I washed this for safe handling.
Boston, we are adrift on a floating bomb that would pulverize the rock
of Gibraltar!"
"But, doctor," asked Boston, as he leaned against the rail for support,
"wouldn't there be evolution of heat from the action of the acids on
the lime--enough to explode the nitro-glycerine just formed?"
"The best proof that it did not explode is the fact that this hull
still floats. The action was too slow, and it was very cold down
there. But I can't yet account for the acids left in the bilges. What
have they been doing all these fifty years?"
Boston found a sounding-rod in the locker, which he scraped bright with
his knife, then, unlaying a strand of the rope for a line, sounded the
pump-well. The rod came up dry, but with a slight discoloration on the
lower end, which Boston showed to the doctor.
"The acids have expended themselves on the iron frames and plates. How
thick are they?"
"Plates, about five-eighths of an inch; frames, like railroad iron."
"This hull is a shell! We won't get much salvage. Get up some kind of
distress signal, Boston." Somehow the doctor was now the master-spirit.
A flag was nailed to the mast, union down, to be blown to pieces with
the first breeze; then another, and another, until the flag locker was
exhausted.
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