indirectly contributed to the disaster. He reproved his son in these
words: “I must say, Will, that you and your companions showed a
deplorable want of honor in your dealings with poor Stephen this day.”
The man in whose field the explosion had taken effect set up a howl
of righteous indignation on seeing the “chasm” in the ground; and did
not stop to consider that the youngsters had only altered the physical
features of a little plot of stony and untilled ground by changing the
position of a few ancient stones, and by removing a few others into the
bed of the river.
The portly and benevolent old gentleman said sadly, as he gazed upon
the wreck of his sometime gay little boat, “Well, it is now manifested
that a boat cannot be taken over these falls without being shattered
to flinders. But, of course, nothing can kill a modern _boy_; _he_ is
indestructible.”
The observing reader of this history will remark that whatever these boys
meddled with generally came to a dishonorable end.
And the “reformers” themselves, what of them? Probably, in the whole
United States there could not have been found three more miserable boys
than Will, Charles, and George, as they trudged home that day from the
scene of their exploits--the clothing of the first two uncomfortably
wet--the frame of the other smarting with pain. But their forlorn and
dilapidated appearance excited no pity from the horrified villagers.
Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence, in despair, sent their son to his aunt Eleanor’s,
to spend a few days, hoping that he would there reflect on the folly of
his doings, and amend. He and the others suffered tenfold more shame than
Stephen after the scandal about the “mad dog.”
Boys, listen to the moral of this unconscionably dreary chapter:
It is quite right and desirable that you should, under proper tuition,
learn the uses and the usefulness of gunpowder; but, if you know of any
_trick_ in which it is to be an agent, think of Stephen, and hang back.
_Chapter XV._
A LESSON IN BALLOONING.
Perhaps no one will be able to take in the moral lurking in the following
chapters--except, it may be, some atramental old critic, who can discern
a “hidden meaning” where no meaning, “hidden” or otherwise, is intended.
Our only hope of escape from such critics is that they will consider this
story entirely beneath their notice, and so pass it by in silence and
contempt.
Will was sent to his aunt’s. This would have been, perhaps, a wise
proceeding, if his aunt had been a severe old maid--but she was not. She
was, on the contrary, a loving and cheerful woman, with a mettlesome,
rattle-headed, yet resolute, son, Will’s “Cousin Henry.”
Will’s rueful mien excited the compassion of the entire family to such
an extent that they did their utmost to divert him. Cousin Henry, with a
noble disregard of self, gave up his school for two weeks, and devoted
himself wholly to Will’s services. The sequel was, the two were soon
sworn bosom-friends, pledged to stand by each other to the close of life.
Now, as this Henry was a hare-brained sort of fellow, permitted to do as
he pleased, it may readily be supposed that he and Will were not long in
getting into trouble.
“Will, did you see my balloon when you were here last?” Henry asked one
day.
“Balloon? No; can you make a balloon?” Will inquired, in some surprise.
“Of course I can. American boys can make or do anything. All we want is
some tissue paper for the cover; whalebone or cane for the ribs; a piece
of wire; and a piece of cotton batten dipped in alcohol to make the gas.”
“I never heard of such a balloon,” Will replied. “_How_ do you make the
gas?”
“Why, just set fire to the batten,--that will be fastened under the mouth
of the balloon by a bit of wire, you know,--and that’ll soon make the
gas. Then away it goes, like a rocket.”
“I should think it might set something on fire,” said Will.
“Well, let it set. There are fire-engines enough in the town to put it
out,” Henry replied, with easy indifference. “But, Will,” he added,
“don’t be afraid; I’ve rigged lots of them, and they never set anything
on fire yet.”
Ah, Henry! You did not observe that your balloons were generally
fabricated so fragilely that it was impossible for them to do any harm!
“Then let us make one!” Will rejoined with alacrity.
The cousins, without delay, repaired to Mrs. Mortimer’s apartments, to
look for some of the things required. Henry rummaged in a careless way
that quite shocked poor Will, and at last issued from the room, leaving
everything in appalling disorder. Next, Mr. Mortimer’s valuables were
overhauled, and last of all, the hero’s own.
“Now we’ve found everything we need, Will, even to the tools,” he said.
“Let us go to work.”
“Won’t you straighten up things, Henry?” Will ventured to ask.
“Straighten! Creation, no! Don’t you know it’s fall house-cleaning time?
I don’t fool away _my_ time in straightening!” with virtuous indignation.
