Bill kept his fingers out of the box; he did not want the money, and he had no right to it.
There were several other articles they had not examined, among which were some small casks. Jack, finding that his torch was almost burning his fingers, was obliged to let it drop. Before he lighted another, however, Bill’s torch affording sufficient light for the purpose, he managed to knock in the head of one of the small casks, which he found filled with little black grains. He tasted them.
“Keep away, Bill—keep away!” he shouted, in an agitated tone, “This is gunpowder!”
Had Jack held his torch a few seconds longer in his hand, he and Bill would have been blown to atoms—the very cavern itself would have been shattered, to the great astonishment of the neighbouring population, who would, however, never have discovered the cause of the explosion, although Jeannette Turgot might have guessed at it.
“It’s a mercy we didn’t blow ourselves up,” said Jack. “I was just going to take my torch to look at these casks.”
He hunted about for all of the same description, and rolled them into a place by themselves.
“We must take care what we are about if we come here again with torches,” he said.
Bill agreed with him.
After all, of what use to them was the treasure they had discovered. The cloth and linen were much more serviceable, as they could make bedding of them.
“I don’t see why we should not try to make jackets and trousers for ourselves,” observed Bill. “This cloth will be fine stuff for the purpose, and as the cold weather is coming on we shall be glad of some warm clothing.”