T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (15) (A Boy’s Adventure on Wizard Island)

XV. The Powder Plot

The next thing Martin knew he was lying on a most comfortable couch, in a big, airy room. For a moment he could not imagine where he was. Then, as he stared vaguely about, his wandering eyes fell upon Hymer the priest, who sat in a chair close by.

“Hulloa!” he said weakly.

The priest turned with a smile.

“So you are awake. How is it with you?”

“All right,” answered Martin. Then, remembering, “Oh, I don’t know! I fainted. What a silly thing to do!”

“A thing that most others would have done before instead of after the ordeal,” said Hymer dryly.

Then, as Martin tried to sit up, the priest stretched out his hand.

“Not so, my friend. You will lie still for the present.”

“But I must be off,” said Martin impatiently. “I have to get back to the other island.”

“You cannot fly in the darkness,” Hymer told him quietly. “It is now night.”

“You don’t mean that I have been lying here like a log all these hours?” returned Martin, horrified.

“You have slept these eight hours past,” said the priest. But he did not add that he had given Martin a draught brewed from poppy juice to keep him asleep, nor did he tell him that the medicine was probably the one thing that had saved him from serious illness.

“My friend,” he went on, “I ask that you will remember I am your doctor, and that I desire you to remain quiet until to- morrow. Thanks to your courage when you faced the fire, there is at present no danger to yourself or to the rest of us. Your flying boat is safe, and will be well guarded, and I will take it upon myself that word shall be sent of your safety to your friends on the Island of Fire.”

“And when shall I be able to go?” demanded Martin.

“That matter we will discuss later,” Hymer answered. “For the present I desire that you sleep.”

As he spoke he fixed his eyes upon Martin’s face, and there was something so strangely compelling in their gaze that Martin felt he must obey. For a moment or two he struggled, but the effort was useless. An intense drowsiness came over him, his eyes closed, and in a few minutes he was sound asleep.

When he awoke for a second time it was broad day, and the sun was streaming through a soft, rose-colored curtain which covered the window of the room. He felt extraordinarily well and very hungry.

Sitting up in bed, he looked about. Instantly a thick curtain at the far end of the room was pushed aside and a brown man entered, carrying a tray with food upon it. He bowed deeply, placed the tray on a table beside the couch, and, bowing again, departed.

Martin lost no time in sampling his Lemurian breakfast. There was a large and beautifully shaped bowl full of some steaming mixture which he recognized at once as chocolate—at least, it was made from the cocoa bean, but flavored with something quite different from vanilla, and even nicer. There was fresh bread made of white maize flour, very light and sweet. Besides this, there was a dish of most excellent broiled mullet and fruit of several varieties, including custard-apple and Brazilian jack-fruit.

It was a meal that could not have been bettered by the chef of the finest hotel in New York, and Martin did not leave much of it. He had just finished when the servant came again, this time bringing a large pitcher full of water, a great brass bowl, and a quantity of clothes.

Martin realized that he was to get up and dress, but, to his dismay, his own clothes were missing, and the servant indicated by signs that he was to wear those he had brought, and which turned out to be the same sort as those worn by Akon.

Martin did not half like it. It began to look as if he were not going to get away very easily. However, it was Hobson’s choice, so at last he got into the new rig, and looking at himself in a great mirror of polished metal, which was fastened against the wall, could not help seeing that he made rather a fine figure in the white tunic, golden breast-plate, and gold- buckled sandals.

He was barely dressed before Akon came in and greeted him warmly. Martin at once began to remonstrate about his clothes, but Akon only smiled.

“Your own things are safe,” he assured him. “It is necessary, however, that you should wear these garments for the present.”

Suddenly he turned grave.

“Thanks to you,” he continued, “the danger is over for the moment, but only for the moment. As long as Odan lives there is no real safety for any of us.”

“The fellow is a traitor,” said Martin scornfully. “Why do you not try him and hang him?”

“Our laws do not permit of it, my friend,” he answered. “I have prayed my father to allow me to challenge and meet him in single combat. But he refuses his consent. Now come with me to the king. We have to plan for the future.”

Hymer was with the king, and it did not take Martin long to give them his idea. Briefly it was that they should set to work and make gunpowder. He described the ingredients which he required. Though they had no guns, he believed that a good supply of fireworks would impress the superstitious Lemurians.

