The King's Own Part 44

"Yes," replied the doctor.

"Do you really intend to remain here?" inquired Courtenay.

"I do: it is a very remarkable specimen of cinnamon-stone, and I must procure some of it if possible."

"Well, I do declare!" said Prose: "I thought cinnamon grew upon trees.

Doctor, I should like to stay with you, for this beast does shake me so, I'm quite sore--and I've such a st.i.tch in my side."

Prose accordingly prepared to descend, and was recommended by the interpreter to slide down by the hind leg of the animal.

"He won't kick, will he?"

"Elephant no kick, sar," and Prose descended in safety, while the remainder of the party continued their excursion.

The doctor walked several times round the rock, to find a point upon which he would be able to make some impression with his implements; but the fragment, which had probably remained there since the deluge, without having been honoured by a visit from a naturalist, was worn quite smooth by time, and presented no acute angle, within reach, upon which his hammer could make any impression; nor could he climb it for it rose from its base in almost a perpendicular line. The more he scrutinised, the more anxious was he to obtain specimens, and he determined to blast the rock. Being prepared with a couple of short crowbars, and a flask of gunpowder, he fixed upon a corner, which appeared more a.s.sailable than the rest, and commenced his laborious occupation.

"Can I a.s.sist you, Mr Macallan?" inquired Prose.

"You can, indeed, Mr Prose. Now, observe; continue driving the end of the crowbar straight into this hole until you have made it about nine or ten inches deep; that will be sufficient. I will make another on the other side."

Prose commenced his labour, and, for a few minutes, worked with due emphasis; but he soon found out that he had volunteered to a most fatiguing task. He stopped, at last, for want of breath.

"Well, Mr Prose," inquired the doctor, from the other side of the rock, observing that he had ceased from his labour, "how do you get on?"

"I wish to Heaven I had never got off;" muttered Prose, "for this is worse than the elephant."

But the doctor was an enthusiast, a description of person who never tires, and he judged of others by himself.

"How far have you got now, Mr Prose?"

"Oh--I think I have got an inch and a half good," answered Prose, quite exhausted.

"No more!" exclaimed Macallan; "why, you must work harder, or we never shall blast it."

"I have been _blasting_ it in my heart," thought Prose, "for these last ten minutes," and he resumed his labour.

"You know nothing of mineralogy?" inquired the doctor, after a silence of a few minutes.

"This is my first lesson, doctor," answered Prose, out loud; and muttering in continuation, "I do declare it shall be the last."

"It's a very amusing study," continued Macallan; "but, like most others, rather dry at first."

"Anything but dry," thought Prose, wiping his face with his handkerchief.

"I shall be happy to give you any information in my power," said Macallan; "but you must be attentive--nothing is to be obtained without labour."

"I'm sure mineralogy is not," retorted Prose, throwing down his crowbar from exhaustion.

Fortunately for Prose, by the directions of the interpreter, the baggage elephant who carried the tent, and the natives accompanying it, now halted opposite to the rock, on the side where Prose was, for the wish expressed by Macallan to remain there had been construed by the interpreter as a selection of the place where the refreshments should be prepared. One of the natives, perceiving what Prose was about when he threw away the crowbar, offered his a.s.sistance, which was readily accepted, and the labour was continued.

"Well, Mr Prose, how do you get on now?"

"Oh--capitally."

"Don't you find it very warm?" continued Macallan, who stopped to wipe the streams of perspiration from his own face.

"Oh, no," answered Prose, chuckling.

"Well, I do, I can a.s.sure you," answered the doctor, who, not wis.h.i.+ng to show symptoms of flagging while Prose was working so hard, recommenced his labour.

Another quarter of an hour, and the doctor was quite exhausted; wis.h.i.+ng for an excuse to leave off himself, he called again to Prose--

"An't you tired, Mr Prose?"

"Not the least, doctor."

"Oh, but you must be--you had better rest yourself a little."

"Thank you, but I'm not the least tired."

Another five minutes.--"Well, Mr Prose, I really give you great credit for your perseverance. Let me see how deep you are," said Macallan, who could find no other excuse for being the first to abandon his task.

But Prose, who was not exactly a fool, determined not to lose his credit with the doctor--pus.h.i.+ng aside the native, he took the crowbar from him, and before the doctor had walked round, was again hard at work.

"Upon my honour I give you great credit," observed the panting Macallan, as he witnessed the effects of the labour.

"But," observed Prose, "why should we work this way when there are a parcel of black fellows doing nothing? here, I say, you chap, come and punch here," continued he, pointing the crowbar to the native, who immediately resumed his labour. "You call another, Mr Macallan, and make him work for you."

"Well thought of; Mr Prose," answered the doctor, and another native being put in requisition, in less than an hour the rock was perforated to the depth required, without the least appearance of fatigue, or even heat upon the skins of the temperate Hindoos. In the meantime the tent was erected, the mats and carpets spread, the fires lighted, and the repast preparing by the cooks who were in attendance. The doctor, who was absorbed in his views, heeded it not, and had just finished the charging and priming of the rock when the cavalcade returned from their excursion.

"Well, doctor, how do you get on?" inquired Courtenay.

"Oh, I'm all ready, and you had better remove to a little distance, as I'm about to fire my trains."

"Fire your trains!--Why, what have you been about?"

"I am going to blast the rock."

"The devil you are--then I'm off;" cried Courtenay, who, with Seymour, retreated from the well-known effects of gunpowder.

The natives who accompanied them also retired, although not aware of the nature of the operation. The interpreter understood "gentlemen make fireworks," and reported accordingly.

The doctor lighted his matches and withdrew, followed by Prose, who forgot his limp upon this occasion. The mines exploded, splitting large fragments from the rock, and shaking it from its base.

"Capital!" exclaimed the doctor who, as soon as the smoke had cleared away, ran up, and was in ecstasies at the variety and brilliancy of the specimens which were now exposed to his eager view.

But in his enthusiasm the doctor quite overlooked the mischief which he had occasioned. One large fragment had struck the tent to the ground; others had scattered the cooking utensils, with their contents, and wounded the unfortunate cooks; while the affrighted elephant had completed the demolition by trotting over the whole, his trunk raised high in the air, uttering shrill cries, and regardless of the admonitions of his conductor. All was confusion and dismay.

The natives when they witnessed the damage were astonished. A long consultation took place between them, as to what the doctor meant; at last it was decided by the grave deputy that it was intended as a compliment to them--for all fireworks were compliments in that country.