Here was a tacit confession by Tom, that he thought there was danger, and that there might be some truth in old Miller's prediction. The fact of his fears was forthwith communicated to the captain and clerk by Tom's partner, and his sufferings became increased--he could hear no sounds but--_advent--Miller--bloe-up--dreadful destruction!_--until his suspense became so horrible, that he wished for any termination so it would put an end to his dread. His partner ventured to increase his uneasiness by talking to him on the subject, but Tom threatened to brain him if he said anything about it in his presence--he remarked that “the noise of the engine was his only peace, and no frightened, lubberly sucker should disturb it by talking Millerism--if Miller was a goin' to burn the world, why, let him burn and be-(here, Tom for the first time checked an oath, and finished the sentence with) never mind, just let him _burn_, that's all.” Starting up to the bar, without looking to right or left, he presented a bottle, had it filled with liquor and retreated, resolved to go as little as possible near either captain or clerk, for their solemn looking faces were contagious--they looked disaster. At length the 25th of April dawned, and with its advancing hours Tom got _tight_, that is to say, so near intoxicated that he could only move around with extreme difficulty--he knew what he was about, but very little more. Sundry mutterings which he gave voice to, now and then, proclaimed the spirit at work within, and it would say:-- “Burn, ha!--burn up, will it?--goin' to take a regular bust and blow itself out! Great world, this!--g-r-e-a-t world, and a nice little fire it will be!” Then, thinking of Mary, he would continue--“Poor Mary--what a shock it will be to her, but she's on the safe side, for she belongs to meetin,”--and then he would get wrathy--“Let the old world burn, and go to splintered lightnin'--who cares?--The captain and clerk's got on the safe side, too,--they're afraid of the fire, eh?” Then he would cautiously emerge from his place by the engine, and peep out upon the sky, to see if the work of destruction was about to commence, and then returning, take another pull at the whiskey, until, by his frequent libations, he not only got _blue_, but every thing he looked at was multiplying--he was surrounded by a duplicate set of machinery--even his fist, that he shook at the intruding cylinder and piston rod, became doubled before his eyes, and all assumed the color of a brimstone blue! Tom became convinced, in his own mind, that the first stage of the general convulsion had commenced! “Hello!--back her!” shouted the captain, “give her a lick back!--starboard wheel, there!”