direction. The belching of that gun seemed to
be of double the power of those which had preceded
it, and jets of water, that were twenty feet in height,
marked the course of the formidable missile that was
projected from the piece. The ship had, indeed,
discharged one of those monster-cannons that bear
the name of a distinguished French engineer, but which
should more properly be called by the name of the
ingenious officer who is at the head of our own ordnance,
as they came originally from his inventive faculties,
though somewhat improved by their European adopter.
Spike suspected the truth, for he had heard of these
“Pazans,” as he called them, and he watched
the booming, leaping progress of the eight-inch shell
that this gun threw, with the apprehension that unknown
danger is apt to excite. As jet succeeded jet,
each rising nearer and nearer to his brig, the interval
of time between them seeming fearfully to diminish,
he muttered oath upon oath. The last leap that
the shell made on the water was at about a quarter
of a mile’s distance of the islet on which his
people had deposited at least a hundred and fifty barrels
of his spurious flour:-thence it flew, as it might
be without an effort, with a grand and stately bound
into the very centre of the barrels, exploding at
the moment it struck. All saw the scattering
of flour, which was instantly succeeded by the heavy
though slightly straggling explosion of all the powder
on the island. A hundred kegs were lighted, as
it might be, in a common flash, and a cloud of white
smoke poured out and concealed the whole islet, and
all near it.
Rose stood confounded, nor was Jack Tier in a much
better state of mind, though he still kept the pistol
levelled, and menaced Spike. But the last was
no longer dangerous to any there. He recollected
that piles of the barrels encumbered the decks of his
vessel, and he rushed to the boat, nearly frantic
with haste, ordering the men to pull for their lives.
In less than five minutes he was alongside, and on
the deck of the Swash—his first order being
to—“Tumble every barrel of this bloody
powder into the sea, men. Over with it, Mr. Mulford,
clear away the midship ports, and launch as much as
you can through them.”
Remonstrance on the part of Senor Montefalderon would
have been useless, had he been disposed to make it;
but, sooth to say, he was as ready to get rid of the
powder as any there, after the specimen he had just
witnessed of the power of a Paixhan gun.
Thus it is ever with men. Had two or three of
those shells been first thrown without effect, as
might very well have happened under the circumstances,
none there would have cared for the risk they were
running; but the chance explosion which had occurred,
presented so vivid a picture of the danger, dormant
and remote as it really was, as to throw the entire
crew of the Swash into a frenzy of exertion.