THEY FIRE THE FUSE
Satan used a modification of the deck bear for cleaning his decks; that
is to say, a box filled with stones having a rough mat nailed under it.
The deck having been sprinkled with sand, the bear had to be pulled
backward and forward after the fashion of a carpet sweeper. This was
Ratcliffe’s job, and he was not sorry when it was over.
Dinner was served at eight bells, and getting along toward one o’clock
the _Natchez_ and _Juan_ were flying all sorts of flags on the tepid
breeze as a signal, evidently, that it was time to get to business.
Ratcliffe made out the red and white flag indicating H, the triangular
blue with the white ball, the red cross on a white ground, and the
white with the blue square,—H. D. V. S.
“What are they trying to say?” he asked.
“Oh, them flags,” replied Satan. “_They’re_ not tryin’ to say anythin’,
only flyin’ to show time’s up. Cark hasn’t got a full set of the
c’mercial code; wouldn’t know how to use them, neither. Now if you’re
ready we’ll put off. Jude will stick here to keep ship.”
Jude protested.
“Why, you’ll see the blow-up from here a durned sight better than from
the boat,” said Satan.
“I want to see her innards when the deck’s off,” said Jude.
“Why, Lord bless me! you’ll have days to see them in,” said Satan, “and
there’s no knowin’ what may happen when the blow-up comes, what with
flyin’ timbers and muck. I’ll come back and bring you off when the
powder’s fired. I can’t say fairer than that.”
They got into the dinghy and shoved off, Jude watching them.
Sellers was waiting for them on the reef, and Cleary. Their boats were
on the strip of beach surrounded by the crews, and a couple of fellows
on the wreck were putting the last touches to the preparation of the
charge. Sellers was holding what seemed a length of thick white cord in
his hand.
“Here’s the fuse,” said he. “I had it left over with the barrel from
that last wrecking business we did in the fall. It’s a five-minutes’
fuse.”
“Oh, is it?” said Satan, handling the thing. “And where’s your
guarantee? S’posin’ it only takes a minute? And five minutes is none
too much for the man that fires it to get clear of the reef and put
out.”
“That’s true,” said Sellers, “and one of you will have to do the firin’
business, seein’ I’m lame.”
“What’s lamed you?”
“Fell on the deck this mornin’ over a slush tub one of them damn dagoes
left lyin’ in the dark. Near put my knee out.”
“Then Cleary will do the trick,” said Satan.
Cleary laughed. “Not me! I’m not lame, but it ain’t my job. Runnin’
over rocks don’t suit me, and I reckon the man that lays a light to
that thing will want to be a boundin’ kangaroo.”
“Instead of a damned ass like y’self,” said Satan. “Come on. I’ll light
it, I’m not afeard.”
They clambered over the rocks, crossed the rock bridge, and gained the
wreck.
The little barrel had been well and truly laid, the top almost flush
with the level of the stuff covering the deck.
“We got right through the deck plankin’,” said Sellers, “or to a
crossbeam. Wood’s most dry-rotted, and it’ll be a nacheral mercy if the
powder don’t blow the whole coffee shop to blazes right down to the
reef. Here’s the hole for the fuse.”
While they were examining the fuse-hole, Ratcliffe took notice of the
cuts radiating starlike from the charge-hole that had been made in the
deck-casing. When he turned again, Satan, with the aid of Sellers, had
fixed the fuse. The Spanish sailors who had been at work had taken
their departure and were already down by the boats, leaving only four
men on the wreck,—Satan, Sellers, Cleary and himself.
Satan rose up, clapped the knees of his trousers as if to knock dust
off them, and produced a yellow box of Swedish matches from his pocket.
“Look here!” said Ratcliffe. “It’s not fair. Let’s draw lots who’ll
fire the thing.”
“Not me,” said Satan. “I wouldn’t trust one of them two with a box of
matches, let alone a dollar. Now then, scatter for the boats!”
Then to Ratcliffe, as Sellers and Cleary made off, “Stand by ready to
shove the dinghy off when you see me coming.”
“All right,” said the other; “but I’ll stick by you if you like.”
“I reckon two don’t run quicker than one,” said Satan. “Off with you,
and, if I’m blown to blazes, look after the kid.”
When Ratcliffe reached the strip of beach the boats of the _Juan_ and
_Natchez_ had shoved off. He could see the figure of Carquinez at the
after rail of the _Juan_ and Jude watching from the _Sarah_. He pulled
the dinghy down a bit more to the water and then, turning, looked at
the wreck.
Satan was standing against the skyline, now he was down on his knees,
and now he was up again. The fuse had evidently been fired, but he did
not move; stood evidently looking to see that it was burning properly,
and then moved off, walking, not running, and not even hurrying himself.
Then he came clambering over the rocks, reached the dinghy, and they
pushed off.
“Well, you are a cool chap,” said Ratcliffe. “I’d have run.”
“And broke your leg, maybe. There’s no danger unless a spark got at the
powder. The durned thing was sparkin’ and spittin’ like all possessed
when I left it. I reckon that’s why Sellers got cold feet. We’re out
far enough now.” He ceased rowing, and they hung drifting.
Ratcliffe looked round. The other boats were much farther out. The
tepid wind had almost died off, so that the flags on the _Juan_ and
_Natchez_ hung in wisps. They could hear the wash of the water on the
reef and the occasional lamentation of a gull. No other sound broke the
silence of the blue and gorgeous afternoon.
“Seems like as if everything was listenin’, don’t it?” said Satan,
wiping his forehead. “The bust ought to have come by this. Wonder if
the durned thing has fizzled out?”
A gull made derisive answer and across the satin smooth swell a hail
came from the _Juan_.
“That’s Cark,” said Satan, “makin’ kind inquiries, blister him!”
“There she goes!” cried Ratcliffe.
A jet of flame and a column of smoke sprang from the reef, followed by
a clap of thunder that could have been heard at Rum Cay.
Flying filth and deck planking filled the air, and on top of all came
the yelling of a thousand gulls.
The dinghy jumped as though from the blow of a great fist—then
silence, and over the reef a filthy dun-colored cloud of smoke curling
upward like a djin.
Satan seized the sculls and headed for the beach. The boats of the
_Juan_ and _Natchez_, already under way, were rowing as if for a
wager, but the dinghy had the lead. They beached her, hauled her up
a foot, and started over the rocks, running this time, heedless of
broken limbs, Satan leading like the bounding kangaroo of Cleary’s and
whooping as he went.
The rock bridge was still intact, but nearly the whole of the after
part of the deck was gone.
“Go careful!” cried Satan. He got down on hands and knees and,
crawling, followed by Ratcliffe, leaned over the break and looked.
Ratcliffe cried out in horror.