All the following day Grenville rested and slept, and when the night
closed in he saw with growing satisfaction that there was likely to be a
heavy storm, and this in itself indicated the probable advent of the
rainy season at no very distant date.
Not wishing to be delayed in any way, he set out early with Amaxosa, and
by midnight, when the storm broke, had arrived within pistol-shot of the
town.
By this time everywhere had grown dark as pitch, and looking up,
Grenville saw that all the stars had disappeared, whilst at that very
moment the surrounding landscape as well as the town stood revealed in a
blinding glare of lightning, instantly succeeded by a terrific clap of
thunder.
Quickly gaining the cover of the walls, Grenville hastily donned his
protective armour, exchanged weapons with the Zulu, much to that
worthy's astonishment, and then armed exactly as he had intended to be,
and with a dozen spare cartridges in his pocket, commanded Amaxosa to
return to the plateau as fast as he possibly could.
The indignation of the Zulu knew no bounds.
"Why," he said, "does my father distrust his faithful war-dog? Does he
fear that when the time of danger comes his son will not be there? Has
my father forgotten how the children of the Undi fought for him at the
narrow crossing by the River of Death, has he forgotten the battle of
the rock, the fight in the great black cavern, or the mighty struggle at
the eastern bridge, where the red blood flowed in streams? Does he not
remember how Amaxosa bore away the body of the Inkoos Winfield when he
had fallen by the bullets of the witch-finders, or how, with his own
hand and the box of lightning (Anglice bombshell), he slew five men and
destroyed their moving castle? Why does the Inkoos, my father, doubt
me? Amaxosa the son of Undi has but one heart, which beats true with
the heart of his father; and the poor Zulu war-dog has but one body, but
it would fain stand between the great white chief and the death he seeks
to meet."
Grenville was sincerely moved by this impassioned burst of feeling,
exhibited by a man usually so dignified and self-contained, and it took
him quite ten minutes before he could convince the chief of the wisdom
of his plan; but when he had at last succeeded, and somewhat pacified
his friend by accepting the loan of his war-club, the Zulu raised
himself to his full height, and shaking his spear at the city, delivered
himself thus:--
"Beware, witch-finders--beware, ye evil men! Touch but one hair upon
the head of my father, the great white chief, beloved of his faithful
children, and the sons of the Undi will rip open every fighting man in
your accursed land."
Then, grasping Grenville's hand, he stalked moodily away, and the last
our friend saw of him, by the help of a vivid flash of lightning, was as
he slowly entered the cover half a mile off, walking in a heavy and
dejected manner, with his head sunk upon his breast.
And now our hero proceeded to effect his entry into the city; for if the
rain came on, as it usually does in these latitudes, in the form of a
vast sheet of water, the little river might become too much swollen for
him to obtain his usual safe and easy access.
Had he been able to count upon the night being as dark as it proved to
be, and had the lightning not been so much in evidence, Grenville would
gladly have taken the Zulu with him; but he well knew that where a white
man might possibly pass undetected amongst a half-paralysed and wholly
terror-stricken mob of his own colour, the black skin of his faithful
friend would at once draw down upon him stern and unfailing punishment,
or rather retribution.
The thunder now sounded like one uninterrupted roll of heavy artillery,
and the utter blackness of the atmosphere was cut by the almost
incessant flashes of lightning, which, to our hero's discomfiture, kept
the whole countryside in a constant and brilliant state of illumination.
Creeping carefully on, Grenville soon gained the welcome shadow of the
houses, and at this moment the storm broke with added fury, the wind
howling as if all the fiends of hell were let loose, and, sweeping along
the earth, carried with it a perfect avalanche of stones, leaves, and
branches. Blast followed blast, and crash succeeded crash, until, with
a shock like an earthquake, two large buildings suddenly gave way and
came to the ground like houses of cards, crushing their wretched inmates
under their ruins, and drawing half of East Utah to the scene of the
calamity.
Silently gliding away like the spirit of evil, Grenville at last
approached the public offices of the town, which consisted of a large
rough building pierced with one small door below, at the rear, and
entered from the front by a handsome flight of steps through a portal of
commanding appearance.
Towards the back door, however, Grenville directed his tortuous course,
constantly hiding, yet cautiously and continuously approaching, until,
hidden by a stone buttress, he stood within a dozen feet of the little
door, and within half that distance of the guard pacing up and down
before it with his musket on his shoulder, and from time to time casting
uneasy glances at the sky. Waiting for the next flash, Grenville sprang
upon the sentry and felled him like a log with a blow from Amaxosa's
war-club, and with a second blow from the same weapon burst open the
door and dragged the man's body inside.
