CHAPTER VII.
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.