“I don’t believe a word of it!”
“It’s true, nevertheless, Payne.”
“But think what it means, my dear fellow. Why, such a thing has never been dreamed of before on a naval academy practice ship. Plebes give an entertainment! Pshaw! you’re crazy!”
“Here comes Blakely. He’ll tell you whether I am right or not.”
The speaker pointed along the starboard part of theMonongahela’sspar deck. Blakely was sauntering forward.
He halted in front of the two and glanced inquiringly at Naval Cadet Payne, who had beckoned to him.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Why, this chump here has been telling me a ghost story. He says the old man has given the new fourth class permission to hold an entertainment on the gun deck.”
“That’s straight, Ferguson.”
“Wh-what!”
“The plebes, headed by that very gally function, Faraday, sent in a request this morning asking Captain Brookes’ permission to give a minstrel entertainment on the forward gun deck. The old man gave his consent at once, and it is to be held Saturday night.”
“Well, that beats the nation!” exclaimed Ferguson, with a prolonged whistle. “Fellows, the service is going to the bowows. I’ve been a naval cadet in the service of these great and glorious United States almost four years, and never have I dreamed of such a state of affairs.”
“It’s all the fault of that Faraday,” muttered Payne. “He’s kicked up more rows than enough since he entered the academy last month.”
“He’s too fresh.”
“That’s what.”
Blakely looked over the side at the vast stretch of shimmering water surrounding the practice ship, and smiled.
He was a young man of very fair and even temper, was Walt Blakely, member of the first class, and captainof the Naval Academy football team. He rather liked “that cheeky plebe,” Clif Faraday, and he secretly admired him for that cheekiness, but he also believed firmly in the divine right of the upper classes.
Therefore when Payne and Ferguson broke out in loud remonstrance he added his voice to theirs.
“The truth of the matter is,” said Ferguson, resentfully, “the old man thinks the sun rises and sets in Faraday’s vicinity.”
“Sure thing,” agreed Payne. “Ever since Faraday jumped from the top and saved Nanny Gote from drowning, he’s in luck.”
“It was a splendid act,” commented Blakely.
“Yes, but it’s no reason for letting the plebes upset all the academy traditions. Why——”
“There’s Faraday now,” interrupted Payne, nodding his head toward an approaching figure.
Clif glanced quizzically at the little group as he passed, and then joined several fourth class men gathered on the forecastle.
Payne and Ferguson reddened slightly.
“He looked as if he knew we were talking about him,” sniffed the latter.
“He probably does,” said Blakely, dryly. “He’s no fool. He knows his new move will make more row than a bunch of magpies.”
“I’d like to punch his head.”
“Don’t try it, dear boy. He’s good at that work himself. He knocked Sharpe out about as neatly as a prize fighter could. What’s that call?”
The shrill blast of a boatswain’s whistle sounded along the deck. As the tremulous piping died out, a hoarse voice called out:
“All-l hands reef topsails!”
“More drill,” grumbled Ferguson, moving off. “We’ve had nothing but drill since we left Annapolis.”
“Practice makes perfect,” grinned Blakely, as he started toward his station.
The quiet decks of the oldMonongahelaspeedily became a scene of bustling activity. The boatswain’s call brought the watch tumbling aft. The hatches poured forth a steady stream of active, healthy lads clad in snowy duck.
The first lieutenant and his assistant, the officer of the deck, took their stand upon the break of the after deck.The captain sauntered from his cabin prepared to watch proceedings with a critical eye.
All was ready.
“Aloft topmen!” shouted the first lieutenant, sonorously, through his trumpet.
At the words a number of nimble cadets, members of the first and third classes, run up the rigging in a mad race for the top.
On board a vessel like theMonongahelathere generally exists a strong rivalry between the three tops—the fore, main and mizzen.
In all drills, each tries to defeat the others. In making sail it is the nimble crew that gets all taut first. There are no prizes offered, but a smile or nod of commendation from the executive officer or captain is worth more than medal or money.
In making, or furling, or reefing sail a certain number of men—in this case cadets—are selected as topmen. It is their duty to run aloft and to man the yards. To lay out and reef or furl, or to handle ropes in the top.
At the first warning command they spring upon the nettings and mount the lower part of the shrouds.
They are supposed to wait patiently and in line forthe word of command, but do race horses wait patiently at the post!
They slyly creep up several ratlines until the vigilant eye of the first lieutenant catches them, then they reluctantly drop back, only to spring aloft again at the first word from the trumpet.
Once given they risk their necks to gain the top. Arriving there, they stand ready and wait like champing steeds for the command:
“Lay out!”
In the meantime those below stationed at the fife and pin rails are to do all in their power to ease off the different halliards and clew lines and the various running gear.
This latter task, under the careful supervision of several trained first class men, belongs to the plebes.
It is too soon in the cruise for the latter to trust their precious lives above the deck, so they pull and haul and try their inexperienced best to bring their part of the ship in first in this race of knowledge and brawn.
The topsails are reefed and spread again to the breeze. The sea is calm, and the blue sky overhead holds no threatening cloud.
The drill goes on until the captain cries “enough.” Then the ship is made trim once more, and the cadets listen longingly for the sound of the boatswain’s whistle piping “Mess gear,” for that means dinner, and if there is anything a naval cadet likes to do at sea, after the salty breeze and active work has toned his stomach, it is to eat.
And eat he does, rest assured of that.
“I play plenty times in my country. I was bully boy with eyeglass. Hurray! all Japan girls think I good thing.”
“Did they push you along?”
“He! he! you try be funny, Clif. Yes, they push me along. They say I good actor and know how to make laugh. Say, Clif, we no do one thing to other cadets when we have show. Hurray! they die with what you call—a——”
“Chills and fever?” suggested a lean, solemn-faced lad.
“No. It——”
“Measles?”
“You quit fooling, Joy, or I fracture your face. I mean the cadets die with envy.”
The group of plebes gathered about the speaker, laughed.
