As he spoke there was a crash like the loudest thunder, and a momentary glare as of the brightest noon-light, which was followed by intense darkness, while the garden was shaken as if by an earthquake. Loud cries and shrieks were accompanied by the falling of a shower of dust and small stones. Evidently there had been a catastrophe, and the quaking conspirators hastened to the spot, half expecting to find the Queen and Court of Madagascar blown to atoms.
“The whole consarn’s busted up!” exclaimed Hockins, on coming in sight of the garden-house.
The seaman’s explanation was the true one. Owing to some inexplicable mistake in the loading of the monster Roman candle, fire had communicated somehow with the lowest charge, which was a good strong one, intended to propel a glorious mass of ingenious contrivances into the air and end the matter with an effective bang. As it turned out, the bang was ten times more effective, for it not only blew out the entire charge but burst the cast-iron case, and upturned tons of earth in which Mark had taken the precaution to bury the thing up to its neck.
At first the Queen, like her people, had got a severe fright; but, seeing that no one seemed to be hurt, she controlled her feelings, under the impression, no doubt, that the explosion was part of the programme.
“Have you got your whistle, Hockins?” asked Mark, quickly, as he ran forward.
“Ay, sir—always here, ready for action!”
“Come, then, play up when I give the word—something quieting. Hold on! Let’s do it sedately.”
By this time they had got within the circle of torchlight. Reducing their run to a smart walk the two friends advanced, as Mark had suggested, sedately, in front of the Queen, while the Secretary rejoined the circle of courtiers unperceived.
As they advanced they encountered Ebony with an unused Roman candle in each hand, and an expression of horror on his black face.
“Oh! massa—” he began.