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.
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!
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.
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 disorder, 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.
The cousins ran across the road, and down into the valley, on their way to the demon’s abode. The teamster watched them as he drove along, and muttered: “So that’s where the rascals are going! Well, let ’em go; I reckon they’ll soon come howling back again, very much the worse for wear, and rather broken in wind!”
Will was about to follow the stream, but Henry called out to him, “Don’t go there, Will, for the ground is too soft after the rain. Besides, we must be careful; the demon may be prowling around; and he might see us. Let us follow this steep bank for a little way, and then we shall find a path leading right up to the top of it.”
It was a desert place, far from any habitation—a wilderness within sight of a town. High above them rose an almost perpendicular bank, of earth, not rock; while directly opposite rose a similar bank, nearly as high. Between these lay the pasture-land. Will and Henry were sensible of the desolation of the place; it fired their enthusiasm, and warmed their blood; and they peered into the shadows as though they imagined a whole band of demons lurked near, ready to spring upon them.
If they should be attacked, as Henry seemed to fear, so far from help, his pistols and pocket-knives would be frail weapons of defence.
They soon reached the path leading upwards, and began to ascend.
“Henry, wouldn’t it be better to go boldly up to the door of the cave, and knock?” Will asked. “Surely, the demon would let us in, and show us around; and if he should, of course, he would let us out again.”
“No, Will; that wouldn’t do at all. The demon never lets any one into his cave; and as I told you, the story runs that whoever he takes in never gets out again. If we should knock at his door he would be on his guard, and I doubt whether we should be able to get in at all. Besides, it wouldn’t be poetical to get in that way. No; we must entice him out, and then rush in like a whirlwind.”
“But how are we to get out again?”
“Now, Will, I don’t mean you when I say it; but that is a coward’s thought. I never troubled myself about that—in fact, I never let such an idea come into my head. If we had wanted to get in that way, we should have stayed down in the valley. By going around on the top of the hill, as we are, we can lay a trap that the demon will certainly fall into. You see, Will, if we want to get fun out of this expedition, we must have a plot. I don’t blame you for being nervous, Will; those trick-playing boys at your place have unsettled your nerves, and unstrung your faculties; but if you stay with me long enough, I’ll string them up till you are ready for anything.”
Will heaved a sigh, blinked painfully, and said, “Thank you!”
Henry resumed: “Yes, Will, I think we can safely leave that question till we get ready to go out. Some way will be found then, never fear. The main point is to get in; it will be easy enough to get out.”
“Let us stop a minute, and look around,” Will said, as they strode warily along on the brow of the hill.
“By all means, Will. Here,” stretching out his arms, and speaking with theatrical vehemence, “here is scenery! This is where the travelling photographers come to astonish themselves!”
A splendid view was obtained from this elevation; the country could be seen for a long distance, and glimpses were caught of three or four towns besides Henry’s.
But the writer seems to forget that he is not a school-girl writing a prize composition in description of some far distant and romantic land of which she, in her younger days, had learned a piece of poetry, difficult and tiresome, but studded with beautiful metaphors that fired her budding genius.
A great many dumb beasts, but no human beings, were in sight.
Henry soon broke the silence by saying, “Come, Will, we must go on.”
They hurried along on the brow of the long hill, conversing in low tones. Still no appearance of the demon. There was a well-beaten path, evidently worn by the demon himself, which they followed. After following this path for a few minutes, Henry suddenly stopped, and said in a hoarse whisper:
“Will, I think we are directly over the cave. Hush! Keep very still, and look out for danger; but be as collected as a desperado. We are two to one; so there is nothing to be afraid of. Now, Will, crouch down, and we’ll lay our plans right over the demon’s head. He can’t hear us, and I want to make everything clear to you. Don’t you see, Will, its a striking idea to plot and scheme over the very cave itself?”
“Yes, it’s just like outlaws,” said Will.