When quarters were over on this morning in question,the exciting news circulated throughout the ship that Clif Faraday, the cheekiest plebe of the lot, had boldly asked Captain Brookes for permission to give a minstrel show.
And the captain had actually consented.
Deep was the wrath on board, and many the dire threats made that the entertainment would come to an untimely end.
Clif was no fool. He knew that trouble would ensue. But he was looking for trouble.
The show was simply one link in a chain of reprisals against the common enemy—the first and third classes.
After drill the six chief conspirators gathered in their usual meeting place, the port side of the forecastle.
Trolley’s remarks were laughed at, then after a period of bantering, Clif proceeded to more serious work.
“We are not going to give an entertainment with the ease of an eastern and peaceful city,” he said, glancing aft at Ferguson, who was in the center of an animated group of third class men. “We will find our lines laid out in troublous places, let me tell you. I prophecy that an earthquake will strike this ship around Saturday night.”
“Hurray!” exclaimed the irrepressible Jap. “Melike earthquakes. That is the way we settle our coffee in Japan every morning. He! he!”
“Trolley,” said Joy, eying him sadly, “it is time for you to go home. When a foreigner begins to crack bad jokes he should be given his passports. As we haven’t any such papers on board, I’ll try my best to teach you the error of your ways.”
While speaking he had edged slyly toward the Japanese youth. With the last word he made a spring for him, but Trolley slipped under his arm and dashed across the forecastle.
Standing near the railing were Judson Greene and Chris Spendly.
Into the former ran Trolley, the shock sending him reeling against the rail. As Judson grasped at the empty air to steady himself, his cap fell overboard and was carried astern.
Greene was not a very pleasant-looking youth, despite his rather handsome face, and now he seemed positively ferocious with rage.
“What do you mean, you yellow nigger?” he howled, making a pass at Trolley. “How dare you ran into melike that? I’ll give you a lesson you won’t forget in a hurry.”
But he didn’t. The blow he aimed at the Japanese youth inflicted no damage. Trolley caught the extended arm by the wrist, and with apparently little effort, held it in midair.
“I sorry I knock your cap into water,” he said, quietly. “I get you one for it. But I no let you hit me.”
Judson struggled wildly but he was simply a child in the Jap’s grasp. Chris Spendly stepped forward to interfere, but Joy confronted him with such a menacing gesture that he discreetly withdrew.
Clif and the others hurried across the deck, as did a cadet officer who had espied the conflict from afar.
“What’s up?” asked Clif, endeavoring to separate the two combatants.
“He knocked my——” began Greene, then he added, sullenly: “None of your confounded business, Clif Faraday! What right have you to interfere?”
Clif laughed.
“Still as sweet as ever, I see, Greene,” he replied, coolly. “Got the same angelic temper.”
“Here, what’s this row?” demanded the cadet officer,arriving breathlessly on the scene. “Fighting, eh? That means the mast to-morrow morning.”
He produced a book from his blouse and read aloud as he noted:
“On board U. S. S.Monongahela, at sea, June 22d. Fourth class cadets, Judson Greene and Motohiki Asaki, fighting on forecastle. Cadet Greene without cap and evidently the aggressor.”
“I was not the aggressor!” indignantly cried Judson. “That chump ran——”
“Cadet Greene proved insolent, and used slang,” continued the cadet officer, calmly making the entry in his book.
“Guess we’d better get out of this or we’ll be marked for breathing,” muttered Joy.
“If you will permit me to explain,” spoke up Clif, respectfully. “I saw the whole affair. It was an accident, and——”
“Cadet Faraday of the fourth class interfered with me in the performance of my duties, and failed to use ‘sir’ when addressing me,” monotonously added the officer, writing away.
The plebes exchanged glances and then beat a hastyretreat to the other side of the forecastle. The senior cadet grinned to himself, and, restoring his book to its place, swaggered aft.
“Well, that’s certainly one way of keeping even,” exclaimed Clif, with a whistle. “Did you ever see anything worse than that?”
“Humph!” grunted Joy. “It won’t be a circumstance to what we’ll do to those fellows next Saturday night. Just let them wait and see.”
“And I do no thing to Judson Greene some days,” said Trolley, doubling his fist. “I knock him eye into last Sunday. Hurray!”
That evening after supper Cadets Blakely and Ferguson were slowly pacing up and down the port side of the spar deck talking over the all-engrossing subject—the plebe’s minstrel show.
“To tell you the honest truth, Ferguson,” said the big senior, after a pause, “I don’t see how we can stop the thing without raising a lot of trouble.”
“Oh, there is more than one way to kill a cat,” replied the other. “You just promise that you will lend a hand, and I’ll furnish any amount of schemes.”
“But the old man has given his consent, you know.”
“That doesn’t cut any ice. What right has he to break a cadet rule? He was a cadet himself once, and I’ll bet anything he was just as strict against the plebe class as we are. Why, how was it yourself? Did you kick and refuse to be—er—to be——”
“Hazed?” smiled Blakely. “Yes, hazed.”
“Humph! I was too scared.”
“The proper feeling. So was I. Why, they made me eat a yard of red ribbon I brought home to remember my girl by. Yes, made me eat the whole blamed thing. And it put me in the hospital for a week, too. But I didn’t kick or squeal either.”
“You can’t say Faraday ever squealed,” said Blakely, quickly.
“No, I won’t say that,” replied Ferguson, reluctantly. “But he’s done everything else. He’s a fool. Why, the whole plebe class is as impudent as you please. Yesterday I told that little fellow, Nanny Gote, to do something for me, and he actually refused.”
“You don’t say! That’s bad. But what was it?”
Ferguson reddened.
“Why, I—it—I just asked him to overhaul my bag and give the clothes an airing.”
“And——” persisted the big senior, smiling shyly.
“Oh, nothing more—that is, I believe I asked him to wash all the soiled things.”
“And he refused? The impudent beggar! He’s certainly unreasonable.”
