There was something in those words that the men could not then understand, but they did as the gunner declared all to be ready.
“Hush! silence, my lads,” cried Hilary. “Away aft, and all lie down. Now, Waters, give me the lantern.”
“I’ll fire the train, sir. I’m gunner,” said the man.
“No, no,” replied Hilary, “that is my task.”
“But, if you please, sir, you might get hit, and then—”
“Silence, sir! I’ll fire the train,” cried Hilary, sternly. “Away aft with the men; and look, Mr Waters, my good fellow, if I go down I trust to you to retake the cutter.”
“All right, sir,” said the gunner. “Well, sir, if you will do it, here’s my last words: open your lantern and just touch the end of the paper, then close and run aft. One touch does it; so go on, and good luck to you!”
The young officer nodded and took the lantern, while the gunner joined the men as far aft as they could go. There was something very strange and unreal to him as he took a couple of steps or so forward, and listened to the noise of men above, hesitating for the moment as he thought of the life he was about to destroy, and mentally praying that Sir Harry Norland might not be near. Then duty reasserted itself, and, not knowing whether he might not be about to destroy the vessel, and with it his own life, he slowly opened the door of the lantern.
What was it to be—life and liberty, or death and destruction? He could not say, but feeling that he ought to stick at nothing to try and retake the cutter, he held the flame of the wretched purser’s dip in the lantern to the powder-besmeared paper, and there was on the instant an answering burst of tiny sparks.