10:92 "Congreves?" say I. "Well, what"
10:93 "What is the range of such rockets?" asked Yakub Beg.
10:94 "Why - about two miles." I knew a bit about Congreves from my time at Woolwich. "Not accurate at that distance, of course; if you want to make good practice, then a mile, three-quarters, but-"
10:95 "The ships will not be above half a mile from the shore," says he softly. "And these rockets, from what I have heard, are fiercely combustible - like Greek fire! If one of them were to strike the upperworks of the steamer, or the wooden hull of the Miikhail-"
10:96 "We would have the finest explosion this side of Shaitan's lowest pit!" exulted Kutebar, thumping the table.
10:97 "And then - a Russian Army without powder, with cannon hat would be so much useless lumber, with soldiers armed for nothing better than a day's hunting!" cries Yakub. "They will be an army bahla dar!"
10:98 For the life of me, I Couldn't understand all this excitement.
10:99 "Forgive me," says I. "But the Ruskis have these rockets - you don't. And if you're thinking of stealing some of 'em, I'm sorry, Yakub, but you're eating green corn. D'ye know how much a single Congreve rocket-head weighs, without its stick? Thirty-two pounds. And the stick is fifteen feet long - and before you can fire one you have the firing-frame, which is solid steel weighing God knows what, with iron half-pipes. Oh, I dare say that friend Kutebar here has some pretty thieves in his fighting-tail, but they couldn't hope to lug this kind of gear out from under the Russians' noses - not unseen. Dammit, you'd need a mule-train. And if, by some miracle, you did get hold of a frame and rockets, where would you find a firing-point close enough? For that matter, at two miles - maximum range, trained at fifty-five degrees - why, you could blaze away all night and never score a hit!"
10:102 "We do not need to do it," says Yakub, looking like a happy crocodile. "Tell me: these things are like great sky-rockets, are they not? How long would it take unskilled men - handless creatures like the ancient Kutebar, for example - to prepare and fire one?"
10:103 "To erect the frame? - oh, two minutes for artillerymen. Ten times a long, probably, for your lot. Adjust the aim, light the fuse, and off she goes - but dammit, what's the use of this to you?"
11:6 And I lectured them about about Congreves - it was remarkable how well I remembered each detail about assembling the firing-frame and half-pipes, and adjusting the range-screws and everything ...
11:24 Putting up the frame was simple - it's just an iron fence, you see, with supports both sides, and half-pipes running from the ground to he top of the fence, to take the rockets. I'd never known my fingers so nimble as I tighted the screws and adjusted the half-pipes in their sockets; everyone else seemed slow by comparison, and I cursed them good-naturedly and finally left Ko Dali's daughter to see to the final adjustments while I went off to examine the rockets.
11:25 They had broken them out by now, the dull grey three-foot metal cylinders with their conical heads - I swore when I saw that, as I'd feared, they were the old pattern, without fins and needing the fifteen-foot sticks. Sure enough, there were the sticks, in long canvas bundles; I called for one, and set to work to fit into a rocket head, but the thing was corroded to blazes.
11:29 And he [Kutebar] flourished the stick, with the rockethead secured - up-side down, which made me laugh immoderately.
11:34 "All right, old fellow," says I. "Let's see how we stand." I squinted over the half-pipe, which was at full elevation. "Give us a box beneath the pipe, to lift her. So - steady." I adjusted the ranging-screw, and now the great conical head of the rocket was pointing just over her main-mast. "That's about it. Right, give me a slow-match, someone."
11:36 "Stand clear, boys and girls," I sang out, "Papa's going to light the blue touch-paper and retire immediately!" ... the fizzing was like a locomotive funnel belching sparks, filling the go-down with acrid, reeking smoke, while the firing-frame shuddered, and then with an almighty whoosh like an express tearing by the Congreve went rushing away into the night, clouds of smoke and fire gushing from its tail ... And we all stood gaping as it soared into the night like a comet, reached the top of its arc, dipped towards the Mikhail - and vanished miles on the wrong side of it.
11:37 "Bad luck, dammit! Hard lines! Right, you fellows, let's have another!" And laughing heartily, I had another box shoved under the pipe to level it out. We let fly again, but this time the rocket must have been faulty, for it swerved away crazily into the night, weaving to and fro before plunging into the water a bare three hundred yards out with a tremendous hiss and cloud of steam. We tried three more, and all fell short, so we adjusted the range slightly, and the sixth rocket flew straight and true, like a great scarlet lance searching for its target; we watched is pass between the masts of the Mikhail, and howled with disappointment. But now at least we had the range, so I ordered all the pipes loaded, and we touched off the whole battery at once.
11:38 It was indescribable, and great fun - like a volcano erupting under your feet, and a dense choking fog filling the do-gown; the men clinging to steady the firing-frame were almost torn from ther feet, the rush of the launching Congreves was deafing and for a moment we were all staggering about, weeping and coughing in that filthy smoke. It was a full minute before the reek had cleared sufficiently to see how our shots had fared, and then Kutebar was flinging himself into the air and rushing to embrace me.
11:39 "Ya'allahah! Wonder of God! Look - look yonder, Flashman! Look at the blessed sight! Is it not glorious - see, see how they burn!"
11:40 And he was right - the Mikhail was hit! There was a red ball of fire clinging to her timbers just below the rail amidships, and even as we watched there was a climbing lick of flame - and over to the right, by some freakish chance, the ketch had been hit, too; there was a fire on her deck, and she was slewing round at anchor.
11:45 "Aye, now for the steamer!" shouts Kutebar. "Hasten, Flashman bahadur! ..."
11:46 It wasn't as easy as that. Perhaps we'd been lucky with the Mikhail, but I fired twenty single rockets at the Obrucheff and never came near enough to singe her cable - they snaked over her, or flew wide, or hit the water short, until the smoky trails of their passing blended into a fine mist across the bay; in the go-down was a scorching inferno of choking smoke in which we shouted and swore hoarsely as we wrestled sticks and canisters into pipes that were so hot we had to douse them with water after every shot.
11:47 ... we dragged another rocket into the reeking pipe; half-blinded with smoke and sweat and fury I touched it off, and this time it seemed to drop just short of the Obrucheff ...
11:49 ... And savagely I flung myself among them as they hauled up the five rockets - one of 'em was still half off its stick, I remember, with a little nigger still wrestling to fix it home even as the man with the match was touching the fuse. I crammed the burning remnant of my match against a vent, and even as the trail of sparks shot out the whole go-down seemed to stand on end, I felt myself falling ..."