the back of
the shed proved to be too narrow for our ship's beam. But men embarked on
a desperate enterprise are not to be stopped by such trifles, and the
problem was solved by sawing out two adjoining boards. These were
afterwards replaced with skill by the ship's carpenter, Able Seaman Grits
Jarvis. Then the Petrel by heroic efforts was got into the wagon, the
seat of which had been removed, old Thomas Jefferson perched himself
precariously in the bow and protestingly gathered up his rope-patched
reins.

"Folks'll 'low I'se plum crazy, drivin' dis yere boat," he declared,
observing with concern that some four feet of the stern projected over
the tail-board. "Ef she topples, I'll git to heaven quicker'n a bullet."

When one is shanghaied, however,--in the hands of buccaneers,--it is too
late to withdraw. Six shoulders upheld the rear end of the Petrel, others
shoved, and Thomas Jefferson's rickety horse began to move forward in
spite of himself. An expression of sheer terror might have been observed
on the old negro's crinkled face, but his voice was drowned, and we swept
out of the alley. Scarcely had we travelled a block before we began to be
joined by all the boys along the line of march; marbles, tops, and even
incipient baseball games were abandoned that Saturday morning; people ran
out of their houses, teamsters halted their carts. The breathless
excitement, the exaltation I had felt on leaving the alley were now
tinged with other feelings, unanticipated, but not wholly lacking in
delectable quality,--concern and awe at these unforeseen forces I had
raised, at this ever growing and enthusiastic body of volunteers
springing up like dragon's teeth in our path. After all, was not I the
hero of this triumphal procession? The thought was consoling,
exhilarating. And here was Nancy marching at my side, a little subdued,
perhaps, but unquestionably admiring and realizing that it was I who had
created all this. Nancy, who was the aptest of pupils, the most loyal of
followers, though I did not yet value her devotion at its real worth,
because she was a girl. Her imagination kindled at my touch. And on this
eventful occasion she carried in her arms a parcel, the contents of which
were unknown to all but ourselves. At length we reached the muddy shores
of Logan's pond, where two score eager hands volunteered to assist the
Petrel into her native element.

Alas! that the reality never attains to the vision. I had beheld,