“All hands on deck! Turn out there! Turnout!”

Captain Eri grunted and rolled over in his bed; for a moment or two he fancied himself back in the fo'castle of the Sea Mist, the bark in which he had made his first voyage. Then, as he grew wider awake, he heard, somewhere in the distance, a bell ringing furiously.

“Turn out, all hands! Turn out!”

Captain Eri sat up. That voice was no part of a dream. It belonged to Captain Jerry, and the tone of it meant business. The bell continued to ring.

“Aye, aye, Jerry! What's the matter?” he shouted.

“Fire! There's a big fire up in the village. Look out of the window, and you can see. They're ringing the schoolhouse bell; don't you hear it?”

The Captain, wide awake enough by this time, jumped out of bed, carrying the blankets with him, and ran to the window. Opening it, he thrust out his head. The wind had changed to the eastward, and a thick fog had come in with it. The house was surrounded by a wet, black wall, but off to the west a red glow shone through it, now brighter and now fainter. The schoolhouse bell was turning somersaults in its excitement.

Only once, since Captain Jerry had been janitor, had the schoolhouse bell been rung except in the performance of its regular duties. That once was on a night before the Fourth of July, when some mischievous youngsters climbed in at a window and proclaimed to sleeping Orham that Young America was celebrating the anniversary of its birth. Since then, on nights before the Fourth, Captain Jerry had slept in the schoolhouse, armed with a horsewhip and an ancient navy revolver. The revolver was strictly for show, and the horsewhip for use, but neither was called into service, for even if some dare-devil spirits did venture near the building, the Captain's snores, as he slumbered by the front door, were danger signals that could not be disregarded.

But there was no flavor of the Fourth in the bell's note this night. Whoever the ringer might be, he was ringing as though it was his only hope for life, and the bell swung back and forth without a pause. The red glow in the fog brightened again as the Captain gazed at it.

Captain Jerry came tumbling up the stairs, breathless and half dressed.

“Where do you make it out to be?” he panted.

“Somewhere's nigh the post-office. Looks 's if it might be Weeks's store. Where's Perez?”

Captain Eri had lighted a lamp and was pulling on his boots, as he spoke.

“Here I be!” shouted the missing member of the trio from the dining room below. “I'm all ready. Hurry up, Eri!”

Captain Eri jumped into his trousers, slipped into a faded pea-jacket and clattered downstairs, followed by the wildly excited Jerry.

“Good land, Perez!” he cried, as he came into the dining room, “I thought you said you was all ready!”

Captain Perez paused in the vain attempt to make Captain Jerry's hat cover his own cranium and replied indignantly, “Well, I am, ain't I?”

“Seems to me I'd put somethin' on my feet besides them socks, if I was you. You might catch cold.”

Perez glanced down at his blue-yarn extremities in blank astonishment. “Well, now,” he exclaimed, “if I hain't forgot my boots!”

“Well, git 'em on, and be quick. There's your hat. Give Jerry his.”

The excited Perez vanished through the door of his chamber, and Captain Eri glanced at the chronometer; the time was a quarter after two.

They hurried out of the door and through the yard. The wind, as has been said, was from the east, but there was little of it and, except for the clanging of the bell, the night was very still. The fog was heavy and wet, and the trees and bushes dripped as if from a shower. There was the salt smell of the marshes in the air, and the hissing and splashing of the surf on the outer beach were plainly to be heard. Also there was the clicking sound of oars in row-locks.

“Somebody is comin' over from the station,” gasped Captain Jerry. “Don't run so, Eri. It's too dark. I've pretty nigh broke my neck already.”

They passed the lily pond, where the frogs had long since adjourned their concert and gone to bed, dodged through the yard of the tightly shuttered summer hotel, and came out at the corner of the road, having saved some distance by the “short-cut.”

“That ain't Weeks's store,” declared Captain Perez, who was in the lead. “It's Web Saunders's place; that's what it is.”

Captain Eri paused and looked over to the left in the direction of the Baxter homestead. The light in the window was still burning.

They turned into the “main road” at a dog trot and became part of a crowd of oddly dressed people, all running in the same direction.

“Web's place, ain't it?” asked Eri of Seth Wingate, who was lumbering along with a wooden bucket in one hand and the pitcher of his wife's best washstand set in the other.

