The Astonishing History of Troy Town Part 47

It was the signal for a general sack. Flinging off his Sunday coat, each deluded tradesman seized upon his property, or ransacked the house until he found it. The ironmonger caught up his fire-irons, the carpenter pulled down his shelves, the grocer dived into the pantry and emerged with tea and candles. It is said that the coal-merchant--who was a dandy--procured a sack, and with his own hand emptied the coal-cellar within half an hour.

As each fresh article was confiscated, the crowd cheered anew.

Never was such a scene in Troy. Even the local aristocracy-- the _c.u.meelfo_--mingled with the throng and watched the havoc as curiously as their neighbours.

No member of the Buzza family was there, nor Mr. Moggridge. But few others did Miss Limpenny fail to perceive as she sat with hands hanging limply and mourned to Lavinia--

"What disgrace! What a lasting blemish upon our society! There goes Hanc.o.c.k with the music-stool. To run away just before quarter-day, and they so refined to all appearance, so--My dear, they will have the house down. Papa told me once that during the Bristol riots-- I declare, there's the Doctor looking on! I wonder how he _can_."

And the poor lady hid her face in her hands.

By half past twelve all was over, and "The Bower" stripped of every article of furniture or consumption for which the money was owing.

And yet, to the honour of Troy, no single theft or act of wanton destruction was perpetrated. Save for the trampled flowers and marks of dusty boots upon the carpets, the house was left as it stood on the day when Mr. and Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys arrived. It should be mentioned, perhaps, that Seth Udy's little boy was detected with his fist in a jar of moist sugar; but Mrs. Udy, it was remarked, was a Penpoodle woman.

The sack was accomplished; and the crowd, heated but conscious of a duty done, was returning with the spoil, when towards the north a white glare leapt into the heaven and as suddenly vanished. In a moment or so a dull roar followed, and the earth shuddered underfoot.

Troy trembled. It remembered its neglected Sabbath, and trembled again.

CHAPTER XXII.

IN WHICH SEVERAL ATTEMPTS ARE MADE TO PUT A PERIOD TO THIS HISTORY.

The congregation at St. Symphorian's on this memorable Sunday morning numbered nine persons. Possibly this was the reason why, against all precedent, the Vicar's sermon terminated at "thirdly."

Woman has been stated so often, and by such capable observers, to be more inquisitive than man, that I will content myself with establishing an exception. Of these nine persons, five were women, and the remainder held the salaried posts of organist, organ-blower, pew-opener, and parish-clerk. Of the women, one was Tamsin Dearlove.

It is noteworthy that Caleb spent his morning at "The Bower."

Service was over, and Tamsin was rowing homewards. She was alone; for Troy was not the Dearloves' parish, and the Twins attended their own church--being, indeed, churchwardens. As she pulled quietly upwards, a shade of thought rested on her pretty face. I do not know of what she was thinking; and may add that if I did, I should not tell you. I would as lief rob a church.

She had pa.s.sed the jetties, and was pulling her left paddle to turn the corner off Kit's House, when a flash crossed the heaven from behind her, and in an instant followed that rending explosion which (at different distances) has been twice presented to the reader, and with pardonable pride; for the story of Troy has now a catastrophe as well as episodes, and is vindicated as a theme.

As soon as the throbbing of the atmosphere and the buzzing in her ears began to die away, two swift thoughts crossed her brain.

Oddly enough, the first was for the safety of Kit's House.

She glanced over her shoulder. A mere film of smoke hung over the creek, and to the right of this she saw the house standing, seemingly unharmed. Then came the second thought--

If the explosion came from the creek, where the light smoke hung, there would be a wave.

She half turned on the thwart and looked intently.

Yes. It was curling towards her, widening from the creek's mouth, and arching with a hateful crest. On it came, a dark and glossy wall; and she knew that if it broke or caught her boat in the least aslant, she must be either swamped or overset.

With a sound that was half a sob and half a prayer she grasped her paddles and, still looking over her shoulder, gently moved the boat's nose to face it.

A moment, and it rose above her, hissing death; another, and the boat was caught high in air, tottered on the summit, and then with a shiver shot swiftly down into the trough beyond--safe.

A second wave followed, and a third, but with less peril. She was still tossed, but as she saw that ma.s.s of water hurled upon the sh.o.r.e, and sweeping angrily but with broken force towards the harbour, she knew that she could thank Heaven for her escape.

She pulled towards the creek. Already the air was clear; but as she glanced again her eye missed something familiar. And then it struck her that the old schooner had gone. At that instant, as if in confirmation, a shattered board b.u.mped against the boat's side.

She looked, and noticed that far and near the water was strewn with such fragments.

She was pausing for a second to consider, when she caught sight of a black object lying on the mud beside the sh.o.r.e, and with a short cry fell to rowing with all her strength. She guided the boat as nearly up to it as the mud allowed, and then, catching up her skirts, jumped into the ooze and waded.

It was Mr. Fogo; but whether dead or alive she could not say.

Down on the mud she knelt, and, turning him gently over, looked into his face. It was streaked with slime, and powdered with a yellowish flake, as of sand. His locks were singed most pitifully.

She started up, took him by the shoulders, and tried to drag him up to the firmer shingle.

Mr. Fogo opened his eyes and shut them again, feebly.

"Not dead! Oh! thank Heaven you are not dead."

With a sob she dropped again beside him, and brushed the flaked powder from his eye-lashes.

He opened his eyes again.

"Would you mind speaking up? I--I think I am a little deaf."

"I thought you were dead," she cried, in a louder tone.

"No-o, I am not dead. Oh! no; decidedly I am not dead. It--it was the Tea, I fancy."

He added this apologetically, much as some gentlemen are wont to plead "the salmon."

Apparently believing the explanation sufficient, he shut his eyes again, and seemed inclined to go to sleep.

"The Tea?" questioned Tamsin, chafing his hands.

"Or the Honey, perhaps--or the Putty," he answered drowsily.

Then, opening his eyes and sitting up with a start, "Upon my soul, I don't know which. It _called_ itself Tea, but I'm--bound--to-- admit--"

He was nodding again. Utterly perplexed, Tamsin leant back and regarded him.

"Can you walk, if you lean on my arm?"

"Walk? Oh! yes, I can walk. Why not?"

But it seemed that he was mistaken; for, in attempting to start, he groped about for a bit and then sat down suddenly. Tamsin helped him to his feet.

The reader has long ago guessed the cause of the catastrophe. It was dynamite--conspirators' dynamite, and therefore ill-prepared.

Now dynamite, when it explodes, acts, we are told, with "local partiality"; and of this term we may remark--

That it is given as an explanation by men of science, Without being a "scientific" explanation; But is, in fact, a "metaphysical" explanation, And therefore no explanation at all of The astonishing fact that dynamite hits one thing and does not hit another.

In the case of Mr. Fogo, his top-hat had vanished, but the brim still clung to his head, like a halo. His spectacles and one boot had gone; the other boot was unlaced. His coat was split up the back, and his collar had broken away, but his tie was barely disarranged.

He has since declared that he left the schooner with two-and-sixpence in his trowser pocket, and came ash.o.r.e with two-and-a-penny; but this was in an account delivered to a scientific audience, and is thought to have been a joke.