Part 13

The boys had watched its ascent with enthusiasm, cheering lustily; but when it took fire, their enthusiasm cooled, and in proportion as the balloon burned brighter, their hearts grew heavier. When it fell, their spirits fell with it. They grew sick with fear on seeing flames burst forth on the roof of the building, and looked at each other in utter helplessness. Henry was the first to collect himself, and he gave the alarm by shouting “Fire!” in thundering tones.

Several householders, Mrs. Mortimer among them, flew to their doors at the dreadful cry of _fire_, to see whether their own buildings were the ones menaced. The fire was soon pointed out; the fire-engines rushed gallantly to the rescue; the hoses were adjusted; and the firemen sprang to their work. The two boys got over their terror sufficiently to throng to the scene of action. To Henry it was a familiar sight; but to Will it was entirely new, and he enjoyed it, in spite of himself.

The fire was soon extinguished, and but little harm was done to the building. The whole affair, from the time when Henry attached the “car” to his balloon till the last spark was extinguished, took up only a few minutes.

As the cousins returned to the house, they felt that all was not over yet.

“That’s the worst thing, almost, that ever happened to me,” said Will.

“Never mind it, Will; its over now, and not much harm done. I wouldn’t let that trouble me a minute. We boys in the city, don’t count _that_ as much; we’re used to all sorts of horrible things happening to us; we get hardened to it; we expect it. But it was all that dismal straw-hat; _that_ did the mischief. If I hadn’t flung it into the back-yard the other day, our balloon might be soaring around yet! Well, it’s burnt up now, from stem to stern.”

“Yes, Henry; but it isn’t a very good way to keep out of mischief; it--it makes me feel very miserable. George would say we are _incendiaries_.”

“Who’s George? Somebody that is nobody, I guess. Well, at any rate, that isn’t the word. _Giantize_ is a great deal better. _To giantize_, Will, is to eat like a giant; to do big things; to astonish the natives; to be a hero; to rescue captives. We’ll _giantize_ to-morrow night when we rescue the man--if there _is_ a man--in the Demon’s Cave. Some day, Will, I’ll take you to a bookstore, and show you a weekly paper with continued stories in it, and continual heroes in the stories. These heroes are very, _very_ strong, and good, and brave, and handsome; and they make it a settled business to giantize.”

“Oh, I know what those papers are, Henry; I know a Mr. Horner that takes two or three of them; and he gets so excited over the stories that sometimes he can’t sleep at night. But his boy Jim--Timor we call him--is the biggest coward that ever ran away from a lapdog.”

The boys sat down to dinner with little appetite. Mr. Mortimer made inquiries about the fire, and they acknowledged their share in it. To say that Mr. Mortimer was vexed would hardly express the state of his feelings. In the afternoon a deputation of the City Fathers waited on him, and he and the two cousins were closeted with them some time. What passed between them was never made known; but as they took their departure one of them observed: “Yes, that makes it all right. Well, I never realized before that a straw-bonnet would set fire to a roof. I must tell my boys never to make balloons; or, at least, to make them without cars. By the way, what was it that you dipped in alcohol to make the gas?”

Will was too confused to make a reply. Not so Henry. “Cotton batten, sir, is what we used,” he said, “but a sponge is better still.”

After they had gone, he said to Will: “Now he’ll get himself into trouble! His boys are always trying experiments; and if he tells them about our balloon, they’ll go to work and make one that’ll set the whole place on fire! Oh, they’re awful boys! Only a few days ago they poisoned off a dog with some dangerous gas, and drove the house-keeper’s cat into hysteric fits. Why, Will, their mother can’t keep a tea-kettle three weeks before they swoop down on it; and turn on a full head of steam; and plug up the spout; and batten down the lid; and blow it all to nothing. Oh, that man will have his hands full of sorrow before long.”

“But what does their mother say about it? Surely, she doesn’t like to keep on buying new tea-kettles! And their father,--doesn’t he get mad?”

“Oh, as long as the boys don’t get hurt, their parents think they are smart; and they tell everybody that goes into the house that when the boys grow up, they will revolutionize chemistry and remodel the steam-engine.”

