Satan used a modification of the deck bear for cleaning his decks; that is to say, a box filled with stones having a rough mat nailed under it. The deck having been sprinkled with sand, the bear had to be pulled backward and forward after the fashion of a carpet sweeper. This was Ratcliffe’s job, and he was not sorry when it was over.

Dinner was served at eight bells, and getting along toward one o’clock the Natchez and Juan were flying all sorts of flags on the tepid breeze as a signal, evidently, that it was time to get to business.

Ratcliffe made out the red and white flag indicating H, the triangular blue with the white ball, the red cross on a white ground, and the white with the blue square,—H.D.V.S.

“What are they trying to say?” he asked.

“Oh, them flags,” replied Satan. “They’re not tryin’ to say anythin’, only flyin’ to show time’s up. Cark hasn’t got a full set of the c’mercial code; wouldn’t know how to use them, neither. Now if you’re ready we’ll put off. Jude will stick here to keep ship.”

Jude protested. “Why, you’ll see the blow-up from here a durned sight better than from the boat,” said Satan.

“I want to see her innards when the deck’s off,” said Jude.

“Why, Lord bless me! you’ll have days to see them in,” said Satan, “and there’s no knowin’ what may happen when the blow-up comes, what with flyin’ timbers and muck. I’ll come back and bring you off when the powder’s fired. I can’t say fairer than that.”

They got into the dinghy and shoved off, Jude watching them.

Sellers was waiting for them on the reef, and Cleary. Their boats were on the strip of beach surrounded by the crews, and a couple of fellows on the wreck were putting the last touches to the preparation of the charge. Sellers was holding what seemed a length of thick white cord in his hand.

“Here’s the fuse,” said he. “I had it left over with the barrel from that last wrecking business we did in the fall. It’s a five-minutes’ fuse.”

“Oh, is it?” said Satan, handling the thing. “And where’s your guarantee? S’posin’ it only takes a minute? And five minutes is none too much for the man that fires it to get clear of the reef and put out.”

“That’s true,” said Sellers, “and one of you will have to do the firin’ business, seein’ I’m lame.”

“What’s lamed you?”

“Fell on the deck this mornin’ over a slush tub one of them damn dagoes left lyin’ in the dark. Near put my knee out.” “Then Cleary will do the trick,” said Satan.

Cleary laughed. “Not me! I’m not lame, but it ain’t my job. Runnin’ over rocks don’t suit me, and I reckon the man that lays a light to that thing will want to be a boundin’ kangaroo.”

“Instead of a damned ass like y’self,” said Satan. “Come on. I’ll light it, I’m not afeard.”

They clambered over the rocks, crossed the rock bridge, and gained the wreck.

The little barrel had been well and truly laid, the top almost flush with the level of the stuff covering the deck.

“We got right through the deck plankin’,” said Sellers, “or to a crossbeam. Wood’s most dry-rotted, and it’ll be a nacheral mercy if the powder don’t blow the whole coffee shop to blazes right down to the reef. Here’s the hole for the fuse.”

While they were examining the fuse-hole, Ratcliffe took notice of the cuts radiating starlike from the charge-hole that had been made in the deck-casing. When he turned again, Satan, with the aid of Sellers, had fixed the fuse. The Spanish sailors who had been at work had taken their departure and were already down by the boats, leaving only four men on the wreck,—Satan, Sellers, Cleary and himself.

Satan rose up, clapped the knees of his trousers as if to knock dust off them, and produced a yellow box of Swedish matches from his pocket.

“Look here!” said Ratcliffe. “It’s not fair. Let’s draw lots who’ll fire the thing.”

“Not me,” said Satan. “I wouldn’t trust one of them two with a box of matches, let alone a dollar. Now then, scatter for the boats!”

Then to Ratcliffe, as Sellers and Cleary made off, “Stand by ready to shove the dinghy off when you see me coming.”

“All right,” said the other; “but I’ll stick by you if you like.”

“I reckon two don’t run quicker than one,” said Satan. “Off with you, and, if I’m blown to blazes, look after the kid.”

When Ratcliffe reached the strip of beach the boats of the Juan and Natchez had shoved off. He could see the figure of Carquinez at the after-rail of the Juan and Jude watching from the Sarah. He pulled the dinghy down a bit more to the water and then, turning, looked at the wreck.

Satan was standing against the skyline, now he was down on his knees, and now he was up again. The fuse had evidently been fired, but he did not move; stood evidently looking to see that it was burning properly, and then moved off, walking, not running, and not even hurrying himself.

Then he came clambering over the rocks, reached the dinghy, and they pushed off.

“Well, you are a cool chap,” said Ratcliffe. “I’d have run.”

“And broke your leg, maybe. There’s no danger unless a spark got at the powder. The durned thing was sparkin’ and spittin’ like all possessed when I left it. I reckon that’s why Sellers got cold feet. We’re out far enough now.” He ceased rowing, and they hung drifting.

Ratcliffe looked round. The other boats were much farther out. The tepid wind had almost died off, so that the flags on the Juan and Natchez hung in wisps. They could hear the wash of the water on the reef and the occasional lamentation of a gull. No other sound broke the silence of the blue and gorgeous afternoon.

“Seems like as if everything was listenin’, don’t it?” said Satan, wiping his forehead. “The bust ought to have come by this. Wonder if the durned thing has fizzled out?”

A gull made derisive answer and across the satin smooth swell a hail came from the Juan.

“That’s Cark,” said Satan, “makin’ kind inquiries, blister him!”

“There she goes!” cried Ratcliffe.

A jet of flame and a column of smoke sprang from the reef, followed by a clap of thunder that could have been heard at Rum Cay.

Flying filth and deck planking filled the air, and on top of all came the yelling of a thousand gulls.

The dinghy jumped as though from the blow of a great fist—then silence, and over the reef a filthy dun-colored cloud of smoke curling upward like a djin.

Satan seized the sculls and headed for the beach. The boats of the Juan and Natchez, already under way, were rowing as if for a wager, but the dinghy had the lead. They beached her, hauled her up a foot, and started over the rocks, running this time, heedless of broken limbs, Satan leading like the bounding kangaroo of Cleary’s and whooping as he went.

The rock bridge was still intact, but nearly the whole of the after part of the deck was gone.

“Go careful!” cried Satan. He got down on hands and knees and, crawling, followed by Ratcliffe, leaned over the break and looked.

Ratcliffe cried out in horror.