“Well, by going on a little farther, we shall find another path leading down this hill into the valley. We must take that path, so that we can come up to the cave from behind. The demon will never suspect any one of coming from that direction, and he will be trapped nicely. We can get behind the big old tree you see down there, and then fire! You see, Will, we had to come this roundabout way over his cave; it would never do to pass in front of it, and run the risk of being seen.”
Will saw, and admired Henry’s stratagem.
“It makes me think of Robinson Crusoe and his cave,” he whispered, as they rose and went on.
Soon they reached the path leading downwards, which they descended warily, and then found themselves once more in the valley. A few steps ahead was a monstrous old tree, lying flat on the ground, and jutting out towards the opposite bank; while farther along, round an angle, was the entrance into the cave. Any person behind that tree would be effectually hidden from that entrance; and, of course, that entrance would be hidden from him.
Henry’s plan was to fire, and then keep a sharp look-out over the tree till the demon should come out and place some distance between himself and his cave, looking for the cause of the loud noise. He imagined that what with the angle, the surrounding cliffs, and the echoes that would follow, it would be impossible for a person in the cave to tell the exact place from which the report came. When the demon should be at a safe distance from his cave, Henry and Will would dash into it.
Henry thought they would be perfectly safe; for would they not be protected on every side, except from the rear?
From the rear!
When they reached the foot of the hill, they paused and looked warily, even fearfully, up the valley. But it was fast getting dark, and they did not see a man who crouched against the cliff in time to escape observation.
He was the man commonly called the Demon.
The cousins turned and proceeded slowly and circumspectly toward their ambush, fearing every minute that the demon might appear in front of them. As they went they conversed in whispers. The man, or demon, followed so closely behind them that he heard every word; and yet so carefully did he tread that they were not aware of his presence. As will be seen, he gathered the whole plan of attack from their whispered conversation, and took his measures accordingly.
“Now, Will, we must settle the last details of our plot,” Henry said. “You may fire your pistol, Will, but I’ll keep my fire till I see whether we need it or not. I’ll climb the trunk of the tree, when we think it is safe, from your shoulder, and then pull you up. Of course we can jump from the tree to the ground, and then, to run for the cave!”
“But suppose the demon isn’t in his cave?”
“That’s just what we’re afraid of, Will, and we are only taking our chances. He ought to be in at this time of night, eating his supper and tormenting his captives—if he has any. He must be in! I feel that we haven’t come all the way here for nothing; I feel that we are in for a grand adventure! And what will the demon say when he finds two armed boys in his den!”
“Suppose he won’t come out when I fire? He may be too cute to rush out, and leave the door open, and straggle off.”
“Oh, do quit supposing! If he won’t come out, we will shove our way in. If he is a good old man, we must cheer him up, and help him; but if he is a wicked old knave, with captives and treasures, we must set them free, and plunder him for the National Treasury. Here we are at the tree, Will; get out your pistol ready to fire. No, wait! Let me take a look over the log, to see that he isn’t prowling around there.”
After much scrambling, Henry succeeded in climbing upon the tree. Will stood by, fumbling idly with the pistol. The demon, a few steps behind, pressed close against the cliff, and remained unseen.
“I don’t see anything of the demon,” Henry whispered, from the trunk of the tree. “Don’t fire till I slip down, because he might pop out quick, and see me. In a minute or two, I’ll venture up again.”
Before he had finished speaking he was on the ground; and, as bravely as a war-worn general, he said, in a higher key than Will’s proximity made necessary: “FIRE!”
Of course every accomplished story-teller, when he “gets into the thick of it,” must pause deliberately, and give prolix descriptions of people or places about whom or which the general reader cares next to nothing. It is unjust to the impatient, but powerless, reader; but it is the custom. We must plead guilty of this time-honored meanness, and seize the present opportune moment to introduce the demon as he appeared at that time.