Then the two talked of exploits that they had achieved; adventures that had befallen them; and perils through which they had passed. Henry said that he had had the mumps, the measles, and the small-pox; Will said he had had the sore throat, the chicken-pox, seven boils, lots and lots of warts, and the measles, too. Henry said a circus horse once kicked him hard, and a circus monkey once stole his handkerchief; Will said he once shot a cat with his father’s gun, and it fled away and lived all winter with the bullet in its heart. Henry said that was nothing; he once shot a deer, and if somebody else hadn’t come along and killed it, he believed his ball would have killed it. Will said he could beat that, for he was nearly drowned once. Then Henry said he one day drank so much water that he nearly died; and the next day those smart boys that he had spoken of set him on fire, and scorched his coat till he couldn’t recognize it.

Then they talked of other things, and Will told his cousin all about his school-fellows. Then Henry again referred to the demon and his wickedness.

Judging by the performances of the last few hours, Henry would be a strange companion to visit the Demon’s Cave with, at night, and armed with loaded pistols, “ready,” as he phrased it, “to defend themselves in case of danger.”

* * * * *

It was morning. The cousins were standing in the commons. A crowd of people was assembled. In the centre of the inclosure a colossal balloon (do not smile, gentle reader) towered up into the air. Its manager, Prof. Ranteleau, was haranguing the people. In a few minutes he would ascend in his balloon--who wished to accompany him? He was an adept in the science of aëronautics, and would insure every one a safe, novel, and delightful voyage through the aërial regions. When they had sailed among the clouds to their satisfaction, he would return and descend on the common.

A few people said “good-bye” to their friends, and climbed into the car. The cousins did likewise. The fastenings were cast loose; the professor seated himself with a complacent smile; and with a great lurch the balloon began to ascend.

The people began to make poetical remarks upon the “sublimity,” the “immensity,” the “profundity” of the scene, before the car was fifty feet above the ground.

Will and Henry sat still and looked on; for to their untutored minds the scene did yet seem particularly sublime.

But the balloon rapidly gained in speed, and soon whirled its occupants along at an astonishing rate. Things below became more and more indistinct, and were gradually lost to view. Then the balloonists felt in their pockets for sundry barometers and thermometers; buttoned their over-coats up to their ears; and prepared to enjoy themselves.

The professor reached out his hand to adjust some part of the mechanism. But a valve refused to open, the bulky monster gave a great lurch forward, and he perceived that it had become unmanageable! His benign countenance assumed an air of woe, but he hoped that all was not yet lost. He was deceived.

Suddenly the balloon careened over, and sailed through the air in a horizontal position, very unpleasant to the balloonists. Striking a certain parallel of latitude, it circled round this world of ours like a beam of light. In vain the professor attempted to get control of the unwieldy monster. Dropping their barometers and thermometers, the unhappy æronauts clutched the sides of the car with an agonized grip. Nothing was now said about the “sublimity” of things below; for no one durst cast his eyes to the ground.

Soon they were circumnavigating the world in the twinkling of an eye; and the balloon increased in speed till it exceeded the wildest calculations made by man respecting motion. The wretched travelers of the sky could no longer maintain their hold, and were one by one flung from the fated balloon like missiles from a catapult. They went whirling through space with a rotary motion, like balls from a rifle; while, from a peculiarity in the way in which they were flung, they took a different course from that taken by the balloon, more downward and southward.

Thus the pedagogue’s question, whether anything can be discharged from a motive power in motion, is set at rest forever.

In spite of the awfulness of his situation, Will could not help pitying whatever obstacle they should bring up against, for there would be a frightful collision.

For the thirtieth time the Rocky Mountains rose before them, and a large man, built on the approved Dicken’s model, was shot from the balloon. To the spectator’s horror, he went right through one of the loftiest mountains, just below the limit of perpetual snow, tearing a hole eight feet in circumference through the solid rock. When the “hardy mountaineer” comes upon that hole, he will call it a “freak of nature,” and be at a loss to account for its usefulness. “Ah! he didn’t ought to come!” the professor managed to articulate. But he was not heard, for in an instant an ocean of ether rolled between him and his words.

