CHAPTER XV
A LIGHT WITHOUT MATCHES
Phil’s proposition to light without a match one of the candles discovered in the cellarway of the probable former residence of a family of French refugees interested every one of his imprisoned companions. None of them was incredulous. All were sufficiently experienced in human resourcefulness to give attention to even a seemingly impossible scheme when it came from an intelligent young man under circumstances of urgent necessity. Indeed, one of them, suspecting at once the nature of Sergeant Speed’s plan, inquired quickly:
“How are you going to do it—rub sticks?”
“You’ve hit it about right,” answered Phil. “But it’s getting dark, and we’ve got to hustle if we’re going to be able to do anything. Any of you fellows got a knife?”
There was not a pocketknife among them. All had been thoroughly searched after being brought back behind the enemy lines.
“Well, never mind,” said Phil. “I found a strong paring knife in the cellarway and it seems to be pretty sharp. Now, here is what I want: Several of you fellows hunt about over the floor and woodwork and see if you can find a loose board. If you can get hold of a loose end of a board rip it up.”
“You don’t need to rip up any boards,” called out one of the fellows from an adjoining room. “Here’s half a dozen short pieces—probably meant as kindling for the fireplace.”
“Good!” exclaimed the volunteer fire-maker. “Bring them here near the window.”
The comrade did as requested. A few moments later Phil had selected one of the short boards and split it on his knee.
“I’m going to make a bow out of this,” he announced, as he began to whittle. “Some of you fellows take these shavings and shred them against something. I’ll need some punk to catch the sparks in.”
“There’s a brick fireplace in the next room,” said Dan. “Some of the bricks are loose and we can pull out a couple and shred the whittlings between them.”
“Good again,” pronounced the leader of the enterprise. “Now one of you can help a whole lot by tying two or three shoestrings together for a string of the bow I am preparing. Make the knots as small as you can.”
“That isn’t necessary,” a young fellow named Barber interposed. “I have a stout cord five or six feet long that will suit your purpose fine. I picked it up in camp a few days ago and put it in my pocket, thinking it might come handy sometime.”
Phil received the string offered to him by the last speaker, and then offered this suggestion by way of general advice on an important subject:
“We ought to be careful not to pitch our voices too loud. Of course there’s nothing in what has been said that could do us any particular harm if it had been overheard by one of the guards. Still, there’s no telling when we’ll discover something or concoct a scheme that it would be advisable to keep to ourselves. We’d better tone our voices down so that we have to lean forward to hear each other; then we’ll be on the safe side.”
Several of the prisoners expressed their approval of this suggestion, and the succeeding conversations were in lower tones.
The work progressed rapidly, considering the insufficiency of light in the house. In a remarkably short time Phil and his assistants had produced a rude bow two and a half feet long, a fireboard with a small cone-shaped drill-socket, or pit, in one side, and a V-shaped trough leading from the pit to the edge of the board; a “thunder-bird,” or small block of wood with a cone-shaped socket in the center; a drill, or a rounded piece of wood about fifteen inches long and sharpened at both ends; and a handful of shredded shavings.
“There!” exclaimed Phil in subdued tone, as he surveyed the completed task in the dusk now so heavy that he was sure the work could not have progressed successfully many minutes longer. “I’m glad that’s done. By the way, it’s fortunate that there are curtain shades still on the windows. Let’s pull them down and then light one of the candles. We can shade the light with our bodies so that there won’t be much danger of its being seen outside. Be careful not to let the guards see you pulling the shades down. It’s so dark now that they won’t notice what we’ve done after they’re down.”
The shades were drawn down cautiously, and fourteen Marine prisoners of war gathered around Phil to watch the hoped-for success of making fire in the Old World after the manner developed and perfected by the aborigines of the New.
But they did little actual watching before the first spark appeared. Immediately after the drawing of the shades there was scarcely a glimmer of light in the room, and Phil had to depend on his sense of feeling to enable him to operate his fire-making contrivance.
“Now, all of you crowd around in as close a circle as you can without hindering my movements,” he directed as he fitted the sharpened ends of the drill into the pit of the fireboard, which he had laid on the floor, and the pit of the “thunder-bird,” which he held in his left hand. Then he began a sawing motion with the bow, the string of which was looped around the drill.
A moment later all were listening eagerly to the merry hum of the drill as it whirled around in its perpendicular position, the revolving motion being produced by the drawing back and forth of the bow string looped about it.
“Keep close together,” Phil warned. “Don’t let any light get through. It’s coming. Smell the burning of the wood?”
Suddenly there was a tiny glow at the base of the drill.
“Quick with the punk,” said Phil eagerly.
Nobody could see the move, but nevertheless Dan dropped a pinch of the dry shredded wood on the tiny brilliance.
The bright spot grew larger, the drill whirled more rapidly, a few more pinches of punk were applied, and the glow burst into a flame.
“Now, the candle,” Phil directed, but even as he spoke the wick of one of the illuminants was being applied to the burning punk.
Phil seized the lighted candle and started for the open trap-doorway.
“I’m going downstairs and see what I can find,” he announced, holding his coat lapel over the flame. “All of you stand close together and help keep any rays of this candle from getting to any of the windows.”
“How about the basement windows?” asked one of the men. “How’re you going to keep the light from shining through them?”
“I’ll have to run a little risk on that account,” Phil replied; “but I’ll shield the light all I can with my coat and when I get down there I’ll set it in a corner where it can’t be seen through the window or windows, if possible.”
The boy descended slowly, and the others, or such of them as could obtain a view at once through the opening in the floor, gazed eagerly after him. They were unable to see much, however, for he covered the light with the lapel of his coat so carefully that the entire illumination fell directly in front of him.
Phil’s first trip into the cellar was a short one. In less than five minutes he returned to the head of the stairs without the light and offered this startling announcement in low but clear tones:
“Fellows, I’ve made a great discovery. If you’re game, there’s a good chance for us to escape.”