Our first intention was to load and fire a single gun.  How feeble and insignificant was such a plan compared to that which now sent the light dancing into our eyes!

“What could we have been thinking of?” cried Jack Harris.  “We’ll give ’em a broadside, to be sure, if we die for it!”

We turned to with a will, and before nightfall had nearly half the battery overhauled and ready for service.  To keep the artillery dry we stuffed wads of loose hemp into the muzzles, and fitted wooden pegs to the touch-holes.

At recess the next noon the Centipedes met in a corner of the school-yard to talk over the proposed lark.  The original projectors, though they would have liked to keep the thing secret, were obliged to make a club matter of it, inasmuch as funds were required for ammunition.  There had been no recent drain on the treasury, and the society could well afford to spend a few dollars in so notable an undertaking.

It was unanimously agreed that the plan should be carried out in the handsomest manner, and a subscription to that end was taken on the spot.  Several of the Centipedes hadn’t a cent, excepting the one strung around their necks; others, however, were richer.  I chanced to have a dollar, and it went into the cap quicker than lightning.  When the club, in view of my munificence, voted to name the guns Bailey’s Battery I was prouder than I have ever been since over anything.

The money thus raised, added to that already in the treasury, amounted to nine dollars—­a fortune in those days; but not more than we had use for.  This sum was divided into twelve parts, for it would not do for one boy to buy all the powder, nor even for us all to make our purchases at the same place.  That would excite suspicion at any time, particularly at a period so remote from the Fourth of July.

There were only three stores in town licensed to sell powder; that gave each store four customers.  Not to run the slightest risk of remark, one boy bought his powder on Monday, the next boy on Tuesday, and so on until the requisite quantity was in our possession.  This we put into a keg and carefully hid in a dry spot on the wharf.

Our next step was to finish cleaning the guns, which occupied two afternoons, for several of the old sogers were in a very congested state indeed.  Having completed the task, we came upon a difficulty.  To set off the battery by daylight was out of the question; it must be done at night; it must be done with fuses, for no doubt the neighbors would turn out after the first two or three shots, and it would not pay to be caught in the vicinity.

Who knew anything about fuses?  Who could arrange it so the guns would go off one after the other, with an interval of a minute or so between?

Theoretically we knew that a minute fuse lasted a minute; double the quantity, two minutes; but practically we were at a stand-still.  There was but one person who could help us in this extremity—­Sailor Ben.  To me was assigned the duty of obtaining what information I could from the ex-gunner, it being left to my discretion whether or not to intrust him with our secret.