The Calaban swung out into the river and began steaming down the bay.

The first week of the voyage was uneventful.  The weather was exceptionally fine, and hardly any one was seasick.  The Reverend Mr. Blinderpool was often on deck, and he made it a point to cultivate the acquaintance of Tom and his friends.  In spite of the fact that he said he had traveled very little, he seemed to know much about hidden corners of the world, but always, as on an occasion when he had accidentally let slip some remark that showed he had been in far-off China or Asia, he would suddenly change the conversation when it verged to travel.

“There’s something queer about that minister,” said Ned after one of these occasions, “but I can’t decide what it is.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Tom, who rather liked the man.

“No nonsense about it.  Why should a minister take a trip like this when he isn’t sick, and when he isn’t going to establish a mission in South America?  There’s something queer about it, for, by his own words he just took this voyage as a whim.”

“Oh, you’re too fussy,” declared Tom; and for the time the subject was dropped.

They ran into a storm when about ten days out, and for a while they had a rough time of it, and then the weather cleared again.

It was one evening, after the formal dinner, when Tom and Ned were strolling about on deck, before turning in, that, the quiet of the ship was broken by what is always an alarming cry at sea.

“Fire!  Fire!” shouted a man, pointing to a thin wisp of smoke curling up from the deck amidships.

“Keep quiet!” yelled one of the stewards.  “It is nothing!”

“It’s a fire, I tell you!” insisted the man, and several others took up the cry.

A panic was imminent, and the captain came running from his quarters.

“What is it?” he asked.

An officer hurried to his side, and said something but in such a low voice that Tom, who was standing close beside the two, scarcely heard it.  But he did hear this: 

“There’s a fire, sir, in hold number seventeen.  We have turned the hose in there, and the pumps are working.”

“Very good, Mr. Meld.  Now try and quiet the passengers.  Tell them it doesn’t amount to much, and if it does we can flood that compartment.”

Tom started at that.

“Come on, Ned!” he cried, grabbing his chum by the arm.

“Why, what’s up?  What’s the matter?”

“Matter?  Matter enough!  The fire is in the hold where all our stuff is stored, and if the flames reach that box I packed last—­well, I wouldn’t give much for the ship!” and fairly dragging his chum along, Tom raced for the place where the smoke was now coming up in thicker clouds.

CHAPTER VIII

A NARROW ESCAPE

“Here, come back!  You can’t go past here!”

“But I’ve got to go!  I tell you I must go!  It’s important!”