Admiral had a sailor's love for a joke, and entered at once and
heartily into our scheme. He volunteered to prepare the fuses himself,
and I left the labor in his hands, having bound him by several
extraordinary oaths--such as "Hope-I-may-die" and "Shiver-my-timbers"--not
to betray us, come what would.

This was Monday evening. On Wednesday the fuses were ready. That night
we were to unmuzzle Bailey's Battery. Mr. Grimshaw saw that something
was wrong somewhere, for we were restless and absent-minded in the
classes, and the best of us came to grief before the morning session was
over. When Mr. Grimshaw announced "Guy Fawkes" as the subject for our
next composition, you might have knocked down the Mystic Twelve with a
feather.

The coincidence was certainly curious, but when a man has committed,
or is about to commit an offence, a hundred trifles, which would pass
unnoticed at another time, seem to point at him with convicting fingers.
No doubt Guy Fawkes himself received many a start after he had got his
wicked kegs of gunpowder neatly piled up under the House of Lords.

Wednesday, as I have mentioned, was a half-holiday, and the Centipedes
assembled in my barn to decide on the final arrangements. These were
as simple as could be. As the fuses were connected, it needed but one
person to fire the train. Hereupon arose a discussion as to who was the
proper person. Some argued that I ought to apply the match, the battery
being christened after me, and the main idea, moreover, being mine.
Others advocated the claim of Phil Adams as the oldest boy. At last we
drew lots for the post of honor.

Twelve slips of folded paper, upon one of which was written "Thou art
the man," were placed in a quart measure, and thoroughly shaken; then
each member stepped up and lifted out his destiny. At a given signal we
opened our billets. "Thou art the man," said the slip of paper trembling
in my fingers. The sweets and anxieties of a leader were mine the rest
of the afternoon.

Directly after twilight set in Phil Adams stole down to the wharf and
fixed the fuses to the guns, laying a train of powder from the principal
fuse to the fence, through a chink of which I was to drop the match at
midnight.

At ten o'clock Rivermouth goes to bed. At eleven o'clock Rivermouth is
as quiet as a country churchyard. At twelve o'clock there is nothing
left with which to compare the stillness that broods over the little
seaport.

In the midst of this