“Yes,” breathlessly answered Mr. Wingate, “and it's a goner, they tell me. Every man's got to do his part if they're going to save it. I allers said we ought to have a fire department in this town.”

Considering that Seth had, for the past eight years, persistently opposed in town-meeting any attempt to purchase a hand engine, this was a rather surprising speech, but no one paid any attention to it then.

The fire was in the billiard saloon sure enough, and the back portion of the building was in a blaze when they reached it. Ladders were placed against the eaves, and a line of men with buckets were pouring water on the roof. The line extended to the town pump, where two energetic youths in their shirtsleeves were working the handle with might and main. The houses near at hand were brilliantly illuminated, and men and women were bringing water from them in buckets, tin pails, washboilers, and even coalscuttles.

Inside the saloon another hustling crowd was busily working to “save” Mr. Saunders' property. A dozen of the members had turned the biggest pool table over on its back and were unscrewing the legs, heedless of the fact that to attempt to get the table through the front door was an impossibility and that, as the back door was in the thickest of the fire, it, too, was out of the question. A man appeared at the open front window of the second story with his arms filled with bottles of various liquids, “original packages” and others. These, with feverish energy, he threw one by one into the street, endangering the lives of everyone in range and, of course, breaking every bottle thrown. Some one of the cooler heads calling his attention to these facts, he retired and carefully packed all the empty bottles, the only ones remaining, into a peach basket and tugged the latter downstairs and to a safe place on a neighboring piazza. Then he rested from his labors as one who had done all that might reasonably be expected.

Mr. Saunders himself, lightly attired in a nightshirt tucked into a pair of trousers, was rushing here and there, now loudly demanding more water, and then stopping to swear at the bottle-thrower or some other enthusiast. “Web's” smoothness was all gone, and the language he used was, as Abigail Mullett said afterward, “enough to bring down a jedgment on anybody.”

Captain Eri caught him by the sleeve as he was running past and inquired, “How'd it start, Web?”

“How'd it START? I know mighty well HOW it started, and 'fore I git through I'll know WHO started it. Somebody 'll pay for this, now you hear me! Hurry up with the water, you—”

He tore frantically away to the pump and the three captains joined the crowd of volunteer firemen. Captain Eri, running round to the back of the building, took in the situation at once. Back of the main portion of the saloon was an ell, and it was in this ell that the fire had started. The ell, itself, was in a bright blaze, but the larger building in front was only just beginning to burn. The Captain climbed one of the ladders to the roof and called to the men at work there.

“That shed's gone, Ben,” he said. “Chuck your water on the main part here. Maybe, if we had some ropes we might be able to pull the shed clear, and then we could save the rest.”

“How'd you fasten the ropes?” was the panted reply. “She's all ablaze, and a rope would burn through in a minute if you tied it anywheres.”

“Git some grapples and anchors out of Rogers' shop. He's got a whole lot of 'em. Keep on with the water bus'ness. I'll git the other stuff.”

He descended the ladder and explained his idea to the crowd below. There was a great shout and twenty men and boys started on a run after ropes, while as many more stormed at the door of Nathaniel Rogers' blacksmith shop. Rogers was the local dealer in anchors and other marine ironwork. The door of the shop was locked and there was a yell for axes to burst it open.

Then arose an agonized shriek of “Don't chop! don't chop!” and Mr. Rogers himself came struggling to the defense of his property. In concert the instant need was explained to him, but he remained unconvinced.

“We can't stay here arguin' all night!” roared one of the leaders. “He's got to let us in. Go ahead and chop! I'll hold him.”

“I give you fair warnin', Squealer Wixon! If you chop that door, I'll have the law onto you. I just had that door painted, and—STOP! I've got the key in my pocket!”

It was plain that the majority were still in favor of chopping, as affording a better outlet for surplus energy, but they waited while Mr. Rogers, still protesting, produced the key and unlocked the door. In another minute the greater portion of the ironwork in the establishment was on its way to the fire.