One by one the unfortunates were hurled from the balloon, till out of thirteen only the professor and the two cousins remained. The monster circumnavigated the globe one hundred times; then quivered, hesitated, slackened its speed, and finally, taking a new start, it left the earth entirely behind, and swiftly drew near one of the planets. It redoubled its exertions, and soon exceeded its former velocity. The air became warmer and warmer, nearer and nearer they came to the planet. The professor determined to make one more effort to check their wild flight, and took his right hand from the support it clutched, to pull a rope leading to a valve.

That movement was fatal: the professor himself was shot out of the balloon. He, however, took an upward course. The balloon seemed to know that he was gone; and quivering with joy and relief, it once more assumed a perpendicular position. The boys relaxed their hold, and gladly stretched their stiffened limbs. But its velocity seemed only to increase.

Six seconds later, the boys felt an awful crash above them. The balloon had overtaken its latest projectile, the professor, and a great collision was the result. Then the gas coming from the professor’s throat, and the gas inside of the balloon, met; and an explosion that jarred the planet they were drawing near,--though it was still three thousand miles away,--took place.

The balloon immediately collapsed, and then a strange thing happened. Will dilated till he reached the dimensions of the last exhumed New Jersey fossil, and then a cry of pain broke from his lips. He opened his eyes.

A calm September sun was shining into the bedroom window; the birds were singing gayly outside; while down stairs he heard Henry’s merry laugh.

“A dream!” Will exclaimed, in great relief! “Only a dream. But it seemed more real than any dream I ever had! Oh, dear! Even in dreams I get into trouble! What will become of me next? Shall I always keep on making blunders? Shall I always get into disgrace, like an idiot or a bothersome dog?”

After a pause, he continued: “Well, I do feel a pain, sure enough! I suppose I ate too much pudding for dinner.”

In this observation he was partially correct. Boys, listen to this glorious precept: _Never eat heartily when you feel as Will felt that afternoon._

“I wonder how a genuine balloon would behave itself?” Will mused, as he jumped out of bed. “Not much like Professor Ranteleau’s, surely. If I could see George, now, I guess he could tell me all about it. Perhaps Henry knows how it would be. Well, I don’t care for such dreams; they make me feel homesick. Poor Stephen! I wonder how he is this morning. Oh! Oh! this is the day for the visit to the Demon’s Cave!”

Having said that, he went down stairs in search of Henry.

_Chapter XVII._

THEY PREPARE TO GIANTIZE.

The boys spent the day in suppressed excitement, not caring to engage in any amusement, but roaming about the house and making their “preparations.” After much wandering through the building, they gathered up everything they thought would be needful.

“It’s a great pity we haven’t more weapons,” Henry said. “Now, Will to go armed rightly, we should have revolvers, not pistols. Seven-shooters, with a box of cartridges apiece, would make us very formidable, and then we ought to have other weapons. Well, I’ve a compass, anyway; you must take it, Will, for you don’t know the way so well as I do. These pistols of mine are very good, for pistols; but after all, they are only pistols.”

Henry was wrong in being ashamed of his firearms. They were very neat and highly ornamented pocket-pistols, which his father had given to him some years before, under a promise not to use them till he should be old enough to do so with safety. He had strictly kept that promise.

There was nothing wrong with them; but Henry got out his father’s oil can, and the two boys toiled over them for upwards of an hour. The oil in the little can ran low, and a pile of greasy rags rose beside them; but when they at last desisted from their labors, a sweet smile of content lit up their grimy features, and unthinkingly they drew out their handkerchiefs.

“Oh!” cried Will with a look of dismay.

“Never mind,” said Henry, composedly. “Just keep yours, and I’ll keep mine, and they’ll make the very best kind of a slate-cloth, and when they get worn out for that, the ragman will buy them at a cent a pound. Now, Will, just look at these pistols; they are as clean as a snow-storm!”

This sublime comparison restored Will’s cheerfulness, and together they wended their way outside to wash.