The sarcasm in the words made Ferguson uncomfortable, and he said nothing for several moments. As theyslowly paced up and down the deck a cadet emerged from the forward hatch and eyed them.
He waited until they had made a turn toward the mainmast, then he slipped into a dark spot near one of the broadside guns.
As they passed him on their way back he called out in a cautious voice:
“I say, Blakely. Look here a moment, will you?”
The two stopped and faced the speaker, Ferguson with an exclamation of surprise.
“Hello, it’s a plebe!” he said.
“Judson Greene,” added Blakely, not very cordially. “Well, what do you want, plebe?”
“I’d like to say a word or two in private,” replied Greene, nervously.
He cast a furtive glance forward as he spoke, and drew farther into the deepening shadows.
“A word with me? What about?” asked the big senior, coldly.
Judson hesitated and looked at Ferguson. The latter started to go away, then he stopped and said, significantly:
“If you have anything to say about the plebeentertainment, I can hear it also. I guess I am as much interested as Blakely.”
“Yes, it’s about the show,” was Judson’s eager reply. “I sympathize with you fellows and I’ll put you on to a scheme to down Clif Faraday and his gang.”
Blakely made a gesture of disgust.
“What do you think we are, confound you?” he demanded, angrily. “We haven’t any use for traitors, and that is what you are. Get out of here with your dirty propositions. Come, Ferguson.”
Judson slunk away without a word, and the honest-hearted big senior resumed his walk with Ferguson. A few minutes later he was called on duty.
As soon as he was alone Ferguson promptly hunted up Greene. Taking him to a secluded spot, he held a long and earnest conversation with him, the result of which was evidently satisfactory to both.
In the meantime the object of their conspiracy was busily engaged in preparing the details of the coming entertainment.
He had secured permission to partition off the forward part of the gun deck as a hall for rehearsals, and,as only three days intervened before Saturday, he ordered one held that night.
Curious upper class men, attracted by the unwonted sounds of music, gathered about the spot, but they were kept in order by a special detail of plebes, reinforced by the master-at-arms and his assistant.
Shouts of laughter, a confused murmur of voices, an occasional snatch of song, and the rattling of bones and banging of tambourines only added zest to the curiosity of the hearers outside the canvas partition.
Among the latter were Ferguson and a sallow, thin cadet named Bryce. The two were discussing the scene in low tones when Judson Greene slipped up to them.
“Well?” asked Ferguson, espying him.
“Everything settled,” was the reply, given guardedly. “I’ve prepared the stuff. It’ll work like a charm.”
“Well, have it ready,” said Ferguson, briefly.
As the youthful traitor glided away, he added to Bryce:
“I hate to dabble in such dirty work, but we must put a stop to this insolent attempt to give a show. That fellow Greene is a sneak and a scoundrel, and I wish Faraday would lick him for keeps.”
“After the entertainment is busted up, eh?” laughed his companion.
Ferguson nodded, and the two presently went on deck, the music and laughter and songs following them like a mocking chorus.
When Saturday dawned, the weather was promising and the members of the plebe class on board the oldMonongahelawere as happy as hearty, good-natured boys can be.
On board a vessel of war Saturday is regarded as a holiday. Only the necessary work, such as cleaning decks and bright work, is done.
Quarters are held at the usual hour, then Jack’s time is his own. The “smoking lamp” is lighted, and those who care to indulge in a pipe are permitted to do so. In passing it may as well be understood that naval cadets are forbidden to smoke, a wise government deeming it unnecessary for their health or pastime.
Clif and his friends set to work immediately after quarters. The forward part of the gun deck was turned over to them, and a stage prepared by the ship’s carpenter. A curtain was extemporized of bunting and canvas, and thespace about the stage tastefully decorated with flags of all nations.
“Now, fellows,” said the young leader, cheerfully, “we must have just one more rehearsal before the grand event.”
“I thought we had the last one yesterday,” grumbled Toggles.
“We did until this morning. Come, Toggles, exert yourself. Remember the importance of the occasion. We’ve got to do our level best and turn out a good show or the upper classes will have the laugh on us. Get out your big horn and try that solo again.”
The affair was to be on the lines of a minstrel performance, but with novel features. Instead of the familiar, old-time black faces and negro costumes, Clif had provided different ideas.
“We’ll make it a deep-sea combination,” he had said; “something more appropriate to the raging main than nigger minstrelsy. We’ll have Father Neptune and his suite.”
The idea captured the plebes at once, and they had lost no time in settling on a programme.
Clif, disguised as Neptune, was to occupy the centerof the circle. At the ends were to be Trolley, Toggles, Joy, and another plebe named Grat Wallace. They were to take the parts of bones and tambo, but to be clad in the fantastic garb of sea wolves.
Eight other plebes, dressed in cadet uniforms, were to occupy the other chairs. They were supposed to represent eight mortals captured by Neptune and compelled to assist in entertaining him.
The plan was novel, and Clif was very anxious to conceal it from outsiders until the curtain rose on Saturday night.
His efforts had proved successful and he was doubly concerned at this last moment to keep the secret. While the company was preparing for the final rehearsal he carefully examined the curtain and saw that the plebe sentries were alert.
But he totally forgot several deadlights and two gun ports which opened from the gun deck. They overlooked the sea, and for that reason it probably never occurred to him that they could be utilized by prying eyes.
When he returned from his tour of investigation he found the “Naval Academy Plebe Minstrel Troupe” in their places in full costume.
The orchestra was rather weak. It consisted of two asthmatic fiddles, a brass horn, an old drum, and a peculiar instrument Trolley had rigged out of a dishpan and a variety of strings.
In addition Clif was to perform on musical glasses, an accomplishment he had learned at home. This was to come in the olio, or second, part, together with juggling by Trolley, tumbling by Toggles, an alleged humorous address from Joy, and a boxing match between Nanny Gote and Walters, two of the smallest plebes on board.
