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and at last on Sailor Ben。
〃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。
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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。
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CHAPTER Eighteen
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
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The Story of a Bad Boy
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
inter