In the Track of the Troops

  CHAPTER TWO.

  IS STILL MORE EXPLOSIVE THAN THE FIRST.

  Much to my surprise, I found that neither Nicholas Naranovitsch norBella nor my mother would consent to witness my experiments withdynamite that day.

  As my old chum approached to greet me on the lawn before breakfast theday following, I could not help admiring his fine, tall, athleticfigure. I don't know how it is, but I have always felt, somehow, as ifI looked up at him, although we were both exactly the same height--sixfeet one without our boots. I suppose it must have been owing to hisstanding so erect, while I slouched a little. Perhaps my looking up tohim mentally had something to do with it.

  "You'll come to-day, won't you?" I said, referring to the experiments.

  "Of course I will, old boy; but," he added, with a smile, "only on onecondition."

  "What may that be?"

  "That you don't bother Bella with minute details."

  Of course I promised not to say a word unless asked for explanations,and after breakfast we all went to a part of the grounds which I wishedto bring under cultivation. It was at that time encumbered with severallarge trees, old roots, and a number of boulders.

  "Come along with us, Lancey," I said to the groom, who was also mylaboratory assistant, and whom I met in the stable-yard, the scene ofhis memorable blowing-up. "I am about to try the effect of anexplosive, and wish you to understand the details."

  "Yes, sir," replied Lancey, with a respectful touch of his cap; "I mustsay, sir, if you'll allow me, I never knowed any one like you, sir, forgoin' into details except one, and that one--"

  "Ah, yes, I know, that was your friend the Scotch boy," said I,interrupting; but Lancey was a privileged servant, and would not beinterrupted.

  "Yes, sir," he resumed, "the Scotch boy Sandy. We was at schooltogether in Edinburgh, where I got the most o' my edication, and I neverdid see such a boy, sir, for goin' into--"

  "Yes, yes, Lancey, I know; but I haven't time to talk about him justnow. We are going to the bit of waste ground in the hollow; follow usthere."

  I was obliged to cut him short, because this Scotch hero of his was asubject on which he could not resist dilating on the slightestencouragement.

  Arrived at the waste ground, we met the manager of a neighbouring mine,who was deeply learned in everything connected with blasting.

  "I have brought my mother and sister, you see, Mr Jones," said I, as weapproached. "They don't quite believe in the giant-power which is underyour control; they seem to think that it is only a little stronger thangunpowder."

  "We can soon change their views on that point," said the manager, with aslight bow to the ladies, while I introduced Nicholas as an officer ofthe Russian army.

  "This is one of the stones you wish to blast, is it not?" said MrJones, laying his hand on an enormous boulder that weighed probablyseveral tons.

  "It is," I answered.

  The manager was a man of action--grave of countenance and of few words.He drew a flask from his pocket and emptied its contents, a largequantity of gunpowder, on the boulder. Asking us to stand a littleback, he applied a slow match to the heap, and retired several paces.

  In a few seconds the powder went off with a violent puff and a vastcloud of smoke. The result was a little shriek of alarm from my mother,and an exclamation from Bella.

  "Not much effect from that, you see," said the manager, pointing to theblackened stone, yet it was a large quantity of powder, which, if firedin a cavity inside the stone, would have blown it to pieces. "Here,now, is a small quantity of dynamite." (He produced a cartridge abouttwo inches in length, similar to that which I had shown to my mother atbreakfast.) "Into this cartridge I shall insert a detonator cap, whichis fastened to the end of a Pickford fuse--thus."

  As he spoke, he inserted into the cartridge the end of the fuse, towhich was attached a small cap filled with fulminate of mercury, andtied it tightly up. This done, he laid the cartridge on the top of theboulder, placed two or three similar cartridges beside it, and coveredall with a small quantity of sand, leaving the other end of the fuseprojecting.

  "Why the sand?" asked Bella.

  "Because a slight amount of confinement is advantageous," replied MrJones. "If I were to bore a short hole in the stone, and put thedynamite therein, the result would be still more effective; but thecovering I have put on it will suffice, and will serve all the better toshow the great difference between this explosive and gunpowder."

  "But," said my mother, who had a tendency to become suddenly interestedin things when she began to have a faint understanding of them; "but,Mr Jones, you did not give the powder fair play. If you had covered_it_ with sand, would not its effect have been more powerful?"

  "Not on the stone, madam; it would only have blown off its covering withviolence, that would have been all. Now, ladies and gentlemen, if youwill retire behind the shelter of that old beech-tree, I will light thefuse."

  We did as we were desired. The manager lighted the fuse, and followedus. In a few moments there occurred an explosion so violent that thehuge boulder was shattered into several pieces, which were quite smallenough to be lifted and carted away.

  "Most amazing!" exclaimed Bella, with enthusiasm.

  It was quite obvious that she had no anticipation of such a thoroughresult. Nicholas, too, who I may mention had no natural turn of tastefor such matters, was roused to a state of inquiry.

  To a question put by him, Mr Jones explained that, taking its powersinto consideration, dynamite was cheaper than gunpowder, and that itsaved much labour, as it would have taken two men a considerable time tohave bored an ordinary blasthole in the boulder he had just broken up.

  I now led the way to another part of the ground on which grew a largebeech-tree, whose giant roots took a firm grasp of the ground. It was ahundred years old at least; about twelve feet in circumference, andsixty feet high. One similar tree I had had cut down; but the labourhad been very great, and the removal of the stump excessivelytroublesome as well as costly.

