Part 12

Then the archplotters themselves became uneasy; and concluding that the powder had no virtue whatever they shipped their oars in mournful silence.

What was George doing meanwhile? As soon as the boys left him, he set about digging his mine. “Now,” he mused, “I shall not be so foolish as Stephen; I shall pry the box open, and see what is in it. It may be only a paint box, for all I know.”

By means of his jack-knife he forced off the lid, and found that it was powder--genuine powder--perfectly dry. But alas! the tried and trusty business blade of his knife was snapped off short!

Now, as the reader knows, George was a philosopher, and he took his good fortune and mishap philosophically. “By the end of the week,” he said, “I may be sorry about this knife, but I can’t be now!”

Then, picking up and gloating over the box: “Dry as the sun! How capital! Won’t I make the most of it! But what a blundering family those Lawrences are! Even Mr. Lawrence himself has made a mistake; he thought the powder had got wet. Well, they beat all the folks to blunder that I ever saw; it must run in the family.”

With a chuckle of ineffable satisfaction, he sat down to map out his mode of procedure. “I understand how to make the most of good gunpowder,” he mused; “what fun it would be to have a loud explosion--one that would stun even Will and Charley! I can do it, _and I will_!”

He arose and began to work as only a boy whose mind is bent on mischief can work, gathering up heaps of stones and rubbish; that soiled his picnic clothes, almost beyond restoration. Then he laid the box of powder in the bottom of his mine, placed a heavy stone on the wrenched-off lid, and piled the accumulated stones and rubbish over it so scientifically that a warlike explosion would be a foregone conclusion. The “train” was very simple--only a little pile of chips, twigs, and shavings, and a cotton string that led down to the powder.

When he heard the signal, he set fire to the train; but it took the fire some time to burn its way down to the powder. In his anxiety to see whether it would ignite, he neglected to place sufficient space between himself and his mine; therefore--but the consequence may be guessed; it is sufficient to say that he was neither killed nor seriously wounded.

Charles and Will had taken only a few strokes with the oars, when suddenly a tremendous explosion took place. With a roar like that of St. George’s Dragon the mine had sprung, and a cloud of stones and sundry other things rushed up into the air, only to descend with fury on the surrounding regions. Its effects were startling. Charles and Will were wholly unprepared for such a finale, and their faces showed the liveliest amazement as they stared blankly at each other, struck dumb with consternation.

Before they had time to think, the stones came whistling down all around them--the larger ones striking the water with a heavy and sonorous thud--the smaller ones singing and hissing like bullets.

There was no help for it; they were obliged to sit still and take their chances. Jim screamed himself black in the face, while Marmaduke vainly attempted to realize grandeur or romance in their perilous situation. Poor Stephen! with a ghastly face he kept his seat, apparently unable to move or speak.

All excepting Stephen escaped injury. He, poor fellow, had his arm broken by a falling piece of stone. The boat, however, did not come off so well; two stones bored two large holes through the bottom of it.

The water poured in through these holes, and Jim, boohooing and fearing he knew not what, jumped overboard. This roused the two plotters, Charles and Will, and they shouted, “The oars are gone--we can’t row! Jump out and swim for the shore, or we’ll all be taken over! Come, Steve, _don’t_ be frightened; _don’t_ mind. We did it all, Steve; we did it, and George fired it.”

But Stephen’s brain was in a whirl, and he did not understand them.

“Save Jim! He’ll be too frightened to swim,” Will cried. “Steve and Marmaduke can swim well enough. Hurry! we’re near the falls!”

Will and Charles sprang out of the boat for Jim, grappled him, and, after a violent struggle with the current, towed him ashore, safe, but perilously near the brink of the falls. All three had nearly been swept over! Marmaduke joined them a moment later. They did not know that Stephen’s arm was broken, and believing that he was safe on shore above them, their first thought was for George.

“Oh! he must have been blown to atoms!” Will groaned.

His agony far exceeded Stephen’s on the island--in fact, the tables had been turned in an unlooked-for manner.

“Yes, we must see about him,” said Charles, with pale face and unsteady voice, a gnawing pain in the region of his heart--a sensation that is experienced only when a person is strongly moved.

Scrambling up the bank, they saw George--bruised and bleeding, but looking supremely happy--peering into a jagged hole in the ground.

