As far as I am able to judge, Roch is calm. He knows what he is going to do. No hesitation troubles the soul of the hapless man whom hatred has led astray.
Between his fingers shines the glass phial containing the deflagrator liquid.
He then gazes towards the nearest ship, which is about five miles’ distant.
She is a cruiser of about two thousand five hundred tons—not more.
She flies no flag, but from her build I take her to belong to a nation for which no Frenchman can entertain any particular regard.
The four other warships remain behind.
It is this cruiser which is to begin the attack.
Let her use her guns, then, since the pirates allow her to approach, and may the first of her projectiles strike Thomas Roch!
While Engineer Serko is estimating the distance, Roch places himself behind the trestle. Three engines are resting on it, charged with the explosive, and which are assured a long trajectory by the fusing matter without it being necessary to impart a gyratory movement to them—as in the case of Inventor Turpin’s gyroscopic projectiles. Besides, if they drop within a few hundred yards of the vessel, they will be quite near enough to utterly destroy it.
The time has come.