MUTINY.
“Flunked!” choked out the rancher, with a bitter little laugh. He handed
the pistol to Tom.
“Here, you try. I’m free to admit that I haven’t the grit to go through
with it again.”
Tom took the pistol almost mechanically. His disappointment was as keen
as that of the others. They had keyed themselves up to the last notch of
courage and determination, it seemed, and now it was all to be done over
again. No wonder that the Kanakas’ reserve gave way under the strain,
and that they sat chattering hysterically as Tom dully examined the
chambers of the revolver.
Right then he made a discovery that startled him. Their next attempt
would be their last in very fact. Evidently Lake had been firing off his
pistol before they set out for the hills—target practice was a common
diversion of his,—and only two shells had been left in the chamber when
Tom appropriated the weapon. Chillingworth had fired one, leaving a
solitary cartridge undischarged.
[Illustration: The sharp crack of the pistol was followed by another
roar, more awful and awe-inspiring.]
Without another word—without even notifying them of his discovery,—Tom
balanced the revolver for an instant in his hand, and then taking fair
aim hesitated no longer, but pulled the trigger.
Hardly had his finger crooked before the sharp crack of the pistol was
followed by another roar, infinitely more awful and awe-inspiring. A
blast of hot gas swept back in their faces, and Tom felt himself being
picked up bodily by some mysterious force and dashed against the rock.
He realized no more. How much later he recovered his senses he did not
know, but he opened his eyes to find daylight streaming into the cave.
Under the tremendously powerful forces of Professor Dingle’s explosive
the great rocking stone had been, not blown to bits, but literally
melted away. But this they did not find out till later. Tom’s first task
was to arouse the others who lay in a semi-stupor all about him. He got
the water canteen which had been brought with them and dashed some of
its contents in his companions’ faces. Presently they began to stir.
Except for a cut above the professor’s eye, where a flying stone had
struck him, they were uninjured.
But the gases of the explosive had given them all splitting headaches,
and as soon as they had recovered enough to be able to stand upright
they hastened toward the glorious daylight which came pouring in—the
daylight they thought they had forever bidden farewell to.
The storm had passed away, only distant grumblings of thunder remaining
to tell of it. The sky was blue and clear once more. The lowness of the
sun showed that it must be late in the afternoon. They must, therefore,
have lain unconscious for some time. The first thing to be done was, of
course, to make all haste away from the spot. A glance about them showed
that by good fortune the ledge of rock remained intact. But at its edge,
and quite close to them, lay a curious object which it was some time
before they made out to be a rifle.
It must have been Simon Lake’s, and the weapon had probably been torn
from his pocket by some freak of the same shaft of lightning that sent
him to his death in the depths below. The electric fluid had actually
melted the steel and fused stock, lock and barrel into one mass of
molten metal. Tom shuddered as he thought of the shock that must have
passed through Lake when the bolt struck.
A feeling of gloom came over the party, for base as Lake had been in
life the manner of his death was surely a terrible one. Perhaps it was a
retribution for his wild, lawless life. Tom at least felt that perhaps
this was so. One thing was certain, the depths of the narrow rift would
prove his sepulchre, for to have recovered his body from those
profundities would have been impossible.
“Boss, me think me know um way to de cove wot bad man tell about,” said
Monday suddenly, as they were discussing their next step.
“You do? Good boy!” cried Tom; “then lead ahead.”
“Yes, go in front,” said the professor, “but first tell us how you come
to know anything about the path.”
“Long time ago, boss, as I tell you, me here in whaler,” said Monday;
“captain he bad man. Beat me and Tuesday. Pretty soon we desert. We come
hide up in here. Find plenty paths every place.”
Before many minutes they had climbed the steep flight of natural steps
leading to the cliff summit, and stood there with a glorious panorama at
their feet. At least the beauty was there to be enjoyed had they had the
inclination or the opportunity to gaze upon it.
