Morgan dropped down again, and as he did so there was another crash behind us, a shower of sparks were literally shot into the place, and one burning ember fell right into the opening of the magazine, to be followed as Morgan leaped out by a quick sputtering noise, and then the smell of powder. There was a rush for the door, and we four were alone.
“Only a little loose powder lying about,” said Morgan, huskily. “That was the last. Look out, Master George—quick!”
The task was done, the place saved from hideous ruin by an explosion; and as the last man rushed from the place, the energy my father had brought to bear was ended, and I had just time, in response to Morgan’s warning, to save him from falling as he lurched forward.
But there was other help at hand, and we three bore him out fainting just as a burst of flame, sparks, and burning embers filled the place where we had stood a minute before, and we emerged weak and staggering, bearing my father’s insensible form out into the bright light shed by the burning building.
“Bravely done! Bravely done!” we heard on all sides; and then there was a burst of cheering.
But I hardly seemed to hear it, as I was relieved by willing hands from my share in the burden, and I only recollected then finding myself kneeling beside a blanket under the rough canvas of our extemporised tent, waiting until the surgeon had ended, when I panted forth—
“Is—is he very bad?”
“Very, my lad,” said the surgeon as he rose, “but not bad enough for you to look like that. Come, cheer up; I won’t let him die. We can’t spare a man like your father.”