The entertainment was to wind up with a skit on life at the Naval Academy, which promised to create no end of fun.
Clif and Grat Wallace were the joint authors and they had incorporated sly hits and jokes calculated to drive the upper classes into a frenzy.
The rehearsal proceeded without a hitch until the end of the first part.
Clif was just in the act of rising and ordering his sea wolves to take the unhappy mortals to the darkest coral cavern in his realm when he suddenly caught sight of a face at one of the ports.
Clif was shrewd. He knew that it was a spy, andthat the slightest alarm would frighten the fellow away. His plan was formed in an instant.
“Let’s try that last song and chorus again, fellows,” he exclaimed, cheerily. “I think one more practice would not hurt it. Now, ready! Let ’er go!”
The drum banged, the violins squeaked, and Grat Wallace’s rich tenor voice rang out in the refrain of “The Cumberland’s Crew.”
While the music was echoing Clif quietly leaned over and whispered to Joy:
“There’s a spy peeping in the port. I think it is Judson Greene. He must not be allowed to get away. See if you can’t nip him.”
Joy gave an extra blast on his bass horn, then sprang to his feet and began to caper around as if it were part of a grotesque dance.
“Good boy!” applauded Clif. “That’s right. That will catch the audience. Now give us the long slide and that will wind it up.”
Joy did give the “long slide,” and it brought him to the port. He was lean and lank and agile, and in the twinkling of an eye had reached out and grasped the spy by the hair.
Clif sprang to his aid, and the two dragged Judson, yelling and struggling, through the port where he was dangling from a rope leading to the top of the forecastle. The rope was cut and the end used to make Master Greene secure.
“Now, you confounded traitor!” cried Clif, “we’ve got you in a place from which you won’t escape in a hurry. You will spy on us, eh?”
“I’ve got the right to look in a port if I want to,” sullenly retorted the prisoner. “Let me go, or I’ll tell the captain.”
“Let him go? Not much!” chattered Nanny, excitedly. “He’s in the pay of the upper classes. I know it because I saw him talking to Ferguson and his gang. Let’s lick him.”
“No. A whipping would be altogether too good for him,” replied Clif, sternly. “We’ll gag the traitor and stow him under the stage until the performance is over.”
Judson set up a yell, but he was effectually squelched by Trolley and Toggles. A couple of towels were brought into use and he was speedily gagged and thrust into a corner.
“Nanny, you and Walters can stand guard over himuntil evening,” directed Clif, “then we’ll stow him under the stage. He won’t be missed without Ferguson tumbles to the racket.”
If Judson Greene had the power of speech he might have said something that would have made Clif rather uneasy. He could think, though, and he did. And his thoughts took this form.
“Clif Faraday, you think you are clever, but you’ll find out there are others on earth. Before ten o’clock you will not only have your show busted up, but you’ll be in disgrace, too!”
All afternoon and until after supper time Clif and the rest continued their preparations for the entertainment which was destined to prove (so they fondly hoped) the crowning triumph in their successful campaign against the higher classes.
The clever young leader and his clever companions had every reason to anticipate success, for had they not beaten the hazing third class at its own game many times?
They had caught the spy (one of their own class, more shame to him) sent out by the enemy, and now he was stretched, bound and gagged, in one corner of the stage with little Nanny doing valiant sentry-go over him.
Clif was tactician enough to send out scouts among the other cadets to ascertain if there were signs of a plot to break up the entertainment, but all he learned was that a number of the upper cadets had secured certain articles of a vegetable nature, also several ancient specimens of hen fruit.
Whereat Clif chuckled.
“They think this is a barn-storming troupe, eh?” he said. “Well, we will fool them.”
It was an exceedingly warm evening. A light breeze which had been previously blowing from the northeast, died out entirely by dusk, leaving the oldMonongahelarolling sluggishly upon a long heaving swell—the after effect of a gale in some quarter of the ocean.
The “Naval Academy Plebe Troupe” found it very sultry and close on the gun deck, and when the boys donned their heavy costumes they were a very warm set of youngsters indeed.
Shortly before the hour set for the performance one of the wardroom stewards came forward with a large wooden pail of lemonade and said it was a present from aft.
The plebes were delighted, and they lost no time in refreshing themselves.
“Tell them we are exceedingly obliged,” said Joy, emptying his third glass. “This is great, simply great.”
The man grinned and withdrew. Five minutes later the seats in front of the improvised stage began to fill up.
“To your places, fellows,” ordered Clif, who wasacting as stage manager. “Now, remember, we’ve got a reputation to maintain. The eyes of the—er—whole world are upon us. So behave yourselves and act like—er—like——”
“James Owen O’Connor,” grinned Wallace.
A stamping of feet came from the audience. It was time for the curtain.
At a signal from Clif, the boys at the ropes promptly hauled up the canvas exposing to view the expectant audience.
In the front row were the captain and all the officers off duty. Back of them, seated upon benches, chairs, and ditty-boxes were the cadets and part of the crew.
As the curtain rose above the stage a low whistle was heard, and then came a perfect hail of soft potatoes, cabbages and wads of oakum soaked in slush.
But these testimonials from the envious upper classmen never reached their intended destination. Clif, with commendable foresight, had provided a second curtain of netting.
The offering of decayed vegetables fell harmlessly to the deck and a wail of disappointment came from the throwers.
“This tomfoolery must stop right now,” exclaimed the captain, rising from his chair and addressing the senior classmen. “If you cannot act as gentlemen you can leave this deck.”
He sat down, looking red and indignant.
The nondescript band upon the stage broke out into a tune which bore a distant resemblance to the “Star Spangled Banner.” The alleged music wound up at last, and Clif rose to his feet.
Those in the audience saw him pass one hand across his forehead in a half-dazed manner. He swayed slightly and was seen to grasp the arm of his chair.
