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〃Shiver my timbers！〃 cries that deeply injured individual。 〃Do you suppose； sir； as I have lived to sixty year； an' ain't got no more sense than to go for to blaze away at my own upper riggin'？ It doesn't stand to reason。〃
It certainly did not seem probable that Mr。 Watson would maliciously knock over his own chimney； and Lawyer Hackett； who had the case in hand； 'bowed himself out of the Admiral's cabin convinced that the right man had not been discovered。
People living by the sea are always more or less superstitious。 Stories of spectre ships and mysterious beacons； that lure vessels out of their course and wreck them on unknown reefs； were among the stock legends of Rivermouth； and not a few people in the town were ready to attribute the firing of those guns to some supernatural agency。 The Oldest Inhabitant remembered that when he was a boy a dim…looking sort of schooner hove to in the offing one foggy afternoon； fired off a single gun that didn't make any report； and then crumbled to nothing； spar； mast； and hulk； like a piece of burnt paper。
The authorities； however； were of the opinion that human hands had something to do with the explosions； and they resorted to deep…laid stratagems to get hold of the said hands。 One of their traps came very near catching us。 They artfully caused an old brass fieldpiece to be left on a wharf near the scene of our late operations。 Nothing in the world but the lack of money to buy powder saved us from falling into the clutches of the two watchmen who lay secreted for a week in a neighboring sail…loft。
It was many a day before the midnight bombardment ceased to be the town…talk。 The trick was so audacious and on so grand a scale that nobody thought for an instant of connecting us lads with it。 Suspicion at length grew weary of lighting on the wrong person； and as conjecture…like the physicians in the epitaph…was in vain； the Rivermouthians gave up the idea of finding out who had astonished them。
They never did find out； and never will； unless they read this veracious history。 If the selectmen are still disposed to punish the malefactors； I can supply Lawyer Hackett with evidence enough to convict Pepper Whitcomb； Phil Adams； Charley Marden； and the other honorable members of the Centipede Club。 But really I don't think it would pay now。
Chapter 18
A Frog He Would A…Wooing Go
If the reader supposes that I lived all this while in Rivermouth without falling a victim to one or more of the young ladies attending Miss Dorothy Gibbs's Female Institute； why； then； all I have to say is the reader exhibits his ignorance of human nature。
Miss Gibbs's seminary was located within a few minutes' walk of the Temple Grammar School； and numbered about thirty…five pupils； the majority of whom boarded at the Hall…Primrose Hall； as Miss Dorothy prettily 20called it。 The Prim…roses； as we called them； ranged from seven years of age to sweet seventeen； and a prettier group of sirens never got together even in Rivermouth； for Rivermouth； you should know； is famous for its pretty girls。
There were tall girls and short girls； rosy girls and pale girls； and girls as brown as berries； girls like Amazons； slender girls； weird and winning like Undine； girls with black tresses； girls with auburn ringlets； girls with every tinge of golden hair。 To behold Miss Dorothy's young ladies of a Sunday morning walking to church two by two； the smallest toddling at the end of the procession； like the bobs at the tail of a kite； was a spectacle to fill with tender emotion the least susceptible heart。 To see Miss Dorothy marching grimly at the head of her light infantry； was to feel the hopelessness of making an attack on any part of the column。
She was a perfect dragon of watchfulness。 The most unguarded lifting of an eyelash in the fluttering battalion was sufficient to put her on the lookout。 She had had experiences with the male sex； this Miss Dorothy so prim and grim。 It was whispered that her heart was a tattered album scrawled over with love…lines； but that she had shut up the volume long ago。
There was a tradition that she had been crossed in love； but it was the faintest of traditions。 A gay young lieutenant of marines had flirted with her at a country ball （A。D。 1811）； and then marched carelessly away at the head of his company to the shrill music of the fife； without so much as a sigh for the girl he left behind him。 The years rolled on； the gallant gay Lothario…which wasn't his name…married； became a father； and then a grandfather； and at the period of which I am speaking his grandchild was actually one of Miss Dorothy's young ladies。 So； at least； ran the story。