  Mr Jones now went to work at the forest-giant. In the groundunderneath the tree he ordered Lancey to make a hole with a crowbar.Into this he pressed some cartridges of dynamite with a wooden rammer.Then the cartridge, with the detonator inside of it; and the fuse,extending from its mouth, was placed in contact with the charge underthe tree. The hole was next closed up with some earth, leaving about afoot of the fuse outside. The light was then applied, and we retired toa safe distance. In a few moments the charge exploded. The tree seemedto rise from its bed. All the earth under it was blown out, and theroots were torn up and broken, with the exception of four of thelargest, which were fully ten inches in diameter. A small charge ofdynamite inserted under each of these completed the work, and the oldgiant, slowly bowing forward, laid his venerable head upon the ground.

  Another charge was next placed in the soil under some loose and decayedroots, which were easily broken to pieces, so as to permit of theirremoval. Thus, in a short time and at little cost, were trees and rootsand boulders torn up and shattered.

  "But is dynamite not very dangerous, Mr Jones?" asked my mother, as wewalked slowly homeward.

  "Not at all dangerous,--at least not worth speaking of," replied themanager; "nitro-glycerine by itself is indeed very dangerous, beingeasily exploded by concussion or mere vibration; but when mixed withinfusorial earth and thus converted into dynamite, it is one of thesafest explosives in existence--not quite so safe, indeed, asgun-cotton, but much more so than gunpowder. Any sort of fire willexplode gunpowder, but any sort of fire will not explode dynamite; itwill only cause it to burn. It requires a detonator to explode it withviolence. Without its detonator, dynamite is a sleeping giant."

  "Ay, mother," said I, taking up the subject, "the case stands thus:gunpowder is a big athlete, who slumbers lightly; any spark can wake himto violent action: but dynamite is a bigger athlete, who sleeps sosoundly that a spark or flame can only rouse him to moderate rage; itrequires a special shake
to make him wide-awake, but when thus rousedhis fury is terrific, as you have just seen. And now," I added, as wedrew near the house, "we will change the subject, because I have thismorning received two letters, which demand the united consideration ofour whole party. I will therefore call up Bella and Nicholas, who havefallen behind, as usual. Mr Jones will excuse my talking of familymatters for a few minutes, as replies must be sent by return of post."

  I then explained that one of the letters was an invitation to me and mymother and sister, with any friends who might chance to be visiting us,to go to Portsmouth to witness a variety of interesting experiments withtorpedoes and such warlike things; while the other letter was an offerby a friend, of a schooner-built yacht for a moderate sum.

  "Now, Nicholas," said I, apologetically, "I'm sorry to give you such anexplosive reception, but it cannot be helped. If you don't care abouttorpedoes, you may remain here with my mother and Bella; but if youwould like to go, I shall be happy to introduce you to one or two of mynaval friends. For myself, I must go, because--"

  "We will all go, Jeff," interrupted Bella; "nothing could be moreappropriate as a sequel to this morning's experiments. A day among thetorpedoes will be most interesting, won't it?"

  She looked up at Nicholas, on whose arm she leaned. He looked down withthat peculiar smile of his which seemed to lie more in his eyes than onhis lips, and muttered something about a day anywhere being, etcetera,etcetera.

  My mother remarked that she did not understand exactly what a torpedowas, and looked at me for an explanation. I confess that her remarksurprised me, for during the course of my investigations and inventions,I had frequently mentioned the subject of torpedoes to her, and once ortwice had given her a particular description of the destructive machine.However, as she had evidently forgotten all about it, and as I cannotresist the temptation to elucidate complex subjects when opportunityoffers, I began:--

  "It is a machine, mother, which--"

  "Which bursts," interrupted Bella, with a little laugh.

  "But that is no explanation, dear," returned my mother; "at least not adistinctive one, for guns burst sometimes, and soap-bubbles burst, andeggs burst occasionally."

  "Bella," said Nicholas, who spoke English perfectly, though with aslightly foreign accent, "never interrupt a philosopher. Allow Jeff toproceed with his definition."

  "Well, a torpedo," said I, "is an infernal machine--"

  "Jeff," said my mother, seriously, "don't--"

  "Mother, I use the word advisedly and dispassionately. It is a termfrequently given to such engines, because of their horrible nature,which suggests the idea that they were originated in the region ofSatanic influence. A torpedo, then, is a pretty large case, or box, orcask, or reservoir, of one form or another, filled with gunpowder, orgun-cotton, or dynamite, which is used chiefly under water, forblowing-up purposes. Sometimes men use torpedoes to blow up rocks, andsunken wrecks; and sometimes, I grieve to say it, they blow up ships andsailors."

  "Dreadful! my dear," said my mother; "nevertheless I should like to gowith you on this excursion, and see what devices men invent for thepurpose of killing each other."

  "Very well, that's settled," said I. "Now, as to the other letter aboutthe yacht. I will buy it, mother, and go on a cruise to theMediterranean, on one condition, namely, that you and Nicholas and Bellago with me."

  "Impossible!" exclaimed my mother, firmly; "I never could bear the sea."

  "But you've had little experience of it," said I.

  "Well, not much--but I cannot bear it."

  "Now, mother," said I, coaxingly, "here is Bella dying to go to sea, Iknow. Nicholas has loads of time, and cannot be left behind, and I wishvery much to go; but all will fall to the ground if you refuse toaccompany us. We cannot leave you in this house alone. The sea airwill certainly do you good, and if it does not, we can land, you know,at Lisbon, Gibraltar, Nice,--anywhere, and return home overland."

  "Well, then, I will go," returned my pliant mother.

  "That's right," said I, sitting down to write. "Now, then, all of youget ready to go to London this afternoon. We shall spend a day or twothere, because, before leaving, I must see the first Lord of theAdmiralty on particular business. Afterwards we shall run down toPortsmouth by the afternoon express, spend the night there, and so beready to face the torpedoes in the morning."