The first drops of rain now began to fall, and in another moment the
water was coming down in sheets, and Grenville knew that for some
minutes at least, the absence of the sentry was likely to remain
unperceived.
Striking a light, he found himself in a sort of low cellar, and seeing
another door before him, he burst this in, and, to his complete
satisfaction, found himself exactly where he had hoped to be, yet feared
the possibility of penetrating. There before his eyes lay piled up
barrel upon barrel of what--wine? No, gentle reader. Richard
Grenville's desperate scheme was now realised beyond his fondest hopes,
and he stood _in the powder magazine_ of East Utah.
Grenville lost no time, but knocking in the heads of a number of barrels
with his club, he filled his hat with powder, and laid a thick train
across the ground to the outer door; this operation, however, took some
little time, for it had unfortunately to be performed entirely in the
dark; and when our friend thought he had reached the door he was
considerably taken aback to find he was pouring powder on the dead face
of the hapless sentinel. Quietly striking a match, Grenville with the
utmost caution inspected his work. He found the train perfect, and was
about to leave the place, when a low horrified exclamation caused him to
turn, and find himself confronted by several Mormons.
These men were not slow to see through his intentions, and with an awful
yell rushed out of the place, and tried to close the door upon him.
Grenville was, however, too quick for them, braining one man, who fell
across the door and blocked it open.
The street beyond, he saw, was already alive with his foes, who were
rushing away from him in every direction, and dashing outside he fired
his revolver into the train and flew along the street towards the river.
For one instant the success of the plot hung upon a thread, and that
thread was the dead sentinel His death in point of fact almost saved the
Mormons from the fearful calamity which was now rushing madly upon them.
The miserable man's blood had trickled along the floor and damped the
powder, which fizzed and sputtered in the gory stream, and for one brief
instant seemed to be extinguished; then a single spark caught the dry
material beyond the tiny crimson rivulet, the serpentine flame spurted
across the rooms in one lightning flash of fire, and in the next moment
East Utah was shaken to its foundations by the explosion of fifty
barrels of gunpowder, which rent the earth and seemed to dwarf into
utter insignificance the thunder of the heavens, which still pealed and
crashed overhead.
For the succeeding moments nothing could be heard but the crash of
falling houses, accompanied rather than succeeded by the awful cry of
"Fire! Fire!" And almost immediately the whole city, or rather what
was left of it, could be plainly seen in the fearful conflagration which
broke out.
Fortunate was it for the hapless Mormons that that night of terror was a
night of storm, for had the tropic rain not stood their friend, every
soul in the place would have been left houseless and homeless; as it
was, however, the sheets of water which were teeming down, soon
extinguished the fires on every side, and the city once more settled
down into ominous and tangible darkness.
The author of all this ruin was meantime speeding in the direction of
the river, but as he turned the last corner, only a hundred yards from
the water, he ran right into a mob of Mormons, to whom a vivid flash of
lightning revealed his hated and now well-known personality. With a
hoarse cry like the angry roar of wild beasts they went at him, looking
for an easy victory, but planting his back against the wall Grenville
used his revolver freely, laughing in their faces as they discharged at
him gun after gun at point-blank range without penetrating his singular
armour. Then, taking advantage of the darkness which succeeded an
unusually brilliant flash of lightning, he charged through them, killing
two or three with his war-club, and then dived boldly into the stream,
which was now boiling down its angry course towards the River of Death.
Thither Grenville dared not go; against the stream he found it
impossible to swim; so, rather than be drowned like a dog, he sprang out
of the water and again faced his enemies, determination in his
countenance, strength and activity in every nerve of his body, but
without a shadow of hope in his heart. Once more getting to the wall,
Grenville fought desperately with his club, killing man after man, and
then, when he felt himself getting weak, pitched his revolver into the
river and again prepared for a final charge. At this moment, however, a
cowardly Mormon who had gained an adjacent roof, dropped a great piece
of rock full upon our hero's defenceless head, and he fell to the earth
stunned and unconscious.
When Grenville regained his senses, he found himself pinioned hand and
foot, and lying in a great hall, which was thickly packed with Mormons
of both sexes.
Anxious to get an idea of his position he did not immediately open his
eyes, but he was keenly watched, and detecting him in the act of trying
to look through his half-open eyelids, Grenville's guards brutally
jerked him on to his feet, one of them calling out, "The prisoner has
come to, your Holiness." Pulling himself together, though feeling very
weak, our friend saw he was gazing down upon a perfect sea of faces, and
this multitude, as soon as he stood up, gave vent to one common roar of
vengeance and execration.
