CHAPTER FORTY.

FIRING A TRAIN.

A sound like a sigh or the escape of some pent-up emotion came from the little group of prostrate men, all of whom, save the black, knew that the powder might after all, while driving out the cabin door and its barricading, injure, perhaps kill them, in its explosion.

But no one flinched, as the schooner careened over in obedience to a turn or two of the wheel, and glided rapidly off on a fresh tack, while the flame of the heavy train ran here and there over the cabin floor, its peculiar hiss suggesting to Mark the idea of a fiery reptile, and the strain of those exciting moments growing till they appeared to be minutes.

Away it sped in its serpent-like trail, for Tom had made liberal sweeps of the powder, and the whole course was marked by an ever-increasing cloud of white smoke, which rapidly filled the cabin, till only about four of the bends remained between the fire and the heap of powder, when with a suddenness that sent a thrill through all, there was a tremendous crash, followed by a heavy, dull jar which shook the vessel from stem to stern. Mark Vandean sprang up, gave one glance toward the stern window as if he were going to spring out, and then flung himself between the burning train and the powder tins, rolling himself over and over in the hissing flame, and at the same time sweeping the powder, so carefully laid in zigzag curves, right and left and away toward the cabin window, where it sputtered and flashed innocuously.

"Quick, Tom!" he panted; "sweep away. Mind it don't go off."

"Why, it has gone off," cried Tom, rising up on his knees and speaking from out of the dense white smoke, which now completely filled the cabin and rendered the men invisible to each other.

He was making for the cabin door, when Mark seized and clung to him.

"Come on, my lads," cried Tom. And then, "All right, sir; you lead them."

"Don't--don't you see?" panted Mark.

"No, sir; who is to see in this blessed smoke? But you're losing time.

Come on."

"The door isn't open."

"What? It must be. Come on."

"I mustn't go near," cried Mark. "Look. These sparks."

"Ay, you're all afire, sir. What made you go so soon? You ought to have waited."

"You don't understand," cried Mark, who could hardly sneak for trembling. "That was not the explosion. I--I stopped it."

"You stopped it, sir," cried Tom Fillot, as he kept on pa.s.sing his hands over Mark's garments to press out a few sparks which lingered there.

"Yes, of course. Didn't you hear what that was?"

"Course I did, sir, though I was down on my face with my fingers in my ears. It went off well. Come on, the door must be down."

Another heavy report seemed to strike the schooner again, as the smoke curled rapidly out of the cabin window, and Mark pressed to it, thrust out his head, and uttered a loud cheer.

"Why--no--yes--hooray!" roared Tom Fillot, as he caught a glimpse of something half a mile away, seen through the thick white smoke. "Cheer, lads, cheer! It's the _Naughtyla.s.s_ just astarn."

"I--I knew it," panted Mark, "and stopped the train just in time. Look at the floor and sweep away any sparks that are left. I--I can't now.

Mind the powder doesn't go off."

The smoke in the cabin was less dense now, and, awakening fully to the fact that there were sparks here and there where the train had ignited a few tindery spots between the boards, Tom Fillot and Bannock carefully trampled them out and swept away with their caps any portions of the loose powder which might communicate with the heap by the cabin door.

"That's about right now, sir," said Tom; "and that's about safe, but I'm blessed if I didn't think it had all gone off."

_Bang_! went another gun.

"Go it, old gal," cried Tom. "I say, sir, that first shot must have hit us somewheres forrard. Oughtn't we to give 'em a cheer?"

"Yes," cried Mark; and the men pressed to the cabin window, but before they could shout there was the smashing of gla.s.s overhead, and the barrel of a pistol was thrust down.

"Say, there," came in the skipper's voice. "Just yew all lie down. Yew show yewrselves at that winder any one of yew and I'll send a bullet through the fire that signals."

Mark's first idea was to commence war on their side, but he waited his time, and sat down smarting and throbbing, as the black came across to him and laid a hand upon his knee, looking commiseratingly in his face.

"Oh, it's nothing much," said Mark, hastily, though he was quivering with pain.

"But it is much, sir," said Tom Fillot, who, at a sign from Mark, had drawn back and now stood gazing at his young leader.

"Does it show, Tom?"

"Want me to tell you the hull truth, sir?"

"Yes, of course."

"Hair's all singed off, sir, and you ain't got a bit a' eyebrow or eyelash left."

Mark groaned.

"But they'll all grow again, sir," cried the sailor, eagerly, "and it might ha' been worse."

"Couldn't, Tom. It does smart so."

"But s'pose your whiskers had growed, sir. Why, it would ha' took all them off too."

"Don't--don't talk, man," cried Mark impatiently. "Only try if you can see what's going on. How was it we didn't see the _Nautilus_ before?"

"She must ha' come round some pynte sudden-like, and took 'em on the hop, sir. We couldn't make her because we can only see just astarn.

They're luffing a bit aboard the _Naughtyla.s.s_ to fire. There she goes."

Almost as he spoke there was a white puff of smoke, a shot came skipping along the surface and then went right over the schooner, and splashed in the sea beyond.

"Hadn't we better hyste them colours out o' winder?" said Tom.

"What for?" said Mark, trying to suppress the manifestations of pain which would keep showing.

"They'll think we've surrendered and cease firing."

"But that would be helping the schooner to escape."

"Why, of course, sir," cried Tom, slapping his leg; "that wouldn't do no good. I was only thinking of its being onpleasant to sit here and be shot at by one's own messmates. But it don't matter; they can't hit very often."

Mark glanced up at the skylight, to see if they were being watched, and had ample proof of that being the case, for he could see the skipper looking down at him.