THE STOWAWAYS.

WITHOUT stopping for an answer, Tom stepped across to the vessel, and lowered himself down into the hold, and Davey, with his brain in a whirl, followed. The lads felt their way about till they found a nook between two rows of great bags and barrels. Here they crouched down, and waited breathlessly, in terror lest they should be discovered.

After what seemed to them a terribly long time, the ringing voice of the captain was heard, the sailors came on board, and presently the boys heard the captain say, "Just look round the hold, and see that all's right and in order."

"Ay, sir," replied a voice.

And then hearing heavy steps advancing along the deck, the lads squeezed themselves still further back among the cargo, crouching low and compressing into as little space as possible. Down came the man with his light, and looked about, moving one or two of the smaller things.

"We're nothing like so full as usual, skipper," he called up to the captain, "but there'll be no squalls for the next twenty-four hours, so the things won't take no harm from not being packed solid."

"Are you sure?" asked the captain.

"Ay, sir, pretty sure."

"All right, then. Close the main hatchway, and see that all's ready for sailing. The tide has turned, and we must be off."

The hatchway was closed, and the boys were now in perfect darkness, but they could hear distinctly all that was going on over their heads on deck; the shouted orders, the rapid footsteps of the men, the coiling of rope, the first slow cautious turning of the paddles of the clumsy tug-boat which had come to help the schooner out to sea.

But after a while, the fussy little steamer—puffing and blowing as though terribly out of breath with its exertions—cast off the sailing vessel and steamed back into port. For a minute or two, the schooner rocked idly on the waves. Then the wind caught the sails, and strange and sweet in the ears of the young stowaways sounded the wash of the water as the vessel sailed out to sea.

Indeed, everything was so strange, and the marvel of their escape was so wonderful to them, that for some time the boys were quite silent, deep in thought.

But at last Davey whispered, "Oh, Tom, I'm awfully hungry."

"Are you?" jeered Tom. "Now I think of it, so am I. We've had nothing to eat since dinner. Did you bring any grub with you this morning?"

"Not a scrap," replied Davey, mournfully.

"Then we're in a bad way," said Tom, "for it'll be long enough before we stop anywhere and can get ashore to buy anything to eat."

"It seems to me it would have been better to let ourselves be caught by the constable than to come here to starve to death," said Davey, dolefully.

"Hold your tongue, you milk-sop, if you can't speak more chirpy than that!" exclaimed Tom. "'I' don't mean to starve if I can help it, so here goes for a hunt for something to eat! There ought to be some grub about here."

So saying, Tom crept out of his nook, and began to grope his way about the hold, poking and punching every bag, box, or basket, and even putting his nose down to smell anything that seemed likely to contain food.

At last, Davey heard him give a joyous exclamation.

"What is it, Tom?" he asked.

"I've found a bag of ship biscuits," said Tom, "and I've slit a hole in it with my knife, and here's a biscuit to stop your grumbling."

Davey thankfully accepted the stolen food, and began to munch steadily, while Tom, whose curiosity and covetousness were sharpened by hunger, resumed his voyage of discovery among the barrels, bags, and hampers of the cargo.

Another ten minutes of silence, and then a chuckle of delight and triumph.

"What is it now, Tom?" inquired Davey, with his mouth full of biscuit.

"Reach out your hand and I'll show you! Bless me, how dark it is! Where are you?"

Another minute of groping, and Tom thrust into Davey's hand a thick wedge of something that smelt very good to a hungry lad.

"What—cheese?" cried Davey.

"Ay, cheese. I found a whole one, and as my knife hadn't been left at the pawnshop, I was able to cut these pieces out, one for each of us."

"It does taste good!" said Davey. "I never knew before how nice hard biscuits and cheese could be."

Tom sat down in his old corner and began to eat his supper, pluming himself the while upon his cleverness in providing himself and his companion with a meal.

"You'd never have thought of looking about for provisions, Davey, I'll be bound," said he. "You'd have just sat down in a corner and done a cry and starved all night."

"Yes—I daresay," replied Davey, shortly.

"Well, now, I shouldn't wonder if you're thankful I'm with you," pursued Tom. "What could you have done without me?"

"Nothing, and I shouldn't have wanted to do anything either, for if I'd gone alone to Bristol this wouldn't have happened," said Davey. "I shouldn't have pawned Uncle Zach's compass, nor driven off with the farmer's cob and got a constable after me."

"It's just like your mean way, Davey, to lay all the blame on me," remarked Tom, throwing his cheese rind away. "But, after all, you sweet boy, 'twasn't I that made you disobey your people and go to the fair, was it? And, likewise, if only you'd returned the compass to old Zach when you should, I couldn't have pawned it, now, could I? It seems to me that it's a case of pot and kettle."

This was plain speaking, and Davey did not enjoy it, but there was truth in it, and this he could not deny. For a long while he sat in sullen silence, paying little attention to Tom, until the voice of the latter roused him suddenly.

"I say, Davey, it seems to me there's a smell of burning down here. There's certainly smoke somewhere near."

"Yes, I can smell it," answered Davey. "How could it have come?"

"That fellow who came down here to see that all was right was smoking," said Tom. "Maybe some of the red ashes out of his pipe have set fire to something. I must have a hunt round and see where it is, for a fire in this hole means a great deal to everybody on board, but to none so much as us, since we can't get out."

"Oh, Tom!" said Davey, shaking all over with this new dread. "Do you think we're going to be burnt up or smothered in this awful place?"

"If you was alone here, you baby, I should say that's what was sure to happen to you," replied Tom, in a voice of hard contempt; for he had no patience with anyone who was physically a coward and helpless in an emergency. "But as you've got 'me' here," he added, vain-gloriously, "there's a chance for you. Don't sit snivelling in the corner, but get up and poke about, and smell round as I'm doing, for the quicker we find out where this fire is, the better for you and me and the whole ship's company."

So Davey got up and began to grope about, feeling his way among the cargo, until he came to a place where the smoke was very thick and pungent, and the air quite hot.

"It's here, Tom," said Davey; "come and help me move this wooden box. There's the fire behind it, I'm sure."

Tom came over at once, stumbling along in the dark in the direction from which Davey's voice proceeded.

Together the boys managed to move the box, and as they did so, they started back with a cry of horror, for a flame shot up into the dark like a red danger signal, and made a horrible crackling noise.

"We can't put that out without water nor nothing," said Tom. "It's got well alight, and stamping on it or trying to smother it is no good now."

"Then what's to be done?" questioned Davey, receding from the fire, which was creeping on slowly but surely.

"Well," said Tom, "you can take your choice of two things. Either you can stay here quiet and choke or burn, or you can let the crew overhead know what's going on down here, and take our chance with them."

"It's like you to talk about choice, Tom," said Davey, coughing as the smoke caught him by the throat for an instant. "There's no choice at all, for it's certain death to stay here."

"All right," said Tom, coolly; "your mind's made up, I suppose. Here goes, then!"

And making his way to the open space just under the main hatchway, he caught up a pole with a hook at the end, used probably for dragging the cases and baskets from the remote corners of the hold, and with the wooden end, he began to bang with all his might against the covering of the hatchway.

"Help!" he cried, his voice sounding strangely hoarse and muffled in the heavy air of that close place. "Help! Fire! The ship's afire! Help! Help!"

And Davey's shriller tones rang out as the boy joined his companion—

"Fire! Fire in the hold! Help! Help!"