CHAPTER VI.
THE BURNING BALES.
"Where are you going to sleep to-night?" asked Ben, introducing asubject which had given him some anxiety.
"I don't know," said Jerry, carelessly. "I'll find a place somewhere."
"I'll go with you, if you'll let me," said Ben.
"In course I will."
"I haven't got any money."
"What's the odds? They don't charge nothin' at the hotel where I stop."
"What time do you go to bed?"
"Most any time. Do you feel sleepy?"
"Rather. I didn't sleep much last night."
"Well, we'll go and find a place now. How'd you like sleepin' oncotton-bales?"
"I think that would be comfortable."
"There's a pile of bales down on the pier, where the New Orleanssteamers come in. Maybe we could get a chance there."
"All right. Where is it?"
"Pier 8, North River. It'll take us twenty minutes, or maybe half anhour, to go there."
"Let us go," said Ben.
He felt relieved at the idea of so comfortable a bed as a cotton-bale,and was anxious to get stowed away for the night.
The two boys struck across to Broadway, and followed that street downpast Trinity Church, turning down the first street beyond. RectorStreet, notwithstanding its clerical name, is far from an attractivestreet. Just in the rear of the great church, and extending down to thewharves, is a collection of miserable dwellings, occupied by tenantsupon whom the near presence of the sanctuary appears to produce littleimpression of a salutary character. Ben looked about him inill-concealed disgust. He neither fancied the neighborhood, nor thepeople whom he met. But the Island is very narrow just here, and he hadnot far to walk to West Street, which runs along the edge of ManhattanIsland, and is lined with wharves. Jerry, of course, did not mind thesurroundings. He was too well used to them to care.
They brought out opposite the pier.
"There it is," said Jerry.
Ben saw a pile of cotton-bales heaped up on the wharf in front. Justbehind them was a gate, and over it the sign of the New Orleans Company.
"I should think somebody would steal the bales," said Ben. "Are theyleft out here all night?"
"There's a watchman round here somewhere," said Jerry. "He stays hereall night to guard the bales."
"Will he let us sleep here?"
"I don't know," said Jerry. "We'll creep in, when he isn't looking."
The watchman was sitting down, leaning his back against one of thebales. A short pipe was in his mouth, and he seemed to be enjoying hissmoke. This was contrary to orders, for the cotton being combustiblemight easily catch fire; but this man, supposing that he would not bedetected, indulged himself in the forbidden luxury.
"Now creep along softly," said Jerry.
The latter, being barefooted, had an advantage over Ben, but our youngadventurer crept after him as softly as he could. Jerry found a balescreened from observation by the higher piles on each side, where hethought they could sleep unobserved. Following his lead, Ben stretchedhimself out upon it.
The watchman was too busily occupied with his pipe to detect any noise.
"Aint it comfortable?" whispered Jerry.
"Yes," said Ben, in the same low tone.
"I wouldn't ask for nothin' better," said Jerry.
Ben was not so sure about that; but then he had not slept out hundredsof nights, like Jerry, in old wagons, or on door-steps, or wherever elsehe could; so he had a different standard of comparison.
He could not immediately go to sleep. He was tired, it was true, but hismind was busy. It was only twelve hours since he had landed in the city,but it had been an eventful twelve hours. He understood his position alittle better now, and how much he had undertaken, in boldly leavinghome at ten years of age, and taking upon himself the task of earninghis living.
If he had known what was before him, would he have left home at all?
Ben was not sure about this. He did own to himself, however, that he wasdisappointed. The city had not proved the paradise he had expected.Instead of finding shopkeepers eager to secure his services, he hadfound himself uniformly rejected. He began to suspect that it was ratherearly to begin the world at ten years of age. Then again, though he wasangry with his father, he had no cause of complaint against his mother.She had been uniformly kind and gentle, and he found it hard to keepback the tears when he thought how she would be distressed at hisrunning away. He had not thought of that in the heat of his first anger,but he thought of it now. How would she feel if she knew where he was atthis moment, resting on a cotton-bale, on a city wharf, penniless andwithout a friend in the great city, except the ragged boy who wasalready asleep at his side? She would feel badly, Ben knew that, and hehalf regretted having been so precipitate in his action. He could remedyit all, and relieve his mother's heart by going back. But here Ben'spride came in. To go back would be to acknowledge himself wrong; itwould be a virtual confession of failure, and, moreover, knowing hisfather's sternness, he knew that he would be severely punished.Unfortunately for Ben, his father had a stern, unforgiving disposition,that never made allowances for the impulses of boyhood. He had nevercondescended to study his own son, and the method of training he hadadopted with him was in some respects very pernicious. His systemhardened, instead of softening, and prejudiced Ben against what wasright, maddening him with a sense of injustice, and so preventing hisbeing influenced towards good. Of course, all this did not justify Benin running away from home. The thought of his mother ought to have beensufficient to have kept him from any such step. But it was necessary tobe stated, in order that my readers might better understand what sort ofa boy Ben was.