Choosing Henry’s room for a workshop, the two fell to work.
Notwithstanding the fact that the science of aëronautics was entirely
new to him, Will suggested so many improvements that Henry was both
astonished and delighted.
“We shall have a famous balloon!” he exclaimed.
“Why shouldn’t it be as good as any you ever made?” Will asked mildly.
“Why, yes, of course; why shouldn’t it. _I_ don’t see,” Henry answered,
not at all disconcerted.
“Will, would you like to go with me to the Demon’s Cave some day?” he
asked abruptly.
“I never heard of the ‘Demon’s Cave.’ Where is it, and what is the Demon?”
“Then I can tell you all about it while we work. The ‘demon,’ Will, isn’t
a ‘what’ but a ‘who;’ and a terrible sort of a fellow he is. Everybody
around these parts knows all about him; some foolish people are afraid
of him, some even pretend that he is a ghost! Some people that ought to
know better say he’s an escaped criminal; but,” in a positive tone, “my
father always knows what he is talking about, and he says the poor fellow
is more or less crazy. He lives in a queer sort of a cave, or hovel, or
hole, in a bank of earth. I’ve heard lots of the boys say that there are
several rooms inside; but _they_ don’t know; how should they?”
“Did you ever see him?” Will asked eagerly.
“I never got a good look at him, because he stays denned up like a bear
in winter; but one night, a long time ago, some of us boys went howling
and yelling around his cave, and he came out at us and chased us like a
hungry wolf. The boys ran away like velocipedes, and I--I ran too. The
demon was as fierce as a humbugged pirate [Henry was fond of comparison],
and he caught one boy, and mauled him like a Spanish blood-hound. That
was the only time I ever saw the demon; but that was enough for me.”
Will became interested in the man, and he inquired: “What did he look
like?”
“Look! How can I tell? I was only a little boy then, or I shouldn’t
have ran away. Well, let me think. Will,” suddenly, “did you ever see a
correct picture of Satan?”
“No!” Will said, with horror.
“Well, _I_ have, and it wasn’t half so ugly as the demon. That’s enough
to say about his looks, isn’t it? And his clothes! Why, Will, they set
him off so well that he looked like a shipwrecked Turk, dressed up in a
savage’s stolen spoil!”
Will endeavored to grasp the meaning of this, but Henry hurried on.
“Well, Will, at any rate, he lives there all alone, and has for years.
Some folks say he has lots of money; and likely they are right, for what
else can he live on?”
“Why, does he buy food at the market?” Will asked.
“No; didn’t I tell you that he keeps shut up like a nun in a coffin? They
say a friend of his goes there every once in a while with victuals and
things; and likely the demon pays him for them. All the boys say that he
has a poultry-yard full of hens and chickens somewhere in his cave. I’ve
heard, though, that he prowls around at night, and gets his living that
way. Very likely a little of both; for he is often seen out in the night.
For all you or I know, Will, he may have a chest full of gold, like a
hermit in a story-book for little girls.”
“Then it’s a wonder he doesn’t get robbed,” Will observed.
“You’ve hit it, Will!” said Henry. “A whole gang of thieves broke into
his cave once, so the story goes, thinking they would carry off his
money, if he had any. But the demon was too clever for them. He hid
himself in a dark corner, and frightened the robbers nearly to death.
They rushed out of the cave like bumble-bees on a holiday.”
“And didn’t they steal anything?”
“They didn’t see anything to steal, Will. The demon had either put his
treasures out of sight, or else he hadn’t any. But I don’t know whether
the story is true or not; perhaps it is only a concocted one.”
“Why do the people let him stay there?” was Will’s next question. “Why
don’t they take him out of his cave, and take care of him?”
“For several reasons. He is harmless when he is not molested; he lives
there quietly, and likely wouldn’t leave his cave unless taken away by
force; and no one likes to interfere with his affairs. Of course the
people keep an eye on him, and won’t let him suffer.”
“Why do they call him ‘the Demon?’”
“Oh, that’s only a nickname he got. Didn’t you ever notice, Will, how
people like to give outlandish nicknames? They’ll pick up the silliest
old hunks they can find,--a man that doesn’t know enough to put on his
own hat, even,--and ornament him with the name of some vanquished hero.
Don’t you see, the ‘Demon of the Cave’ sounds pretty strong; it’s sure
to make a stranger turn around and look over his left shoulder, as if he
was afraid of himself. Yes, the people in this country like to give big
nicknames; they nickname even the Evil One!”
