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Roy Glashan's Library
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RGL e-Book Cover
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Title from "The Irvine Herald and Kilwinning Chronicle"
On a rough-and-ready frontier where danger can strike as suddenly as a lightning flash, luck seems to have deserted everyone involved. But when an unexpected explosion sets off a chain of startling events, fortunes begin to change in ways no one could have predicted. Packed with brisk action, colorful characters, "A Lucky Blast" is a lively tale in which courage, quick thinking, and a single extraordinary stroke of luck turn an ordinary predicament into an unforgettable escapade.
"COMING, Mr Thornton?" cried a clear, musical voice, and a girl stepped out from the dark shadow of the porch into the brilliant sunlight.
What man would not have been perfectly ready to accompany Carrie Anderson anywhere and everywhere the wilful little beauty chose to go? You might indeed have gone far without seeing a prettier picture than this brilliant little Florida girl made as she stood there on the veranda-steps. You might have gone farther without finding a man more keenly alive to her charms than was Gerald Thornton.
"Ready!" he laughed. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Miss Carrie? Here I've been kicking my heels outside for the last twenty minutes waiting for you to get that hat on. There's a tearing breeze up the river, and I'm afraid it won't stay at the correct angle very long."
"A good breeze? That's fine!" And away she raced down the narrow path under blossoming oleanders and wide-leaved banana-plants.
He followed, and the two emerged a moment later on a wooden pier overlooking the wide blue surface of the lovely Indian river. A small sail-boat tied to the wharf was tugging at its painter in the strong tide.
The young man arranged a cosy nest amidships for his companion and helped her in. An instant later the one big sail was set and the sharp bow was slapping through the short ripple.
"Isn't this just perfect!" cried the girl as, reaching the middle of the stream, a strong puff filled the sail and sent them spinning along at a glorious pace.
The excitement had flushed her cheek and made her dark eyes shine. Gerald's glance was full of the admiration he had long striven to conceal.
"What an idiot I am!" he muttered ruefully to himself for about the hundredth time. "Fluttering round the flame like a wretched moth. Ah, if I only wasn't such a miserable pauper I vow I'd try my luck."
Carrie's quick glance noted his momentary abstraction and she turned away to hide a smile.
They were now rapidly approaching the "Narrows," where a long, low spit cut the broad stream to half its usual width.
"We shall just clear it," remarked Gerald, as they neared the point. The channel was fairly deep right up to the bank, and they slipped past without touching bottom, though the long boom actually brushed the sweeping boughs.
"Oh, what lovely berries!" cried Carrie.
"Duck, Miss Carrie, duck!" exclaimed Gerald hastily. Around the point he had seen that a strong slant of wind would take them right aback.
He threw the helm up—too late! The boom swung sharply over and struck the girl full on the forehead.
To loosen the halyards from the cleats was the work of a second and Gerald tenderly raised in his arms the tumbled white heap. A tiny drop of blood had started from beneath the little rings of hair—the face was very white, the eyes tight-closed.
"My darling! Carrie, speak to me!" Then, quickly soaking a handkerchief in the cool water, Gerald bathed her forehead.
With a wan little smile she looked up, realised what had happened, and sank back into Gerald's protecting arms. When the boat once more reached the wharf it was an engaged pair who strolled up towards the house.
Already Gerald began to see the rocks ahead. He was well aware that old General Anderson was not the man to hand over his daughter to one whom he would probably stigmatise as a "needy fortune-hunter," but how to improve that position he had not at that moment the faintest idea.
"Trust me, dearest: I'll do it somehow or other!" were his last words as he bade Carrie good night.
SO far Gerald had been content with the regulation ten-acre orange-grove which had provided him with the mere necessaries of his frugal existence.
But now all was changed. The young fellow began clearing fresh land, planting fresh trees, preparing to wrest fortune from the soil. Amongst other improvements he opened a deep ditch in order to drain a piece of rich swamp land which he intended turning into a strawberry-garden. The ditch ran along the eastern edge of his possessions just where they touched upon the General's land.
The labour of digging was exceedingly severe, and the two negroes whom he had employed groaned bitterly over the hard rock they chanced on. So little did they like the job that one fine morning Gerald found that they had left him. Gerald made up his mind to take a turn at it himself. The rock, a hard limestone, rang with a curious sound under the blows of his pickaxe.
"Sounds as if it was hollow," remarked Gerald to himself in puzzled tones. "I wonder what's beneath?"
