FIRE AND WATER.
“What’s going on, Bark?” asked Bill Stout,
as all hands were called to go on shore; and
perhaps this was the hundredth time this question had
been put by one or the other of the occupants of the
brig since the ship’s company turned out that morning.
“All hands are going on shore,” replied Bark Lingall.
“I hope they will have a good time; and I am
thankful that I am not one of them, to be tied to the
coat–tail of Professor Primback.”
The marines knew all about the events that had
transpired on board of the vessel since she anchored,
including the strange disappearance of Raimundo.
Ben Pardee had contrived to tell them all they wanted
to know, while most of the students were on deck.
But he and Lon Gibbs had not been informed of the
conspiracy to burn the Tritonia. Bark had simply
told them that “something was up,” and they must do
some mischief to get committed to the brig before they
could take a hand in the game. Lon and Ben had
talked the matter over between themselves, and were
ready to do as required till the orders came for the
Josephines and the Tritonias to proceed to Lisbon in
the Prince. The voyage in the steamer had too many
attractions to permit them to lose it. They had done
better in their lessons than Bill and Bark, who had
purposely neglected theirs.
“I should not object to the voyage in the Prince,”
said Bark.
“Nor I, if I had known about it; but it is too late
now to back out. We are in for it,—in the brig.
We shall have a better chance to get off when all the
professors are away,” added Bill.
“There don’t appear to be any one taking care of
us just now,” said Bark, after he had looked through
the bars of the prison, and satisfied himself that no
one but themselves was in the steerage. “Marline
had to go on shore with the crowd to take care of the
boats; and so had the carpenter.”
“Some one has the care of us, I know,” replied
Bill. “But I can soon find out.”
Bill Stout began to pound on the slats of the cage;
and the noise soon brought the chief steward to the
brig.
“What are you about in there?” demanded Mr.
Salter.
“I want to see Mr. Marline or Mr. Rimmer,” replied
Bill, meekly enough.
“They are both gone on shore to take charge of the
boats, and won’t be back till night,” added Salter.
“What do you want?”
“I want a drink of water: I am almost choked,”
answered Bill.
“You don’t want Mr. Rimmer for that,” said Salter,
as he left the brig.
In a moment he returned with a pitcher of water,
which he handed into the cage through the slide.
Having done this, he returned to the cabin to resume
his work.
“I’ll bet he is alone on board!” exclaimed Bill, as
soon as Salter had gone.
“I think not,” replied Bark.
“Why did he bring the water himself, then?”
“I don’t know; perhaps the stewards are all on
deck.”
“No: he always lets most of his men go on shore
when we are in port. I don’t believe there is more
than one of them on board,” continued Bill, with no
little excitement in his manner.
“I heard some one walking on deck since the boats
went off. It may have been Salter; but I am sure he
is not alone on board.”
“No matter, if there are only two or three left.
Now is our time, Bark!” whispered Bill Stout.
“We may be burnt up in the vessel: we are locked
into the brig,” suggested Bark.
“No danger of that. When the fire breaks out,
Salter will unlock the door of the cage. If he don’t we
can break it down.”
“What then?” queried Bark. “Every boat belonging
to the vessel is gone, and we might get singed in
the scrape.”
“Nonsense, Bark! At the worst we could swim
ashore to that old light–house.”
“Well, what are we going to do then? We wear the
uniform of the fleet, and we shall be known wherever
we go,” added the more prudent Bark.
“You have money enough, and so have I. All we
have to do is to buy a suit of clothes apiece, and then
we shall be all right.”
They discussed the matter for half an hour longer.
Bark was willing to admit that the time for putting the
villanous scheme in operation was more favorable than
any that was likely to be afforded them in the future.
Though the professors were all on shore, they believed
they could easily keep out of their way in a city so
large as Barcelona.
“Suppose Salter should come into the steerage when
you are down in the hold?” suggested Bark.
“That would be bad,” replied Bill, shaking his head.
“But we must take some risk. We will wait till he
comes in to take a look at us, and then I will do the job.
He won’t come in again for half an hour; for I suppose
he is busy in the cabin, as he always is while we are in
port.”
They had to wait half an hour more before the chief
steward came into the steerage. Though he intended to
be a faithful officer, Mr. Salter was wholly absorbed in
his accounts, and he did not like to leave them even for
a moment. He went into the steerage far enough to see
that both of the prisoners were safe in the cage, and
hastened back to his desk.
“We are all right now,” whispered Bill, as he bent
down to the scuttle that led into the hold.
