The Merry Fellows could not see the new adversaries, who were shut off from their view by the Esplanade wall. But William Ferney, who could see over the wall from his position on the terrace, had noticed them and was pointing them out.
His gestures were not understood. The crowd emerging from the Factory reached the door connecting the Esplanade with the quay and passed through it.
When the Merry Fellows saw them, they gave vent to a storm of howls. Breaking off their useless efforts, they seized their weapons and dashed upon the newcomers.
But it was no longer with Negroes that they had to contend. Armed with anything which came to hand, one with a blacksmith's hammer, another with a pair of tongs, yet another with a crude iron bar, the men from the Factory likewise dashed upon them. The struggle was terrible, and the air was filled with a deafening clamour. Streams of blood reddened the soil of the Esplanade, already strewn with the bodies of those who had fallen during the night.
Covering her eyes with her hands, Jane strove not to see that horrible sight. How many among the combatants were her friendsl She trembled for Barsac, for Amedee Florence, for kind hearted Dr. Chatonnay, and especially for her dearly beloved St. Berain.
But howls even more violent suddenly burst forth.
Superiority of numbers and weapons was gaining the day. The column from the Factory was cut in two. One half was retreating towards the quay, defending its ground step by step, while the other was being driven towards the Palace.
The latter, at least, could have no hope of escape. Hemmed in against the wall, they had not only to face the Merry Fellows; from on the terrace William Ferney and his men could open fire without risk to themselves upon these wretches from whom even flight was debarred. ...
Suddenly these gave a shout of joy. The door against which they had been driven had suddenly been flung open behind them, and upon its threshold had appeared Jane Blazon. Pursued by their enemies, they took refuge in the Palace, while Jane and Lewis covered their retreat with rifle and revolver shots.
Bewildered by this intervention which none of them could understand, the Merry Fellows hesitated for a moment. When, recovering from their surprise, they renewed the attack, it was too late. The door had again been shut and was defying all their efforts.
CHAPTER XIV
THE END OF BLACKLAND
When the door had been firmly closed, the first task was to attend to the wounded, of whom there were many. Aided by Amedee Florence, himself slightly injured, and like Barsac, forced by an ironical fate to seek refuge in the lair of their implacable enemy, Jane Blazon lavished attention on them.
First-aid given, another task now devolved upon her. She had to feed the unhappy wretches who for several days' had endured the pangs of hunger. But could she do this, and did the Palace contain enough food to satisfy so many mouths?
The quanity she was able to find, after having searched each of the floors, provided at most a very scanty meal. So the situation was still veiy grave, and its inevitable outcome seemed to have been postponed only for a few hours.
By the time these varied tasks had been accomplished, it was eleven in the morning. Meanwhile the explosions were continuing outside, and from the Esplanade there could still be heard the noise of the Merry Fellows who every now and again made another of their vain attacks on the door, while from the terrace came the outcries of William Ferney and his companions. As the survivors grew accustomed to this, they ended by paying no further attention to the uproar; confident that their stronghold was almost impregnable, they troubled less and less about its besiegers' fury.
As soon as she had leisure, Jane asked Amedee Florence why they had left the shelter of the Factory to venture so disadvantageously on to the Esplanade, and the reporter told her all that had occurred since she left them.
He explained how a little after half past eight, when Tongane had given the long-awaited signal, Marcel Camaret had, unknown to Blackland's other inhabitants, despatched to the central quarter several dynamite cartridges and a generous supply of weapons. This preliminary operation having been completed towards eleven, the garrison had formed up ready to take their part in the forthcoming struggle.
Amedee Florence described St. Berain's despair: if the poor fellow had survived the struggle, by now he must certainly have been overcome by anxiety.
Half an hour after the weapons had been despatched, a tremendous explosion was heard. Tongane had just blown up one of the gates of the black quarter, whose huts had caught fire, and to judge by the cries which followed, the slaves were attacking and massacring the Civil Body.
Jane knew the rest. She knew that the Negroes, after making their way on to the Esplanade, had been so quickly repulsed that there was no time to go to their aid. Her friends had made their way out of the Factory but they had had to retire fighting, for by the time they arrived most of the blacks had already been driven oil the Esplanade.
Obliged to retire into the Factory, the garrison had passed an anxious night. This check to the slaves' revolt made them doubt whether this would be the end of Harry Killer. Like Jane herself they too had listened to the series of explosions now destroying the town without being able to explain them. It was at last clear that they were the work of Marcel Camaret, who by this time had gone completely insane.
Brilliant inventor though he undoubtedly was, Camaret had always been at least on the verge of madness, as was shown by anomalies in his behavior inconsistent with a sane and well-balanced intelligence. The incidents which had crowded on him during the last month had ended by driving him out of his mind.
The first shock had come from the disclosures mad© by Harry Killer's captives when they had sought refuge in the Factory. The second, and much more violent, had been given by Daniel Frasne. Now that he realized the truth, Camaret had every day lapsed further into madness. Jane recalled how often since then he had shut himself up in his own quarters, and how gloomy and preoccupied was his appearance whenever he roamed about the workshops.
