In the Track of the Troops | Page 7

mother, as we walked slowly homeward.
"Not at all dangerous,--at least not worth speaking of," replied the manager; "nitro-glycerine by itself is indeed very dangerous, being easily exploded by concussion or mere vibration; but when mixed with infusorial earth and thus converted into dynamite, it is one of the safest explosives in existence--not quite so safe, indeed, as gun-cotton, but much more so than gunpowder. Any sort of fire will explode gunpowder, but any sort of fire will not explode dynamite; it will only cause it to burn. It requires a detonator to explode it with violence. Without its detonator, dynamite is a sleeping giant."
"Ay, mother," said I, taking up the subject, "the case stands thus: gunpowder is a big athlete, who slumbers lightly; any spark can wake him to violent action: but dynamite is a bigger athlete, who sleeps so soundly that a spark or flame can only rouse him to moderate rage; it requires a special shake to make him wide-awake, but when thus roused his fury is terrific, as you have just seen. And now," I added, as we drew near the house, "we will change the subject, because I have this morning received two letters, which demand the united consideration of our whole party. I will therefore call up Bella and Nicholas, who have fallen behind, as usual. Mr Jones will excuse my talking of family matters for a few minutes, as replies must be sent by return of post."
I then explained that one of the letters was an invitation to me and my mother and sister, with any friends who might chance to be visiting us, to go to Portsmouth to witness a variety of interesting experiments with torpedoes and such warlike things; while the other letter was an offer by a friend, of a schooner-built yacht for a moderate sum.
"Now, Nicholas," said I, apologetically, "I'm sorry to give you such an explosive reception, but it cannot be helped. If you don't care about torpedoes, you may remain here with my mother and Bella; but if you would like to go, I shall be happy to introduce you to one or two of my naval friends. For myself, I must go, because--"
"We will all go, Jeff," interrupted Bella; "nothing could be more appropriate as a sequel to this morning's experiments. A day among the torpedoes will be most interesting, won't it?"
She looked up at Nicholas, on whose arm she leaned. He looked down with that peculiar smile of his which seemed to lie more in his eyes than on his lips, and muttered something about a day anywhere being, etcetera, etcetera.
My mother remarked that she did not understand exactly what a torpedo was, and looked at me for an explanation. I confess that her remark surprised me, for during the course of my investigations and inventions, I had frequently mentioned the subject of torpedoes to her, and once or twice had given her a particular description of the destructive machine. However, as she had evidently forgotten all about it, and as I cannot resist the temptation to elucidate complex subjects when opportunity offers, I began:--
"It is a machine, mother, which--"
"Which bursts," interrupted Bella, with a little laugh.
"But that is no explanation, dear," returned my mother; "at least not a distinctive one, for guns burst sometimes, and soap-bubbles burst, and eggs burst occasionally."
"Bella," said Nicholas, who spoke English perfectly, though with a slightly foreign accent, "never interrupt a philosopher. Allow Jeff to proceed with his definition."
"Well, a torpedo," said I, "is an infernal machine--"
"Jeff," said my mother, seriously, "don't--"
"Mother, I use the word advisedly and dispassionately. It is a term frequently given to such engines, because of their horrible nature, which suggests the idea that they were originated in the region of Satanic influence. A torpedo, then, is a pretty large case, or box, or cask, or reservoir, of one form or another, filled with gunpowder, or gun-cotton, or dynamite, which is used chiefly under water, for blowing-up purposes. Sometimes men use torpedoes to blow up rocks, and sunken wrecks; and sometimes, I grieve to say it, they blow up ships and sailors."
"Dreadful! my dear," said my mother; "nevertheless I should like to go with you on this excursion, and see what devices men invent for the purpose of killing each other."
"Very well, that's settled," said I. "Now, as to the other letter about the yacht. I will buy it, mother, and go on a cruise to the Mediterranean, on one condition, namely, that you and Nicholas and Bella go with me."
"Impossible!" exclaimed my mother, firmly; "I never could bear the sea."
"But you've had little experience of it," said I.
"Well, not much--but I cannot bear it."
"Now, mother," said I, coaxingly, "here is Bella dying to go to sea, I know. Nicholas has loads of time, and cannot