“If you make any noise at all the chief steward will
hear you,” replied Bark, hardly less excited than his
companion in villany.
Bill raised the trap–door with the utmost care. As
he made no noise, Mr. Salter heard none. Bill had his
matches all ready, with the paper he had prepared for
the purpose. He had taken off his shoes, so as to
make no noise on the steps. He was not absent from
the brig more than two minutes, and Salter was still
absorbed in his accounts. Bark carefully adjusted the
scuttle when Bill came up; and he could smell the
burning straw as he did so.
Bill put on his shoes with all the haste he could,
without making any noise; and both the conspirators
tried to look as though nothing had happened, or was
about to happen. They were intensely excited, of
course, for they expected the flames would burst up
through the cabin floor in a few moments. Bark
looked over the slats of the cage to find where the
weakest of them were, so as to be ready, in case it
should be necessary, to break out.
“Do you smell the fire?” asked Bill, when his anxiety
had become so great that he could no longer keep
still.
“I did smell it when the scuttle was off; but I don’t
smell it now,” replied Bark.
“What was that noise?” asked Bill.
Both of them had heard it, and it seemed to be in
the hold. They could not tell what it was like, only
that it was a noise.
“What could it be?” mused Bill. “It was in the
hold, and not far from the foot of the ladder.”
“Perhaps it was the noise of the fire,” suggested
Bark. “It may have burned away so that one of the
boxes tumbled down.”
“That must have been it,” replied Bill, satisfied with
this plausible explanation. “But why don’t the fire
break out? It is time for it to show itself, for fire travels
fast.”
“I suppose it has not got a–going yet. Very likely
the straw and stuff is damp, and does not burn very
freely.”
“It will be a sure thing this time, for I saw the blaze
rising when I came up the ladder,” added Bill.
“And I saw it myself also.”
“But it ought to be a little hot by this time,” replied
Bill, who began to have a suspicion that every thing was
not working according to the programme.
“You know best how you fixed things down below.
The fire may have burned the straw all up without lighting
the ceiling of the vessel.”
At least ten minutes had elapsed since the match
had been applied to the combustibles, and it was certainly
time that the fire should begin to appear in the
steerage. But there was no fire, and not even the
smell of fire, to be perceived. The conspirators were
astonished at the non–appearance of the blaze; and
after waiting ten minutes more they were satisfied that
the fire was not making any progress.
“It is a failure again,” said Bark Lingall. “There
will be no conflagration to–day.”
“Yes, there will, if I have to set it a dozen times,”
replied Bill Stout, setting his teeth firmly together. “I
don’t understand it. I certainly saw the blaze before I
left the hold; and I couldn’t have done the job any
better if I had tried for a week.”
“You did it all right, without a doubt; but a fire will
not always burn after you touch it off,” answered Bark,
willing to console his companion in his failure.
“I will go down again, and see what the matter is, at
any rate. If I can’t get up a blaze in the hold, I will
see what I can do in one of the mess–rooms,” added
Bill stoutly.
“How can you get into one of the mess–rooms?”
asked Bark. “You forget that we are locked into the
brig.”
“No, I don’t forget it; but you seem to forget that
we can go down into the hold, and go up by the forward
scuttle into the steerage.”
“You are right, Bill. I did not think of that,” said
Bark. “And you can also go aft, and up by the after
scuttle into the cabin. I remember now that there are
three ways to get into the hold.”
“I haven’t forgot it for a moment,” added Bill, with
something like triumph in his tones. “I am going
down once more to see why the blaze didn’t do as it
was expected to do.”
“Not yet, Bill. Wait till Salter has been into the
steerage again.”
“It isn’t twenty minutes since he was here; and he
will not come again for half an hour at least.”
Bill Stout felt that he had done enough, and had
proved that he knew enough, to entitle him to have his
own way. Raising the scuttle, he descended into the
hold. He did not dare to remain long, lest the chief
steward should come into the steerage, and discover
that he was not in the brig. But he remained long
enough to ascertain the reason why the fire did not
burn; and, filled with amazement, he returned to communicate
the discovery he had made to his fellow–conspirator.
When he had closed the trap, and turned
around to confront Bark, his face was the very picture
of astonishment and dismay.
“Well, what’s the matter, Bill?” asked Bark, who
could not help seeing the strange expression on the
countenance of his shipmate.
“Matter enough! I should say that the Evil One was
fighting against us, Bark,” replied his companion.
