These and other cries rang out, and for the moment nobody knew what to do. A few began to stamp on the grass and thereby burnt their shoes, but the majority felt like retreating in short order.
“Form a bucket brigade!” at last shouted an officer, and a rush was made for the leathern buckets, while other, coming suddenly to their senses, ran for picks and shovels, with which to dig away the burning grass.
It was perilous work, for there was no telling how soon the flames might leap to the powder house and blow everything for rods around sky-high.
In the excitement Dave forgot all about his sore knee, and catching up a bucket, he worked as manfully as anybody to bring water. Two lines were formed, one passing up the water and the other returning the empty buckets, and soon the work began to tell in spite of the dryness of the grass, which seemed to burn like so much tinder.
It was a good hour before the excitement came to an end, and to make sure that there should be no more danger of fire, the grass all around the powder house was dug up and cast to one side, and the ditch thus formed was filled with water. Then the remaining grass was thoroughly saturated; and the danger was over.
“Rather a close call, Dave,” remarked Raymond, when the two were washing up, later on. “I thought sure we’d all be blown to kingdom come.”
“I thought that, too,” put in Shamer. “I felt more like running than like trying to put out the fire.”
“It was certainly exciting enough,” answered Dave. “I forgot all about my knee,” and he rubbed that member tenderly, for it had now begun to assert itself once more.
“They tell me that two of the sick prisoners in the hospital are missing,” came from a soldier standing near. “They took French leave during the confusion.”
“Two prisoners missing?” queried Dave with interest. “Do you know who they were?”