“Yes,” shouted another, “what does this mean?”
The President smiled bitterly, and stood for a few moments gazing back sadly at his questioners as the crowd began to sway to and fro, some of those present beginning to make for the door, but in an undecided way, and swaying back to press once more upon their leader, as if feeling that he was their only hope.
He seemed to read this in their faces, and suddenly the blood began to flush like a cloud across his pallid brow, nerving him as it were to action.
Throwing his right hand across his breast he sought for the hilt of his sword, which his left raised ready, and he snatched the blade from its scabbard, whirled it on high, and then held it pointed towards the nearest open window, through which a thin dank odoured cloud of smoke was beginning to float, telling its own tale of what the explosion was.
For a few moments the President was silent, rigid and statuesque in his attitude, while his eyes flashed defiance and determination.
“Gentlemen,” he cried, “you ask me what this means,” and he seemed to flash his glance around the room to take in everybody before letting his eyes rest at last upon the skipper. “It means that the scotched snake has raised its poisoned head once more, how I know not, nor yet what following he hab. But the enemy still lives, and we must fight again to the very death if needs be.”
A murmur of excitement ran through the salle, and once more the weak amongst those assembled raised a murmur, and glances were directed towards the door, as if the next moment panic was about to set in and a rush was imminent. At that moment, as if in response to the President’s appealing look, the big bronzed skipper, Poole’s father, British to the backbone, took a step or two forward, and the President’s face lit up with a smile as he uttered a loud “Hah!” full of the satisfaction he felt.
“Silence there,” he shouted, directing his words at his wavering followers, whose spirits seemed to have been completely dashed. “Silence, and let our brave captain speak.”
“I have only this to say,” cried the skipper. “Be calm, gentlemen, be calm. Are we who have carried all before us to be frightened by a noise? It is an explosion. Whatever has happened you must be cool, and act like the brave men you are. This is either some accident, or the cunning enemy has sent in some emissary to lay a train. It is all plain enough. Some of the powder collected in the magazine of the fort has gone. There was a great flash, I saw it myself, and it evidently came from there. Now, President, take the lead. Out with your swords, gentlemen. I don’t believe you will need them. Some pounds of gunpowder have been destroyed. Had the enemy been there we should have heard their burst of cheering, and the noise of their coming on, for this place would have been the first they would have attacked.”
The skipper’s sensible words were greeted with a groan of despair, for at that moment that of which he had spoken came floating in turn through the open window.