“Captain and officers, and cadets of theMonongahela,” he began, speaking indistinctly, “it gives me—me the greatest pleasure to in—introduce to your favorable consid—consideration this talented ag—ag——”
He turned and glanced at Joy, and that youth, ordinarily solemn and mournful in appearance, broke into a hysterical giggle.
Two members of the audience—Ferguson and Bryce—exchanged glances, and covered their mouths with their hands.
“Glory! it’s working,” whispered the former.
“Just watch the old man,” was Bryce’s reply. “He smells a rat already. This is great.”
Down in front the commander of theMonongahelawas eying the stage with a puzzled expression on his face. One or two of the officers were smiling.
Suddenly Nanny began to chuckle and hold his sides as if highly amused. He attempted to leave his chair, but toppled over against Trolley.
“That will do,” shouted Clif, thickly. “We’ll go on with the performish. Ladies an’ gemmen, the firsh number on the pro—gramish will be rendered by the whole troupe. I’m supposed to be Father Nepchune. You all know ’m. He ish patron father of all shailors. Thatsh me. Those pecuyliar-looking animalish at each end are shea-wolves. And in th’ middle on each side—ha! ha! how’s that for Irish bull?—in the middle on each side are supposed to be mortals. Everyday ord’nary mortalish. They came down in m’—my reals—no, my realms, and now they got to amuse me before they go back to the Naval Academy.”
He sat down abruptly and laughed vacantly.
A titter ran through the audience. It quickly grew intoa roar, and then the gun deck resounded with shouts of laughter, catcalls, and vociferous applause.
The captain was plainly growing angry, but he managed to keep his temper.
“Is this part of the show?” he whispered to the first lieutenant, who sat next to him. “If so, those boys are excellent actors.”
“I can’t make up my mind,” replied the executive officer, watching the stage narrowly. “That youngster, Faraday, is very clever. He’s apt to spring most any kind of surprise. But, as you say, if it’s part of the play——”
He was interrupted by a wild howl. Trolley had suddenly leaped to his feet and was giving a grotesque Japanese dance. His eyes were glittering and he giggled and yelled incessantly.
“Go it, Jap!” cried Grat Wallace, clapping his hands. “Let’s show ’em wh—what we can do. Whoop! we’re the bes’ plebes ever entered the ol’ academy! We’ve licked the third class fellows every round. Whoop! We’ll do ’em up every time.”
An answering shout came from several upper classmen in the audience at this challenge. A small coil of rope, fastened with yarn, was hurled at the stage. It struckthe netting, tore a great hole in it, and landed with a thump upon Toggles, who was evidently asleep in his chair.
Clif was seen to stagger to his feet and attempt to speak, but the uproar was too great. The pandemonium was brought to an abrupt ending, however, by the captain and first officer, who rose from their chairs and faced the audience.
“Go on deck, all of you,” shouted the former, sternly.
“I’ll court-martial any cadet caught down here within three minutes.”
The order had an immediate effect. The deck was cleared in the time specified, then the officers, including the surgeon, took possession of the stage.
Trolley and a plebe from California had gotten into a fight over in one corner. They were quickly separated. Then the captain turned upon Clif, who was swaying back and forth with the greater part of his Neptune costume still on him.
“Mr. Faraday, what is the meaning of this?” demanded the commander, authoritatively. “You are drunk, sir, outrageously drunk.”
Something like a startled expression passed over Clif’s face. He rubbed his forehead vaguely and muttered:
“Beg your pardon, I guess I—I feel queer. My head is all dizzy.”
“I don’t doubt it!” snapped the first lieutenant. “You have made a beast of yourself. This is intolerable.”
“Doctor, examine him,” said the captain, curtly.
The surgeon placed his head close to Clif’s mouth, examined his pulse and eyes, then reported, briefly:
“He is certainly under the influence of some strong stimulant, but I can’t detect any odor of liquor.”
Captain Brookes turned to the executive officer, and said:
“Place all of them under close arrest. See that they do not——”
He was interrupted by a faint knocking under his feet. A couple of planks were lifted and Judson Greene, perspiring and miserable, was lifted into view.
The rope and gag removed, he explained that he had been brutally set upon by Faraday and the other plebes, and thrown under the stage.
Just as he concluded his doleful tale, the surgeon, who had been poking about, discovered the pail which hadcontained the lemonade. A few cupfuls still remained in the bottom.
“What’s this?” he exclaimed, excitedly. “Hum! traces of chloral, and gin, and beer. Ye gods! what a combination! I must test the devilish mixture. Hum! no wonder the lads went crazy. Captain!”
That officer hastily joined him. Holding the pail at arm’s length, much as if it were a charge of dynamite, the surgeon continued:
“Here’s the solution to the secret, sir. I can see it plainly. It’s a trick, a dastardly trick to disgrace these poor lads.”
The worthy surgeon was not a graduate of the academy, had not been an upper classman, therefore he could feel for the “miserable plebes.”
“You say the lemonade has been drugged?” asked the captain, incredulously.
“Undoubtedly. Just smell this peculiar odor. Can’t you trace the characteristic scents of gin and chloral?”
The captain could not, but he was willing to believe the surgeon, knowing that he was a very capable man who had made a hobby of drugs and narcotics.
“If that is true, it certainly alters the case,” he said,reflectively, glancing at the members of the late “Naval Academy Plebe Troupe,” who were either asleep or showing every indication of becoming so, with the exception of Clif.
The latter was evidently making a desperate effort to throw off the effect of the drugs. His eyes were brightening, and he stood erect.
“Just take them to the sick bay, doctor, and keep them there until morning. I’ll hold a strict investigation then,” said Captain Brookes.
Clif attempted to speak, but the kind-hearted officer told him to keep his story until the next day. The “troupe” was escorted by the master-at-arms and assistants to the surgeon’s quarters and a number of the crew placed at work clearing away the stage.
It was some time after pipedown before the excitement died out. Ferguson, Bryce and several others in the secret, discussed the affair rather gloomily. They were not afraid of discovery, as they felt assured neither Clif nor the others concerned would turn informer; but they were disappointed at the outcome of the plot.