Coolly turning his back upon them with a gesture of ineffable contempt,
Grenville found himself face to face with the Mormon Trinity, and for a
few moments the Holy Three gazed wonderingly upon this man who had
penetrated their secret kingdom, worsted and defeated them at every
turn, held them up to the ridicule of their own people, slaughtered at
least one-fourth of the whole nation, and finally had, single-handed,
almost entirely destroyed their town, and at one fell swoop wrested from
their grasp the precious gunpowder which was to have sustained and
defended them for many years to come.
On his part, Grenville was quietly saying to himself that these three
men were very much what he had expected them to prove.
There was one venerable old man, with snowy white hair; his age must
have been quite eighty years, and his countenance, though stern, had a
certain appearance of benevolence upon it. The next man--his son beyond
a doubt--was possessed of all his father's bad features without any of
the good; taken all through, he had a cruel face and one which was,
moreover, weak and vacillating, as well as sinister and sensual. The
third member of this singular triumvirate was an enormous fellow,
standing at least six feet three, and broad in proportion, a repulsive
countenance, with villainy, murder, and rapine written upon every line
of it--a man with the face of a satyr and the manners of a bear. Such
was Ishmael Warden, the latter day Saint who clearly dominated the
Mormon Trinity in East Utah.
For fully a minute Grenville waited the pleasure of his captors, and
then the oldest member of the Trinity addressed him.
"What is your name, prisoner?" he asked.
"Richard Grenville, a subject of her Britannic Majesty," was the answer,
given in clear and contemptuous tones.
"You are accused of the crime of wilful murder, and will be tried in
three days. Guards, remove prisoner."
"And," bellowed the Satyr, "if he should escape, remember your life goes
for his."
Grenville was then dragged away by his captors, who threw him into a
damp underground cell, apparently cut out of the rock. Here, without
food, water, or light, they left him, and, fastening the door upon him,
placed an armed sentry outside.
As he was led away from the Common Hall, Grenville had noticed that the
night had become clear and fine again, and through the grated door he
could see the rays of silvery moonlight, and thought regretfully to
himself that it was now shimmering down upon the plateau in all its
radiant glory, and lighting up the anxious faces of the friends waiting
for one who would return to them no more.
He thoroughly realised his awful position. The Mormon prophet's words
meant that in three days' time Richard Grenville would be but dust and
ashes, and that fearless and generous spirit of his would have returned
to the God who gave it.
Even so, he had played for a desperate stake and won, but the victory
was to be paid for with his life; a light price, it seemed to him, in
return for the practical destruction of the Mormon town and the perfect
future security of his own friends.
Grenville tried to engage the guard in conversation, but the surly brute
began to whistle a tune instead of replying. Our hero then laid himself
down on the rocky floor, and worn out with fatigue, and still weak from
the effects of the blow he had received, slept soundly, until he was
aroused by the entrance of the guard in the morning, with breakfast for
him, which, it need hardly be said, was most acceptable.
The door was left open whilst Grenville ate, and the guard, who had been
relieved by an officer, supported by two subordinates, seemed to be
quite a different class of man from the surly warrior of the previous
night. The new sentinel, in fact, commenced to chaff Grenville while he
ate, saying that he was surprised that a man of his ability, who had
killed so many people, should have allowed himself to be floored with a
stone; but our friend laughingly responded that he never was remarkable
for being thick-headed.
He then asked the officer when and how he was to depart this life.
"Oh!" said the other, "don't be in a hurry, we've hardly begun to like
you yet."
And in this manner he fenced with all the questions put to him.
"And now," said the Mormon, when Grenville had finished eating, "I am
commissioned to place these irons upon your hands and feet if you choose
to be at liberty in the Square here; but you are to have the option of
staying in this black hole of a prison if you prefer it."
Grenville gladly accepted the alternative of being fettered, thinking he
might as well see as much of the sun as he could while he had the
chance.
The day passed quietly enough; he was well fed and carefully guarded,
but the men round him seemed decent people, and not at all of the
bullying type.
Just about tea-time, as Grenville was sitting listlessly thinking, the
dull boom of a distant explosion broke upon his ear. The guards stood
still, gazed inquiringly at one another, and at that moment another
smothered report followed.
Seeing Grenville smile, one of the men turned to him quickly, and asked
him what the joke was.
"Why," replied he, "I was just wondering, when I heard the first
explosion, how many of the men you sent against my friends this morning
would come back alive; but when I heard the second one, I came to the
satisfactory conclusion that not one of them would ever see East Utah
again."
The guard looked angry for a moment, but then smiled and said, "You are
a bold man; however, we shall see."
Soon after, Grenville was hurried away to his prison, and that night he
heard wailing and lamentations in the city, and knew that he had guessed
the truth, that another fearful calamity had befallen the Mormons, and
that his friends at the plateau were now practically safe from further
molestation.