“Hallo, George!” Will called out. “Are you hurt?”

“Oh, a little,” said George. “Yes,” he added, “I--I’m pretty sore.”

“We were afraid you were destroyed.”

“Well, I never thought of the stones flying about so; I only thought of the noise;” George avowed. “But,” with a self-satisfied smile, “how did you like it?”

“Like it?” said Charles. “Why, it was awful! I’d no idea that gunpowder is such strong stuff: this must have been pretty virtuous, after all!”

“Well, boys, I opened the box, and the powder was as dry as a bonfire. So I fixed things to make a noise; but I never thought the stones would shoot so--I mean, I knew it, of course; but I didn’t _calculate_ for it. It was a fine sight, though, to see them shoot up into the air. How did it appear to you?”

“‘_Appear!_’ Well, the stones broke two holes through the boat!” Will growled. “But where is Steve? haven’t you seen him?”

“Seen him? No, where can he be? How did he take it, anyway?”

“I think he was very much frightened, he looked so queer,” said Charles. “Oh, boys! where is he? Perhaps he was hurt!”

Then they flew to the bank. But the most searching glances failed to discover either the boat or Stephen.

“Steve! Steve!” they shouted, in convulsive grief.

“Oh, who saw him last?” Will asked. “Was he in the boat, or swimming?”

No one could answer the question, and the boys’ pale faces betrayed how their conscience was reproaching them.

In truth, Stephen’s broken arm, together with the shock of the explosion, had rendered him helpless, and he had been swept over the falls in the boat.

It would be dramatic to break off here, leaving the reader a prey to fruitless inquiries as to Stephen’s fate, drop down among the hungry-eyed little picnickers in the grove that bordered the river, and give a glowing description of what was going on. But as this story has very little to do with the picnic, and as most readers would a little rather hear about Stephen, I will deliberately transgress the laws of romance, and tell how it fared with him.

The explosion was distinctly heard by the merry-makers, and the picnic broke up in confusion. Crowds of excited people were soon skirting the winding banks of the river, and Stephen was found and fished out of the water, more dead than alive. He was immediately taken to his home, and a surgeon was called in. The surgeon set the broken arm, and after examining the boy carefully, said that although severely bruised, he was not hurt internally. But Stephen’s sufferings were not over yet. The fright and the shock proved too much for him; fever set in; and it was long before he rejoined his school-fellows, and several months before he recovered his health and strength.

Mr. Lawrence, “a sadder and a wiser man,” blamed himself for having indirectly contributed to the disaster. He reproved his son in these words: “I must say, Will, that you and your companions showed a deplorable want of honor in your dealings with poor Stephen this day.”

The man in whose field the explosion had taken effect set up a howl of righteous indignation on seeing the “chasm” in the ground; and did not stop to consider that the youngsters had only altered the physical features of a little plot of stony and untilled ground by changing the position of a few ancient stones, and by removing a few others into the bed of the river.

The portly and benevolent old gentleman said sadly, as he gazed upon the wreck of his sometime gay little boat, “Well, it is now manifested that a boat cannot be taken over these falls without being shattered to flinders. But, of course, nothing can kill a modern _boy_; _he_ is indestructible.”

The observing reader of this history will remark that whatever these boys meddled with generally came to a dishonorable end.

And the “reformers” themselves, what of them? Probably, in the whole United States there could not have been found three more miserable boys than Will, Charles, and George, as they trudged home that day from the scene of their exploits--the clothing of the first two uncomfortably wet--the frame of the other smarting with pain. But their forlorn and dilapidated appearance excited no pity from the horrified villagers.

Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence, in despair, sent their son to his aunt Eleanor’s, to spend a few days, hoping that he would there reflect on the folly of his doings, and amend. He and the others suffered tenfold more shame than Stephen after the scandal about the “mad dog.”

Boys, listen to the moral of this unconscionably dreary chapter:

It is quite right and desirable that you should, under proper tuition, learn the uses and the usefulness of gunpowder; but, if you know of any _trick_ in which it is to be an agent, think of Stephen, and hang back.

_Chapter XV._

A LESSON IN BALLOONING.

