But Mr. Belton had something else to study besides the boys, and this was the ship. The Spitfire was a fine old-fashioned, tall-masted, big-sparred frigate, which could leg it considerably faster under her great sails than under her small engines. She had the spacious quarters for officers and the roomy airy spaces between decks for the men of the ships of her class, and was altogether a much more comfortable ship for cruising than the modern floating forts that could have blown her out of the water with a single round. Stanch and weatherly, Mr. Belton had but one fault to find with her, and that was her powder-magazine was exactly where it ought not to have been; the breech of one of her guns was directly over the chute by which the ammunition was handed up. Whenever that gun was fired, Mr. Belton would go up to the gun captain and give him a look of warning, and the man would respond to this silent caution by touching his cap. Nevertheless, the Lieutenant said to himself sometimes, "If we finish this cruise without some trouble with the magazine, the Spitfire will deserve her name of a lucky ship."
They had sailed in April, and six very satisfactory weeks had been passed at sea. Homesickness and seasickness had disappeared after the first week, and the whole ship's company from the Captain down—who rejoiced in such a First Lieutenant as Mr. Belton—was happy and satisfied, with the possible exception of Crying Tommy. The master-at-arms never had so little disagreeable work to do, and so he told Mr. Belton one Sunday morning after inspection.
"By-the-way," asked the Lieutenant, "I see that Hopkins boy is doing well. He has never had a report against him. Has he stopped that habit of howling for nothing?"
"Well, sir," replied old Jimmylegs, "he has, partly. The other boys laughed at him, and that done him good. They've caught on to Mary Jane, and they asks him if he has to report to Mary Jane twicet a day when he is ashore, and such like pullin' of his legs as boys delights in. The other day, sir, he got to cryin' about something or 'nother, and they run him too hard. I saw 'em and heard 'em, but they didn't know it. Fust thing Crying Tommy lights out from the shoulder, and laid the biggest of 'em sprawlin', and they shoved off pretty quick, sir. I didn't think as 'twas my duty to report him for fightin', and I 'ain't never had occasion to report him for nothin' else. A better boy nor a smarter at his duty I 'ain't never seen, sir."
One lovely May morning a few days after this found the Spitfire off the glorious bay of Naples. The sun shone from a sapphire sky upon a sapphire sea, while in the distance rose the darker blue cone of Vesuvius, crowned with fire and flame. Across the rippling water swept innumerable sail-boats, while tall-masted merchantmen and steamships with inky smoke pouring out of their black funnels ploughed their way in and out the harbor. Near a huge government mole half a dozen majestic war-ships, strung out in a semicircle, rode at anchor. A great British battle-ship, all black and yellow, towered over the smart little cruiser near by, which also flew a British ensign from her peak. Not far away lay a French ship with remarkably handsome masts and spars and a wicked-looking ram as sharp as a knife, that could cut an armored ship in half like a cheese if ever she got the chance. Farther off still lay three Italian men-of-war, from one of which flew the blue flag of an Admiral. The Captain of the Spitfire was with Mr. Belton on the bridge as they came in, with a fair wind, and a mountain of canvas piled on the ship. The Captain, knowing that no man could handle a sailing-ship more beautifully than his First Lieutenant, was quite willing that he should show his expertness before the thousands of sailors watching the Spitfire. On she rushed, the water bellowing against her sides as her keen bows cut her way through the blue waves. Mr. Belton, with a seaman's eye, selected an admirable anchorage, and just as the on-lookers were wondering where the Spitfire meant to bring up, she made a beautiful flying move. Her yards were squared like magic, and her sails furled with almost incredible swiftness. With a gleam like lightning and a rattle like thunder her cable rushed out of the hawse-hole, and scarcely had the splash of her anchor resounded when the Italian colors were broken at the mast-head and the first gun of the salute boomed over the bright water.
"Well done, Spitfire!" cried the Captain; and well done it was.
Twenty guns roared out, with scarcely a second's difference in their steady boom!—boom!—boom!—and then there was a sudden break before the twenty-first gun was fired. Mr. Belton turned, and his eye instinctively flashed upon the starboard gun over the magazine. Yes, there it was—that accident he had been looking for ever since he set foot on the ship. The shreds of a blazing cartridge-bag dropped under the breech, and a faint puff of wind blew them over the edge of the open chute, and down they went into the powder-magazine.
The Lieutenant hardly knew how he reached the deck and sped along it, but in a moment he had leaped down the ladder toward the open door of the magazine, where an ominous crackling was heard. And instead of half a dozen men at work flooding the magazine, there were half a dozen pale, wild-eyed, and panic-stricken creatures, as the bravest will be sometimes, crowding out into the passage, and quite dazed with fear.
"Return to your duty!" shouted Mr. Belton, feeling for his pistol, and not finding it, seizing a bucket of water that was handy and dashing it in the men's faces. The shock brought them to their senses; they stopped in their mad flight and turned toward the magazine. Mr. Belton rushed like a catapult among them, wedged together in the narrow passage, and right behind was old Jimmylegs with a bucket of water. They could see a boyish figure on hands and knees in the magazine with a wet swab, crawling about and putting out the sparks that flashed from all over the floor. The next moment the whole floor was awash; the danger was over, and Mr. Belton and the master-at-arms had time to observe that the boy who had stood to his post when men fled was Crying Tommy, and he was crying vigorously. When he saw that the fire was out, he sat down on the wet floor and began to howl louder than ever. Old Jimmylegs seized him by the shoulder, and giving him a shake that made his teeth rattle in his head, bawled,
"Choke a luff, and tell the orficer about the fire!"