close to his legs, as though he had been fording the river for scientific
or other purposes, and that his entire appearance was woebegone. He
waited a few minutes, and then ventured to accost the intruder again.
“This is a miserable fire, sir,” he said, “and I think there is a good
big bright one on shore.”
“_Can’t_ you let me alone! There is no one here except _you_, and I
_must_ dry these clothes.”
“If it’s powder, I suppose it might explode yet, and he’d be killed or
badly wounded,” Steve thought, in agony. “Shall I tell him? No, he would
laugh at me, and take me for a downright fool. If he would only move
away, I’d poke that fire till I was satisfied. What a day of suffering
this has been for me! The women will soon be coming to the island--if it
should explode then!”
Once more he warned the shivering picnicker. “Sir,” beseechingly, “it is
dangerous to sit there; I--”
“Dangerous!” cried the stranger, his face showing surprise and contempt.
“Do you take me for an ass, or are you one?” furiously. “A few years ago,
I was very indulgent in my dealings with boys; but the more I see of this
evil--this curse of civilization--the more impatient and exasperated
I become. I don’t want to corrupt your morals, bub, or I would swear!
But say one word more to me, throw out any more insinuations about this
fire’s being dangerous, and I will begin the assassination of every boy
under twenty by making you the first victim! So, be careful! I tell you,
my patience is exhausted!”
Of course the reader recognizes the speaker as the man who jumped
out of Will’s boat. But it will not be easy to recognize him as the
polished gentleman who dined with Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence in days gone by.
Nevertheless, we assure the reader that we are positive he is the very
same.
This murderous threat seemed to amuse and comfort Mr. Sarjent, but Steve
quailed beneath it. “Shall I make a confidant of any one?” he asked
himself. “Not of George, for he would investigate matters, and maybe get
burnt. Charley would tell me the box holds some horrible, new-fangled
explosive, that will stay in the fire a long time, and get stronger and
stronger, and then go off like a blowed-up pirate, and tear this island
out by the roots! Perhaps it is! Who knows? Perhaps its some terrible
poison that will suddenly strike us all dead, or else make us all idiotic
for life! Oh! I shall go crazy! Shall I speak to Will? I--I’d be ashamed
to do that. Pshaw! I couldn’t speak to anybody, if I would, for there’s
no one near, except _him_.”
Stephen’s brain was now in a whirl; the strain on his nerves was too
great to last long.
_Chapter XIV._
DISASTER RATHER THAN FUN
Leaving the newspaper man and the player of tricks to their different
trains of thought,--the former enveloped in steam arising from his pants,
the latter environed with gloom, and doubt, and mute despair, arising
from his own misdeeds,--we shall shift the scene to Will paddling away in
his boat.
“I can safely leave Steve now, while I look up Charley and the other
boys,” Will thought, as he plied his oars.
Charley was soon found, and Will told him all about Stephen and the
fire-crackers. Charley, of course, was delighted with Will’s artifice;
and together the two planned to torment poor Stephen still further.
With the co-operation of the other boys, they determined to execute the
following programme: First, to bury the gunpowder under a large stone,
on the shore farthest from the picknickers, with a boy in charge to fire
the train at the proper time; secondly, to lure Stephen into a boat, row
him down past the “arsenal,”--the sounding name Charles gave to the place
where the powder was to be buried,--and when the explosion took place,
let him infer that a catastrophe was the upshot of his trick.
In fiendish atrocity, this little plot probably outherods anything ever
planned by boys. Their only hopes of success was that Steve would prove
an easy victim. But they need not have been afraid; they were destined to
carry their scheme.
Truly, as the ancient Romans used to say, “Fortune favors the brave.”
Only, the ancient Romans probably said it in Latin.
“We can do it, Will,” Charles said, confidently, “and it will do poor
deluded and misguided Stunner a good turn, if it teaches him to leave
tricks to you and me. All that is necessary is, to lay our plans well,
keep Steve’s back to the place where the explosion will come from, and
play our parts with sober and horrified faces. The hole in the ground
will be gazed at and admired about the time the picnic folks get the
feast spread, and our little game will sharpen our appetites like a
whet-stone. Now, let us go and find George, and Jim, and Marmaduke, and
go to work.”
These worthies were hunted out forthwith; and when the plot was unfolded
to them, they signified their readiness to take part in so good a trick
against Stephen.
