“Right, mother, right,” I replied, “I don’t mean to be an idler, nevertheless I don’t mean to be a doctor. I shall turn my mind to chemistry, and talking of that, I expect to test the powers of a particular compound today.”

“And what,” said my mother, with a peculiar smile, “is the nature of this compound?”

“Violently explosive,” said I.

“Ah, of course, I might have guessed that, Jeff, for most of your compounds are either violently explosive or offensive—sometimes both; but what is the name of this one?”

“Before answering that,” said I, pulling out my watch, “allow me to ask at what hour you expect Bella home to-day.”

“She half promised to be over to breakfast, if cousin Kate would let her away. It is probable that she may arrive in less than an hour.”

“Curious coincidence,” said I, “that her lover is likely to arrive about the same time!”

“What! Nicholas Naranovitsch?”

“Yes. The ship in which he sailed from St. Petersburg arrived late last night, and I have just received a telegram, saying that he will be down by the first train this morning. Love, you know, is said to have wings. If the pair given to Naranovitsch are at all in keeping with his powerful frame, they will bear him swiftly to Fagend.”

It may interest the reader at this point to know that my only sister, Bella, had been engaged the previous year to one of my dearest college friends, a young Russian, whose father had sent him to finish his education in England. My own father, having been a merchant, many of whose dealings were with Russia, had frequently visited St. Petersburg and twice my mother and sister and I accompanied him thither. While there we had met with the Naranovitsch family.

Young Nicholas was now in the army, and as fine-looking a fellow as one could wish to see. Not only was he strong and manly, but gentle in manner and tender of heart. My sister Bella being the sweetest—no, not quite that, for there is a pretty young—well, no matter—Bella being, as I may say, one of the sweetest girls in England, he fell in love with her, of course. So did she with him; no wonder! During a visit to our place in Devonshire at the end of his college career, he and Bella became engaged. Nicholas returned to St. Petersburg to obtain his parents’ consent to the union, and to make arrangements. He was rich, and could afford to marry. At the time I write of, he was coming back, not to claim his bride, for his father thought him still too young, but to see her, and to pay us a visit.

“Now you know, mother,” said I, “after the young people have seen each other for half-an-hour or so, they will naturally want to take a walk or a ride, and—”

“Only half-an-hour?” interrupted my mother, with one of her peculiar little smiles.

“Well, an hour if you like, or two if they prefer it,” I returned; “at all events, they will want a walk before luncheon, and I shall take the opportunity to show them some experiments, which prove the power of the singular compound about which you questioned me just now.”

“The explosive?”

“Yes. Its name is dynamite.”

“And what may that be, Jeff? Something very awful, I daresay,” remarked my mother, with a look of interest, as she sipped her tea.

“Very awful, indeed,” said I; “at least its effects are sometimes tremendous.”

“What! worse than gunpowder?”

“Ay, much worse, though I should prefer to say better than gunpowder.”

“Dear me!” rejoined my mother, lifting her eyebrows a little, in surprise.

“Yes, much better,” I continued; “gunpowder only bursts things—”

“Pretty well that, Jeff, in the way of violence, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but nothing to dynamite, for while powder only bursts things, dynamite shatters them.”

“How very dreadful! What is dynamite?”

“That is just what I am about to explain,” said I. “You must know, then, that it is a compound.”

“Dear, dear,” sighed my mother; “how many compounds you have told me about, Jeff, since you took to chemistry! Are there no uncompounded things—no simple things in the world?”

“Why, yes, mother; you are a simple thing, and I only wish there were a good many more simple things like you in the world—”

“Don’t be foolish, Jeff, but answer my question.”

“Well, mother, there are indeed some simple elements in creation, but dynamite is not one of them. It is composed of an excessively explosive oil named nitro-glycerine (itself a compound), and an earth called kieselguhr. The earth is not explosive, and is only mixed with the nitro-glycerine to render that liquid less dangerous; but the compound is named dynamite, in which form it is made up and sold in immense quantities for mining purposes. Here is some of it,” I added, pulling from my pocket a cartridge nearly two inches in length, and about an inch in diameter. “It is a soft, pasty substance, done up, as you see, in cartridge-paper, and this little thing, if properly fired, would blow a large boulder-stone to atoms.”

“Bless me, boy, be careful!” exclaimed my mother, pushing back her chair in some alarm.

“There is no danger,” I said, in reassuring tones, “for this cartridge, if opened out and set on fire by a spark or flame, would not, in the first place, light readily, and, in the second place, it would merely burn without exploding; but if I were to put a detonator inside and fire it by means of that, it would explode with a violence that far exceeds the force of gunpowder.”

“And what is this wonderful detonator, Jeff, that so excites the latent fury of the dynamite?”

I was much amused by the pat way in which my mother questioned me, and became more interested as I continued my explanation.

“You must know,” I said, “that many powders are violently explosive, and some more so than others. This violence of explosion is called detonation, by which is meant the almost instantaneous conversion of the ultimate molecules of an explosive compound (i.e. the whole concern) into gas.”

“I see; you mean that it goes off quickly,” said my mother, in a simple way that was eminently characteristic.

“Well, yes; but much more quickly than gunpowder does. It were better to say that a powder detonates when it all explodes at the same instant. Gunpowder appears to do so, but in reality it does not. One of the best detonators is fulminate of mercury. Detonating caps are therefore made of this, and one such cap put into the middle of that cartridge of dynamite and set fire to, by any means, would convert the cartridge itself into a detonator, and explode it with a shattering effect.

Страница 2 из 74

Назад 1 2 3…74 Далее