A bright idea struck him. He would try the effect of a little blasting-powder. He went to his shanty, and soon returned with a crow bar and half-a-dozen of the giant-powder cartridges generally used for smashing tree-stumps.
An hour's heavy pounding and he had six holes drilled deep in the limestone. A cartridge was inserted in each, stamped carefully in, and packed with clay. Then a three minute fuse was attached and lighted.
Gerald gathered up his tools and scrambled out of the black chasm to find himself face to face with General Anderson.
"I was looking for you," remarked the old gentleman rather grimly.
"All right, General," said the young man, "but let's move back a bit behind the trees. I've just started the fuse. There this'll be all right. What do you want me for?"
"It's not anything pleasant!" the old fellow began, tugging at his white moustache. "I hardly know how to put it. The fact is, Thornton, you've been paying too much attention to my girl. I taxed Carrie with it this morning, and she tells me"—the General s voice rose harshly in his excitement—that she considers herself engaged to you. I need hardly tell you that this is absurd, preposterous. Do you intend that my daughter shall live in that log-hut of yours, or d'ye expect me to finance you? I tell you, I'll have no more—"
Boom! The heavy shock of the explosion interrupted the speaker. The earth vibrated in shuddering throes under their feet.
"Great Scott!" exclaimed the General, startled. "What a heavy charge you must have put in there! Hello, what's this?"
The whole ground was swaying—yes—and sinking beneath them. It was like standing upon the roof of some falling building. From far below came a cracking and rending, a terrifying roar. The pines bent inwards, swaying their heads like grass in a summer whirlwind.
The two men stood for a moment, and then endeavoured to make for safety. A huge depression, a hundred yards across, was sinking basin-like into the earth. Faster and faster it fell; great cracks appeared, through which the water gushed furiously. Quicker and quicker these huge springs rose, and the next minute Gerald found himself swimming for dear life.
A great pine log floated within reach. He seized it and, clinging to it, was swung round and round in a dizzy, eddying swirl.
Presently the sinking ceased, the terrible turmoil died down; the surface of the water, covered with yellow foam, became level and still.
So suddenly had the whole catastrophe occurred that Gerald had not in the least realised what had happened. He dashed the water from his eyes, looked around and understood. It was a "sink-hole. The roof of a great, water-filled cavern in the limestone, weakened by the shock of the explosion, had given way.
The General was nowhere to be seen! Above the gloomy surface of the new-born lake were the thick tops of pines whose crests but five short minutes since had waved high in the evening breeze. Possibly the old man was safe, clinging to one of these. In and out amongst them Gerald began swimming vigorously, forcing his way through floating logs and leaves and bunches of withered grass.
And then upon his stunned senses came the shock of a new discovery.
Along the riven edges of the huge chasm stood out thick streaks of white chalk-like rock, and dimly it came home to the young fellow that this was "phosphate"—that there were thousands of tons of this most valuable of minerals in sight.
At that moment a weak cry near by urged him to instant effort. It was hard work forcing through the massed debris. Another smothered call, a slight splash. Gerald won his way just in time to see a gray head sinking into the inky depths.
A spasm of temptation assailed him, brief, but none the less bitter. "Let him drown!" a voice seemed to whisper. "No one will know. With him out of the way, Carrie, the phosphate, fortune—all will be yours!"
Bitterly reviling himself, Gerald boldly dived. He was just in time, and came up safely with the now insensible body. Greatly exhausted, he grasped a branch and waited to gather breath. But help was at hand. The earthquake crash of the falling rocks had brought people running from far and near; ropes were brought, a rough raft of logs constructed, and soon both rescuer and rescued were once more up in the fresh air of the open woods.
SOME hours later the General, quite recovered, had finished dinner, and was sitting with his daughter on the veranda in his long cane chair.
"Carrie," he remarked, as he took his cigar from his mouth, "I reckon you'd better send for that young man of yours in the morning. I want to talk to him."
"Like a father?" replied Carrie, laughing.
"Never you mind, young woman," answered the old gentleman with a dry smile. "'Tisn't you I'm going to discuss with him don't you flatter yourself. The fact is, I think there are dollars in that phosphate we discovered in such a peculiar sudden manner this afternoon, and I kind of fancy Thornton might be a good man to run it on half-shares. Eh, little girl?"—and he affectionately pinched her cheek.
"You dear old dad!" she cried, jumping up and throwing her arms round her father's neck. "'Now,' as Gerald says in his variation of an English slang-phrase, 'we shan't be any appreciable length of time!'"
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.