  Our work of creating things of flint began that same day, although the afternoon was far advanced when we arrived. I was in a fever to complete our preparations against any future aggressions on the part of the enemy, particularly as I had a growing conviction that Grin, the deserter and treacherous devil, had gone straight away to hunt for the Blacks. I believed his sole intention was that of betraying his kind and thereby of wreaking a vengeance for all the punishments which he had rightfully undergone. All the questions I could ask about the fellow, through the medium of my few words in Linkish and my signs, which were supplemented by my native language, failed to elicit any satisfactory information. Having too much to do to spend my time in thinking of the beast, I set my selected assistants to work at splitting out slabs of flint. The greater part of the pebbles, I had my fellows bury in a moist, shady place, for, labour as diligently as we might, we could not complete the work on a third of the stone, as I knew, before the hot air would begin to render the stuff as hard as glass and quite unworkable. During all next day we were at it, hammering, chipping and forming. Four fellows, clever at binding were heading the arrows already provided, and lashing hatchets and knives to handles. That night, by way of a pleasant diversion, I secured some fragments of charcoal, and reducing this and some of my sulphur and nitre to a flour, mixed the three together and ground the grayish substance for a time, between two stones. Such a dust arose that I was obliged to sprinkle the stuff with a few drops of water. This seemed to help it in combining, but do my best, I could not make the mixture resemble gunpowder in the slightest degree. Having just about decided to give the task over, as one presenting difficulties too great for me to cope with successfully, I took a palm-full of my material and, by way of experiment, threw it on the fire. Instantly the well-known hiss resulted and a dense cloud of pungent smoke arose with such a quickness that I stumbled backward from the place, involuntarily. Only Fatty and one or two others of the Links beheld this exhibition, the others being already asleep. The fright depicted on the faces of this small but select audience was a wonderful thing to see. I determined at once to set about burning a quantity of charcoal, for already I had conceived an idea that it might be possible to utilise the explosive to advantage, and I intended at least to give my scheme a trial. On the day that followed, the first thing I did was to have the Links collect a lot of wood, the softest and driest I could find. This I heaped up in a conical pile and walled in snugly with turf and a little of the clay, which was everywhere about us. When it was lighted and smoking slightly through various small chinks, I banked it up around the bottom and returned to the work on the flints. Before we got through with those pebbles we had rough but serviceable arrow-heads by the hundreds, knives in plenty, hatchets for all, with some to spare, and sixty or eighty spear-heads, which were bound to long, stout hafts, in the regular course of finishing up. I reserved for my own personal arsenal two axes, two knives and fifty of the finest arrows in the lot. Also I assumed a general command, as custodian, over all the weapons and utensils in the tribe’s possession. No sooner were the armaments complete than I went to my powder-making with indefatigable vigour, thankful for every day that passed without bringing the foe, which I dreaded and thoroughly expected to see come swarming up the slope from the woods. I made my fellows pound up charcoal till some were nearly as black as the enemy for whom we were preparing. The powdered stuff we placed in the baskets, several of which I plastered inside with clay, which dried hard and firm. The saltpetre, which we dug and brought up the hill, was treated in a similar manner, as was also the sulphur. Anyone to have seen me directing this business would have thought I intended to supply an old-fashioned navy with explosives. During these days I in nowise neglected the archery practice, which alone could make my warriors capable of using the weapons to advantage. We shot at a target the size of a man, which I fashioned out of skins and heavy palm leaves. This being backed by a sort of hedge, constructed of bamboo and more of the leaves, we lost but few of the arrows employed. And the arrows used were not from our pointed stock, though they were whittled sharp on the end, so that many pierced the target as neatly as a bullet. Thirty of my force grew decidedly efficient, being accurate, strong shots who could be relied upon to perform good work on any attacking party. We also used the spears, in the throwing of which the Links took great delight. I was sure that come what might, the fellows would never again be so primitive as they were when first I met them in the jungle. Whether I left them or not, they would hereafter possess weapons which would place them far above the Blacks in point of capacity to kill. One of the greatest difficulties with which I had to contend, while making my powder, was the frequent coming of rain. This threatened to make it all too wet to be of any use. There were also many days when a thick, damp fog rolled upward from the lower levels, slowly evolving into a ponderous cloud which covered all the jungle-world. The baskets containing the pulverized materials were doubly protected, however, by skins, and the roofs of