Ferguson voiced the sentiments of his companions when he said, with emphasis:
“I wish that confounded sawbones had kept his poky nose out of that pail. If he hadn’t smelled the gin and stuff we’d had Faraday dead to rights. As it is now, they’ll clear him and shelve the affair among the other hazing mysteries.”
And that is just what happened. Captain Brookes held a consultation with the executive officer and surgeon; sent for Clif and asked him a few questions, which the lad cleverly evaded, then the affair was dropped.
The gallant commander had passed through the mill himself, so to speak, and he had no intention of pressing the matter. For which all concerned were truly thankful.
For several days, Clif and his fellow-plebes were compelled to endure many sly allusions to their escapade.
Upper class cadets would give elaborate imitations of the various stages of intoxication on seeing them; and cadet corporals would speak thickly when giving orders.
To all of which Clif would grimly compress his lips and nod his head as if intimating that the war was not yet over.
It was one night of many since the shores of America had faded astern. It was the early hours when time hangs heavy.
Back and forth marched the officer in charge of the ship. He had paced the stretch between rail and rail of the slender bridge fully fifty times. He was thinking longingly of the approaching hour when his relief would report, and he would be free to forget the monotony of ship life in the seclusion of sleep.
Suddenly, as he neared the ladder leading to the quarter-deck, he almost collided with a dark figure.
There was a brief interchange of words, then the lieutenant leaned over the railing and called, softly:
“Messenger boy!”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
A lad in a sailor’s uniform emerged from the gloom, and knuckled his forehead with one hand.
The lieutenant gave him a whispered order, and themessenger hastily descended the ladder and disappeared forward. A few moments later the oppressive stillness of the night gave way with startling abruptness to a most prodigious clatter.
R-r-rat-a-tat! R-r-rat-a-tat!
The sharp roll of the drum awoke the echoes of the old frigate, sending an infernal din of noise through decks and rigging and hull. It was caught up and hurled about from sail to sail; it burst upon the ears of the watch below, sending men from their hammocks in alarm. And it changed the scene from one of peaceful quiet into a pandemonium of hurrying figures and excited voices.
“Silence fore and aft!” came the stern command from the bridge. There were three figures there now. And one was the captain.
The noise ceased as if by magic. Several lights flashed fore and aft, and revealed in the faint light were a number of grim black cannon, each surrounded by motionless sailors, every group being as rigid as the iron itself.
An officer, half clad, but girdled with belt and sword scabbard, leaves one of the groups and hurries to the space in front of the bridge. His sword flashes as he salutes.
“First division ready, sir.”
The words came crisp and sharp. He had scarcely finished when another officer hastens up and makes a similar report, then another and another.
This scene just described, which to an inexperienced eye would have seemed strange and warlike, was a drill, pure and simple.
It was general quarters—a ceremony where the ship is ready to fight, when the crew is ready to work the guns, and battle to the death with the foes of their country. It was a night alarm, too, entirely unexpected by the crew, and therefore a fine practical test of the resources of the frigate in moments of hasty peril and attack.
The captain smiled grimly as he glanced at his watch by the light of the hand lantern. Turning to the first lieutenant, he said, in a low voice:
“Fair time, pretty fair. Ship ready for action in seven minutes. Could be better, though,” was the reply. Then the officer added, questioningly:
“Shall I order retreat from quarters, sir?”
Captain Brookes gave a quick glance into the darkness enshrouding the frigate, and replied:
“No. It’s a good night for further drill. We’ll try ‘abandon ship.’”
“Man the boats only, sir?”
“No; lower them. The sea is rather quiet. It might be a good idea to send the boats out half a mile. It will give the cadets a taste of actual experience.”
Lieutenant Watson, the executive officer of theMonongahela, was too well trained to offer an objection, or even advice, but he glanced askance at the black wall surrounding them, as he called out:
“Bugler, sound abandon ship.”
There was a quick, lively blast of a bugle, then the men and cadets melted away from their stations and swarmed about the boats secured in the davits.
The frigate was hove to, and when her way was checked the small boats were lowered and brought alongside the sea gangway.
It was ticklish work descending into the frail crafts as they pitched and rolled under the lee of the towering hull, but the various crews were embarked without mishap.
“Pull away to sea, and await signal to return,” bawled the executive officer from the bridge.
“Ay, ay, sir,” came faintly through the darkness.
“Officers of boats will examine stores and equipments,” was the next order. “Also ascertain proficiency of crews.”
Again came the obedient replies, then the captain, first lieutenant and the men kept on board as a precaution, settled down to wait.
“We will give them ten minutes,” said the former, presently. “They can’t pull far in that time. Nothing like actual experience to——”
He paused abruptly and glanced out to windward. A chill blast had suddenly come from that direction. The oldMonongahelagave an uneasy roll.
“That means wind and plenty of it, sir,” exclaimed Lieutenant Watson. “Shall I——”
“Hoist the recall at once,” broke in Captain Brookes.
A moment later a cluster of lights swung aloft from the main truck of the frigate.
And leaning out over the lee railing of the bridge were the two officers, both watching for answering signals, but neither confessing to the other the anxiety caused by that threatening puff of wind.
On vessels of war each separate boat, from the sailinglaunch to the dingy, has its own crew, and coxswain. In certain drills and ceremonies, such as abandon ship, every man on board ship is ticketed to a certain boat. To that craft he promptly repairs when the signal is given. Constant practice makes every member of the crew familiar with his duties, and drill, or the real action, passes without confusion.
The sailing launch of theMonongahelawas a large seaworthy boat, capable of safely carrying twenty men. When it was rowed away from the frigate on this dark night it contained that number in its crew.
The officer in charge was a lieutenant, and he had under his command five seamen, a coxswain and thirteen cadets.
Among the latter were Clif, Trolley and Joy.
