“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.