CHAPTER XIV

THE FIRE ON THE STEAMER

"She is doomed! There goes our chance to reach the North Pole!"

Such were the words that escaped from Chet's lips, as he and Andy came out on the dock where the _Ice King_ was tied up.

Before them lay the two-masted steamer, with a thick volume of smoke rolling up from her main hatchway. The fire alarm was sounding, and men and boys were running to the scene of action.

"What a catastrophe!" The words came from Professor Jeffer. He was almost out of breath from running. "I hope they can save her!"

"Wonder what is burning?" queried Andy. He, too, felt his heart sink within him.

"Can of benzine exploded," answered a man standing near. "The painters had it, and one of 'em dropped a lighted match on the can."

"He ought to be blown up with it," fumed Chet. "Who ever heard of such carelessness!"

There was the tooting of a whistle, and a fire engine came dashing down the street, followed by a hose cart and a hook and ladder company. In the meantime, Captain Williamson had sounded the alarm on the ship, and set some men to work at a hand pump, for the engineer had no steam in the boilers.

"Can we do anything, Captain?" asked Andy, as he ran up the gangplank.

"I don't know," was the short answer. "Might help at the pump, or help carry buckets of water. If we had the engine going we'd soon get a good stream on that blaze, but we didn't look for anything like this."

Andy and Chet tried to get to the pump, but found that already manned. Then they got buckets and ropes, and commenced to haul up water over the side, and a number of other boys and men did likewise. Some sailors took the full buckets and threw the water down the hatchway, where they thought it would do the most good. Then the fire engine on the dock got into action, and a steady stream was directed down into the interior of the steamer.

But the conflagration had gained considerable headway, and some cans of paints and oils added ready fuel to the blaze. The smoke grew thicker and thicker, and presently a tongue of flame shot skyward.

"She's doomed sure!" groaned Chet. "Oh, was there ever such luck!"

"The trouble is that the water doesn't do much good on the paint and oil," exclaimed Professor Jeffer. "Sand or dirt would be better."

"Here comes a chemical engine!" cried Andy. "Maybe that will do some good."

"It will do more good than throwing water," said the old scientist.

The chemical engine got into action without delay, and as the chemicals were forced down the hatchway the smoke became even thicker than before. But the tongues of flame died down, which the boys took for a good sign.

Barwell Dawson was not on hand, he having gone to Boston on business.

"If the vessel isn't saved, it will be an awful blow to him," was Andy's comment.

The boys continued to work, and so did the sailors and the firemen. Thus an anxious quarter of an hour passed. Then the chief of the fire department happened to pass Chet.

"Will the vessel be saved?" asked the lad.

"Sure thing!" cried the old fire-fighter. "But it's a blaze hard to get at. If a man tried to go down there, he'd be smothered in a minute."

Nevertheless, some of the hook and ladder men went into the engine room, and there chopped a hole through a bulkhead into the hold. Then more chemicals were used, and more water, and soon it was announced that the fire was under control. A little later the smoke cleared away, and the firemen went below, to put out any stray sparks.

It was found that the total damage was confined to that portion of the hold where the painters had stored their paints and oils. Here the woodwork was much charred, and some beams and braces were burnt through. But Captain Williamson estimated that two hundred dollars would make everything as good as ever.

"And that I'm going to get out of those painters," he went on, doggedly. "If they don't pay up, I'll have 'em arrested for gross carelessness." It may be said here that in the end the painters had to pay for the repairs, although they did so unwillingly.

A telegram was sent to Mr. Dawson, and he came from Boston on the first train. He was much disturbed, and roundly berated the painter who had caused the conflagration. The man had been smoking, and the hunter gave orders that in the future they were to smoke on deck only, and use no matches whatever while below.

The repairs made necessary by the fire were made within ten days, and then the task of getting the _Ice King_ ready for her long trip to the Arctic regions went forward as rapidly as ever. Mr. Dawson was a busy man, for he superintended the buying of everything, from fur clothing to pemmican.

"Pemmican is the great thing in the Arctic regions," he explained one day, when Andy asked about the food. "It is nothing but the round of beef, cut into strips and dried, and then mixed with beef tallow and currants. It will keep for a long time, and is highly nutritious."

"Is it appetizing?" asked Andy, with a grin.

"It is when you are good and hungry, Andy. Besides, it is comparatively light, and easily carried. I don't know what explorers would do without it. Of course, as long as we can get fresh meat, we'll eat that. But we'll have to fall back on pemmican more or less. You'll find it more appetizing than seal blubber, such as the Esquimaux eat."

The hunter purchased for the lads some silk underwear that was extra warm, and some stout boots, and outer garments of wool and of fur, and also some oilskins for wet weather. Then he took them to a gun shop in Portland and fitted them out with pistols, repeating rifles, and stout hunting knives. He also purchased for them water-tight match safes, and colored goggles of the automobile variety--the latter to ward off headache and snow-blindness.