“I say, Trolley, isn’t this nice work for Christians to be laboring at?” asked Joy. “Didn’t I tell you that war causes all the trouble in this world? Here we are out in the bosom of the mighty deep, working away like a lot of slaves when we might be comfortable starving at home. I tell you peace is the thing.”
The Japanese youth laughed softly.
“You fool me one time, my Joy,” he replied. “I thinkwhen I first know you that you great boy for peace. But——”
He chuckled, and added, with evident zest:
“You no like to eat more than you like fight. You whip three upper class boys, and not half try. When Clif Faraday say we do more things to third class fellows you roll your eyes and you lick your chop. You what American boys call one big bluff.”
The object of this arraignment laughed and gave an added spurt with his long ashen oar. The launch pitched and rolled in the seas, and steadily forced its way through the blackness.
Far astern twinkled the lights of the practice ship, seeming no larger than star points in the distance.
Overhead the darkness increased, the expanse of sea being banked in by gathering clouds. A breeze, cool and moist with a salty dampness, sprang up, giving a fleeting spray to the edge of the waves.
It was a strange experience to the young naval cadets, this tossing about in an open boat upon a heaving sea whose broad bosom sparkled and glowed with the sheen of phosphorescent lights.
There was something fascinating in it all, somethingso peculiarly attractive that all wished the signal of recall would be long in coming.
They had been aroused from slumber, the majority of them, and had plunged from the peacefulness of their hammocks into the midst of bustle and wild excitement. They had worked the guns in imitation of battle attack, then, as a fitting climax to all, here they were launched away from the ship with only a few frail planks between them and the remorseless ocean.
There was no thought of danger in their minds, however. It was all play—a jolly good game in which the boats, and the sea, and the freshening wind were the toys.
So they laid to the oars and forced the boats over the waves farther and still farther from the ship. And the breeze came in stronger puffs and the clouds gathered overhead in the darkness, and at last there came a time when the experienced officers in charge of the little flotilla received the same sudden shock as did Captain Brookes and his first lieutenant.
The shock was the icy blast. It sent the light crafts rolling, and called forth muttered exclamations of consternation from those who were experienced in the treachery of old ocean.
Then came the recall. A cluster of lanterns swung aloft bidding the boats return. They had barely started on the back track when a deep, sullen boom echoed across the water.
“By George! it’s time,” muttered the lieutenant in charge of the sailing launch. “The old man sees his mistake and he’s hurrying us up.” He added, aloud:
“Pull away, men. Bend to it. That’s the recall gun.”
“We know that all right,” said Clif to his seatmate. “It’s the recall gun, and it is not a minute too soon.”
Twelve oars dipped and rose in steady cadence, the dripping blades flashing with phosphorescent fire. Twelve sturdy backs were bent and twelve pairs of arms labored lustily, sending the launch from wave crest to wave crest like a thing of life.
Twinkling here and there were the lanterns of other boats, but the launch’s light had blown out.
The blackness of the night was appalling. It rested upon the water like a thick blanket. The men in the boats could hardly see the backs of those in front of them. The coxswains faced an impenetrable wall.
“Pull away!” again called out the lieutenant of thelaunch. “See if you can’t get more speed out of her, boys.”
He spoke coaxingly, trying to hide even from himself his intense anxiety.
His words were not needed. The launch’s crew understood the peril as well as he. One old sailor exclaimed to his mates:
“It’s the ship in five minutes or Davy Jones’ locker forever, boys. There’ll be a living gale down on us in a jiffy. If ye love life break your backs.”
A fresh spurt—made against an increasing sea—followed this admonition. One of the oars cracked ominously and it was speedily cast aside. There were spare ones, and the progress of the boat suffered little.
Clif, Joy and Trolley labored like heroes. They were inexperienced in the ways of the weather, but they realized that their position was one of great danger. All three were cool, however.
“It make good incident for book I am going to write on navy,” said the Japanese youth. “I like this. It plenty fun.”
“You would laugh in a cyclone or dance in a burningcrater,” remarked Joy, with a grim chuckle. “If all Japs are as brave as——”
“Back oars!” suddenly interrupted the lieutenant. “Back for your——”
Crash!
High above the whistling of the wind came the grinding of shattered timbers and the startled cries of a score of excited men. Then came a series of quick splashes, more shouts, and finally one long appealing cry for help.
During his brief career as a cadet at the United States Naval Academy, Clif had not been placed in many very startling and dangerous situations, but he was a youth of natural coolness of character, and one quick to act in cases of emergency.
In the present situation all his coolness was needed.
When the sudden and entirely unexpected crash came, Clif and the other members of the crew were bending all their energies forward, forcing the launch back to the practice ship.
With head bent low and arms tugging at the oar he worked away, knowing full well that their very lives depended upon their reaching theMonongahelabefore the sudden gale increased.
Clif heard Joy and Trolley talking, then came the lieutenant’s fierce interruption, and then chaos seemed to come, and overwhelm boat and crew in one mighty crash.
The lieutenant’s warning cry came too late forpreparation. Clif felt himself thrown headlong from his seat upon the man in front. There was a wild scramble, then the waters of the ocean rolled up and engulfed all.
When Clif regained the surface he at once instinctively struck out. In no general direction, but with a natural desire to keep afloat.
He heard cries about him, and a splashing and floundering as if a score of men were making a desperate fight for their lives. And mixed in with the hubbub was the keen whistling of the growing gale.
Suddenly the lad came in contact with some yielding body. He heard a gasp and a gurgle, then two arms were thrown about his neck and down went his head beneath the surface.
It is not in the duty of man to drown without making an effort for life. Neither should one go down at the frantic assault of another until all means of aiding both have been exhausted.
Clif instantly realized that he was in the clutches of one whom peril had rendered frantic. He also knew that he must release himself right speedily if he expected to save himself.
Calling all his power into play, he threw off the strangling arms, at the same time gasping hoarsely:
“Strike out, man. Do something for yourself.”