The rope-seekers were just returning, laden with everything from clothes-lines to cables. Half a dozen boat anchors and a grapnel were fastened to as many ropes, and the crowd pranced gayly about the burning ell, looking for a chance to make them fast. Captain Eri found a party with axes endeavoring to cut a hole through the side of the saloon in order to get out the pool table. After some endeavor he persuaded them to desist and they came around to the rear and, taking turns, ran in close to the shed and chopped at it until the fire drove them away. At last they made a hole close to where it joined the main building, large enough to attach the grapnel. Then, with a “Yo heave ho!” everyone took hold of the rope and pulled. Of course the grapnel pulled out with only a board or two, but they tried again, and, this time getting it around a beam, pulled a large portion of the shed to the ground.

Meanwhile, another ax party had attached an anchor to the opposite side, and were making good progress. In due time the shed yawned away from the saloon, tottered, and collapsed in a shower of sparks. A deluge of water soon extinguished these. Then everyone turned to the main building, and, as the fire had not yet taken a firm hold of this, they soon had it under control.

Captain Eri worked with the rest until he saw that the worst was over. Then he began the search that had been in his mind since he first saw the blaze. He found Captain Jerry and Captain Perez perspiringly passing buckets of water from hand to hand in the line, and, calling them to one side, asked anxiously:

“Have either of you fellers seen John Baxter tonight?”

Captain Perez looked surprised, and then some of the trouble discernible in Eri's face was apparent in his own.

“Why, no,” he replied slowly, “I ain't seen him, now you speak of it. Everybody in town's here, too. Queer, ain't it?

“Haven't you seen him, either, Jerry?”

Captain Jerry answered with a shake of the head. “But then,” he said, “Perez and me have been right here by the pump ever sence we come. He might be 'most anywheres else, and we wouldn't see him. Want me to ask some of the other fellers?”

“No!” exclaimed his friend, almost fiercely. “Don't you mention his name to a soul, nor let 'em know you've thought of him. If anybody should ask, tell 'em you guess he's right around somewheres. You two git to work ag'in. I'll let you know if I want you.”

The pair took up their buckets, and the Captain walked on from group to group, looking carefully at each person. The Reverend Perley and some of his flock were standing by themselves on a neighboring stoop, and to them the searcher turned eagerly.

“Why, Cap'n Eri!” exclaimed Miss Busteed, the first to identify him, “how you've worked! You must be tired pretty nigh to death. Ain't it awful! But it's the Lord's doin's; I'm jest as sure of that as I can be, and I says so to Mr. Perley. Didn't I, Mr. Perley? I says—”

“Lookin' for anybody, Cap'n?” interrupted the reverend gentleman.

“No,” lied the Captain calmly, “jest walkin' around to git cooled off a little. Good-night.”

There was the most likely place, and John Baxter was not there. Certainly every citizen in Orham, who was able to crawl, would be out this night, and if the old puritan hermit of the big house was not present to exult over the downfall of the wicked, it would be because he was ill or because—The Captain didn't like to think of the other reason.

Mrs. “Web” Saunders, quietly weeping, was seated on a knoll near the pump. Three of the Saunders' hopefuls, also weeping, but not quietly, were seated beside her. Another, the youngest of the family, was being rocked soothingly in the arms of a stout female, who was singing to it as placidly as though fires were an every day, or night, occurrence. The Captain peered down, and the stout woman looked up.

“Why, Mrs. Snow!” exclaimed Captain Eri.

The lady from Nantucket made no immediate reply. She rose, however, shook down the black “alpaca” skirt, which had been folded up to keep it out of the dew, and, still humming softly to the child, walked off a little way, motioning with her head for the Captain to follow. When she had reached a spot sufficiently remote from Mrs. Saunders, she whispered:

“How d'ye do, Cap'n Hedge? I guess the wust is over now, isn't it? I saw you workin' with them ropes; you must be awful tired.”

“How long have you been here?” asked the Captain somewhat astonished at her calmness.

“Oh, I come right down as soon as I heard the bell. I'm kind of used to fires. My husband's schooner got afire twice while I was with him. He used to run a coal vessel, you know. I got right up and packed my bag, 'cause I didn't know how the fire might spread. You never can tell in a town like this. Ssh'h, dearie,” to the baby, “there, there, it's all right. Lay still.”

“How'd you git acquainted with her?” nodding toward the wife of the proprietor of the scorched saloon.