“And doesn’t any person know where this man came from, nor who he is?”
“No, the people here don’t seem to know anything about him before he came
to these parts; but there are all kinds of stories about him.”
“Poor fellow!” Will said, softly. “He must have a miserable life there,
all alone. Does he have any fires in his cave?”
“Oh, yes; I believe he keeps a good fire all day long; but it must be
cold there in winter. I think he gets his firewood prowling around in
the night,--not that he _steals_, but he gathers up rubbish and old
boards. They say he cooks his food nicely over his fire. There is a
spring, or underground well, of some kind in his cave, so that he does
not suffer from want of fresh water. But, Will, I could go on talking
about him for hours. There are all kinds of stories about him, stories
that would make you turn black and blue, and shiver all over. When we go
to bed to-night, I’ll tell you some of the worst.”
“You can’t scare me that way, Henry; so you might as well tell them now.”
“Oh, well, they don’t amount to very much, anyway. All the boys say he’s
a cannibal, and every few weeks he steals somebody, and eats him up.
There was a man missed here once, Will, and he never came back again; so,
of course, they say he was taken off by the demon. The man never came
back again to say where he had been; and so the story got going, and it’s
going yet. The boys say that sometimes he has awful fits of madness,
and tears everybody that he meets all to pieces. Oh, there are lots of
stories, Will; but if they don’t frighten you, what’s the good of telling
them? They’ll scare some boys, though. There’s one little boy that goes
to school that the boys make a habit of frightening very often, by saying
that they’ll take him to the Demon’s Cave. Then he bellows, and rams his
fists into his eyes, and punches ’em nearly out, and swears he’ll shoot
all the boys when he gets big enough.”
“And do you tease him, too?” asked Will.
“No, Will; I don’t. I hate to see a boy with the nosebleed, and this
little fellow bellows so hard, and pommels himself so much, that he
nearly always gets it. You see, one attack of nosebleed doesn’t get
rightly cured before another comes on.”
“I see,” said Will.
“Well, Will,” after a pause, “would you like to go and see this cave and
the demon some day?”
“Yes, Henry, I should like nothing better;” Will said, with boyish
eagerness. “How far away is it, and when shall we go?”
“Well, it’s about three or four miles from our house, and we can go
to-morrow night, if it should be pleasant. I’ve always wanted to get
inside of that cave, Will, to see whether any of the stories about it are
true. We will get into it when we go, or perish on the spot, won’t we?”
Will was quite willing to go and see the place where the demon lived;
but, “to beard the lion in his den!” that was asking too much;
especially, as he had resolved not to get into any mischief during his
stay at his aunt’s.
“Come, Will; _you_ are the only boy I would ask to go with me. I’ve
always wanted to go, but I could never find the right boy to have along.
_You_ are the very chap; _you_ have nerve; _you_ wouldn’t run away, if
the demon should be in one of his fits of fury. And you would enjoy it;
you would have it to think of and dream of when you were an old man!”
This last argument, not proving conclusive, Henry continued: “Just think
how the boys would envy us! You could tell the boys at home, and make ’em
jealous of us for life; and I could stir up the boys that I know, and
make them so mad that they would chew India rubber and think it was gum!”
Will was only a boy, and he could, not withstand so seductive an
argument. “Well, Henry,” he said slowly, “_I’ll go._”
“Of course; you would always be sorry if you didn’t.”
Now that he had secured Will’s promise to go, he ventured to hint at the
propriety of taking pistols.
“Pistols!” Will exclaimed, with horror. “Surely, we don’t want pistols!
Why, we might as well turn highwaymen, and be done with it!”
But Henry was a year older than Will, accustomed to have his own way,
and he would not yield to the boy’s entreaties. His stronger nature soon
overruled Will’s scruples, and he consented to do whatever Henry thought
best, though feeling ill at ease.
“Of course, Will, we don’t think of shooting at anything--not for all the
world;--but the plan is to get behind an old tree near the cave, fire a
pistol to draw the demon out, and then rush in while he is looking to
see what made the noise. Don’t you see? Perhaps we shan’t need to fire a
pistol at all; but it will be best to have them.”
“Why should we take more than one, and why should we put in a ball?” Will
asked uneasily.
“One apiece, Will; and we must have both loaded, for we don’t know what
might happen. Now, don’t be frightened; we won’t do any harm, nor break
any laws; I know how to manage things too well for that.”