Jim threatened to do his best; but, in his own mind, determined to keep
at a safe distance when proceedings actually began, though he locked this
wise determination in his breast--which was capacious enough, if not
strong enough, to keep it.
“It won’t amount to much, boys,” George observed, “because, you know, wet
gunpowder has lost most of its virtue.”
“Why, how’s that?” Charles demanded. “Where did you find out that? Why,
gunpowder hasn’t any virtue, anyhow.”
“No, of course not, what has powder to do with virtue?” Will chimed in.
“I tell you it has; don’t contradict folks that know!” the sage
indignantly retorted. “Don’t you remember, John Hoyt, on that island,
wasn’t afraid of being blown up, because he knew the powder had lost its
virtue?”
“Y-e-s,” Charles reluctantly assented, “but I never could understand how
John knew that, when he’d always lived on that island, and never seen or
heard of powder before.”
“I don’t understand that, either,” said George; “but John was right; he
knew--or if he didn’t, the man that wrote the book did!”
That settled the question; the Sage had triumphed.
At length everything was arranged to the plotters’ satisfaction, and the
Sage was detailed to fire the train.
“You won’t see much of the fun, George,” said Charles; “but you will
understand the business. I never knew you to bungle anything; don’t
bungle this.”
“You can’t expect much from wet gunpowder, but if you do your part as
well as I intend to do mine, _all right_!” George replied with spirit.
They picked out a very good place to fire the powder, so far away from
the scene of the picnic that no one would be likely to intrude on them.
“The boats are wanted very much just now,” said Will; “I wonder whether
we can get one or not.”
Now, those boys knew that they were doing wrong, and the writer ventures
to assert that they all cherished a secret hope that they would not
succeed in carrying their little game.
But presently a bulky old gentleman (bulky is not used in contempt,
but because it is well known that bulkiness and generosity are twin
brothers), who owned a staunch little boat, told them to use his boat
as much as they pleased. He did not suspect, however, that a party of
dare-devil boys wanted it for their own exclusive use, but supposed that
one or two of them purposed rowing indolent pleasure-seekers up and
down the river. Had he guessed their nefarious designs, he would have
moderated his generosity, and set out in quest of a peace-officer.
Thus put in possession, the four pulled stoutly for the island. They
were in some doubt as to whether Steve would still be there, for not one
dreamed that he had taken the matter so much to heart.
“Steve was a little uneasy when I left him,” said Will; “how do you
suppose he feels about it now?”
“Oh!” said Charles, “he’s all right, I’ll wager. You may depend he hasn’t
been moping over those fire-crackers all this time. No, he’s as lively as
a baulky horse by this time; but our explosion will muddle his wits, all
the same.”
“He’ll get his dander up when he finds it out,” Jim observed.
“I wonder if the boats are all gone, and he’s fast on the island,”
Marmaduke speculated.
“Boys,” said Will, “if that wet and muddy fellow that I told you about,
went back to the island, as he said he should, perhaps he has kept Steve
from finding out that--”
“Pshaw! I tell you, Steve is all right!” Charles reiterated.
“Then, if the boy is all right, what is the use of our trick?” Will
demanded. “We can’t scare him worthy a cent, if he’s all right.”
“I don’t make out what you’re driving at, Will. At first, you were eager
to scare him; and now, you are talking in riddles.”
“I--I’m beginning to relent,” said Will, sheepishly.
“Well, we’ll see how he is, and settle that accordingly.”
“There they are!” said Marmaduke, sighting Steve and the ireful newspaper
genius.
The boys recklessly waved their oars, and enthusiastically chorused a
stentorian hollo.
Stephen, hearing his schoolfellows’ greeting, quickly turned round, and
returned a faint, but joyous, hollo.
“How kind they are to come!” he said to himself. “Now, I guess it will be
all serene; for they can soon tell me what to do. Well, the boys always
were better to me than I deserved. I’ll tell them just how it is, and I
don’t believe they’ll laugh at me a bit.”
“More boys!” groaned the steaming Mr. Sarjent. “More boys coming to
torment me.”
The plotters soon landed, and crowded around Stephen.
“What a fire, Steve,” said Charley. “It smells as if you’d been burning a
witch.”
“Come on, Steve,” said Will; “we’ve got a good boat, and we’re off for a
cruise before they set the tables.”
Steve’s face brightened, then clouded, and he said, hopelessly, “I can’t
go.”
“Can’t go?” echoed Charley. “Why, Stunner, what’s the matter with you?