Sending off the weapons to Tongane had been his last lucid action. When the explosion occurred, above all when the flames first rose from the quarters of the slaves and the Civil Body, those around him had seen him suddenly turn pale and hold his hand to his throat as though he were stifling. At the same time, he mumbled some words difficult to hear but easy to understand as he softly repeated: "The death of my workl . . . The death of my workl"
For some time, perhaps a quarter of an hour, Marcel Camaret, anxiously watched by those around him had repeated these words and had turned his head restlessly from side to side. Then, suddenly, standing erect and smiting his breast, he had cried: "God has condemned Blackland! ..."
To judge by the gesture which accompanied that condemnation, by "God" he simply meant himself.
Before anyone had time to stop him, he had dashed away, continually exclaiming in a voice unrecognizably harsh: "God has condemned Blackland! ... God has condemned Blackland!"
He had taken refuge in the tower, closing all the doors behind him as he climbed the stairs. Its defensive works resembled those of the Palace, so it was as impossible for his friends to reach him as it was for Harry Killer to leave the terrace. As Camaret made his way upwards his voice could be faintly heard repeating, "God has condemned Blackland. . . . God has condemned Blackland."
The first explosion had followed almost at once.
Led by Rigaud, aghast at seeing the brilliant leader he loved in such a state, several of the workmen, in spite of their weakness, had dashed into the Factory and attempted to isolate the tower by cutting off its supply of electricity. But it was selfcontained, for it had its own reserve supply as well as the generators driven by liquid air, so the explosions had not ceased. But when the wasps, forsaking their protective circling, had fallen into the Factory moat, it was plainly necessary to restore the current to Camaret. Insane though he was, he must have known quite clearly what he was about, for he again put those defensive weapons into action.
After
a night of continual anxiety, the engineer had appeared on the platform of the tower. From that vantage point he had delivered a long discourse, of which only a few scattered words could be made out. Some of them, "Divine wrath," "fire from heaven," "complete destruction," had been enough to prove that his madness showed no signs of leaving him. At the end of his speech he had cried: "Fly! . . . Fly one and all!" in a voice loud enough to be heard all over the Factory. Then he had retired into the tower, whence he had not since emerged.
Immediately afterwards had come the first of the explosions on the left bank. This explosion, taking place in the Factory itself, had stricken its occupants with fear. At the risk of being slaughtered, and having nothing to choose but two ways of dying, they had made up their minds to attempt a sortie.
Unfortunately, when they emerged on the Esplanade they found themselves facing the Merry Fellows, who had previously been out of sight behind the wall. After suffering a number of casualties, the refugees had divided into two sections. Some, as already described, found a shelter in the lair of Harry Killer himself. The others were driven back on to the quay, but managed to barricade themselves by shutting thegate between this and the Esplanade.
This group were visible from the Palace. Daring neither to attempt another attack whose futility was obvious, nor to retire into the Factory, itself now at the mercy of a madman s whim, half starved and their nerves shattered, they stayed in the open. Some had fallen to the ground, and all were exposed to an enemy who could either open fire on them from the other bank of the river or from the top of the Palace, or attack them in the rear along the circular road.
Jane was relieved to see diat among them were St. Berain and Dr. Chatonnay. So none of her friends had so far perished, and above all the relative whom she held so dear was still alive.
Hardly had she received diis reassurance when heavy blows sounded from the upper floors of the Palace. These obviously came from the terrace, where its occupants were striving to tear up the paving. But this was solidly laid and resisted staunchly.
If William Ferney and his comrades, who must also have been short of food, had not been weakened by their privations they would soon have succeeded. A little after six in the evening, indeed, the terrace floor had been ripped up and the third floor had to be evacuated.
The garrison took refuge on the second floor, not forgetting to shut the armoured doors behind them, and there they waited.
Jane took advantage of the pause to tell Barsac and Amedee Florence about her own adventures since she had left the Factory. She explained the affairs of her family, and after relating how her brother Lewis had been so audaciously kidnapped and imprisoned, she told them of the sad discovery they had made, that Harry Killer was her own half-brother, William Ferney. If fate decided that she was not herself to return to England, Amedee Florence and Barsac could then be advocates for George and Lewis Blazon, accused of crimes which they had not committed.
Towards seven in the evening, the ceding of the second storey began to give way under the blows rained upon it. William Ferney and his henchmen, after the pause which their weariness demanded, had again set to work. The refugees had to go further down.
To break this floor down would take as much effort as before. Until two in the morning, blows resounded throughout the Palace. Then came a silence of two hours, which William Ferney spent in descending to the second floor and in again seeking the rest he found more and more necessary.
The blows were not heard again, diis time on the ceiling of the first floor, until about four in the morning. Without waiting for the ceiling to come down, the refugees sought shelter on the ground floor, but not without barring the way, as before, with armoured doors which nobody was going even to try to break down.
