"OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN INTO THE FIRE."
THE fire crept on, the smoke thickened, and the two lads redoubled
their cries and made all the noise they could to attract the attention
of the crew. But to them, it seemed hours before the welcome tread of
feet was heard, and the skipper's strong voice shouting his orders to
open the hatchway.
As the pure, sweet air rushed into that close, hot, smoke-filled hole,
the lads gave a cry of joy and relief, and inhaled it in deep breaths.
"What's this?" said the skipper, sternly. "How came you here? Why,
bless me—it's—"
But just then a cloud of smoke came puffing forth out of the hold,
nearly choking the lads, and filling captain and crew with dismay.
They forgot all about Tom and Davey, and set to work to put out the
fire. Happily it was soon got under, but it was not until this was
accomplished, and things were somewhat reduced to order, that the
skipper sent for the young stowaways to be brought into his little
cabin, and asked them what was the meaning of their presence on board
his vessel.
Then Tom, who was nothing if not ingenious and plausible, and had
long been used to draw upon fiction for his facts, began a highly
interesting and touching tale, stating that his name was Charles
Harris, that Davey was his younger brother, that their father's cousin,
with whom they lived (as they were orphans), had turned burglar, and
wanted them to join his gang, but that they, having been carefully
brought up by pious parents, could not consent to such a life of sin,
and had refused. Whereupon this cousin had abused them both so cruelly,
that they had been forced to run away.
Tom further stated that they had relatives in South Wales, and that
these would, he knew, befriend them. But having no means of getting so
far, they had ventured to hide in the hold of the schooner, to get a
free passage to Carmarthen Bay.
By this time Tom had quite entered into the spirit of this thrilling
tale, and was even adding some new and wonderful facts, when Davey's
face, full of surprise and dismay, attracted the captain's attention.
"I say, youngster," said he, with a shrewd twinkle in his eye, "you
look as if all this was new to you."
"Yes, sir, and so it is," replied Davey, simply. "Only it's—"
Here Tom kicked him sharply, under the cabin table, and frowned at him
with a look of menace, which Davey could not misunderstand. But it was
too late; the mischief was done.
"It's what, my boy?" asked the skipper. "Now then, let's hear your
version of the story!" And he drew Davey nearer to him, and looked
searchingly into the downcast face.
"No, sir, please not," said the boy, earnestly. "I've no story to
tell—I mean, none that I'd like to. We've run away from home—that much
is true, sir—and if only you'll be good enough to take us to Wales in
your ship, we'll be everlastingly grateful to you."
"And after all, Mr. Skipper," put in Tom, with a modest assurance,
which sat very quaintly on his impudent face, "you wouldn't have found
out that fire in the hold, maybe, till too late, but for us; and you
might p'raps think that this service we done you is worth our passage."
"You're a nice young man at a bargain!" remarked the captain, the ghost
of a smile just hovering about his lips. "But there's something in what
you say, Charles Harris, and I'm not the man to forget it. So then,
you young vagabonds, unless I drop you overboard (and I'm not at all
sure that this wouldn't serve you right!) there's nothing for me to do
but to take you on with me, and put you ashore at the first port we're
bound for."
"Where might that be, skipper?" questioned Tom, with an affable smile.
"Tenby, in Pembrokeshire," was the reply. "We've goods for that place,
though what with the fire and water there's been in the hold,—to say
nothing of two young rascals who may have been up to all sorts of
mischief,—I'm afraid there won't be anything much worth landing. But
now, lads, it's late, and you'll be wanting to sleep. Here's a couple
of blankets. Wrap yourselves up and lie down here on the floor. Have
you had anything to eat lately?"
The boys looked at each other in silence, and Davey coloured and hung
his head. But at last, he said—
"Please, sir, we were very hungry, and we found some biscuits and
cheese in the hold, and that's what we've had."
"You young vagabonds, you don't deserve helping," said the skipper,
"when you've been and helped yourselves like this, damaging goods that
don't belong to me, nor yet to the ship. It would be no more than
your merits if I flogged you, and handed you over to the Tenby police
afterwards."
But the skipper had a kind heart for all his gruff speaking, and with a
little grunt, he opened a little cupboard, and took out a jug of cold
tea, a piece of boiled salt pork, half a loaf, two mugs, and a knife
and fork. Then cutting each of the lads a substantial sandwich, and
pouring out tea for them both, he bade them good-night, after warning
Tom not to be up to any pranks.
"Oh, Tom, did you hear what he said?" whispered Davey, as the two lads
lay side by side on the cabin floor.
"What was it?" asked Tom, sleepily.
"Why, that about handing us over to the constable at Tenby," said
Davey. "Fancy coming so far, and going through so much, to be locked up
in a strange place as soon as we get there! Oh, Tom, it would be just
dreadful, wouldn't it?"
But all the answer Davey got was a deep snore, and whether this meant
yes or no, he could not tell.
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