A LIGHT WITHOUT MATCHES
Phil’s proposition to light without a match one of the candles
discovered in the cellarway of the probable former residence of a family
of French refugees interested every one of his imprisoned companions.
None of them was incredulous. All were sufficiently experienced in human
resourcefulness to give attention to even a seemingly impossible scheme
when it came from an intelligent young man under circumstances of urgent
necessity. Indeed, one of them, suspecting at once the nature of
Sergeant Speed’s plan, inquired quickly:
“How are you going to do it—rub sticks?”
“You’ve hit it about right,” answered Phil. “But it’s getting dark, and
we’ve got to hustle if we’re going to be able to do anything. Any of you
fellows got a knife?”
There was not a pocketknife among them. All had been thoroughly searched
after being brought back behind the enemy lines.
“Well, never mind,” said Phil. “I found a strong paring knife in the
cellarway and it seems to be pretty sharp. Now, here is what I want:
Several of you fellows hunt about over the floor and woodwork and see if
you can find a loose board. If you can get hold of a loose end of a
board rip it up.”
“You don’t need to rip up any boards,” called out one of the fellows
from an adjoining room. “Here’s half a dozen short pieces—probably meant
as kindling for the fireplace.”
“Good!” exclaimed the volunteer fire-maker. “Bring them here near the
window.”
The comrade did as requested. A few moments later Phil had selected one
of the short boards and split it on his knee.
“I’m going to make a bow out of this,” he announced, as he began to
whittle. “Some of you fellows take these shavings and shred them against
something. I’ll need some punk to catch the sparks in.”
“There’s a brick fireplace in the next room,” said Dan. “Some of the
bricks are loose and we can pull out a couple and shred the whittlings
between them.”
“Good again,” pronounced the leader of the enterprise. “Now one of you
can help a whole lot by tying two or three shoestrings together for a
string of the bow I am preparing. Make the knots as small as you can.”
“That isn’t necessary,” a young fellow named Barber interposed. “I have
a stout cord five or six feet long that will suit your purpose fine. I
picked it up in camp a few days ago and put it in my pocket, thinking it
might come handy sometime.”
Phil received the string offered to him by the last speaker, and then
offered this suggestion by way of general advice on an important
subject:
“We ought to be careful not to pitch our voices too loud. Of course
there’s nothing in what has been said that could do us any particular
harm if it had been overheard by one of the guards. Still, there’s no
telling when we’ll discover something or concoct a scheme that it would
be advisable to keep to ourselves. We’d better tone our voices down so
that we have to lean forward to hear each other; then we’ll be on the
safe side.”
Several of the prisoners expressed their approval of this suggestion,
and the succeeding conversations were in lower tones.
The work progressed rapidly, considering the insufficiency of light in
the house. In a remarkably short time Phil and his assistants had
produced a rude bow two and a half feet long, a fireboard with a small
cone-shaped drill-socket, or pit, in one side, and a V-shaped trough
leading from the pit to the edge of the board; a “thunder-bird,” or
small block of wood with a cone-shaped socket in the center; a drill, or
a rounded piece of wood about fifteen inches long and sharpened at both
ends; and a handful of shredded shavings.
“There!” exclaimed Phil in subdued tone, as he surveyed the completed
task in the dusk now so heavy that he was sure the work could not have
progressed successfully many minutes longer. “I’m glad that’s done. By
the way, it’s fortunate that there are curtain shades still on the
windows. Let’s pull them down and then light one of the candles. We can
shade the light with our bodies so that there won’t be much danger of
its being seen outside. Be careful not to let the guards see you pulling
the shades down. It’s so dark now that they won’t notice what we’ve done
after they’re down.”
The shades were drawn down cautiously, and fourteen Marine prisoners of
war gathered around Phil to watch the hoped-for success of making fire
in the Old World after the manner developed and perfected by the
aborigines of the New.
But they did little actual watching before the first spark appeared.
Immediately after the drawing of the shades there was scarcely a glimmer
of light in the room, and Phil had to depend on his sense of feeling to
enable him to operate his fire-making contrivance.
“Now, all of you crowd around in as close a circle as you can without
hindering my movements,” he directed as he fitted the sharpened ends of
the drill into the pit of the fireboard, which he had laid on the floor,
and the pit of the “thunder-bird,” which he held in his left hand. Then
he began a sawing motion with the bow, the string of which was looped
around the drill.
A moment later all were listening eagerly to the merry hum of the drill
as it whirled around in its perpendicular position, the revolving motion
being produced by the drawing back and forth of the bow string looped
about it.
“Keep close together,” Phil warned. “Don’t let any light get through.
It’s coming. Smell the burning of the wood?”
Suddenly there was a tiny glow at the base of the drill.
“Quick with the punk,” said Phil eagerly.
Nobody could see the move, but nevertheless Dan dropped a pinch of the
dry shredded wood on the tiny brilliance.
The bright spot grew larger, the drill whirled more rapidly, a few more
pinches of punk were applied, and the glow burst into a flame.
“Now, the candle,” Phil directed, but even as he spoke the wick of one
of the illuminants was being applied to the burning punk.
Phil seized the lighted candle and started for the open trap-doorway.
“I’m going downstairs and see what I can find,” he announced, holding
his coat lapel over the flame. “All of you stand close together and help
keep any rays of this candle from getting to any of the windows.”
“How about the basement windows?” asked one of the men. “How’re you
going to keep the light from shining through them?”
“I’ll have to run a little risk on that account,” Phil replied; “but
I’ll shield the light all I can with my coat and when I get down there
I’ll set it in a corner where it can’t be seen through the window or
windows, if possible.”
The boy descended slowly, and the others, or such of them as could
obtain a view at once through the opening in the floor, gazed eagerly
after him. They were unable to see much, however, for he covered the
light with the lapel of his coat so carefully that the entire
illumination fell directly in front of him.
Phil’s first trip into the cellar was a short one. In less than five
minutes he returned to the head of the stairs without the light and
offered this startling announcement in low but clear tones:
“Fellows, I’ve made a great discovery. If you’re game, there’s a good
chance for us to escape.”