The lieutenant himself was dead these many years； but Miss Dorothy never got over his duplicity。 She was convinced that the sole aim of mankind was to win the unguarded affection of maidens； and then march off treacherously with flying colors to the heartless music of the drum and fife。 To shield the inmates of Primrose Hall from the bitter influences that had blighted her own early affections was Miss Dorothy's mission in life。
〃No wolves prowling about my lambs； if you please；〃 said
Miss Dorothy。 〃I will not allow it。〃
She was as good as her word。 I don't think the boy lives who ever set foot within the limits of Primrose Hall while the seminary was under her charge。 Perhaps if Miss Dorothy had given her young ladies a little more liberty； they would not have thought it 〃such fun〃 to make eyes over the white lattice fence at the young gentlemen of the Temple Grammar School。 I say perhaps； for it is one thing to manage thirty…five young ladies and quite another thing to talk about it。
But all Miss Dorothy's vigilance could not prevent the young folks from meeting in the town now and then； nor could her utmost ingenuity interrupt postal arrangements。 There was no end of notes passing between the students and the Primroses。 Notes tied to the heads of arrows were shot into dormitory windows； notes were tucked under fences； and hidden in the trunks of decayed trees。 Every thick place in the boxwood hedge that surrounded the seminary was a possible post…office。
It was a terrible shock to Miss Dorothy the day she unearthed a nest of letters in one of the huge wooden urns surmounting the gateway that led to her dovecot。 It was a bitter moment to Miss Phoebe and Miss Candace and Miss Hesba； when they had their locks of hair grimly handed back to them by Miss Gibbs in the presence of the whole school。 Girls whose locks of hair had run the blockade in safety were particularly severe on the offenders。 But it didn't stop other notes and other tresses； and I would like to know what can stop them while the earth holds together。
Now when I first came to Rivermouth I looked upon girls as rather tame company； I hadn't a spark of sentiment concerning them； but seeing my comrades sending and receiving mysterious epistles； wearing bits of ribbon in their button…holes and leaving packages of confectionery （generally lemon…drops） in the hollow trunks of trees…why； I felt that this was the proper thing to do。 I resolved； as a matter of duty； to fall in love with somebody； and I didn't care in the least who it was。 In much the same mood that Don Quixote selected the Dulcinea del Toboso for his lady…love； I singled out one of Miss Dorothy's incomparable young ladies for mine。
I debated a long while whether I should not select two； but at last settled down on one…a pale little girl with blue eyes； named Alice。 I shall not make a long story of this； for Alice made short work of me。 She was secretly in love with Pepper Whitcomb。 This occasioned a temporary coolness between Pepper and myself。
Not disheartened； however； I placed Laura Rice…I believe it was Laura Rice…in the vacant niche。 The new idol was more cruel than the old。 The former frankly sent me to the right about； but the latter was a deceitful lot。 She wore my nosegay in her dress at the evening service （the Primroses were marched to church three times every Sunday）； she penned me the daintiest of notes； she sent me the glossiest of ringlets （cut； as I afterwards found out； from the stupid head of Miss Gibbs's chamber…maid）； and at the same time was holding me and my pony up to ridicule in a series of letters written to Jack Harris。 It was Harris himself who kindly opened my eyes。
〃I tell you what； Bailey；〃 said that young gentleman； 〃Laura is an old veteran； and carries too many guns for a youngster。 She can't resist a flirtation； I believe she'd flirt with an infant in arms。 There's hardly a fellow in the school that hasn't worn her colors and some of her hair。 She doesn't give out any more of her own hair now。 It's been pretty well used up。 The demand was greater than the supply； you see。 It's all very well to correspond with Laura； but as to looking for anything serious from her； the knowing ones don't。 Hope I haven't hurt your feelings； old boy；〃 （that was a soothing stroke of flattery to call me 〃old boy；〃） 〃but it was my duty as a friend and a Centipede to let you know who you were dealing with。〃
Such was the advice given me by that time…stricken； careworn； and embittered man of the world； who was sixteen years old if he was a day。
I dropped L