EXPERIMENTAL GUNPOWDER
Our work of creating things of flint began that same day, although the
afternoon was far advanced when we arrived. I was in a fever to complete
our preparations against any future aggressions on the part of the
enemy, particularly as I had a growing conviction that Grin, the
deserter and treacherous devil, had gone straight away to hunt for the
Blacks. I believed his sole intention was that of betraying his kind and
thereby of wreaking a vengeance for all the punishments which he had
rightfully undergone.
All the questions I could ask about the fellow, through the medium of my
few words in Linkish and my signs, which were supplemented by my native
language, failed to elicit any satisfactory information. Having too much
to do to spend my time in thinking of the beast, I set my selected
assistants to work at splitting out slabs of flint.
The greater part of the pebbles, I had my fellows bury in a moist, shady
place, for, labour as diligently as we might, we could not complete the
work on a third of the stone, as I knew, before the hot air would begin
to render the stuff as hard as glass and quite unworkable.
During all next day we were at it, hammering, chipping and forming. Four
fellows, clever at binding were heading the arrows already provided, and
lashing hatchets and knives to handles. That night, by way of a pleasant
diversion, I secured some fragments of charcoal, and reducing this and
some of my sulphur and nitre to a flour, mixed the three together and
ground the grayish substance for a time, between two stones. Such a dust
arose that I was obliged to sprinkle the stuff with a few drops of
water. This seemed to help it in combining, but do my best, I could not
make the mixture resemble gunpowder in the slightest degree. Having just
about decided to give the task over, as one presenting difficulties too
great for me to cope with successfully, I took a palm-full of my
material and, by way of experiment, threw it on the fire.
Instantly the well-known hiss resulted and a dense cloud of pungent
smoke arose with such a quickness that I stumbled backward from the
place, involuntarily. Only Fatty and one or two others of the Links
beheld this exhibition, the others being already asleep. The fright
depicted on the faces of this small but select audience was a wonderful
thing to see. I determined at once to set about burning a quantity of
charcoal, for already I had conceived an idea that it might be possible
to utilise the explosive to advantage, and I intended at least to give
my scheme a trial.
On the day that followed, the first thing I did was to have the Links
collect a lot of wood, the softest and driest I could find. This I
heaped up in a conical pile and walled in snugly with turf and a little
of the clay, which was everywhere about us. When it was lighted and
smoking slightly through various small chinks, I banked it up around the
bottom and returned to the work on the flints.
Before we got through with those pebbles we had rough but serviceable
arrow-heads by the hundreds, knives in plenty, hatchets for all, with
some to spare, and sixty or eighty spear-heads, which were bound to
long, stout hafts, in the regular course of finishing up. I reserved for
my own personal arsenal two axes, two knives and fifty of the finest
arrows in the lot. Also I assumed a general command, as custodian, over
all the weapons and utensils in the tribe’s possession.
No sooner were the armaments complete than I went to my powder-making
with indefatigable vigour, thankful for every day that passed without
bringing the foe, which I dreaded and thoroughly expected to see come
swarming up the slope from the woods. I made my fellows pound up
charcoal till some were nearly as black as the enemy for whom we were
preparing. The powdered stuff we placed in the baskets, several of which
I plastered inside with clay, which dried hard and firm. The saltpetre,
which we dug and brought up the hill, was treated in a similar manner,
as was also the sulphur. Anyone to have seen me directing this business
would have thought I intended to supply an old-fashioned navy with
explosives.
During these days I in nowise neglected the archery practice, which
alone could make my warriors capable of using the weapons to advantage.
We shot at a target the size of a man, which I fashioned out of skins
and heavy palm leaves. This being backed by a sort of hedge, constructed
of bamboo and more of the leaves, we lost but few of the arrows
employed. And the arrows used were not from our pointed stock, though
they were whittled sharp on the end, so that many pierced the target as
neatly as a bullet. Thirty of my force grew decidedly efficient, being
accurate, strong shots who could be relied upon to perform good work on
any attacking party. We also used the spears, in the throwing of which
the Links took great delight. I was sure that come what might, the
fellows would never again be so primitive as they were when first I met
them in the jungle. Whether I left them or not, they would hereafter
possess weapons which would place them far above the Blacks in point of
capacity to kill.
One of the greatest difficulties with which I had to contend, while
making my powder, was the frequent coming of rain. This threatened to
make it all too wet to be of any use. There were also many days when a
thick, damp fog rolled upward from the lower levels, slowly evolving
into a ponderous cloud which covered all the jungle-world. The baskets
containing the pulverized materials were doubly protected, however, by
skins, and the roofs of the special dug-outs which we made, but the
roofs were never entirely water-tight.