You look like a phantom, and here you sit, like an Indian idol; taking no
exercise, having no fun, and doing nothing! Come now, you’ve got to go
with us.”
“Charley,” Steve whispered, “don’t joke with me, nor make fun of me, for
I can’t stand it. Charley, if you should have some old fire-crackers done
up in a box, and you should put ’em into a fire, what do you suppose they
would do?”
“Do?” said Charley. “Why, if they were _old_, as you say, they might be
mildewed, for all you or I know, and burn up with the box, like so much
solid wood--or else squib and hiss a little, and then go out.”
This novel and striking idea was too much for Steve’s fevered brain.
Mildewed fire-crackers! His head swam; but with an effort he recovered
himself, and flashed Charles such a look of gratitude that the plot came
within an inch of crumbling into a woeful ruin.
“Poor fellow!” thought Charles. “Here he is fretting about those crackers
yet! It is mean to play this trick on him, when he is so worried and
excited. But then he is _male-spirited_, as my father says, and I know he
would like to get hold of as good a trick himself.”
“Well, Steve, will you go?” Will asked impatiently.
“’Pon my word, I believe Steve has been afraid to get into a boat ever
since we were out on the lake!” Jim exclaimed maliciously.
“Don’t stay on _my_ account, bub,” sneered the man in the water-soaked
garments. “I shall not be lonely without you.”
Stephen had been recovering his spirits ever since the boys arrived; and
Jim’s taunt roused him to anger, while these last outrageous words stung
him to the quick.
“Bub!” he repeated to himself. “That’s twice he called me _bub_! I can’t
stand being called that; I never knew a boy that could. Botheration!
I’ve a great mind to go with them, after all! _They_ will treat me well,
and not bother me, nor call me--no, I won’t say that horrid word again.
Well, surely, whatever was in the box, is burnt up now!”
Seeing that Stephen still hesitated, Mr. Sarjent took in the situation,
bent a gorgon look on him, and again acted the huffer. “I made a
blood-curdling threat a while ago,” he said; “I see I shall have to put
it into execution, or else you will have to leave. Go, all of you!”
“My stars, Timor! I’ll show you whether I’m afraid to get into that boat,
or to do anything else!” Steve cried, in desperation.
Then he caught up a stick and thrust it into the fire here and there,
in spite of the peevish and browbeating stranger’s remonstrances. Of
course he saw nothing of the box. Though not quite satisfied,--for it was
impossible to get entirely over his uneasiness so quickly,--he stopped
with a sharp--
“Boys, I’ll go!”
Jim, as recorded above, had no burning desire to go with the boys; but,
for all that, he found himself in the boat, and the boat on its way from
the island. Then he became alarmed, but seeing no help for it, determined
to make the best of it. Two facts are well-established: first, he who
accuses another of cowardice is commonly a downright coward himself;
second, no right-minded boy can be called a coward without doing some
foolhardy thing to prove the contrary.
Poor Steve! The artful boys had quietly had him sit with his face towards
the island, and he stole uneasy glances towards it, as if still fearing
an explosion. By degrees he became calmer; the fresh, sparkling water
revived him; and at length he became even merry. Yet his gaiety was more
assumed than real, though the others did not know it. They were delighted
with the success of their plot, and thought that he would be as pleased
as anybody when the shock of the explosion should be over.
“Let me row,” he said suddenly.
“No, no!” Charles said hastily. “We are going to give you a free ride,
Steve; so, sit where you are, with your back against the gunwale, and
watch the picnickers.”
Steve complied with this request, little knowing why it was made.
The boat glided along smoothly and swiftly, and presently a bend in the
river hid the island from sight, and soon afterwards the merry-makers.
Stephen still lolled comfortably in the same position. But as the
distance between them and the island increased, he became restless again.
They were now approaching the falls, and would soon be opposite to George
and his mine--the “arsenal,” as Charley called it.
Charley was afraid that Stephen might ask embarrassing questions about
the fire-crackers, or their course, and he kept up so lively a flow of
conversation that the poor boy could not edge in a word.
It was downright cruelty to humbug the boy in this deliberate and
underhand way, and we do not wish to palliate their guilt. The reader,
however, must bear in mind that these boys are not the sinless and
noble-hearted youths who generally figure in stories, but are at all
times mischievous, though rarely cruel or wicked.
