Lost in the land of ice

“Hullo, where am I now?”

It was Bob who asked himself the question, as he sat up in darkness, a strange rocking motion taking possession of him.

“On board a ship,” he continued, dismally. “And bound for—where?”

The question was easy to ask but impossible, just then, to answer. But he was now free of his bonds, and that was one comfort. He rose slowly to his feet.

“As dry as a piece of punk, and as hungry as fourteen bears,” he went on, dismally. “Was ever a boy in such a pickle before?”

He felt around him, and his hand came in contact with several boxes and casks. Clearly he was in the hold of some vessel, and the vessel was at sea.

“If they don’t feed me soon, I’ll be food for the fishes!” he groaned. He tried to moisten his lips with his tongue, but the effort was a failure. “Gosh! what wouldn’t I give for a drink of water!”

Slowly and painfully he felt his way around the tarry-smelling hold of the Vixen, until he reached a spot directly beneath the main hatch. Here a bit of the combing was broken away, and a thin shaft of light shot downward.

“Hi, you, up there!” he yelled, as loudly as his enfeebled condition would permit. “Let me out, somebody!”

For a time nobody paid any attention to his calls, but at last the hatch was drawn aside, and the face of Captain Fenlick peered down upon him.

“Stop your racket, boy!” called the captain of the Vixen. “Yelling like that won’t do you any good.”

“I want something to eat and to drink,” retorted Bob. “You’re a mean beggar to starve a boy like me.”

“Don’t call me names, or you’ll get nothing,” was the harsh answer. “Remember you are on shipboard now, and I am the captain.”

“You are no captain over me.”

“Well, I soon will be, if you want anything to eat.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that you have got to sign articles before you’ll get any of our grub.”

“Then if I won’t sign you’ll starve me?”

“That’s about the size of it—and I’ll give you a tanning in the bargain.”

“You’re a cheerful brute!”

“Don’t call me names, I won’t stand it!”

“Then sit down on it!” returned Bob. He was thoroughly reckless, and hardly cared what happened next.

“You’ll sing a different tune in a few hours,” said Captain Fenlick, with a hard, wicked laugh.

To this Bob did not reply, and a moment later the hatch was shut down again, leaving him once more to himself.

As he had said, he was truly “in a pickle,” and it was with a sober face he drew back and cast himself on a heap of old rope to review the situation.

“I am in that old rascal’s power,” he reasoned, “and he must have stolen that book from me. If I don’t give in to him, he’ll most likely starve me to death.”

He wished he had a light, and searching his pocket found a broken match, something Captain Fenlick had missed in going through his clothing. Striking the match, he lit a bit of the rope, which, being filled with tar, blazed up into quite a respectable torch.

Light in hand he made a tour of the hold, at the same time examining a number of the boxes and casks. One box he ran across was marked Fruit, and this he pried open—to discover nothing more palatable than dried apples.

“Creation, it won’t do to eat those, with nothing to drink!” he mused; nevertheless he ate quite some of the apples. They made him thirstier than ever, and his craving for water was something pitiable to behold.

Reaching one end of the hold, he came to a bulkhead in the centre of which was a square door with a bar across it. He pulled out the bar and found the door free to open.

“A steward’s pantry,” he murmured, as he gazed through a crack of the door. “I wonder if anybody is around?”

Nobody appeared to be, and growing bolder, Bob entered the pantry, closing the hold door after him. On a shelf rested the half of a huckleberry pie, and this the half famished boy finished up in about one minute, washing the pie down with some cold coffee which he found in a pot, and some water from a cask at his feet. Then he discovered the remains of a Hamburger steak lying on a plate on the shelf, and this quickly followed the pie.

“Gosh! nothing ever tasted so good!” was what he told himself. “Now I feel almost new again!”

At that instant heavy footsteps alarmed him, and he had barely time enough to hide behind the stairs leading to the cook’s galley above, when a negro appeared, singing softly to himself:

The negro got no further, but gazed at the pantry shelf in astonishment.