To the south lay the settlement. Its huts looked like tiny toys from
that height, and at that distance. Between them and the settlement the
dark gorge stretched forbiddingly, and beyond the gorge the eye rested
on the endless wastes of greenish-brown thicket. All about was stretched
the sea, and perhaps they did scan this rather more closely than they
had the rest of the outlook. But if any of them had hoped to spy a
vessel—as men will hope for vain things—they were disappointed. The
vast stretches of ocean about them were as empty of life as a desert.
Under the sun the waves glistened and danced as if in mockery of their
helplessness.
“Well, what’s the course now?” inquired Mr. Chillingworth presently,
with an assumption of cheerfulness.
“We will head through the bush under Monday’s guidance,” said the
professor, “and find the boat which Lake mentioned as being moored in
the cove. When we have found it we will row as close to the settlement
as we dare and try in some way to secure food. But, of course, you do
not need to be told that my main object in going there is to recover my
boy. It was a grievous oversight not to have brought him with us; but it
cannot be helped now. I think it only fair to add that if any one is
opposed to my program that I will strike off alone when we reach the
coast and the rest of you can take the boat.”
“As if we would!” said Tom. “No, sir, we’ll stand by you, and if we get
recaptured trying to get your boy, why, we won’t be any worse off than
we were before.”
“That’s right,” agreed Mr. Chillingworth, “we’ll stay with you till the
finish, professor.”
As Monday and Tuesday had appeared to entertain no doubts as to their
place being at the professor’s side, no more words were exchanged. A
start was at once made down the rough path Monday declared would lead
them in due course to the cove where the boat, which Zeb Hunt and Lake
had used on their visits to the cave, was moored. After some time spent
in laboriously traversing slippery rocks and pushing through thorny
scrub, they emerged at length on the shores of a small cove.
Tom gave a shout as he discerned under some overhanging bushes the
outline of a small white boat secured to the same clump which partially
concealed it from view.
“The boat!” he cried. “So Lake did tell us the truth, after all.”
“Unfortunate fellow,” said the professor; “I am glad that almost his
last words to us were not fabrications.”
The little craft was soon cast loose, and with the two pairs of oars
found in her, the Kanakas made her fairly skim over the water. Although
they were by no means out of their peril yet, and were tired, hungry and
thirsty, the adventurers could not repress a low cheer as the boat
forged forward. At least they had a good boat under them, and the ocean
before them when once they had secured the professor’s little boy and a
store of provisions.
The sun’s disc was almost dipping below the western rim of the sea as
they emerged from the cove, and the Kanakas, keeping cautiously close to
the shore, began to pull down the coast toward the settlement. By the
time they were approaching a little wooded point jutting out from the
main part of the island it was almost dark.
“Beyond that point lies the settlement, according to my calculations,”
said Mr. Chillingworth. “I think our best plan would be to run the boat
ashore at this side of the point and then clamber over the little neck
of land. In that way we can see what is going on and how the land lies
without exposing our lives unnecessarily.”
The others agreed with him that this would be the best course to pursue,
so drawing the boat up on the beach, taking care that some trees
sheltered it from view, they set out to cross the neck of land.
It was almost as rough traveling as on the trail, and in their exhausted
condition it took them longer than it ordinarily would to attain the
eminence. When they finally reached the summit, however, and were able
to see the other side, they saw that Mr. Chillingworth’s guess had been
right. The settlement lay at their feet. In the dim dusk the outlines of
the big barnlike place where the Chinese were housed, towered up
starkly. Out in the lagoon they could see the dark outlines of the
schooner as she swung at her anchorage.
But as they gazed there came a startling sound: the sharp report of a
pistol, followed by a regular fusillade of shots.
The uproar seemed to come from the centre of the collection of huts and
shanties, and down toward the beach. While they stood gazing, dumb with
astonishment at this new surprise, a tongue of flame flickered upward
from one of the structures, and rapidly grew larger. The conflagration
momentarily roared higher, crimsoning the sky and sea with a lurid glow.
“It’s the store!” cried Tom as he gazed at the raging fire, “something
terrible has happened.”
“Mutiny and riot!” struck in Mr. Chillingworth, as a wild noise of
shouts and yells and confused shooting was borne to their ears.