While I was looking down upon the rafts that morning in Heilbronn， the daredevil spirit of adventure came suddenly upon me， and I said to my comrades：
"I am going to Heidelberg on a raft. Will you venture with me？"
Their faces paled a little， but they assented with as good a grace as they could. Harris wanted to cable his mother— thought it his duty to do that， as he was all she had in this world — so， while he attended to this， I went down to the longest and finest raft and hailed the captain with a hearty "Ahoy， shipmate！" which put us upon pleasant terms at once， and we entered upon business. I said we were on a pedestrian tour to Heidelberg， and would like to take passage with him. I said this partly through young Z， who spoke German very well， and partly through Mr. X who spoke it peculiarly. I can understand German as well as the maniac that invented it， but I talk it best through an interpreter.
The captain hitched up his trousers， then shifted his quid thoughtfully. Presently he said just what I was expecting he would say—that he had no license to carry passengers， and therefore was afraid the law would be after him in case the matter got noised about or any accident happened. So I chartered the raft and the crew and took all the responsibilities on myself.
With a rattling song the starboard watch bent to their work and hove the cable short， then got the anchor home， and our bark moved off with a stately stride， and soon was bowling along at about two knots an hour.
Our party were grouped amidships. At first the talk was a little gloomy， and ran mainly upon the shortness of life， the uncertainty of it， the perils which beset it， and the need and wisdom of being always prepared for the worst； this shaded off into low-voiced references to the dangers of the deep， and kindred matters； but as the gray east began to redden and the mysterious solemnity and silence of the dawn to give place to the joy-songs of the birds， the talk took a cheerier tone， and our spirits began to rise steadily.