A TORPEDO MAN’S PERIL.
On the day that Arthur played at being a Prince, and was on his way to
unfold the sad result of that experience to Uncle Phin, he met Brace
Barlow driving out of an old wood road that led to his nitro-glycerine
magazine, hidden in the loneliest depths of the forest.
At sight of his little friend, Brace reined in his horses and stopped
for a moment’s chat with him.
In spite of the young man’s warning that he had a load of the “stuff”
under the seat, Arthur ran forward and clambered up into the wagon
beside him.
“Oh, I am so glad to see you, ‘dear giant’!” he began impulsively,
“because——” Here he paused.
He had been about to pour into this friend’s ear all his troubles, and
make a complaint against his Aunt Nancy; but it suddenly occurred to him
that by so doing he would be only acting the part of a tale-bearer,
which his father had taught him most heartily to despise. Telling things
to Uncle Phin was different. He was quite certain that Brace could not
help him in his present trouble, and so, when the latter asked with a
smile, “Because what, little one?” he answered:
“Because I love you, and I am always glad to see the people I love. Are
you going to shoot a well? Can’t I go with you? Aunt Nancy says I am to
stay out of her sight until sunset, and the boys have gone fishing, and
Cynthia’s doing her patchwork, and I haven’t a single thing to do.
Please let me go.”
“Well, I don’t know,” replied Brace Barlow, reflectively. “I don’t
suppose there is really any danger; still——”
“Danger!” exclaimed Prince Dusty, scornfully. “Do you suppose I am any
more afraid of danger than you are, even if you are a great, big man and
I am only a little boy? Well, I’m not. Your old glycerine can’t be any
worse than lightning, and I’m not a bit afraid of that. Besides, if I am
always going to live in this oil region, I ought to learn all about its
dangers, so that I’ll know enough to keep away from them. Perhaps when I
have grown to be a giant, like you, I will want to be a well-shooter
too, and how can I if I haven’t learned how?”
This array of argument was too much for Brace to answer, and so, saying,
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to take you with me just this once,” he
chirruped to his horses, and, driving much more slowly and carefully
than usual, turned into the road that led to the well he was engaged to
shoot.
They reached the place without incident, and Arthur helped carry into
the derrick the bundle of bright tin tubes that had been lashed to a
couple of curved iron supports at one side of the wagon. He also helped
place in position the reel on which was wound two thousand feet of stout
cord, by means of which the torpedo was to be let down into the well.
This line was run through a pulley that hung directly above the well,
and its end terminating in an iron hook, dangled close to the mouth of
the deep, dark hole.
When these preparations were made, Brace Barlow began to fit and fasten
together several lengths of small tin pipe until they formed a
continuous tube about fifty feet long. This is called the “anchor,” and
was to be attached to the lower end of the shell, or large torpedo tube,
so that when the whole was lowered into the well, it would support the
torpedo at a height of fifty feet above the bottom.
Arthur was allowed to assist in fitting the anchor tubes, and also in
making the shell ready to be filled with its deadly explosive. When the
cans of nitro-glycerine were brought into the derrick, all the men
employed about the place retired to a respectful distance from it. Then
Brace insisted that Arthur should also go away, and leave him alone to
finish the delicate and dangerous job of loading the shell, lowering it
into position, and exploding it.
The boy begged to be allowed to stay, declaring that he was not in the
least afraid, and would keep as still as a mouse. But Brace would not
listen for a moment to his pleadings, and very slowly the little fellow
walked away to what he considered a safe distance, though it was not
nearly so far as the men had gone.
At this time the empty shell, which was a large tin tube about twenty
feet long, was, with its anchor attached, hanging in the well so that
its upper end was just above the surface. It hung from a very shallow
iron hook, at the end of the stout cord arranged for the purpose; and
Brace Barlow now proceeded slowly and cautiously to pour the
nitro-glycerine into it. The stuff was the color of soft soap, and about
as thick as syrup.
He had been thus engaged but a few minutes, when Arthur, who was nearer
to him than anybody else, heard him call, “Come here, quick, somebody,
and help me!”
Without a moment’s hesitation or thought of fear, the brave little
fellow ran swiftly to the derrick, exclaiming, as he reached it, “Here I
am, Brace! What do you want?”
“You here, you dear little chap!” cried the torpedo man, “I didn’t mean
that you should come; but perhaps after all you will do better than
another, and I must have help at once. You see the hook has slipped off
the shell, and I only caught the torpedo in time to save it from
dropping and exploding before I was ready. Then the weight of the cord
pulled the hook up so that I can’t reach it. Now if you can climb up the
side of the derrick, holding the drill rope in close to you till you
reach the proper height, then swing out, catch hold of that hook, and
slide down the drill rope with it in your hand, you will do what I want
as well as if you were the biggest man in the world. Do you think you
can?”
“I can try,” replied the boy, who took in the whole situation at a
glance, and he at once began to climb the ladder that led to the top of
the tall derrick.
It seemed that while Brace was filling the torpedo, and had nearly
completed his task, he found it necessary to shift the position of the
shell slightly. As he lifted it, the shallow hook slipped from the bail,
or handle of stout copper wire, and flew up just beyond his reach. To
let go of the torpedo was out of the question, for it would have fallen
down the well and probably exploded from concussion with the iron tubing
lining the hole before it had gone many feet. This explosion would have
fired the quart or more of glycerine still remaining in one of the cans
on the derrick floor, and Brace Barlow would instantly have disappeared
from human view. The weight of the torpedo was so great that he could
not support it very long; and so, unless assistance came to him promptly
when he called, he must have let the thing drop, and suffered the
consequences.
But help had come promptly; and a twelve-year-old boy, forgetting all
thoughts of danger, and urged on by the love he bore his friend, was
climbing the derrick, swinging out into space on the heavy drill rope,
clutching the dangling iron hook, and sliding down with it in his hand.
Then, instead of timidly reaching it to Brace, he stepped boldly up and
attached it to the copper bail of the torpedo that was cutting deep into
the flesh of the strong hand that held it, and must in another minute
have let it go.
As the well-shooter, with a pale face, rose from his strained position,
he clasped the boy in his arms, exclaiming: “Little one, you have done
for me this day what any man might be proud of doing for a friend; and,
so long as I live, I will never forget the service nor cease to be
indebted to you.”
When the filling of the torpedo was completed, it was cautiously lowered
a thousand feet to the bottom of the well, the “Go Devil,” a heavy,
pointed bit of iron that was to explode it, was dropped, and, seizing
Arthur in his arms, Brace Barlow ran swiftly from the spot.
A few seconds later the solid earth was shaken and there was a heavy but
muffled roar. Directly afterwards a vast column of oil shot up through
the derrick sixty feet into the air, and fell back to earth in a
glistening cloud of amber-colored spray. The shot was a perfect success;
and for months afterwards the old well again flowed at the rate of
twenty barrels a day.
As Brace and his little friend rode homewards they stopped in the first
lonely bit of forest to explode the still dangerous but empty
nitro-glycerine cans. This was done by placing them on the ground,
lighting the end of a short fuse attached to a cap thrust into one of
them, and driving rapidly away. The explosion was terrific, and its roar
was like that of a hundred-pounder gun. Arthur said it was better than
any Fourth of July he had ever known.