Perhaps no one will be able to take in the moral lurking in the following chapters--except, it may be, some atramental old critic, who can discern a “hidden meaning” where no meaning, “hidden” or otherwise, is intended. Our only hope of escape from such critics is that they will consider this story entirely beneath their notice, and so pass it by in silence and contempt.

Will was sent to his aunt’s. This would have been, perhaps, a wise proceeding, if his aunt had been a severe old maid--but she was not. She was, on the contrary, a loving and cheerful woman, with a mettlesome, rattle-headed, yet resolute, son, Will’s “Cousin Henry.”

Will’s rueful mien excited the compassion of the entire family to such an extent that they did their utmost to divert him. Cousin Henry, with a noble disregard of self, gave up his school for two weeks, and devoted himself wholly to Will’s services. The sequel was, the two were soon sworn bosom-friends, pledged to stand by each other to the close of life.

Now, as this Henry was a hare-brained sort of fellow, permitted to do as he pleased, it may readily be supposed that he and Will were not long in getting into trouble.

“Will, did you see my balloon when you were here last?” Henry asked one day.

“Balloon? No; can you make a balloon?” Will inquired, in some surprise.

“Of course I can. American boys can make or do anything. All we want is some tissue paper for the cover; whalebone or cane for the ribs; a piece of wire; and a piece of cotton batten dipped in alcohol to make the gas.”

“I never heard of such a balloon,” Will replied. “_How_ do you make the gas?”

“Why, just set fire to the batten,--that will be fastened under the mouth of the balloon by a bit of wire, you know,--and that’ll soon make the gas. Then away it goes, like a rocket.”

“I should think it might set something on fire,” said Will.

“Well, let it set. There are fire-engines enough in the town to put it out,” Henry replied, with easy indifference. “But, Will,” he added, “don’t be afraid; I’ve rigged lots of them, and they never set anything on fire yet.”

Ah, Henry! You did not observe that your balloons were generally fabricated so fragilely that it was impossible for them to do any harm!

“Then let us make one!” Will rejoined with alacrity.

The cousins, without delay, repaired to Mrs. Mortimer’s apartments, to look for some of the things required. Henry rummaged in a careless way that quite shocked poor Will, and at last issued from the room, leaving everything in appalling disorder. Next, Mr. Mortimer’s valuables were overhauled, and last of all, the hero’s own.

“Now we’ve found everything we need, Will, even to the tools,” he said. “Let us go to work.”

“Won’t you straighten up things, Henry?” Will ventured to ask.

“Straighten! Creation, no! Don’t you know it’s fall house-cleaning time? I don’t fool away _my_ time in straightening!” with virtuous indignation.

Choosing Henry’s room for a workshop, the two fell to work. Notwithstanding the fact that the science of aëronautics was entirely new to him, Will suggested so many improvements that Henry was both astonished and delighted.

“We shall have a famous balloon!” he exclaimed.

“Why shouldn’t it be as good as any you ever made?” Will asked mildly.

“Why, yes, of course; why shouldn’t it. _I_ don’t see,” Henry answered, not at all disconcerted.

“Will, would you like to go with me to the Demon’s Cave some day?” he asked abruptly.

“I never heard of the ‘Demon’s Cave.’ Where is it, and what is the Demon?”

“Then I can tell you all about it while we work. The ‘demon,’ Will, isn’t a ‘what’ but a ‘who;’ and a terrible sort of a fellow he is. Everybody around these parts knows all about him; some foolish people are afraid of him, some even pretend that he is a ghost! Some people that ought to know better say he’s an escaped criminal; but,” in a positive tone, “my father always knows what he is talking about, and he says the poor fellow is more or less crazy. He lives in a queer sort of a cave, or hovel, or hole, in a bank of earth. I’ve heard lots of the boys say that there are several rooms inside; but _they_ don’t know; how should they?”

“Did you ever see him?” Will asked eagerly.

“I never got a good look at him, because he stays denned up like a bear in winter; but one night, a long time ago, some of us boys went howling and yelling around his cave, and he came out at us and chased us like a hungry wolf. The boys ran away like velocipedes, and I--I ran too. The demon was as fierce as a humbugged pirate [Henry was fond of comparison], and he caught one boy, and mauled him like a Spanish blood-hound. That was the only time I ever saw the demon; but that was enough for me.”