He was a tall, powerful man, with light, active movements, worthy of a soldier. His features were regularly formed, and apparently he had once been a fine-looking man. Now, however, he was haggard and stooped from long-continued privations. His eyes had a ferocious glare,—not pleasant to beholders, but supposed to be an attribute of maniacs,—a suspicious look, as though he dreaded some enemy were lurking near, ready to spring upon him. In fact, his entire appearance showed that he was always on his guard. His long and intensely black hair waved about his shoulders in wild profusion; whilst his beard, likewise black, reached far down his breast. His clothing, old and tattered, was in keeping with his general appearance.
All taken together, he looked like a madman; and if Marmaduke could have seen him, he would have been in ecstacy, thinking that at last he had found one of Dickens’ monstrosities.
The “gentle reader” has not been kept in suspense very long, but the narrative may now resume its course.
The demon crept stealthily out of the shadow, and, unperceived by the boys, stole swiftly, but noiselessly, upon them. When Henry said “fire!” Will raised his pistol with a trembling hand, and cocked it, preparatory to firing into the air. But before he could do so, the demon sprang upon him, and the luckless boy found himself encircled by two long and powerful arms—an embrace anything but loving.
With a gasp of intense terror, he turned and saw by whom he was held. To his heated imagination, the demon appeared a monster.
Henry, also, turned around and saw him. With a cry of dismay, he threw up his arms, and struck the pistol, which still dangled in Will’s nerveless hand.
How it happened—whether Will unconsciously pulled the trigger, or whether the blow did it—can never be known; but with a stunning noise the pistol discharged its contents, and then fell to the ground.
To Will’s consternation, Henry staggered; flung his arms out wildly for support; gave a moan of pain or terror; and also fell, heavily. The charge had struck him somewhere—but where?
At this catastrophe, Will forgot that the demon’s arms encircled him, forgot everything but that he had shot his cousin Henry. A boy does not swoon away, or else he would have done so; but he was horror-stricken: the terrible word murder seemed to be hissed into his ears by unseen spirits, and he was unable to move or speak.
The demon, heaving a sigh, lifted him easily off his feet, and bore him away. Will made no resistance, for his brain was in too confused a state to perceive what was going on. His eyes were fixed on the prostrate form of Henry, and the demon strode on with him, following the length of the tree. Soon the end of the fallen tree was reached; and as the demon turned and walked towards his cave, Will caught a last look of Henry, who was still lying flat on the ground.
All this happened in a very short time, of course; for the demon paid no attention to the report of the pistol, but immediately marched off with our doughty hero.
The reader, unlike him, is aware that the pistol, though heavily loaded with powder, instead of a leaden bullet held a ball made of tow.
Will grew calmer, but offered no resistance to his captor.
The entrance of the cave was now disclosed. Before them an almost perpendicular cliff rose several feet towards the sky, twisting into strange shapes to the south, and on the north jutting out irregularly some distance westward, thus forming the angle spoken of before. Exactly in the centre there was an opening in which a strong and heavy door was hung. Two or three grated openings, which served for windows, were to be seen high above the door, and several feet apart.
The outside of the cave was somewhat formidable, as no doubt the demon wished it to be. What was the inside like?
Will did not care to know. Suddenly he put forth all his strength, and struggled manfully and furiously to break away from the demon. But the latter, without a word, folded his arms more tightly round him, and held him fast in a grip that put an end to all the poor boy’s hopes of escape.
Advancing with the would-be knight-errant, the demon arrived at the door of his cave; and manipulating some complicated contrivance which took the place of a lock, the secret of which was known only to himself, the door opened and captor and captive passed in.
So, this was the way in which Will was to gain admittance into the stronghold! A great improvement on Henry’s little plan!