“Charcoal, yes; sulphur, yes.” Hymer ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke, “But the other—saltpetre, you call it—that I do not know.”

“I am sure we can make it,” Martin answered eagerly. “Where do you get your salt?” Hymer told him that there was a salt-pan in the interior of the island, and Martin was delighted, for saltpetre, which is sodium nitrate, is frequently found in salt-pans.

Hymer jumped at the notion. There was plenty of sulphur. Charcoal, of course, could be made with ease. The only ingredient he was not sure about was the nitre, or saltpetre. Once the decision was taken, the priest declared that there was no time to waste. He sent trusted men to get the sulphur from some hot springs about five miles from the capital. Others were told off to prepare the charcoal; then he and Martin set out for the salt-pan.

As it was not the custom for the high priest to walk abroad, they went in litters, carried by brown men. The salt-pan was in a wild, desolate part of the island beneath a range of low, rugged hills full of deep caves. To his dismay, Martin found no trace of saltpetre.

“Never mind,” he said. “We can make it. The earth beneath any stable will yield nitre.”

“Oh, I forgot,” he added in dismay. “You have no horses here, and no stables. We shall have to try in some of the caves. What about these?”

Hymer looked suddenly grave.

“Not these caves, my friend,” he answered. “Even I, who am not by nature a coward, have never ventured into their depths. They are inhabited by beasts not wholesome for man to meet.”

Martin was full of curiosity, but for once he could get no information out of the priest.

“I only pray,” said Hymer very gravely, “that you may never make nearer acquaintance with the monsters of the caverns.”

“But we must have the saltpetre,” declared Martin.

“There are other caves,” replied Hymer. “But I will not speak of them here. Let us return.”

He gave orders to the carriers, and they lifted the litters and carried them back to the city by the sea. It was not until the two were alone again in the priest’s own room that Hymer spoke.

“The caves of which I speak are beneath our feet,” he said.

A sudden idea flashed into Martin’s head.

“Beneath our feet,” he repeated. “Tell me, Hymer, does one of them by any chance communicate with the shaft of the gas well?”

The priest started slightly. There was something half suspicious in the glance he cast on Martin.

“What do you mean?” he asked, after a moment’s pause.

“Surely it is plain!” said Martin. “I am not foolish enough to believe that the flame went out of itself yesterday.”

Hymer looked round cautiously. He lowered his voice.

“I hardly dare to speak it aloud,” he answered. “It would be death to us all if it came to the ears of Odan or of his followers. Even Prince Akon and his father do not know the secret.”

“But I can guess it,” smiled Martin. “You have some form of cap or extinguisher which you can push forward into the funnel.”

“Truly nothing is hidden from the wisdom of the East,” said Hymer. “Come then, and I will take you into the caverns below the temple. You shall see the secret device of my ancestor, Grun the priest, and mayhap find the burning salt of which we are in need. Follow me.”

He pressed a spring in the floor. A trap door opened, showing a flight of steps leading down into darkness. First lighting a small lamp, Hymer led the way. Down they went into the very depths of the earth until they reached a narrow passage cut in the solid rock. The air was thick and heavy and damp, and a curious white efflorescence coated the roof and walls.

Martin stopped.

“This is what we want,” he said eagerly.

But Hymer only signed urgently for silence, and moved steadily forward.

Presently a deep droning began to make itself heard. Martin knew it at once for the sound of the gas well. The sound grew louder; there was a suffocating smell of gas.

The passage opened out into a small rock chamber. Here Hymer stopped, and from a shelf cut in the rock took a cloth, which he dipped in water standing in an earthen jar.

“Place this over your face,” he said, handing it to Martin.

Martin did so, and they went on again. Now the roaring was deafening, and, by the light of the lamp Martin saw that the passage ended in a shaft, the sides of which were polished like glass by the age-long drive of the rushing vapor. He saw, too, that close to the shaft lay a sort of truck on wheels, which was heaped with sand.

Hymer stopped. He put his lips close to Martin’s ear.

“Is there need to explain?” he asked.

“No,” replied Martin. “I understand perfectly. The truck is pushed forward and the sand tipped down the shaft. It is very simple, but very well thought of.”

The roar of the spouting gas deadened all other sounds. It must have been some inner sense of danger that made Martin suddenly swing round.

The sight froze him. Barely ten paces behind, the gigantic form of Odan blocked the passage. The giant stood watching them with a cruel smile on his lips.