As they neared the falls, Charles suddenly ceased to talk, and Steve
seized the opportunity to ask eagerly, “Will, can you tell me what was in
that box? I almost concluded that some mistake had been made, and that
perhaps you had found it out since. _Were_ they fire-crackers?”
Will answered hesitatingly, as though ashamed of himself: “Why, yes,
Steve, sure enough, a mistake was made. This morning I discovered that
instead of fire-crackers, I gave you a box of my father’s, full of wet
gunpowder.”
Steve’s face blanched. Not being so learned as George, it seemed to him,
in his present state of mind, that wet gunpowder must be more dangerous
than any other kind.
“That’s why it didn’t go off; but, if it’s there, it will go off yet!” he
muttered.
Will observed the look of dismay on the boy’s face, and said soothingly,
“Pshaw, Steve! Don’t be frightened; _wet gunpowder_ has no virtue; don’t
trouble about it or the fire.”
Charles and Will, having thus eased their conscience, and Steve’s
anxiety, felt that all the warning that duty required had been given; and
unshipping their oars, let the boat drift with the stream--taking care,
however, to keep close to the bank where George lurked in ambush.
But Stephen, in his awakened uneasiness, did not heed Will’s comforting
remark, nor did he wonder how Will could know anything about what had
been done with the box.
“Boys, we’re near the falls!” Jim cried, in terror. “Stop the boat!”
But this warning was disregarded, and Charley struck up “Yankee Doodle,”
the signal agreed upon with George.
Stephen, of course, did not know what this meant; but Jim did, and he was
oppressed with gloomy forebodings.
Mark this: Stephen faced the _right_ bank of the river, while George
was on the _left_ bank. The island was hidden by a bend in the river.
Consequently, if an explosion should take place, Stephen would naturally
jump to the conclusion that it had taken place on the island.
The boat slowly but steadily neared the falls. It certainly would have
been prudent to stop their downward course, but no one, except Jim,
appeared to be aware of this. Charley whistled bravely, though he
wondered why no sign came from George, whom the high bank, fringed with
bushes, effectually concealed.
Then the archplotters themselves became uneasy; and concluding that the
powder had no virtue whatever they shipped their oars in mournful silence.
What was George doing meanwhile? As soon as the boys left him, he set
about digging his mine. “Now,” he mused, “I shall not be so foolish as
Stephen; I shall pry the box open, and see what is in it. It may be only
a paint box, for all I know.”
By means of his jack-knife he forced off the lid, and found that it was
powder--genuine powder--perfectly dry. But alas! the tried and trusty
business blade of his knife was snapped off short!
Now, as the reader knows, George was a philosopher, and he took his good
fortune and mishap philosophically. “By the end of the week,” he said, “I
may be sorry about this knife, but I can’t be now!”
Then, picking up and gloating over the box: “Dry as the sun! How capital!
Won’t I make the most of it! But what a blundering family those Lawrences
are! Even Mr. Lawrence himself has made a mistake; he thought the powder
had got wet. Well, they beat all the folks to blunder that I ever saw; it
must run in the family.”
With a chuckle of ineffable satisfaction, he sat down to map out his mode
of procedure. “I understand how to make the most of good gunpowder,” he
mused; “what fun it would be to have a loud explosion--one that would
stun even Will and Charley! I can do it, _and I will_!”
He arose and began to work as only a boy whose mind is bent on mischief
can work, gathering up heaps of stones and rubbish; that soiled his
picnic clothes, almost beyond restoration. Then he laid the box of powder
in the bottom of his mine, placed a heavy stone on the wrenched-off lid,
and piled the accumulated stones and rubbish over it so scientifically
that a warlike explosion would be a foregone conclusion. The “train” was
very simple--only a little pile of chips, twigs, and shavings, and a
cotton string that led down to the powder.
When he heard the signal, he set fire to the train; but it took the fire
some time to burn its way down to the powder. In his anxiety to see
whether it would ignite, he neglected to place sufficient space between
himself and his mine; therefore--but the consequence may be guessed; it
is sufficient to say that he was neither killed nor seriously wounded.
Charles and Will had taken only a few strokes with the oars, when
suddenly a tremendous explosion took place. With a roar like that of St.
George’s Dragon the mine had sprung, and a cloud of stones and sundry
other things rushed up into the air, only to descend with fury on the
surrounding regions. Its effects were startling. Charles and Will were
wholly unprepared for such a finale, and their faces showed the liveliest
amazement as they stared blankly at each other, struck dumb with
consternation.
