To get back to the story, I must stop moralizing and say that when Sam
made up his mind to volunteer, a number of boys in the neighborhood
determined to follow his example, and, as Sam has already explained,
the little company was organized, under Sam's command as captain. Of
course Sam had no real military authority, and he did not for a moment
suppose that his little band of boys would be recognized as a company
or he as a captain, on their arrival at Camp Jackson; but they had
agreed to march under Sam's command, and he knew how to exercise
authority, even when it was held by so loose a tenure as that of mere
agreement among a lot of boys.

We now come back to the drift-pile. When Jake had carefully hidden
Sam's boots, as he supposed, deep within the recesses of the great
pile of logs and brush and roots, he began groping his way back toward
the entrance. It was pitch dark of course, but by walking slowly and
feeling his way carefully, he managed to follow the passage way. Just
as he began to think that he must be pretty nearly out of the den,
however, he came suddenly upon an obstruction. Feeling about carefully
he found that the passage in which he stood had come to an abrupt
termination. We know, of course what had happened, but Jake did not.
He had come to the end of the log which Sam had thrown down to stop up
the passage way, and there was really no way for him to go. He
supposed, of course, that he had somehow wandered out of his way,
leaving the main alley and following a side one to its end. He
therefore retraced his steps, feeling, as he went, for an opening upon
one side or the other. He found several, but none of them did him any
good. Following each a little way he came to its end in the matted
logs, and had to try again. Presently he began to get nervous and
frightened. He imagined all sorts of things and so lost his presence
of mind that he forgot the outer appearance and size of the drift