Will became interested in the man, and he inquired: “What did he look like?”

“Look! How can I tell? I was only a little boy then, or I shouldn’t have ran away. Well, let me think. Will,” suddenly, “did you ever see a correct picture of Satan?”

“No!” Will said, with horror.

“Well, _I_ have, and it wasn’t half so ugly as the demon. That’s enough to say about his looks, isn’t it? And his clothes! Why, Will, they set him off so well that he looked like a shipwrecked Turk, dressed up in a savage’s stolen spoil!”

Will endeavored to grasp the meaning of this, but Henry hurried on.

“Well, Will, at any rate, he lives there all alone, and has for years. Some folks say he has lots of money; and likely they are right, for what else can he live on?”

“Why, does he buy food at the market?” Will asked.

“No; didn’t I tell you that he keeps shut up like a nun in a coffin? They say a friend of his goes there every once in a while with victuals and things; and likely the demon pays him for them. All the boys say that he has a poultry-yard full of hens and chickens somewhere in his cave. I’ve heard, though, that he prowls around at night, and gets his living that way. Very likely a little of both; for he is often seen out in the night. For all you or I know, Will, he may have a chest full of gold, like a hermit in a story-book for little girls.”

“Then it’s a wonder he doesn’t get robbed,” Will observed.

“You’ve hit it, Will!” said Henry. “A whole gang of thieves broke into his cave once, so the story goes, thinking they would carry off his money, if he had any. But the demon was too clever for them. He hid himself in a dark corner, and frightened the robbers nearly to death. They rushed out of the cave like bumble-bees on a holiday.”

“And didn’t they steal anything?”

“They didn’t see anything to steal, Will. The demon had either put his treasures out of sight, or else he hadn’t any. But I don’t know whether the story is true or not; perhaps it is only a concocted one.”

“Why do the people let him stay there?” was Will’s next question. “Why don’t they take him out of his cave, and take care of him?”

“For several reasons. He is harmless when he is not molested; he lives there quietly, and likely wouldn’t leave his cave unless taken away by force; and no one likes to interfere with his affairs. Of course the people keep an eye on him, and won’t let him suffer.”

“Why do they call him ‘the Demon?’”

“Oh, that’s only a nickname he got. Didn’t you ever notice, Will, how people like to give outlandish nicknames? They’ll pick up the silliest old hunks they can find,--a man that doesn’t know enough to put on his own hat, even,--and ornament him with the name of some vanquished hero. Don’t you see, the ‘Demon of the Cave’ sounds pretty strong; it’s sure to make a stranger turn around and look over his left shoulder, as if he was afraid of himself. Yes, the people in this country like to give big nicknames; they nickname even the Evil One!”

“And doesn’t any person know where this man came from, nor who he is?”

“No, the people here don’t seem to know anything about him before he came to these parts; but there are all kinds of stories about him.”

“Poor fellow!” Will said, softly. “He must have a miserable life there, all alone. Does he have any fires in his cave?”

“Oh, yes; I believe he keeps a good fire all day long; but it must be cold there in winter. I think he gets his firewood prowling around in the night,--not that he _steals_, but he gathers up rubbish and old boards. They say he cooks his food nicely over his fire. There is a spring, or underground well, of some kind in his cave, so that he does not suffer from want of fresh water. But, Will, I could go on talking about him for hours. There are all kinds of stories about him, stories that would make you turn black and blue, and shiver all over. When we go to bed to-night, I’ll tell you some of the worst.”

“You can’t scare me that way, Henry; so you might as well tell them now.”

“Oh, well, they don’t amount to very much, anyway. All the boys say he’s a cannibal, and every few weeks he steals somebody, and eats him up. There was a man missed here once, Will, and he never came back again; so, of course, they say he was taken off by the demon. The man never came back again to say where he had been; and so the story got going, and it’s going yet. The boys say that sometimes he has awful fits of madness, and tears everybody that he meets all to pieces. Oh, there are lots of stories, Will; but if they don’t frighten you, what’s the good of telling them? They’ll scare some boys, though. There’s one little boy that goes to school that the boys make a habit of frightening very often, by saying that they’ll take him to the Demon’s Cave. Then he bellows, and rams his fists into his eyes, and punches ’em nearly out, and swears he’ll shoot all the boys when he gets big enough.”