“I should say that the Evil One is fighting on the
other side, if on either,” added Bark. “But what have
you found?”
“The fire is out, and the straw and other stuff feels
just as though a bucket of water had been thrown
upon it. At any rate, it is wet,” answered Bill.
“Nonsense! no water could have been thrown upon
it.”
“How does it happen to be wet, then?”
“The hold of a vessel is apt to be a damp place.”
“Damp! I tell you it was wet!” protested Bill; and
the mysterious circumstance seemed to awe and alarm
him.
“Certainly no water could have been thrown upon
the fire,” persisted Bark.
“How happens it to be wet, then? That’s what I
want to know.”
“Do you think any water was thrown on the straw?”
“I don’t see how it could have been; but I know it
was wet,” replied Bill.
“Very likely the dry stuff burned off, and the wet
straw would not take fire,” suggested Bark, who was
good for accounting for strange things.
“That may be; I did not think of that,” mused Bill.
“But there is a pile of old dunnage on the starboard
side, and some more straw and old boxes and things
there; and I will try it on once more. I have got
started, and I’m going to do the job if I hang for it.”
“Wait till Salter has been in again before you go
below,” said Bark.
Bill was content to wait. To his desire for freedom,
was added the feeling of revenge for being committed
to the brig when all hands were about to make a
voyage in the Prince. He was determined to destroy
the Tritonia,—more determined than when he first attempted
the crime. In a short time the chief steward
made another visit to the steerage, and again returned
to the cabin.
“Now is my time,” said Bill, when he was satisfied
that Salter had reached the cabin.
“Be careful this time,” added Bark, as he raised the
scuttle.
“I shall be careful, but I shall make a sure thing of
it,” replied Bill, stepping upon the narrow ladder, and
descending.
Bill Stout was absent full five minutes this time; and,
when he returned to the brig, he had not lighted the
train that was to complete the destruction of the Tritonia.
“I had no paper, and I could not make a blaze,”
said he. “Have you a newspaper about you, Bill?”
“No, I have not: I do not carry papers around with
me.”
“What shall I do? I can’t light the rubbish without
something that is entirely dry.”
“Here,” answered Bark, picking up one of the neglected
text–books on the floor. “You can get as much
paper as you want out of this book.”
“But that won’t do,” replied Bill. “I thought you
were a very prudent fellow.”
“So I am.”
“If I should miss fire again, and this book or any
part of it should be found in the pile, it would blow the
whole thing upon us.”
“Tear out a lot of the leaves; and they will be sure
to be burnt, if you light them with the match.”
As no other paper could be obtained, Bill consented
to tear out some of the leaves of the book, and use
them for his incendiary purpose. Bark declared that
what was left of it would soon be in ashes, and there
was nothing to fear as to its being a telltale against
them. Once more Bill descended into the hold; and,
as he had made every thing ready during his last visit,
he was absent only long enough to light the paper, and
thrust it into the pile of combustibles he had gathered.
He had placed several small sticks of pine, which had
been split to kindle the fire in the galley, on the heap
of rubbish, in order to give more body to the fire when
it was lighted. He paused an instant to see the flame
rise from the pile, and then fled up the ladder.
“Hurry up!” whispered Bark at the scuttle. “I
hear Salter moving about in the cabin.”
But the trap–door was returned to its place before
the chief steward appeared; and he only looked into
the steerage.
“The job is done this time, you may bet your life!”
exclaimed Bill, as he seated himself on his stool, and
tried to look calm and self–possessed.
“I saw the blaze,” added Bark. “Let’s look down,
and see if it is going good.”
“No, no!” protested Bill earnestly. “We don’t
want to run a risk for nothing.”
Both of the young villains waited with throbbing
hearts for the bursting out of the flames, which they
thought would run up the ceiling of the vessel, and
communicate the fire to the berths on the starboard
side of the steerage. Five minutes—ten minutes—a
quarter of an hour, they waited for the catastrophe;
but no smoke, no flame, appeared. Bill Stout could not
understand it again. Another quarter of an hour they
waited, but less confidently than before.
“No fire yet, Bill,” said Bark, with a smile.
“I don’t know what it means,” replied the puzzled
incendiary. “You saw the fire, and so did I; and I
can’t see why the blaze don’t come up through the
deck.”
“It is very odd, Bill; and I can’t see through it any
better than you can,” added Bark. “It don’t look as
though we were to have a burn to–day.”
“We are bound to have it!” insisted Bill Stout. “I
shall try next time in one of the mess–rooms.”