A spacious apartment was disclosed, the floor bare, but the roof and sides covered with planks, to prevent the earth from crumbling in. It was very dark inside, as during the day but little light came in through the openings mentioned, during the night, none. A fire was struggling to burn in the middle of this dismal hole, but its feeble light only added to the gloom. Round the walls on benches and rude tables all sorts of things were lying; blankets, old clothes (our “recluse” had more than one suit), trays, bowls, some other kitchen utensils, even eatables, being grouped together in confusion, with a view to convenience rather than neatness. In fact, the demon seemed to take no pride, no interest, in the affairs of the household. In one corner a big pile of firewood proved that the occupant could make himself quite comfortable. In spite of all his misery, Will distinctly heard the cackling of hens and chickens, evidently the brood of which Henry had spoken, in another apartment.
The cave was now stifling from a horrible smoke arising from the smouldering fire. When the demon was present he blew away the smoke by means of a huge fan suspended from the ceiling; but it accumulated in his absence.
Although there were several bye-rooms, each one of which served its own purpose, this was the principal one—the one in which the demon lived.
Of course Will had no time to see what we have dimly outlined, for the demon hurriedly crossed this room and opened a door leading into another, much like it, excepting in its furniture. Here there were no rude benches or tables. A comfortable and even handsome bedstead stood against the wall, with a few sheets and quilts, and one old buffalo-robe, upon it. There was an attempt made at covering, or carpeting, the floor; and in one corner there was a crazy stove, or oven, clumsily built of refuse bricks. Above this stove there was a chimney, which managed to dispose of most of the smoke when a fire was lighted—that is, it took it into another and larger room.
This was the bedroom, in which the demon slept as peacefully as a knight in his moated castle.
Having thus, “by slow degrees, by fits and starts,” cooped Will up in the Demon’s Cave, description may rest awhile and the narrative may be resumed.
The demon laid our hero gently on the bed, and then, for the first time, he spoke to him. “Poor boy!” he said, in a not unpleasant tone. “Perhaps you did not wish to do me any harm, but I shall keep you here till—”
He stopped abruptly.
There was nothing threatening in this, yet Will trembled. His thoughts were doubtless of Henry.
The demon turned and left the room, fastening the door behind him. Then he left the cave, taking the precaution of fastening the outside door, also.
“There was another one,” he murmured; “I must see to him.”
Swiftly he retraced his steps round the tree, and arrived at the scene of conflict not more than five minutes after he had borne Will away. But Henry was nowhere to be found! He had vanished, leaving nothing, not even a drop of blood, behind him!
“Was there another?” the demon asked himself, dubiously. “What is it? Have I dreamed, or is this some new device of the enemy?”
Seeing the pistol which Will had discharged, he picked it up and returned to the cave, not making the slightest effort to look for the missing knight-errant.
Will remained inactive as long as the demon was near, but as soon as he heard him go out, he leaped off the bed and made a desperate attempt to open the door. He put forth all his strength—but in vain: the door was rock.
Then he groped about the room, to see if he could find some other means of escape. Again in vain—no outlet presented itself.
“I am a prisoner!” he groaned. “And what a terrible prison! But, oh! poor Henry! Was he dead? Have I killed him? Oh, this is too much!”
Then he recollected that his cousin had insisted that there were captives hidden away in the cave, and in a voice that—we grieve to say it, but truth is inexorable—quavered with fear, he shouted: “Is anyone hidden here?—Speak! Any captives here?”
His own voice mocked him, and he started back in terror.
Evidently, no captives there.
But Will was not comforted. Hobgoblins crawled over the floor, and ground their teeth under the bed—demons crowded round him and jabbered ominously—human skeletons rattled their dry bones horribly, and pointed their fingers jeeringly at him—his murdered cousin came to him, and looked him full in the face with a sad, reproachful smile.
Will could endure it no longer. With a cry of horror and agony he flung himself on the bed, and buried his face in the old buffalo-robe.
At that moment the Demon of the Cave returned and entered his dwelling.
This is a convenient, suitable, and orthodox place for the chapter to close; so let it close.