“Who dun took dat steak an’ dat pie!” he roared, in a bull-like voice. “I lef’ dat steak dar less dan ten minits ago! Hi, you, Peter Jackson, did you dun took dat steak?”

“Wot’s dat?” came from the cook’s galley.

“Did you dun took dat steak an’ dat pie wot I lef’ on dis yere shelf?”

“Hain’t seen no steak ner no pie,” was the answer. “Reckon you dun eat ’em up yerself, Moses Brown.”

“Didn’t tech ’em. If you didn’t take ’em, den some of dem sailors must hab sneaked down yere,” went on Moses Brown, wrathfully. “Jess wait till I ketch ’em at it, dat’s all! Captain Fenlick’s allers growlin’ about de fings wot am eat up aboard dis yere ship. I’ll prove da is stolen away, dat’s wot!”

The cook rattled his dishes and took several of them to the galley. As for Bob, he scarcely dared to breathe, fearful that he might be exposed at any instant.

“Now, what’s to do?” the lad asked himself, after the cook had retired to the galley again. “I can’t stay here—and I’m not going back to that hold—no siree!” And he shook his head determinedly. He heard the two negroes talking above, and presently one went out of the galley, and a short while after the second followed.

Mounting the stairs, he peered into the galley. A number of articles were cooking on the big ship’s stove, and Bob could not resist the temptation to “fill up,” which he did to his heart’s content.

“Now I am good for another day of starvation, if necessary,” he reasoned. “Not that I want it. But there is no telling what will happen to me if I stay aboard this ship any longer.”

From the galley he could see that the Vixen was skirting the lower coast of New Jersey, and would soon be well out into the broad waters of Delaware Bay. Even though a “tramp” steamer, she was fast, and was sending up a stiff spray from her bow as she cut the salt water.

“If I don’t want to take in the whole trip I’ve got to get off soon,” thought Bob.

He looked at the distance to shore, and shook his head. The coast was nearly a mile away, and the sea was running strong and high. He could swim well, but not such a distance as that, in rough water.

“If I had a boat,” he mused, and then began to wonder if there was any small boat tied up behind, but soon came to the conclusion that all of the row-boats belonging to the Vixen were at the davits.

Bob knew he could not remain where he was, that he might be discovered at any moment. Not far away was the forecastle. Would he be safer there?

“I might be, if I hid away in one of the bunks,” was what he told himself, and watching his chance, he ran toward the forecastle and gained it without being seen. Once inside, he lost no time in stowing himself out of sight.

By this time the cook returned to the galley. Finding the eatables again disturbed, he began to scold in such a loud voice that Captain Fenlick’s attention was attracted.

“What’s up, Mose?” asked the master of the ship.

“Dun got a t’ief on board, dat’s wot’s up!” howled the cook. “Eat up ma steak an’ ma pie, and now been in de stuff wot’s cookin’!”

“Humph!” muttered Captain Fenlick. “Suspect anybody?”

“No, sah, not persackly, sah. But it wasn’t de cat wot dun it, I’se suah ob dat.”

Suddenly Captain Fenlick’s face grew dark. “It is possible he has got free?” he muttered, and ran for the main hatch. Throwing the cover aside, he peered below. “Hullo, you!” he shouted.

Receiving no answer, he called again, and then a third time.

“Got out somehow, I’ll bet a new cap,” he muttered, and began to curse to himself. Then he ran toward the galley: “Have you seen anything of that boy Basker and I brought aboard?” he demanded of the cook.

Moses Brown shook his head. “No, sah. Do you fink he gobbled dat stuff, sah?”

“He’s hungry enough to do it.”

Running down to the pantry, Captain Fenlick tried the door to the hold. It gave way suddenly, and he went pitching headlong into the darkness beyond.

“Hang the luck!” he roared. “This is the way he got out, but he must have had a light to do it. Ha! a bit of burnt rope. That explains it all. Now, where did he go to? If he’s on board of this ship, won’t I wax him good when I catch him!”