“I promised to keep out of mischief,” Will said, dolefully.
“I know it, Will; and I’m going to help you keep your promise. We can be
very careful, and what fun it will be!”
“I’m afraid somebody will get shot,” mournfully replied the assistant
balloonist. He was beginning to repent of his promises to Henry; and in
his heart of heart he knew it would be extremely ridiculous, not to say
wrong, for two hare-brained youths to set out on a nocturnal expedition,
with loaded pistols.
_Chapter XVI._
UNHEARD-OF ADVENTURES WITH BALLOONS.
The little balloon was now completed, and the demon and his affairs were
forgotten. The balloon was rather clumsily constructed, it is true; but
it promised to float well, and the cousins were enchanted with it. They
bore it tenderly out into the back-yard, arranged it for flight, and were
about to fire the prepared cotton batten, when Henry cried excitedly:
“Wait, Will! Wait a minute! I’m going to fix a car under it! I see a
little old straw-hat of the baby’s here in the yard, and I’ll just hitch
it on for a car. Of course; what’s a balloon without a car?”
Henry hastened to do so, and the little bonnet was tied fast to the
balloon, immediately under the gas-producing apparatus. Then he set fire
to the batten; very soon the balloon quivered; and then up it rose, a
really pretty sight. The boys shouted, cheered, and flung out their arms
in wild delight.
It rushed up like a rocket--it flew along--it soared--it became
smaller and smaller--the “car” took fire--the whole balloon blazed--it
wavered--it fell headlong--it lit on the roof of a public building--it
set it on fire!
The boys had watched its ascent with enthusiasm, cheering lustily; but
when it took fire, their enthusiasm cooled, and in proportion as the
balloon burned brighter, their hearts grew heavier. When it fell, their
spirits fell with it. They grew sick with fear on seeing flames burst
forth on the roof of the building, and looked at each other in utter
helplessness. Henry was the first to collect himself, and he gave the
alarm by shouting “Fire!” in thundering tones.
Several householders, Mrs. Mortimer among them, flew to their doors at
the dreadful cry of _fire_, to see whether their own buildings were the
ones menaced. The fire was soon pointed out; the fire-engines rushed
gallantly to the rescue; the hoses were adjusted; and the firemen sprang
to their work. The two boys got over their terror sufficiently to throng
to the scene of action. To Henry it was a familiar sight; but to Will it
was entirely new, and he enjoyed it, in spite of himself.
The fire was soon extinguished, and but little harm was done to the
building. The whole affair, from the time when Henry attached the “car”
to his balloon till the last spark was extinguished, took up only a few
minutes.
As the cousins returned to the house, they felt that all was not over yet.
“That’s the worst thing, almost, that ever happened to me,” said Will.
“Never mind it, Will; its over now, and not much harm done. I wouldn’t
let that trouble me a minute. We boys in the city, don’t count _that_
as much; we’re used to all sorts of horrible things happening to us; we
get hardened to it; we expect it. But it was all that dismal straw-hat;
_that_ did the mischief. If I hadn’t flung it into the back-yard the
other day, our balloon might be soaring around yet! Well, it’s burnt up
now, from stem to stern.”
“Yes, Henry; but it isn’t a very good way to keep out of mischief; it--it
makes me feel very miserable. George would say we are _incendiaries_.”
“Who’s George? Somebody that is nobody, I guess. Well, at any rate, that
isn’t the word. _Giantize_ is a great deal better. _To giantize_, Will,
is to eat like a giant; to do big things; to astonish the natives; to
be a hero; to rescue captives. We’ll _giantize_ to-morrow night when we
rescue the man--if there _is_ a man--in the Demon’s Cave. Some day, Will,
I’ll take you to a bookstore, and show you a weekly paper with continued
stories in it, and continual heroes in the stories. These heroes are
very, _very_ strong, and good, and brave, and handsome; and they make it
a settled business to giantize.”
“Oh, I know what those papers are, Henry; I know a Mr. Horner that takes
two or three of them; and he gets so excited over the stories that
sometimes he can’t sleep at night. But his boy Jim--Timor we call him--is
the biggest coward that ever ran away from a lapdog.”
The boys sat down to dinner with little appetite. Mr. Mortimer made
inquiries about the fire, and they acknowledged their share in it. To
say that Mr. Mortimer was vexed would hardly express the state of his
feelings. In the afternoon a deputation of the City Fathers waited on
him, and he and the two cousins were closeted with them some time.