This was the last stronghold they could find. When William Ferney had got dirough the two ceilings which still separated him from themselves, when the rifle-barrels appeared over their heads, they would either have to seek refuge in the subterranean dungeons or else to retreat and keep retreating until they would at last be brought up against the outside wall of the Palace. Nothing would then be left for them but to die.
While William Ferney was striving to break down the last but one of the obstacles which barred his way, the sun rose in a cloudless sky. The extent of the destruction could then be realized: whatever happened, the despot of Blackland would henceforth reign over nothing but ruins.
The town was completely destroyed. Two houses alone were still standing, in the centre of the Merry Fellows' quarter, just opposite the Palace. A few minutes after sunrise these two collapsed in their turn, thus completing the total destruction on the right bank.
Far from ceasing, the explosions now followed more quickly than ever. Marcel Camaret was attacking the left bank, and now it was the turn of the Factory to collapse in ruins. Yet he was very skilfully directing thework of destruction. If he was overthrowing the workmen's houses, the workshops, the reserve stores, little by little, bit by bit, as though he wanted to make his pleasure last as long as possible, he took care not to touch its vital parts, where the machines produced the energy of which he was making so terrible a use.
To the first explosion on the left bank, the Merry Fellows on the Esplanade, who during the night had kept fairly quiet and seemed to have given up their fruitless attacks on the door, replied by making a loud uproar and hurling themselves anew against the Palace.
Their determination was bewildering. Why were they so obstinate? Now that Blackland no longer existed, what did they hope to achieve? Would they not do better to leave this dead city and try to reach the Niger?
A few words spoken outside, and overheard beyond the door, explained their conduct. They no longer aimed at rescuing their leader, whom they accused of betraying them; and their object was to escape from this desolation. First, however, they wanted to seize the treasure which they believed Harry Killer had stored in his Palace. When they had shared this out, they would lose no time in packing off and seeking their fortune under other skies.
The refugees would have been only too ready to give them that satisfaction. Unfortunately they did not know where the former despot of Blackland kept his secret hoard, if there were such a thing, and so they could not so easily rid themselves of their enemies.
But for the explosions which could be heard with growing frequency from the direction of the Factory, the position remained unaltered until nine. William Ferney was still trying to break through the ceiling of the first floor while the Merry Fellows continued to thunder against the door, which they found no less an obstacle.
But at the last moment they changed their tactics. Ceasing to exhaust themselves in vain on the door itself, they started to attack the masonry around it. For an hour their tools could be heard scraping against the stone, and then a loud explosion sent fragments flying from the lower part of the wall. They had been astute enough to bore a cavity; then, with powder from their cartridges they were blowing up the obstacles they could not break down.
Though the door was still holding, it had been badly shaken, and a second explosion would certainly overthrow it. Already rifle barrels were appearing menacingly through the hole blasted in the wall.
The refugees had to leave the vestibule and to shelter in the farthest part of the Palace, while the Merry Fellows were boring a hole for their second mine.
Almost at the same moment, a noise of falling debris showed that the third of the ceilings had just given way. A few minutes later the refugees could hear footsteps on the first floor, while heavy blows sounded just above their heads.
The situation was certainly getting desperate. Outside were three or four hundred Merry Fellows who, within half an hour, would force their way in. Above, a score of determined bandits who, perhaps within the same time, would open fire through the ceiling of the ground floor. The refugees could not even try to contend with such a fate. Jane and Lewis Blazon, Amedee Florence and Barsac, sought vainly to reassure them. Sprawled on the floor, the unhappy wr
etches waited resignedly for the blow which would strike them down.
But the whole situation was suddenly changed. The Merry Fellows and William Femey simultaneously interrupted their work. An explosion, which could not be confused with any of those still resounding nearby, had suddenly rung out and was re-echoing in every direction through the Palace. This explosion, which sounded like cannon fire, was followed by several others, and within a few minutes a long stretch of the south-east wall, between the Esplanade and the open country, had suddenly collapsed.
A tumult of horrible oaths burst from the Merry Fellows as some of them gazed out through the newly made breach. What they saw seemed to be not at all to their liking, for they began to gesticulate like madmen, and to argue wildly with their companions. Soon, while William Femey, giving up his efforts to reach the ground floor, was hastening back to the top of the tower, they were rushing in a disorderly mob towards the other bank. Racing, jostling together in an inexplicable panic, they were striving to reach it when another explosion, costing the lives of about fifty of them, destroyed both the Castle and the Garden Bridges. All communications now being cut off with the right bank, the survivors. threw themselves without hesitation into the water and swam across the river.
In a moment the Esplanade was deserted and, but for the explosions still taking place at regular intervals, a deep silence had followed the din. The astounded refugees were at a loss what to do, when suddenly there came the collapse of a comer of the Palace itself. Marcel Camaret was crowning his work of destruction by starting to make the place uninhabitable. They would have to escape.
They dashed out on to the Esplanade, and, anxious to know what had caused the Merry Fellows to panic, they too hastened towards the breach in the exterior wall. They had not yet reached it when the notes of a bugle resounded from its far side.