“This seems to be a sort of bo’sun’s store,” declared Raxworthy. “There are coils of rope and—good!—here’s an axe.”
“You don’t propose to set about me with it, do you?”
“So far, the possibility hasn’t occurred to me.”
“I hope it won’t; but why this jubilation over a chopper?”
The midshipman made no reply. He hardly knew why, but grasping the helve of the axe seemed to give him renewed confidence. In the back of his mind he had an idea that the axe would come in useful.
The two prisoners listened in silence to the din of conflict without. Raxworthy felt convinced that the pirate junk was in action with a rival gang, and the two unwieldy vessels were closing. Probably the newcomers were getting the best of it, and were about to decide the day by carrying the junk by boarding.
If so, how would the change of fortune affect the two prisoners?
Suddenly Raxworthy’s thoughts were interrupted by a terrific roar accompanied by a deafening concussion. The for’ard bulkhead of the flat seemed to bulge inward. The deck heaved under them.
Then, amid the crash of shattering timber, the junk—or what was left of her, turned completely upside down.
The pirates, faced with massacre at the hands of their rivals, had blown up the magazine.