Hunting the Skipper Part 105

It was rough work, and clumsily executed, but somehow or other, and in spite of the near approach of the enemy, who seemed to be aware of their proximity, the train was effectively laid, and the engineers regained the doorway, just in front of which the train was made to end.

"Now for the candle, Tom," whispered Murray. "Here, you, Caesar, where are you going?"

There was no reply, for the black had dashed in and run up the staircase, to seize the light from the upper room where the covering party were standing ready to fire from the window.

It was a risky proceeding, and Murray stood below in the doorway looking on, but afraid to speak for fear of doing more harm than good, as he saw the faithful black steal rapidly down the stairs, his black fingers enclosing the burning candle like an open lanthorn which threw its glowing fluttering flame upwards over the black weird-looking face with its glistening eyes and white teeth. Every moment the flame threatened to be extinct, but it fluttered and recovered itself as the black tottered down into the hall and then stepped quickly past Murray in the effort to shelter the candle behind the door.

"Dah, ma.s.sa," he panted. "Now say when Caesar set fire to de powder."

"No, my man," panted Murray. "I must fire the powder myself. You tell me when."

"Caesar say when, ma.s.sa?"

"Yes, and I will fire the train. Now then, you stand close behind me when I step out. You, Tom, stand behind the door, and as soon as I have fired the train Caesar and I will dash back into the house, and you clap to and fasten the door. Do you see?"

"No, sir, but I can feel," growled the man; "but won't the 'splosion bust it open?"

"Very likely, Tom."

"Ay, ay, sir; but right it is, sir."

"Now then, Caesar," whispered Murray, thrusting one hand behind the door to seize the candle and place it ready in shelter.

"Not yet, ma.s.sa," said the black, who stood out a couple of yards from the door. "Dey come 'long close, but all 'top now."

"Ah, they have found the powder keg," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Murray.

"No, sah. Dey all close 'longside and wait for more Ma.s.sa Huggin man."

"Then I will not fire yet."

"No, sah. Caesar fink dey watch see Murray Frank, want know what um do.

All talkee palaver. No fire yet."

"I must fire soon," whispered the lad, in a strangely excited tone of voice, which sounded as if he were being suffocated.

"No; Murray Frank not fire yet," whispered the black, in eager tones.

"Wait plenty more Huggins man come. Yes," he whispered, as a burst of voices as of many of the enemy hurrying up could be heard; and then above all came the strangely familiar tones of one who had been leading the newly-arrived party, and Murray started violently as there fell upon his ear in fierce adjuration--

"Wall, why are you waiting? In with you, curse you, and finish them off!"

The black started back to retreat into the house, but Murray extended his left hand and caught him by the shoulder.

"Where are you going?" he whispered.

"Run!" was the reply. "Ma.s.sa Huggin."

"Not yet," whispered Murray. "Is it time now?"

The lad's calm words had the effect of steadying the trembling black as they listened, and his voice was no longer the same as he said firmly now--

"Yes, ma.s.sa. Time now. Fire!"

Murray thrust the black from him as he s.n.a.t.c.hed the light from behind the door, took a couple of steps towards the enemy, and stooped down with the candle burning blue and seeming to become extinct as the lad touched the path. Then there was a bright flash as the powder caught, sputtered and began to run, lighting up the figure of the midshipman in the act of dashing in through the doorway, a score of bullets rattling after him in answer to an order; and then the door closed with a heavy bang.

Darkness within and a blaze of light without, where the voice of the Yankee could be heard shouting orders which rose above the buzzing fluttering noise of the running train.

"Hurt, Mr Murray, sir?"

"No! Where's the black?"

_Crash_!

A fierce burst as of thunder, and the just-closed door was dashed in, while the hall and staircase were filled with light.

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.

WHAT THE POWDER DID.

The horrible dank odour of exploded gunpowder; a blinding smoke; thick darkness; a strange singing in the ears, and then, in connection with a sensation as of having been struck down and stunned, an awful silence.

These were Murray's impressions as he slowly struggled to his feet.

Then as his scattered senses began to return he cried hoa.r.s.ely--

"Who's here?--Who's hurt?"

There was no reply for a few moments, and then from somewhere up-stairs as it seemed to Murray, Roberts shouted--

"Do speak, somebody! Are you all killed?"

"No, no," panted Murray, who now began to cough and choke. "Speak, somebody! Who's hurt?"

"Here, avast there!" now burst forth the hearty tones of the big sailor.

"Let's have it, messmates, only don't all speak at once. Arn't all on you killed, are you?"

"No, no," cried one.

"Knocked the wind out of us," said another, from the upper room.

"Here, steady there," cried Tom May now, in a voice full of excitement.

"Avast there, what did you do with the rest of that there keg of powder?"

"Me?" cried Harry Lang, who had handled it. "You, yes! What did you do with it, messmate?"

"Took it up-stairs. I mean, brought it up here."