“With all the pains and precautions to prevent fire
on board, it seems that the jolly craft won’t burn. No
fellow has been allowed to have a match, or even to
take a lantern into the hold; and now you can’t make
the vessel burn when you try with all your might.”
“The Evil One is working against us,” continued Bill,
who could make no other explanation of the repeated
failures.
“If he is, he is on the wrong side; for we have done
nothing to make him desert us,” laughed Bark. “We
certainly deserve better of him.”
“I am going below to see what was the matter this
time,” added Bill, as he raised the trap–door.
Bark offered no opposition to his purpose, and Bill
went down the ladder. He was not gone more than a
couple of minutes this time; and when he returned he
looked as though he had just come out of the abode of
the party who was working against him. He seemed
to be transfixed with wonder and surprise; and for a
moment he stood in silence in the presence of his fellow–conspirator.
“What’s the matter with you, Bill? You look like a
stuck pig that has come back to haunt the butcher,”
said Bark, trying to rally his associate. “Did you see
any spirits in the hold? This is a temperance ship,
and the principal don’t allow any on board.”
“You may laugh, Bark, if you like; but I believe
the evil spirit is in the hold,” replied Bill impressively.
“What makes you think so, Bill?”
“The pile of rubbish is as wet as water can make it.
Do you suppose there is any one in the hold?”
“Who could be there?” demanded Bark.
“I don’t know; but it seems to me some one is down
there, who puts water on the fire every time I light it.
I can’t explain it in any other way.”
“Nonsense! No one could by any possibility be in
the hold. If any one of the stewards had gone down,
we should have seen him.”
After more discussion neither of the conspirators
was willing to believe there was any person in the hold.
It was not a place a man would be likely to stay in any
longer than he was compelled to do so. It was partially
ventilated by a couple of small shafts, and very
dimly lighted by four small panes of heavy glass set in
the cabin and steerage floors, under the skylights. It
was not more than four feet high where the greatest
elevation was had; that is, between the dunnage that
covered the ballast, and the timbers on which the floors
of the between–decks rested. It was not a desirable
place for any one to remain in, though there was nothing
in it that was destructive to human life. It was
simply a very dingy and uncomfortable retreat for a
human being.
“I am going to try it on just once more,” said Bill
Stout, after his suspicions of a supernatural interference
had subsided. “I know there was water thrown on the
pile of rubbish. It seems to me the Evil One must have
used a fire–engine on the heap, after I had lighted the
fire. But I am going to know about it this time, if I
am condemned to the brig for the rest of my natural
life. There is quite a pile of old boxes and cases split
up in the hold, ready for use in the galley. I am going
to touch off this heap of wood, and stand by till I see
it well a–going. I want you to shut the door when I go
down next time; for Salter will not come in for half an
hour or more. I am going to see what puts the fire
out every time I light it.”
“But suppose Salter comes into the steerage, and
finds you are not here: what shall I say to him?”
“Tell him I am in the hold,—any thing you please.
I don’t care what becomes of me now.”
Bill Stout raised the trap–door, and descended; and,
in accordance with the instructions of that worthy,
Bark closed it as soon as his head disappeared below
the steerage floor. Bill lighted up the pile of kindling–wood;
and then, with a quantity of leaves he had torn
from the book, he set fire to the heap of combustibles.
The blaze rose from the pile, and promised that the
result that the conspirators had been laboring to produce
would be achieved. True to the plan he had
arranged, Bill waited, and watched the blaze he had
kindled; but the fire had scarcely lighted up the
gloomy hold, before a bucket of water was dashed on
the pile of wood, and the flames were completely extinguished.
There was somebody in the hold, after all; and
Bill was almost paralyzed when he realized the fact.
The fire was put out; and the solitary fireman of the
hold moved aft. Bill watched him, and was unable to
determine whether he was a human being, or a spirit
from the other world. But he was desperate to a degree
he had never been before. He stooped down
over the extinguished combustibles to ascertain whether
they were really wet, or whether some magic had
quenched the flame which a minute before had promised
to make an end of the Tritonia. The water still
hung in drops on the kindling–wood. He stirred up
the wood, and lighted another match, which he applied
to the dryest sticks he could find.
“What are you about, you villain? Do you mean
to burn the vessel?” demanded a voice near him, the
owner of which instantly stamped out the fire with his
feet.
The mystery was solved; for Bill recognized the
voice of Raimundo, whose mysterious disappearance
had excited so much astonishment on board of the
vessel.