What passed between them was never made known; but as they took their
departure one of them observed: “Yes, that makes it all right. Well, I
never realized before that a straw-bonnet would set fire to a roof. I
must tell my boys never to make balloons; or, at least, to make them
without cars. By the way, what was it that you dipped in alcohol to make
the gas?”
Will was too confused to make a reply. Not so Henry. “Cotton batten, sir,
is what we used,” he said, “but a sponge is better still.”
After they had gone, he said to Will: “Now he’ll get himself into
trouble! His boys are always trying experiments; and if he tells them
about our balloon, they’ll go to work and make one that’ll set the whole
place on fire! Oh, they’re awful boys! Only a few days ago they poisoned
off a dog with some dangerous gas, and drove the house-keeper’s cat into
hysteric fits. Why, Will, their mother can’t keep a tea-kettle three
weeks before they swoop down on it; and turn on a full head of steam; and
plug up the spout; and batten down the lid; and blow it all to nothing.
Oh, that man will have his hands full of sorrow before long.”
“But what does their mother say about it? Surely, she doesn’t like to
keep on buying new tea-kettles! And their father,--doesn’t he get mad?”
“Oh, as long as the boys don’t get hurt, their parents think they are
smart; and they tell everybody that goes into the house that when
the boys grow up, they will revolutionize chemistry and remodel the
steam-engine.”
Then the two talked of exploits that they had achieved; adventures that
had befallen them; and perils through which they had passed. Henry said
that he had had the mumps, the measles, and the small-pox; Will said he
had had the sore throat, the chicken-pox, seven boils, lots and lots of
warts, and the measles, too. Henry said a circus horse once kicked him
hard, and a circus monkey once stole his handkerchief; Will said he once
shot a cat with his father’s gun, and it fled away and lived all winter
with the bullet in its heart. Henry said that was nothing; he once shot a
deer, and if somebody else hadn’t come along and killed it, he believed
his ball would have killed it. Will said he could beat that, for he was
nearly drowned once. Then Henry said he one day drank so much water that
he nearly died; and the next day those smart boys that he had spoken of
set him on fire, and scorched his coat till he couldn’t recognize it.
Then they talked of other things, and Will told his cousin all about his
school-fellows. Then Henry again referred to the demon and his wickedness.
Judging by the performances of the last few hours, Henry would be a
strange companion to visit the Demon’s Cave with, at night, and armed
with loaded pistols, “ready,” as he phrased it, “to defend themselves in
case of danger.”
* * * * *
It was morning. The cousins were standing in the commons. A crowd of
people was assembled. In the centre of the inclosure a colossal balloon
(do not smile, gentle reader) towered up into the air. Its manager, Prof.
Ranteleau, was haranguing the people. In a few minutes he would ascend in
his balloon--who wished to accompany him? He was an adept in the science
of aëronautics, and would insure every one a safe, novel, and delightful
voyage through the aërial regions. When they had sailed among the clouds
to their satisfaction, he would return and descend on the common.
A few people said “good-bye” to their friends, and climbed into the car.
The cousins did likewise. The fastenings were cast loose; the professor
seated himself with a complacent smile; and with a great lurch the
balloon began to ascend.
The people began to make poetical remarks upon the “sublimity,” the
“immensity,” the “profundity” of the scene, before the car was fifty feet
above the ground.
Will and Henry sat still and looked on; for to their untutored minds the
scene did yet seem particularly sublime.
But the balloon rapidly gained in speed, and soon whirled its occupants
along at an astonishing rate. Things below became more and more
indistinct, and were gradually lost to view. Then the balloonists felt
in their pockets for sundry barometers and thermometers; buttoned their
over-coats up to their ears; and prepared to enjoy themselves.
The professor reached out his hand to adjust some part of the mechanism.
But a valve refused to open, the bulky monster gave a great lurch
forward, and he perceived that it had become unmanageable! His benign
countenance assumed an air of woe, but he hoped that all was not yet
lost. He was deceived.
Suddenly the balloon careened over, and sailed through the air in a
horizontal position, very unpleasant to the balloonists. Striking a
certain parallel of latitude, it circled round this world of ours like
a beam of light. In vain the professor attempted to get control of the
unwieldy monster. Dropping their barometers and thermometers, the unhappy
æronauts clutched the sides of the car with an agonized grip. Nothing was
now said about the “sublimity” of things below; for no one durst cast his
eyes to the ground.