“Will,” he said, “to show you how _very_ careful I am, we won’t load this pair of pistols till just before we go. All the accidents you read about in the newspapers come from loaded pistols and revolvers lying around loose; so we’ll cheat fate, and not load them till the last minute. And,” he added, “to be still more careful, _you may load them both yourself_.”

But where Will was concerned, Fate was not to be cheated so easily; in fact, on this occasion, Henry was “only playing into her hands.”

For some reason, neither of the boys said anything to Mr. or Mrs. Mortimer about their intended expedition, wishing, according to their account, to have a “tale to tell” the next morning. Although they kept saying to each other that they would be doing nothing wrong, it is probable they feared Mr. Mortimer might think they would be better at home than at the Demon’s Cave. To do them justice, it must be stated that neither meditated doing any harm; they wished only to effect an entrance into the cave. They were certain that they would reach home by bedtime; and then, the affair being all over, they could narrate their adventures at their leisure. They were observing boys, and knew well enough that when they returned in triumph and safety, their little prank would be excused; and far from being blamed, they would be regarded with admiration--even lionized.

Yes, Will and Henry were wise in their day and generation.

In the morning Henry had said to his mother: “Ma, could you get supper earlier than usual to-night? Will and I want to go out about sundown. We’ll tell you all about it afterwards.”

Mrs. Mortimer supposed, of course, that everything was all right, and never thought of questioning them as to whither they were going. She, good soul, promised to get an early supper on purpose for them, and even proposed that they should take some eatables with them. The boys heartily agreed to this--not that they cared to eat on the way; but they thought it would become them, as armed heroes, to take along a knapsack of food.

When supper was announced the impatient knights-errant hastily ate it. Then Henry put some tempting sandwiches--the eatables his kind mother had prepared--into his satchel, or knapsack, and called to Will to get ready.

“Now, Will,” he said, as they flew up stairs to his room, “we must hurry like a train of cars behind time. It is getting late, and you must load the pistols as fast as you can, while I change my boots. Here is everything you want in this drawer, and you know just where to lay your hand on whatever you want.”

“Oh, yes,” said Will.

“See, Will, here’s a big jack-knife for you, and another for me. They’re the toughest and grittiest old fellows you ever saw; stick this one into your pocket.”

So they armed their persons with these formidable and bulky knives. Did they expect to kill anyone, or to be killed themselves?

Will felt no uneasiness about taking a pocket-knife, however big it might be; but he looked at the pistols with awe.

“You secured the compass before supper?” asked Henry.

“Yes.”

“Then don’t stand fooling, Will, but load the pistols.”

The sun had set, and the boys’ bedroom facing the east, it was somewhat dark within it. Will knew he must hurry, for it was getting late, and Henry would soon be ready. His old dread about taking the pistols returned, and his hand trembled with suppressed excitement as he snatched them up.

“I’ll load ’em,” he said desperately, “but I don’t like to do it.”

“Don’t be chicken-hearted at the last minute, Will; you know I rely on you to help me;” Henry called out, from the adjoining room.

“Never mind,” Will replied confusedly, as he opened the drawer of which Henry had spoken. There were many things in this drawer, arranged in excellent order, Henry thought; but to anyone else, everything seemed to be in appalling _dis_order, as though thrown into it at random. Boxes, strings, cords, fishhooks, slate-pencils, lead-pencils, discarded buttons; a glass ink-bottle that a blue-eyed girl had once given him for prompting her against the rules; a top that a dead brother had spun in days gone by; a diary that began with a grand flourish and ended miserably on the fifth page; and several other things, were stowed away in that drawer. If the reader wishes to know _exactly_ what its contents were, let him look into the sanctum of such a boy as Henry.

Groping among these things, Will found his cousin’s powder-flask, poured a generous charge into the barrel of both pistols, and then rammed in a wad.

“Ready?” asked Henry, as he slipped on the second boot.

“Oh, yes; in a minute;” Will replied, becoming very much confused.

Fumbling in the drawer again, he drew out a box which he supposed held the bullets. Tearing off the lid without stopping to examine what the soft black balls really were, he dropped one into each barrel, and secured it with a wad.