He received no answer. The fellow faded away in the blackness, leaving Clif to swim unencumbered. Luckily, the lad was at home in the water, else he would have found sore trouble in keeping above the buffeting waves.
He struggled on, striving his best to see aught of hope in the prospect. The wind swept the crests of the seas into a thousand stinging lances. The roar of the increasing storm sounded like a mocking chorus of demons. Occasional cries for help echoed above the brawling of the elements.
Suddenly the lights on the practice ship, which Clif had kept before his eyes as well as he could, began to grow dim.
“Surely they will not leave us to perish miserably,” groaned the lad. “They will stand by until some of the boats report.”
Wild with fear he struck out savagely, and in the act drove plump against some hard object.
The sudden shock sent him under the surface once more. When he emerged gasping and half stunned, heheard the sound of a familiar voice nearby in the darkness.
“Come up higher, Trolley, the boat can stand it. That’s it; give me your hand. Steady, steady, ah-h!”
“It’s Joy, and he has found help,” hopefully muttered Clif.
He swam in the direction whence the words had come, and speedily reached what proved to be the launch, floating capsized at the mercy of the waves.
Upon the upturned bottom were two dark smudges just visible against the black background of the night.
Grasping the end of the keel, Clif drew himself up and sat panting upon the bottom planks.
“Who is that?” called out Joy.
“It’s what is left of me,” replied Clif.
“Hurray, it’s Faraday!” shouted the Japanese youth. “Hurray, Clif, me glad you saved. Shake!”
“This is a dreadful business,” exclaimed Faraday, as he wrung the proffered hand. “Seen anything of the other fellows?”
“Not a sign,” replied Joy. “We have heard lots of cries, but we are the only ones who have reached this launch.”
“What was the trouble? A collision?”
“Yes. I think we ran into one of the cutters. Whew! how this blamed thing does roll.”
It required all the efforts of the three to retain their position upon the tossing launch. The sweep of the waves sent a perfect deluge of water over them at times, and they were compelled to cling with tooth and nail.
The force of the wind continued unabated, but it was evident from the suddenness of its coming and its very fierceness that it would not last.
The lights of theMonongahelawere no longer visible. Immediately after gaining the comparative safety of the capsized launch, Clif eagerly scanned the horizon.
“I am afraid she has been driven off before the gale, fellows,” he said, anxiously.
“It certainly looks that way,” agreed Joy. “I guess we can say good-by to the oldMonongahela.”
“It say good-by to us,” chimed in Trolley. “It go away; we no want to.”
He spoke lightly, but he fully understood the extreme gravity of the situation. All three realized that their lives were in deadly peril.
With only the frail planks of an overturned boatbetween them and the depths of the angry sea, it was plainly evident that little hope remained.
And what of the others who had left the practice ship?
Clif shuddered and his eyes moistened as he recalled the names of his shipmates. Some there were who had not been friendly to him. Many had sworn undying vengeance because he had led the plebes on more than one successful resistance to the hazing of the upper classes. In that very launch Judson Greene had pulled an oar.
All animosity was forgotten now, however; in the presence of such an awful tragedy only heartfelt sympathy and regret could live.
“Haven’t you seen anything of the others?” he asked again.
“Nary sign,” replied Joy, gloomily.
“I guess they gone down,” muttered Trolley. “Poor boys! Me very sorry.”
A realization of their own situation was suddenly brought home to them. A curling wave, higher than the rest, abruptly broke over the launch with such force that all three lads were hurled bodily from the keel.
Clif was thrown a dozen feet away from the boat, andwhen he regained the surface after the violent plunge he found himself buffeted about in a smother of foam.
He struck out blindly, and at the same time called lustily for his companions. An answering cry came at once.
“Clif! Clif! where are you?”
Guided by the voice, he reached the boat once more, but only after a most desperate struggle.
He felt himself clutched by the collar and dragged against the gunwale. Then he saw to his infinite surprise that the sailing launch had righted.
“All present and accounted for, and better off than before.”
These cheery words came from Clif as he scrambled into the boat and saw that both Joy and Trolley were there.
“Yes, but if we want to continue to be present we’d better commence to bail,” replied the former.
Trolley felt about under the submerged seats and brought up a bailer which had been wedged in one corner. With this he set industriously to work.
Clif and Joy did what they could to help, and before long the water in the launch was materially decreased.The boys labored with lighter hearts. Hope was not so far distant after all.
In this world many things are measured by circumstances. To the drowning man a straw is worth clutching for.
After ten minutes of incessant labor Clif straightened up and announced what was patent to his companions.
“Only a foot of water left, fellows. We can stand that for a time.”
“If we only had oars or something to keep the blessed craft before the wind we’d stand a show of living until morning,” said Joy.
“We look for things,” announced the Japanese youth, suiting the action to the words.
Clif continued bailing as a heavy wave had thrown more water over the side. Joy and Trolley started to search the boat forward.
There were speedy results. An eager cry came from Joy, and he called back:
“Here’s a find, Clif. The boat’s mast and sails are still fastened to the seats where they were before she capsized. Hurrah! We can do something now.”
Clif ceased bailing in a jiffy and scrambled forward.He found his companions tugging away at a long, shapeless mass, which resolved itself into a mast and a damp, soggy leg-o’-mutton sail.
“This is great,” he exclaimed, exultantly. “It means that we can manage to keep afloat and make a little headway, anyway. It can’t be far to the coast of Portugal, and if the oldMonongaheladon’t turn up we’ll take a cruise of our own.”
“We’ve got to have rudder,” said the ever practical Trolley. “Sail no good without rudder.”
“Sure thing,” replied Joy. “Don’t worry, we’ll get one all right. There’s a spare oar wrapped up with this sail.”
He had made the welcome discovery while unfolding the canvas.
The three castaways set to work without delay, and after half an hour’s hard labor, during which they were compelled to stop and bail a dozen times, they finally had the mast stepped, and a closereefed sail spread.