As Mark spoke he lay down close to the end of the train right beneath the open window, took a match from the box, struck it, and, as it burst into flame, touched the powder, which began to burn along the zigzag train with a peculiar rushing hiss.
Chapter Forty.
Firing a Train.
A sound like a sigh or the escape of some pent-up emotion came from the little group of prostrate men, all of whom, save the black, knew that the powder might after all, while driving out the cabin door and its barricading, injure, perhaps kill them, in its explosion.
But no one flinched, as the schooner careened over in obedience to a turn or two of the wheel, and glided rapidly off on a fresh tack, while the flame of the heavy train ran here and there over the cabin floor, its peculiar hiss suggesting to Mark the idea of a fiery reptile, and the strain of those exciting moments growing till they appeared to be minutes.
Away it sped in its serpent-like trail, for Tom had made liberal sweeps of the powder, and the whole course was marked by an ever-increasing cloud of white smoke, which rapidly filled the cabin, till only about four of the bends remained between the fire and the heap of powder, when with a suddenness that sent a thrill through all, there was a tremendous crash, followed by a heavy, dull jar which shook the vessel from stem to stern. Mark Vandean sprang up, gave one glance toward the stern window as if he were going to spring out, and then flung himself between the burning train and the powder tins, rolling himself over and over in the hissing flame, and at the same time sweeping the powder, so carefully laid in zigzag curves, right and left and away toward the cabin window, where it sputtered and flashed innocuously.
“Quick, Tom!” he panted; “sweep away. Mind it don’t go off.”
“Why, it has gone off,” cried Tom, rising up on his knees and speaking from out of the dense white smoke, which now completely filled the cabin and rendered the men invisible to each other.