Devon Boys Part 15

"Come along, Sep," he said, "and let's see if we can't make your father's fortune."

He was quite at home in our house, and I followed him into the back kitchen, where he set me at work powdering up the specimens with a hammer on a block of stone, while he built up in the broad open fireplace quite a little furnace with bricks, into which he fitted a small deep earthen pot, one that he chose as being likely to stand the fire, which he set with wood and charcoal, after mixing the broken and powdered ore with a lot of little bits of charcoal, and half filling the earthen pot. This he covered with more charcoal, shut in the little furnace with some slate slabs, and then, when he considered everything ready, started the fire, which it became my duty to blow.

This did not prove necessary after the fire was well alight, for the doctor had managed his furnace so well that it soon began to roar and glow, getting hotter and hotter, while, as the charcoal sunk, more and more was heaped on, till the little fire burned furiously, and the bricks began to crack, and turn first of a dull red, then brighter, and at last some of them looked almost transparent.

All this took a long time, and our task was a very hot one, for from between the places where the bricks joined, the fire sent out a tremendous heat, where it could be seen glowing and almost white in its intensity.

But hot as it was on a midsummer day, the whole business had a great fascination for me, and I would not have left it on any account.

The doctor, too, seemed wonderfully interested. Kicksey came about two o'clock to say that the dinner was ready, but the doctor would not leave the furnace; neither would I, and each of us, armed with a pair of tongs from the kitchen and parlour, stood as close as we could, ready to put on fresh pieces of charcoal as the fire began to sink.

"How long will it take cooking, sir?" I said, after the furnace had been glowing for a long time.

"Hah!" he said, "that's what I can't tell you, Sep. You see we have not got a regular furnace and blast, and this heat may not be great enough to turn the ore into metal, so we must keep on as long as we can to make sure. It is of no use to be sanguine over experiments, for all this may turn out to be a failure. Even with the best of tools we make blunders, my lad, and with a such a set out as this, why, of course, anything may happen."

"Anything happen, sir?" I said.

"To be sure. That ore ought to have been put in a proper fire-clay crucible."

"What's a crucible, sir?" I said.

"A pot made of a particular material that will bear any amount of heat.

Now perhaps while we are patiently waiting here that pot in the furnace may have cracked and fallen to pieces, or perhaps melted away instead of the ore inside."

"Oh, but a pot would not melt, sir, would it?" I said.

"Melt? To be sure it would, if you make the fire hot enough. Did you ever see a brick-kiln?"

"Yes, sir."

"And did you never see how sometimes, when the fire has been too hot, the bricks have all run together?"

"And formed clinkers, sir? Oh yes, often."

"Well, then, there you have seen how a mixture of sand and powdered stone and clay will melt, so, why should not that earthen pot?"

"Then if that pot melts or breaks all our trouble will have been for nothing, sir?"

"Yes, Sep, and we must begin again."

"But shouldn't we find the stuff melted down at the bottom of the fire?"

"Perhaps; perhaps not; we might find it run into a lump, but we should most likely find it not melted at all, and then, as I said, we should have to begin over again."

"That would be tiresome," I said. "But never mind, we should succeed next time, perhaps."

"We should try till we did succeed, Sep, my lad. There, that's the last of the charcoal."

"Shall I fetch some more?" I cried.

"No, my lad, perhaps what has been burned may have melted it, so we'll wait and see."

"And take out the pot?"

"No, we couldn't do that. We must wait till it cools down. Maybe by and by I can take out a brick, and we shall be able to see whether the ore has melted."

I waited impatiently for this to be done, and about an hour later the doctor took the top brick from the glowing furnace with the tongs, and touched the charcoal embers, which fell at once down to a level with the top of the pot, the interior having burned away, so as to leave quite a glowing basket or cage of fire.

CHAPTER NINE.

THE RESULT OF THE SMELTING.

But there was nothing to see yet, and the brick was replaced, the fire roared once more, and for what must have been quite another quarter of an hour we waited before the doctor took out the brick again.

It was now possible to make out what seemed to be a regular ring red-hot in the midst of so much glowing ember with which the pot was filled; and into this the doctor thrust the poker, to find that it pa.s.sed through what was light as feathers.

"I must be gentle," he said quietly, as he thrust the poker lower, till he could gently tap the bottom of the pot.

"It's quite sound," he said, as he gave the poker a stirring motion and ended by withdrawing it.

"I think we may let out the fire," he said; and we proceeded to bear away the slates we had used for screens, and then to take down the glowing bricks one by one, and toss them into the yard.

This done, I proposed throwing a bucket of water over the heap of embers, in the midst of which stood the pot.

"No, thank you, young wisdom," said Doctor Chowne. "I should like to have some result to show your father when he comes back. If you did what you say, the pot would fly all to pieces, and where would our work be then?"

"I say, Doctor Chowne," I said, looking at him rather wistfully, "I wish I knew as much as you do."

"Learn then," he said. "I did not know so much once upon a time."

As he spoke, he slowly and carefully drew the ashes down from about the pot, and as they were spread about the brilliant glow began to give place to a pale grey feathery ash, which flushed red, and then yellow, whenever the air was disturbed, while the earthen pot that had been red-hot changed slowly to a dull drab.

"There, Sep," said the doctor, "that pot will take pretty well an hour to get thoroughly cool, so we may as well go and have some dinner. What do you say?"

"I was thinking, sir," I said, "that if there is any metal in that pot now, it would be something like the lead when we are casting sinkers for fishing. Why couldn't we lift the pot with the tongs, and pour out what's at the bottom and run it into a mould."

"Have you got a mould, Sep?" he said.

"Yes, sir; three different sizes--up here on the shelf."

I went to a corner of the back kitchen, and reached down three dusty clay moulds, one of which the doctor took and set upon the floor.

"You are right," he cried. "There, take your tongs, and we'll catch hold of the pot together, and set it out here. Then, both together, mind, we'll pour out what there is into the mould."

It was easy enough. We each got a good hold of the pot, lifted it out with its glowing feathery charcoal ashes half filling it, and then, after setting it down to get a more suitable hold, we tilted it sidewise, and then more and more and more, but nothing came out save some glowing ashes, which fell beyond the mould in a tiny heap.