“Wow,” said Tom, with a comic shiver, “if it’s dynamite, I’m glad we are no nearer to her.”
The gentleman smiled, but replied gravely, “It’s a very good thing to keep as much distance between you and any form of dynamite as possible.”
“Indeed, you are right,” said another passenger, a jolly fellow, who had kept them very merry during the voyage with his witty sayings, and his exhaustless fund of funny stories. “Everyone might not be willing to take the chance that Casey did for the sake of getting even. His friend O’Brien had a way of giving him a very vigorous slap on the chest by way of greeting. The blow always came over the breast pocket where Casey carried his cigars, and a number of them had been broken. Casey did not fancy this at all, and a scheme came into his head to get even with O’Brien. He procured a small stick of dynamite and placed it in the pocket with his cigars. Filled with satisfaction, he was walking down the street, chuckling to himself, when he met his friend Dennis. ‘Phat’s the joke?’ asked Dennis. ‘Sure,’ said Casey, shaking with laughter, and showing Dennis the stick of dynamite in his pocket, ‘Oi’m thinkin’ of the surprise of O’Brien phwen he hits me.’”
A hearty laugh greeted this story, and it had scarcely subsided when Bert, whose trained sight very little escaped, drew attention to a vast volume of smoke that was pouring from the stern of the Falcon, the steamer that carried the load of dynamite. At the same instant a great confusion broke out on board of her. Sailors came running to the deck, and rushed affrightedly to the rail. The excitement spread to other vessels near at hand.
A tug, one of the largest, ran alongside the Falcon, whose crew, pursued by fear, began jumping or tumbling over her side on to the tug’s deck. Whistles sounded, and vessels near at hand began drawing away from her with all possible speed.
“She must be on fire,” someone said.
“She is,” answered Captain Everett, coming up, his face very pale, “and part of her freight, I’m told, is several hundred cases of dynamite. Nothing can save her now. It is only a matter of minutes, or maybe seconds.”
At the startling news every face blanched, and every eye was fixed on the fated steamer. It was a scene to stamp itself on the memory of all. The sailors, tumbling pell-mell upon the tug, the crews of the different vessels hurriedly executing sharply uttered commands, the boats scurrying away like a flock of frightened birds.
Sure now that all had been taken from the fated ship, the rescuing tug was steaming rapidly away, when two men suddenly appeared on the Falcon, and, running to the rail, waved their hands in frantic appeal for rescue.
For a moment or two the tug did not notice the men, but soon the puffing of exhaust pipes grew less noisy and she slowed down. She had seen the two poor unfortunates, and now the same question was in the mind of all. What would the captain of the tug do? What ought he to do? There was no time to land those on board and return. Every second lost meant a lessened chance of going back and making a final safe getaway. If he left the two men to their fate it would look like deliberate cruelty; but, on the other hand, if he went back, he must carry every soul on board into imminent danger of a terrible death. Dared he do it?