the special dug-outs which we made, but the roofs were never entirely water-tight. Being unacquainted with the recognised formulÆ for mixing various powders, I simply took about three parts charcoal to one each of nitre and sulphur, and set the Links to grinding these substances together, slightly dampening the whole as before. The grayish stuff, which I regarded finally as the best product of which we were capable, I stored away, next to my own shelter. There must have been two hundred pounds of this powder, the making of all of which had only occupied us for a short time, after the several ingredients in their rough state had been assembled. In order to impress the tribe with the urgent necessity of keeping all fire away from the baskets, I dropped a glowing coal into a handful as it lay on a rock. The vivid flash did so much to accomplish my purpose that I could hardly get the Links to approach the dangerous mixture under any circumstances whatsoever. My next step now was to visit the swamp where the thicket of bamboo flourished. In this place, as I had expected, there were all sizes of this peculiar tree-reed, but the largest ones appealed to me most strongly. I carried off what I thought I should need, and selecting the driest of my stock, cut off a large section behind the joint, on one end, and in front of the next joint on the other. The piece then resembled quite a cannon, without further ado. This thing I was aware was much too brittle to stand an explosion, but I meant to try it, nevertheless. To begin with I bored a vent through the hard, thick shell, near the end that was naturally plugged. Then I reinforced that plug by lashing a stone across the end firmly. Next I split some more bamboo and laid the strips lengthwise along the barrel, thus doubling the thickness, after which I had the whole thing stoutly wound about with tough, slender creepers, till I was sure it would resist a powerful tendency to burst. What to do for a fuse, when at length my piece of mountain artillery was loaded—with powder and rocks—puzzled me no little. The thing was “mounted” half way down the hill, pointed toward an imaginary foe, and was amply weighted with rocks at the sides and on the top. At length I hit upon a plan for the fuse. It was simply to split a creeper, the outside of which we frequently employed, and to pull out the smooth, wire-like core inside, and then to fill the space so left hollow, with powder. In the sun this shell of the creeper dried out rapidly, rolling up so tightly in the process that it squirmed itself into several twists. This “habit” of the thing was exactly what was required, for when the powder was laid along inside, the chances for it to trickle out were exceedingly meagre. About thirty feet of this fuse I laid to the “gun,” with stones along its length to keep it properly in place. Then, with a thumping heart under my shirt, I proceeded down the hill, alone, with a fire-brand glowing hotly in my fist. I looked all about, when I came to the match, and selected my path back up to the camp. Then I touched the end of the creeper—and jerked my fire away, quickly. There was no alarming sputter after all. I tried again. The creeper smoked, giving forth a pungent odour, but the powder must have fallen out for a short distance. I cut off six or seven inches and had the satisfaction of seeing powder in plenty. This time it lighted and began to spit in a hurry. I darted off, stopped, looked back, saw a tiny smoke-snake running down the hill, and again I ran as hard as I could, momentarily expecting something tremendous to happen behind my back. To my surprise I reached the camp and nothing had occurred. I turned about and looked, panting and yet attempting to hold my breath. There was nothing to be seen, save the heap of rocks where my “battery” was planted. I waited and waited. The seconds slipped by; the Links behind me were as silent as the grave. My heart ceased its violent jumping; the thing was going to prove a failure; the Links would think me a fool. “I’ll have to go down and see what’s the matter,” I grumbled. “That fuse is no good.” I had taken two steps when suddenly a great flare of fire leaped upward, the side of the hill appeared to fly into fragments and a roaring detonation split the silence into a thousand ringing reverberations. A cushion of air gave us all a push, and a huge geyser of smoke went upward in rolling, billowy gushes. I wondered in that second, how many pounds of that powder I had put in the “piece” in my natural anxiety to give it a good, square trial. Something screamed weirdly in the air, while we stood speechless, and presently it came whirring down, a rod below the wall, striking the ground with a sounding thud. Yelling in dismay, the second they recovered power to do anything, the Links fell over each other helter-skelter, in their great confusion, and desire to take to the woods. As for myself, I laughed and laughed like a veritable maniac, and threw my arms about myself and jumped in the air repeatedly, as tickled with my exploit as a boy. Then I ran outside and found my cannon, the thing which had whistled as it hurtled back to earth. It was a “goner” and no mistake. Black as a hat, ripped from muzzle to breach, blown to pieces at the plugged-up end, it certainly gave the appearance of having “gone through the war,” but it pleased me not a whit the less. “Why that’s all right,” I assured the surrounding stillness, “I’ll go to work and make a lot of bamboo bombs.” |
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