So, in spite of his half relenting, Ben determined that he would not gohome at all events. Whatever hardships lay before him in the new lifewhich he had adopted, he resolved to stand them as well as he could.Indeed, however much he might desire to retrace his steps, he had nomoney to carry him back, nor could he obtain any unless he should writehome for it, and this again would be humiliating. Ben's last thought,then, as he sank to sleep, was, that he would stick to New York, and gethis living somehow, even if he had to black boots for a living.
At the end of an hour, both boys were fast asleep. The watchman, aftersmoking his pipe, got up, and paced up and down the wharf drowsily. Hedid not happen to observe the young sleepers. If he had done so, hewould undoubtedly have shaken them roughly, and ordered them off. It wasrather fortunate that neither Ben nor his companion were in the habit ofsnoring, as this would at once have betrayed their presence, even to thenegligent watchman.
After a while the watchman bethought himself again of his pipe, and,filling the bowl with tobacco, lighted it. Then, with the most culpablecarelessness, he half reclined on one of the bales and "took comfort."Not having prepared himself for the vigils of the night by repose duringthe day, he began to feel uncommonly drowsy. The whiffs came less andless frequently, until at last the pipe fell from his lips, and he fellback fast asleep. The burning contents of the pipe fell on the bale, andgradually worked their way down into the interior. Here the mischiefsoon spread. What followed may easily be imagined.
Ben was aroused from his sleep by a confused outcry. He rubbed his eyesto see what was the matter. There was something stifling and suffocatingin the atmosphere, which caused him to choke as he breathed. As hebecame more awake, he realized that the cotton-bales, among which he hadtaken refuge, were on fire. He became alarmed, and shook Jerryenergetically.
"What's up?" said Jerry, drowsily. "I aint done nothin'. You can't takeme up."
"Jerry, wake up; the bales are on fire," said Ben.
"I thought 'twas a copp," said Jerry, rousing, and at a glanceunderstanding the position of affairs. "Let's get out of this."
That was not quite so easy. There was fire on all sides, and they mustrush through it at some risk. However, it was every moment gettingworse, and there was no chance for delay.
"Foller me," said
Jerry, and he dashed through, closely pursued by Ben.
By this time quite a crowd of men and boys had gathered around theburning bales.
When the two boys rushed out, there was a general exclamation ofsurprise. Then one burly man caught Jerry by the arm, and said, "Here'sthe young villain that set the bales on fire."
"Let me alone, will you?" said Jerry. "Yer grandmother set it on fire,more likely."
No sooner was Jerry seized, than another man caught hold of Ben, andforcibly detained him.
"I've got the other," he said.
"Now, you young rascal, tell me how you did it," said the first. "Wasyou smokin'?"
"No, I wasn't," said Jerry, shortly. "I was sleepin' along of this otherboy."
"What made you come here to sleep?"
"'Cause we hadn't no other bed."
"Are you sure you wasn't smoking?"
"Look here," said Jerry, contemptuously, "you must think I'm a fool, togo and set my own bed on fire."
"That's true," said a bystander. "It wouldn't be very likely."
"Who did it, then?" asked the stout man, suspiciously.
"It's the watchman. I seed him smokin' when I turned in."
"Where is he now?"
Search was made for the watchman, but he had disappeared. Awaking to aconsciousness of what mischief he had caused through his carelessness,he had slipped away in the confusion, and was not likely to return.
"The boy tells the truth," said one of the crowd. "I saw the watchmansmoking myself. No doubt the fire caught from his pipe. The boys areinnocent. Better let them go."
The two custodians of Jerry and Ben released their hold, and they gladlyavailed themselves of the opportunity to remove themselves to a saferdistance from their late bedchamber.
Two fire-engines came thundering up, and streams of water were directedeffectively at the burning bales. The flames were extinguished, but nottill considerable damage had been done.
As the two boys watched the contest between the flames and the engines,from a safe distance, they heard the sonorous clang of the bell in thechurch-tower, ringing out twelve o'clock.