Poor boy! Of course he had made a blunder, and mistaken artificial balls, that Henry had made for his little brothers pog-gun, for leaden bullets! These balls were made of tow, soaked in water, and then rounded into shape. They were excellent for a pop-gun, but rather out of place in a pistol.

Poor knights-errant! They were not armed even so well as Henry imagined. In case of an attack from the demon, all that they could rely on would be their jack-knives.

Unconscious of his mistake, Will observed, with a sigh of relief, “There, they’re loaded! I’m not much used to loading pistols, Henry; but I know better than to put the balls in first!”

“Then why didn’t you say so before?” Henry demanded, as he stepped into the room. “You are too nervous, Will; you ought to take things coolly, as I do. Of course the pistols are all right; but let me see them.”

Taking them up, he said, with an amused smile: “It’s pretty dark here, Will, _but I think I could see the caps, if they were on_!”

“Oh!” was all poor Will could say.

Henry hurried to his drawer, found his box of caps, and speedily remedied Will’s neglect. But he did not see the mistake Will had made about the balls.

Then each boy thrust a pistol into his coat pocket, and looked every inch a redoubtable hero.

“Never mind shutting up the drawer, Will; never mind doing anything;” Henry cried impatiently. “It is nearly a quarter to seven; so let us hurry, and we’ll swoop down on the demon just in the nick of time.”

As they passed out of the house, Henry’s little sister asked where they were going.

“Wait till we come back, Topsy, and we’ll have a whole story-book full of tales to tell you,” said Henry. “We are going to do something wonderful, and perhaps we’ll find something to bring back to you. Topsy, tell your baby brother that if we meet Jack the Giant Killer, we’ll smash his head for him.”

A minute later, the boys were fairly on their way to the cave.

“Henry, there is a question I want to ask you,” said Will, as they strode along. “It will be so late when we get home, and we shall be so tired; why didn’t we start early in the afternoon?”

“Ho! what a question! Why, Will, I’m astonished at you! What would be the fun in going in daylight? Don’t you see, _night_ makes everything solemn and romantic, and spurs a fellow on to be very brave--so brave that he wouldn’t be afraid of the skeleton of a devil-fish. Will, do you ever read novels? stories? legends?”

“Yes.”

“Well, don’t the heroes do all their noble deeds at night? Villains and ruffians prowl around at night, and the heroes know that, and lay their plans to grapple them. Will, when different nations go to war, like two dogs over a bone, if they can only manage to do the fighting at night, they always do. And then what a battle there is.”

He held forth in this strain till he became almost eloquent; but wound up by saying, with great inconsistency, “Besides, it isn’t night at all; it’s only evening.”

To all this Will meekly assented.

“As for being tired,” Henry continued, with intense disgust, “you’re no true boy, Will, if you care a straw for that, when such sport is in view.”

“No, of course not!” Will hastily replied. But he asked himself whether his cousin had any of Marmaduke’s notions.

“Well,” after a pause, “I _did_ have a reason for coming at this particular time. I know a good-natured fellow that comes along this way every evening with a team. I see him coming now; and he’ll give us a ride, as sure as our pistols are loaded. He’ll set us down not far from the cave, and that will be a great help; and, Will, if you are tired, ten to one we’ll get a ride going home!”

Will began to think his cousin was a strangely contrary boy.

Mr. Mortimer’s house stood in the suburbs of the town, which the boys had now left entirely behind. Eagerly they hurried on, but the teamster soon overtook them, and as Henry had said, he offered them a ride. As they rattled on over the dusty road, they felt that this world is very beautiful, after all; and that it is a fine thing to have a teamster for a friend.

When they left him they were within a quarter of a mile of their destination.

It was between two hills that they alighted, the road coming down one, crossing a bridge that spanned a little stream, and then going up another. The land on either side was low,--even marshy in places,--and used principally for pasturage. To the left of the road there were no banks; but to the right, for a long way up the stream, there were high and steep banks, with a wide valley between them. It was in one of these banks that the cave was situated.