ooks in the pilot-house, and he read the same ones over and
over again, and did not care to change to newer and fresher ones. He
played well on the flute, and greatly enjoyed hearing himself play. So
did I. He had a notion that a flute would keep its health better if you
took it apart when it was not standing a watch; and so, when it was not
on duty it took its rest, disjointed, on the compass-shelf under the
breast-board. When the _Pennsylvania_ blew up and became a drifting
rack-heap freighted with wounded and dying poor souls (my young brother
Henry among them), pilot Brown had the watch below, and was probably
asleep and never knew what killed him; but Ealer escaped unhurt. He and
his pilot-house were shot up into the air; then they fell, and Ealer sank
through the ragged cavern where the hurricane deck and the boiler deck
had been, and landed in a nest of ruins on the main deck, on top of one
of the unexploded boilers, where he lay prone in a fog of scalding and
deadly steam. But not for long. He did not lose his head: long
familiarity with danger had taught him to keep it, in any and all
emergencies. He held his coat-lappels to his nose with one hand, to keep
out the steam, and scrabbled around with the other till he found the
joints of his flute, then he is took measures to save himself alive, and
was successful. I was not on board. I had been put ashore in New
Orleans by Captain Klinefelter. The reason--however, I have told all
about it in the book called _Old Times on the Mississippi_, and it isn't
important anyway, it is so long ago.

CHAPTER II

When I was a Sunday-school scholar something more than sixty years ago, I
became interested in Satan, and wanted to find out all I could about him.
I began to ask questions, but my class-teacher, Mr. Barclay the
stone-mason, was reluctant about answering them, it seemed to me. I was
anxious to be praised for turning my thoughts to serious subjects when
there wasn't another boy in the village who could be hired to do such a
thing. I was greatly interested in the incident of Eve and the serpent,
and thought Eve's calmness was perfectly noble. I asked Mr. Barclay if
he had ever heard of another woman who, being approached by a serpent,
would not excuse herself and break for the nearest timber. He did not
answer my question, but rebuked me for inquiring into matters above my
age and comprehension. I will say for Mr. Barclay that he was willing to