"You need not wear the goggles all the time up north," he explained. "But as soon as your eyes hurt the least bit, put them on."

"You are very kind to get us all these things," said Chet. The new repeating rifle made his eyes sparkle with pleasure.

"Indeed you are kind!" cried Andy. "We didn't expect half so much."

"I want you to go away completely equipped," answered Barwell Dawson. "Half of the failures of exploring expeditions is due to the lack of proper equipment. It's like going hunting with a gun that won't shoot straight. Sometimes you hit your game, but more times you don't."

The hunter and explorer also went over the scientific instruments with Professor Jeffer, to see that nothing should be lacking to take all manner of observations and measurements. Some linen notebooks were also provided, which could not be torn easily, and likewise fountain pens, and ink made of liquids that would not readily freeze. Mr. Dawson also procured a number of cameras for taking pictures, and films that would not be affected by the intense cold.

"You've got to think about the cold every time you buy anything," observed Andy. "Wonder what about a jack-knife? I was going to buy a new one, and I don't want to ask Mr. Dawson about it--he has bought enough already."

"I guess you can get any kind you want," answered his chum. "But don't use it when it's too cold, or the steel will stick to your skin."

"Oh, I know that. I once put my tongue on some cold iron, and I had a terrible time getting it off again."

The boys were in Portland, and set off to buy some trifles, having still a few dollars of their own. Andy purchased the knife at a hardware store, and they were just coming from the place when Chet caught him by the arm.

"What is it, Chet?"

"Look at the man across the way! It is your Uncle Si!"

"Uncle Si!" cried Andy. "So it is! And he has seen me!"

Andy's first impulse was to run, but he did nothing of the sort. He stood his ground, and gazed at his uncle coldly as the latter shuffled up. Josiah Graham looked anything but tidy and prosperous, and Andy rightly imagined that his relative had been going through some hard times.

"Humph! So here you be!" were Josiah Graham's first words. "I was a-wonderin' what had become of yer."

"What are you doing here, Uncle Si?" asked Andy, as calmly as possible.

"Me? Wot's thet to you, I'd like to know?"

"Oh, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I'm a-lookin' fer work. Be you workin' now?"

"Not just at present."

"How did you git here?"

"Came on the train."

"Humph! Needn't be so pert! Maybe you had an offer o' work here?"

"No."

"We haven't got to look for a job," said Chet. "We've got something better to look forward to."

"Better, eh? Wot is it?" And Josiah Graham's small eyes gazed shrewdly at the youths.

"Never mind what it is," broke in Andy, hastily, with a warning look at his chum.

"Ah, I know!" cried the man, with a leer. "You came down to sell thet land claim! Goin' to do it without my knowledge an' consent!"

"No, I didn't come for that."

"You can't tell me, Andy Graham! I know better, I do!" the old man shrilled. "But you remember I'm your guardeen, an' you can't sell nuthin' without me!"

"You are not my guardian, Uncle Si. You went away of your own free will, and now I want you to let me alone."

"Did you sell them papers yet?"

"No."

"Then you better give 'em to me. You was a big fool to run away as you did. I was a-goin' to make a good bargain fer yer."

"Uncle Si, if you had sold those papers to that Mr. A. Q. Hopton, I could have had you arrested," said Andy, quietly but firmly.

At these words the face of the shiftless man changed color, and his jaw dropped.

"Me? Arrested?" he stammered.

"Yes, arrested. I have had advice on the subject. You had no right to do a thing without the consent of the court."

"Humph! so you have been to a lawyer, eh? Pretty way to do--not to trust your uncle, who allers did so well by yer. Has thet lawyer got them papers now?"

"I won't tell you a word about the papers."

"Humph! You ain't got no right to run away like this."

"I am not running away. I have a right to go where I please--and do as I please."

"Who told you thet?"

"Never mind who told me."

"You're a-gettin' too high-toned fer your boots, Andy Graham! How much money have you got?"

"That is my business."

"Ain't you a-goin' to tell me?"

"No."

"Where be you a-stopping?"

"That is my business, too."

"Don't git sassy."

"I am not 'sassy,' as you call it. I intend, in the future, to mind my own business, and I want you to mind yours."

"You had better leave Andy alone," put in Chet, who saw that the shiftless man was working himself up into the worst possible humor. "You never helped him, and he doesn't want anything to do with you."

"Say, this ain't none o' your business, Chet Greene."

"Andy is my friend."

"Humph! he better not be!" snarled Josiah Graham. "You ain't no fit boy fer nobuddy to go with--you the son o' a thief, an' mebbe wuss. I want you----Oh!"

What Josiah Graham wanted next was never made known, for just then he landed flat on his back in the gutter, where a well-directed blow from Chet's fist had sent him.