So one evening I dropped into the cabin and artfully turned the conversation to fuses in general, and then to particular fuses, but without getting much out of the old boy, who was busy making a twine hammock.  Finally, I was forced to divulge the whole plot.

The 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 stillness I arose and glided out of the house like a phantom bent on an evil errand; like a phantom.  I flitted through the silent street, hardly drawing breath until I knelt down beside the fence at the appointed place.