“Oh, I see the poor thing settin' there with all them children and nobody paying much attention to her, so I went over and asked if I couldn't help out. I haven't got any children of my own, but I was number three in a fam'ly of fourteen, so I know how it's done. Oh! that husband of hers! He's a nice one, he is! Would you b'lieve it, he come along and she spoke to him, and he swore at her somethin' dreadful. That's why she's cryin'. Poor critter, I guess by the looks she's used to it. Well, I give HIM a piece of my mind. He went away with a flea in his ear. I do despise a profane man above all things. Yes, the baby's all right, Mrs. Saunders. I'm a-comin'. Good-night, Cap'n Hedge. I s'pose I shall see you all in the mornin'. You ought to be careful and not stand still much this damp night. It's bad when you're het up so.”

She went back, still singing to the baby, to where Mrs. Saunders sat, and the Captain looked after her in a kind of amazed fashion.

“By mighty!” he muttered, and then repeated it. Then he resumed his search.

He remembered that there had been a number of people on the side of the burning shed opposite that on which he had been employed, and he determined to have one look there before going to the Baxter homestead. Almost the first man he saw as he approached the dying fire was Ralph Hazeltine. The electrician's hands and face were blackened by soot, and the perspiration sparkled on his forehead.

“Hello, Captain!” he said, holding out his hand. “Lively for a while, wasn't it? They tell me you were the man who suggested pulling down the shed. It saved the day, all right enough.”

“You look as if you'd been workin' some yourself. Was you one of the fellers that got that anchor in on this side?”

“He was THE one,” broke in Mr. Wingate, who was standing at Hazeltine's elbow. “He waded in with an ax and stayed there till I thought he'd burn the hair off his head. Web ought to pay you and him salvage, Eri. The whole craft would have gone up if it hadn't been for you two.”

“I wonder if they got that pool table out,” laughed Ralph. “They did everything but saw it into chunks.”

“I never saw Bluey Bacheldor work so afore,” commented the Captain. “I wish somebody'd took a photograph of him. I'll bet you could sell 'em round town for curiosities. Well, I can't be standin' here.”

“If you're going home I'll go along with you. I may as well be getting down toward the station. The excitement is about over.”

“I ain't goin' right home, Mr. Hazeltine. I've got an errand to do. Prob'ly I'll be goin' pretty soon, though.”

“Oh, all right! I'll wait here a while longer then. See you later perhaps.”

The fog had lifted somewhat and as the Captain, running silently, turned into the “shore road,” he saw that the light in the Baxter homestead had not been extinguished. The schoolhouse bell had ceased to ring, and the shouts of the crowd at the fire sounded faintly. There were no other sounds.

Up the driveway Captain Eri hurried. There were no lights in the lower part of the house and the dining-room door was locked. The kitchen door, however, was not fastened and the Captain opened it and entered. Shutting it carefully behind him, he groped along to the entrance of the next room.

“John!” he called softly. There was no answer, and the house was perfectly still save for the ticking of the big clock. Captain Eri scratched a match and by its light climbed the stairs. His friend's room was empty. The lamp was burning on the bureau and a Bible was open beside it. The bed had not been slept in.

Thoroughly alarmed now, the Captain, lamp in hand, went through one room after the other. John Baxter was not at home, and he was not with the crowd at the fire. Where was he? There was, of course, a chance that his friend had passed him on the way or that he had been at the fire, after all, but this did not seem possible. However, there was nothing to do but go back, and this time the Captain took the path across the fields.

The Baxter house was on the “shore road,” and the billiard room and post-office were on the “main road.” People in a hurry sometimes avoided the corner by climbing the fence opposite the Baxter gate, going through the Dawes' pasture and over the little hill back of the livery stable, and coming out in the rear of the post-office and close to the saloon.

Captain Eri, worried, afraid to think of the fire and its cause, and only anxious to ascertain where his friend was and what he had been doing that night, trotted through the pasture and over the hill. Just as he came to the bayberry bushes on the other side he stumbled and fell flat.

He knew what it was that he had stumbled over the moment that he fell across it, and his fingers trembled, so that he could scarcely scratch the match that he took from his pocket. But it was lighted at last and, as its tiny blaze grew brighter, the Captain saw John Baxter lying face downward in the path, his head pointed toward his home and his feet toward the billiard saloon.