Wind and weather or the destructive freak of some careless boy had
certainly cut off the one avenue of escape for the imprisoned boys from
the burning building.
Had not the pit yawned far below the ground surface Will would have
trusted to a flying jump in the darkness.
Tom Dalton, utterly overwhelmed, sat huddled together on the floor
quaking with terror.
The encroaching fire showed through the cracks so plainly now that they
could see each other’s face.
Already the fire was burning the floor beneath them. They could not
descend.
“We must climb higher,” said Will, forming a quick resolution. “There
is the old stairs yonder. Follow me, Tom.”
The cabin boy obeyed Will’s order mutely, and they found themselves in
a large loft at the top story of the building.
Will began to reconnoitre at once, but he found that the distance from
the windows to the ground was too great to encourage him to take a
dangerous leap downwards.
They might reach the attic or the roof, but that only made their
dilemma worse.
At last, after a rapid inspection, he lit a match and surveyed
critically an aperture in the side of the building.
The smoke and heat had now become well-nigh intolerable, and
occasionally some timber burning in two would make the weakened
structure topple and tremble.
“Oh! what shall we do?” moaned Tom, despairingly.
“Get out of this when it comes to the worst.”
“How?”
“By jumping from the window.”
“And kill ourselves by the fall!” cried Tom. “Can’t we call for help?”
“There’s no one in sight on this side of the building, and besides they
couldn’t reach us from the river end. Now, listen carefully to me, Tom,
for our safety depends on our own efforts.”
“What is it, Will?”
“In the corner yonder there’s an old shute leading to the river.”
“What’s a shute?”
“A long, tightly-boarded box. They used it to send rubbish down to the
river. It slants down the side of the building about forty feet.”
“You don’t mean to slide down it?”
“Yes, I do. It’s our only chance of escape.”
It seemed a perilous one, and as Will held a match over the end of the
shute and explained that a swift descent might terminate in a cold
plunge in the river, Tom drew back in dismay.
“I’ll go first,” said Will. “You’ll follow.”
“I’m afraid, Will.”
“Then we’re lost, for the fire--hear that!”
“I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” cried Tom, starting, as one side of the
building, the lower props burned away, sagged to one side.
It was high time for action. Will climbed over the extending top of the
shute and lowered himself into it.
Clinging to the edge he gave Tom a warning word:
“Don’t delay a moment in following me.”
“I won’t.”
“Here goes, then!”
Will Bertram experienced a strange sensation as, relaxing his grasp, he
shot vertically downwards.
His breath seemed taken away, and his hands, sweeping the bottom of the
shute seemed to gather a thousand little slivers.
Then, with a gasp, he felt his body strike the water and become
entirely submerged. He was chilled by the shock, but he puffed and
struggled, and then clung at a rock and drew himself to the shore,
breathless and exhausted.
Splash!
A second echoing plunge followed his own, and in the radiating
illumination he made out a struggling figure in the water.
Tom Dalton had followed his example, and just in time, for a crash told
of a floor giving way in the structure they had vacated.
“Tom! Tom! this way!” called Will, cautiously.
But his companion in peril either did not hear him or had determined to
follow his own course. He struck out deliberately to cross the river,
swam vigorously forward, and, reaching the opposite shore, cast a quick
look in the direction of the burning mill, and then disappeared in the
darkness outside the radius of its light.
“He’s probably afraid the captain will catch him,” theorized Will. “At
all events, he’s safe.”
Will shook the water from his clothes and made a wide detour of the
burning.
As he looked back he saw quite a crowd gathered around the building,
but determined to evade them, and made his way homeward, walking
briskly to restore the circulation to his chilled frame.
He found the lamp turned down when he reached home, and was glad to
know that his father and mother had retired for the night.
“There’s no use worrying them about what’s happened to-night,” he
soliloquized, and he made up a good fire in the kitchen and spread out
his soaked garments to dry.
“Is that you, Will?” Mrs. Bertram called from her chamber.
“Yes, mother.”
“Where have you been?”
“With Tom Dalton. The poor fellow was afraid Captain Morris would
find him, and I went with him to try and find him a place to sleep,”
and with this vague explanation Will bade his parents good-night and
repaired to his own room.
He dozed restlessly the first portion of the night, and then, unable
to sleep, his mind filled with thoughts of his varied adventures and
the anticipated expedition of the morning, he wrapped a blanket around
himself and stole silently to the kitchen.
He devoted the remainder of the night to drying his clothes. With the
first break of dawn he had donned them and attended to various little
chores around the house.
His curiosity impelled him to proceed a little distance down the
street, whence a view of the harbor could be obtained.
He was familiar enough with the various craft at anchorage to miss the
trim sails and masts of Captain Morris’ ship.
The Golden Moose had sailed during the night; but where was poor Tom
Dalton, the runaway?