Being unacquainted with the recognised formulæ for mixing various
powders, I simply took about three parts charcoal to one each of nitre
and sulphur, and set the Links to grinding these substances together,
slightly dampening the whole as before. The grayish stuff, which I
regarded finally as the best product of which we were capable, I stored
away, next to my own shelter. There must have been two hundred pounds of
this powder, the making of all of which had only occupied us for a short
time, after the several ingredients in their rough state had been
assembled.
In order to impress the tribe with the urgent necessity of keeping all
fire away from the baskets, I dropped a glowing coal into a handful as
it lay on a rock. The vivid flash did so much to accomplish my purpose
that I could hardly get the Links to approach the dangerous mixture
under any circumstances whatsoever.
My next step now was to visit the swamp where the thicket of bamboo
flourished. In this place, as I had expected, there were all sizes of
this peculiar tree-reed, but the largest ones appealed to me most
strongly. I carried off what I thought I should need, and selecting the
driest of my stock, cut off a large section behind the joint, on one
end, and in front of the next joint on the other. The piece then
resembled quite a cannon, without further ado.
This thing I was aware was much too brittle to stand an explosion, but I
meant to try it, nevertheless. To begin with I bored a vent through the
hard, thick shell, near the end that was naturally plugged. Then I
reinforced that plug by lashing a stone across the end firmly. Next I
split some more bamboo and laid the strips lengthwise along the barrel,
thus doubling the thickness, after which I had the whole thing stoutly
wound about with tough, slender creepers, till I was sure it would
resist a powerful tendency to burst.
What to do for a fuse, when at length my piece of mountain artillery was
loaded—with powder and rocks—puzzled me no little.
The thing was “mounted” half way down the hill, pointed toward an
imaginary foe, and was amply weighted with rocks at the sides and on the
top. At length I hit upon a plan for the fuse. It was simply to split a
creeper, the outside of which we frequently employed, and to pull out
the smooth, wire-like core inside, and then to fill the space so left
hollow, with powder. In the sun this shell of the creeper dried out
rapidly, rolling up so tightly in the process that it squirmed itself
into several twists. This “habit” of the thing was exactly what was
required, for when the powder was laid along inside, the chances for it
to trickle out were exceedingly meagre.
About thirty feet of this fuse I laid to the “gun,” with stones along
its length to keep it properly in place. Then, with a thumping heart
under my shirt, I proceeded down the hill, alone, with a fire-brand
glowing hotly in my fist. I looked all about, when I came to the match,
and selected my path back up to the camp. Then I touched the end of the
creeper—and jerked my fire away, quickly.
There was no alarming sputter after all. I tried again. The creeper
smoked, giving forth a pungent odour, but the powder must have fallen
out for a short distance. I cut off six or seven inches and had the
satisfaction of seeing powder in plenty. This time it lighted and began
to spit in a hurry. I darted off, stopped, looked back, saw a tiny
smoke-snake running down the hill, and again I ran as hard as I could,
momentarily expecting something tremendous to happen behind my back.
To my surprise I reached the camp and nothing had occurred. I turned
about and looked, panting and yet attempting to hold my breath. There
was nothing to be seen, save the heap of rocks where my “battery” was
planted. I waited and waited. The seconds slipped by; the Links behind
me were as silent as the grave. My heart ceased its violent jumping; the
thing was going to prove a failure; the Links would think me a fool.
“I’ll have to go down and see what’s the matter,” I grumbled. “That fuse
is no good.”
I had taken two steps when suddenly a great flare of fire leaped upward,
the side of the hill appeared to fly into fragments and a roaring
detonation split the silence into a thousand ringing reverberations. A
cushion of air gave us all a push, and a huge geyser of smoke went
upward in rolling, billowy gushes. I wondered in that second, how many
pounds of that powder I had put in the “piece” in my natural anxiety to
give it a good, square trial.
Something screamed weirdly in the air, while we stood speechless, and
presently it came whirring down, a rod below the wall, striking the
ground with a sounding thud.
Yelling in dismay, the second they recovered power to do anything, the
Links fell over each other helter-skelter, in their great confusion, and
desire to take to the woods. As for myself, I laughed and laughed like a
veritable maniac, and threw my arms about myself and jumped in the air
repeatedly, as tickled with my exploit as a boy. Then I ran outside and
found my cannon, the thing which had whistled as it hurtled back to
earth.
It was a “goner” and no mistake. Black as a hat, ripped from muzzle to
breach, blown to pieces at the plugged-up end, it certainly gave the
appearance of having “gone through the war,” but it pleased me not a
whit the less.
“Why that’s all right,” I assured the surrounding stillness, “I’ll go to
work and make a lot of bamboo bombs.”