So Lake did tell us the truth, after all.”

“Unfortunate fellow,” said the professor; “I am glad that almost his last words to us were not fabrications.”

The little craft was soon cast loose, and with the two pairs of oars found in her, the Kanakas made her fairly skim over the water. Although they were by no means out of their peril yet, and were tired, hungry and thirsty, the adventurers could not repress a low cheer as the boat forged forward. At least they had a good boat under them, and the ocean before them when once they had secured the professor’s little boy and a store of provisions.

The sun’s disc was almost dipping below the western rim of the sea as they emerged from the cove, and the Kanakas, keeping cautiously close to the shore, began to pull down the coast toward the settlement. By the time they were approaching a little wooded point jutting out from the main part of the island it was almost dark.

“Beyond that point lies the settlement, according to my calculations,” said Mr. Chillingworth. “I think our best plan would be to run the boat ashore at this side of the point and then clamber over the little neck of land. In that way we can see what is going on and how the land lies without exposing our lives unnecessarily.”

The others agreed with him that this would be the best course to pursue, so drawing the boat up on the beach, taking care that some trees sheltered it from view, they set out to cross the neck of land.

It was almost as rough traveling as on the trail, and in their exhausted condition it took them longer than it ordinarily would to attain the eminence. When they finally reached the summit, however, and were able to see the other side, they saw that Mr. Chillingworth’s guess had been right. The settlement lay at their feet. In the dim dusk the outlines of the big barnlike place where the Chinese were housed, towered up starkly. Out in the lagoon they could see the dark outlines of the schooner as she swung at her anchorage.

But as they gazed there came a startling sound: the sharp report of a pistol, followed by a regular fusillade of shots.

The uproar seemed to come from the centre of the collection of huts and shanties, and down toward the beach. While they stood gazing, dumb with astonishment at this new surprise, a tongue of flame flickered upward from one of the structures, and rapidly grew larger. The conflagration momentarily roared higher, crimsoning the sky and sea with a lurid glow.

“It’s the store!” cried Tom as he gazed at the raging fire, “something terrible has happened.”

“Mutiny and riot!” struck in Mr. Chillingworth, as a wild noise of shouts and yells and confused shooting was borne to their ears.