Before they had time to think, the stones came whistling down all around
them--the larger ones striking the water with a heavy and sonorous
thud--the smaller ones singing and hissing like bullets.
There was no help for it; they were obliged to sit still and take their
chances. Jim screamed himself black in the face, while Marmaduke vainly
attempted to realize grandeur or romance in their perilous situation.
Poor Stephen! with a ghastly face he kept his seat, apparently unable to
move or speak.
All excepting Stephen escaped injury. He, poor fellow, had his arm broken
by a falling piece of stone. The boat, however, did not come off so well;
two stones bored two large holes through the bottom of it.
The water poured in through these holes, and Jim, boohooing and fearing
he knew not what, jumped overboard. This roused the two plotters, Charles
and Will, and they shouted, “The oars are gone--we can’t row! Jump out
and swim for the shore, or we’ll all be taken over! Come, Steve, _don’t_
be frightened; _don’t_ mind. We did it all, Steve; we did it, and George
fired it.”
But Stephen’s brain was in a whirl, and he did not understand them.
“Save Jim! He’ll be too frightened to swim,” Will cried. “Steve and
Marmaduke can swim well enough. Hurry! we’re near the falls!”
Will and Charles sprang out of the boat for Jim, grappled him, and,
after a violent struggle with the current, towed him ashore, safe, but
perilously near the brink of the falls. All three had nearly been swept
over! Marmaduke joined them a moment later. They did not know that
Stephen’s arm was broken, and believing that he was safe on shore above
them, their first thought was for George.
“Oh! he must have been blown to atoms!” Will groaned.
His agony far exceeded Stephen’s on the island--in fact, the tables had
been turned in an unlooked-for manner.
“Yes, we must see about him,” said Charles, with pale face and unsteady
voice, a gnawing pain in the region of his heart--a sensation that is
experienced only when a person is strongly moved.
Scrambling up the bank, they saw George--bruised and bleeding, but
looking supremely happy--peering into a jagged hole in the ground.
“Hallo, George!” Will called out. “Are you hurt?”
“Oh, a little,” said George. “Yes,” he added, “I--I’m pretty sore.”
“We were afraid you were destroyed.”
“Well, I never thought of the stones flying about so; I only thought of
the noise;” George avowed. “But,” with a self-satisfied smile, “how did
you like it?”
“Like it?” said Charles. “Why, it was awful! I’d no idea that gunpowder
is such strong stuff: this must have been pretty virtuous, after all!”
“Well, boys, I opened the box, and the powder was as dry as a bonfire.
So I fixed things to make a noise; but I never thought the stones would
shoot so--I mean, I knew it, of course; but I didn’t _calculate_ for it.
It was a fine sight, though, to see them shoot up into the air. How did
it appear to you?”
“‘_Appear!_’ Well, the stones broke two holes through the boat!” Will
growled. “But where is Steve? haven’t you seen him?”
“Seen him? No, where can he be? How did he take it, anyway?”
“I think he was very much frightened, he looked so queer,” said Charles.
“Oh, boys! where is he? Perhaps he was hurt!”
Then they flew to the bank. But the most searching glances failed to
discover either the boat or Stephen.
“Steve! Steve!” they shouted, in convulsive grief.
“Oh, who saw him last?” Will asked. “Was he in the boat, or swimming?”
No one could answer the question, and the boys’ pale faces betrayed how
their conscience was reproaching them.
In truth, Stephen’s broken arm, together with the shock of the explosion,
had rendered him helpless, and he had been swept over the falls in the
boat.
It would be dramatic to break off here, leaving the reader a prey to
fruitless inquiries as to Stephen’s fate, drop down among the hungry-eyed
little picnickers in the grove that bordered the river, and give a
glowing description of what was going on. But as this story has very
little to do with the picnic, and as most readers would a little rather
hear about Stephen, I will deliberately transgress the laws of romance,
and tell how it fared with him.
The explosion was distinctly heard by the merry-makers, and the picnic
broke up in confusion. Crowds of excited people were soon skirting the
winding banks of the river, and Stephen was found and fished out of
the water, more dead than alive. He was immediately taken to his home,
and a surgeon was called in. The surgeon set the broken arm, and after
examining the boy carefully, said that although severely bruised, he was
not hurt internally. But Stephen’s sufferings were not over yet. The
fright and the shock proved too much for him; fever set in; and it was
long before he rejoined his school-fellows, and several months before he
recovered his health and strength.