“And do you tease him, too?” asked Will.

“No, Will; I don’t. I hate to see a boy with the nosebleed, and this little fellow bellows so hard, and pommels himself so much, that he nearly always gets it. You see, one attack of nosebleed doesn’t get rightly cured before another comes on.”

“I see,” said Will.

“Well, Will,” after a pause, “would you like to go and see this cave and the demon some day?”

“Yes, Henry, I should like nothing better;” Will said, with boyish eagerness. “How far away is it, and when shall we go?”

“Well, it’s about three or four miles from our house, and we can go to-morrow night, if it should be pleasant. I’ve always wanted to get inside of that cave, Will, to see whether any of the stories about it are true. We will get into it when we go, or perish on the spot, won’t we?”

Will was quite willing to go and see the place where the demon lived; but, “to beard the lion in his den!” that was asking too much; especially, as he had resolved not to get into any mischief during his stay at his aunt’s.

“Come, Will; _you_ are the only boy I would ask to go with me. I’ve always wanted to go, but I could never find the right boy to have along. _You_ are the very chap; _you_ have nerve; _you_ wouldn’t run away, if the demon should be in one of his fits of fury. And you would enjoy it; you would have it to think of and dream of when you were an old man!”

This last argument, not proving conclusive, Henry continued: “Just think how the boys would envy us! You could tell the boys at home, and make ’em jealous of us for life; and I could stir up the boys that I know, and make them so mad that they would chew India rubber and think it was gum!”

Will was only a boy, and he could, not withstand so seductive an argument. “Well, Henry,” he said slowly, “_I’ll go._”

“Of course; you would always be sorry if you didn’t.”

Now that he had secured Will’s promise to go, he ventured to hint at the propriety of taking pistols.

“Pistols!” Will exclaimed, with horror. “Surely, we don’t want pistols! Why, we might as well turn highwaymen, and be done with it!”

But Henry was a year older than Will, accustomed to have his own way, and he would not yield to the boy’s entreaties. His stronger nature soon overruled Will’s scruples, and he consented to do whatever Henry thought best, though feeling ill at ease.

“Of course, Will, we don’t think of shooting at anything--not for all the world;--but the plan is to get behind an old tree near the cave, fire a pistol to draw the demon out, and then rush in while he is looking to see what made the noise. Don’t you see? Perhaps we shan’t need to fire a pistol at all; but it will be best to have them.”

“Why should we take more than one, and why should we put in a ball?” Will asked uneasily.

“One apiece, Will; and we must have both loaded, for we don’t know what might happen. Now, don’t be frightened; we won’t do any harm, nor break any laws; I know how to manage things too well for that.”

“I promised to keep out of mischief,” Will said, dolefully.

“I know it, Will; and I’m going to help you keep your promise. We can be very careful, and what fun it will be!”

“I’m afraid somebody will get shot,” mournfully replied the assistant balloonist. He was beginning to repent of his promises to Henry; and in his heart of heart he knew it would be extremely ridiculous, not to say wrong, for two hare-brained youths to set out on a nocturnal expedition, with loaded pistols.

_Chapter XVI._

UNHEARD-OF ADVENTURES WITH BALLOONS.

The little balloon was now completed, and the demon and his affairs were forgotten. The balloon was rather clumsily constructed, it is true; but it promised to float well, and the cousins were enchanted with it. They bore it tenderly out into the back-yard, arranged it for flight, and were about to fire the prepared cotton batten, when Henry cried excitedly: “Wait, Will! Wait a minute! I’m going to fix a car under it! I see a little old straw-hat of the baby’s here in the yard, and I’ll just hitch it on for a car. Of course; what’s a balloon without a car?”

Henry hastened to do so, and the little bonnet was tied fast to the balloon, immediately under the gas-producing apparatus. Then he set fire to the batten; very soon the balloon quivered; and then up it rose, a really pretty sight. The boys shouted, cheered, and flung out their arms in wild delight.

It rushed up like a rocket--it flew along--it soared--it became smaller and smaller--the “car” took fire--the whole balloon blazed--it wavered--it fell headlong--it lit on the roof of a public building--it set it on fire!