Midshipman Merrill
Date: 2020-11-02T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Sea stories; United States Naval Academy -- Juvenile fiction; Military cadets -- Juvenile fiction

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Title: Midshipman Merrill

Author: Henry Harrison Lewis

Release date: November 1, 2020 [eBook #63590]
Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MIDSHIPMAN MERRILL ***

Transcriber’s Notes:

The Table of Contents was created by the transcriber and placed in the public domain.

Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.

CONTENTS

Chapter I. The Wreck of the Toy.

Chapter II. The Arrest.

Chapter III. The Girl Witness.

Chapter IV. The Dwellers in “Spook Hall.”

Chapter V. A Bold Resolve.

Chapter VI. The Boy Pilot.

Chapter VII. The Cadet Midshipman.

Chapter VIII. A Rumor Afloat.

Chapter IX. Going Ashore.

Chapter X. Unfathomed.

Chapter XI. The Promise Kept.

Chapter XII. A Plot That Failed.

Chapter XIII. Stumbling Blocks.

Chapter XIV. Facing the Music.

Chapter XV. Boarding the Venture.

Chapter XVI. Under Convoy.

Chapter XVII. Jack Judson’s Memory.

Chapter XVIII. Strangely Met.

Chapter XIX. A Threat.

Chapter XX. The Midshipman.

Chapter XXI. Shaking Hands With the Past.

Chapter XXII. Disciplining a “Captain.”

Chapter XXIII. A Secret Foe.

Chapter XXIV. A Secret Friend.

Chapter XXV. A Clouded Record.

Chapter XXVI. The Telltale Coin.

Chapter XXVII. A Double Accusation.

Chapter XXVIII. The Story Told.

Chapter XXIX. The Alternative.

Chapter XXX. Not Accepted.

Chapter XXXI. A Swimming Match.

Chapter XXXII. The “Water Wizard.”

Chapter XXXIII. “Honors Easy.”

Chapter XXXIV. A Letter from Home.

Chapter XXXV. The Midshipman’s Reverie.

Chapter XXXVI. The First Cruise.

Chapter XXXVII. The Demand.

Chapter XXXVIII. Keeping an Appointment.

Chapter XXXIX. The Tell Tale Paper.

Chapter XL. Three Reports.

Chapter XLI. A Life on the Ocean Wave.

Chapter XLII. “Man Overboard!”

Chapter XLIII. A Debt of Gratitude.

Chapter XLIV. The Pilot Midshipman.

Chapter XLV. Unexpected Visitors.

Chapter XLVI. A Forced Resignation.

Chapter XLVII. A Midnight Expedition.

Chapter XLVIII. Conclusion.

MIDSHIPMAN MERRILL

“The passengers and crew gave the young hero a rousing cheer as he sped away.” (See page 45)

Midshipman Merrill

BY
HENRY HARRISON LEWIS

AUTHOR OF
“Centre-Board Jim,” “Ensign Merrill,” etc.

PHILADELPHIA
DAVID MCKAY, PUBLISHER
610 South Washington Square

Copyright, 1899,
By STREET & SMITH

MIDSHIPMAN MERRILL.

CHAPTER I.
THE WRECK OF THE TOY.

“There comes that sea cub of Beacon Cliff, mates, so let us clip his claws.”

“So say I, mates, for he’s too blue blooded to associate with us, if he is only a fisher lad.”

“It’s the living in that old rookery, Cliff Castle, that has turned his head and made him so conceited.”

“No, he’s been high-toned ever since he saved that schooner from being wrecked in Hopeless Haven; but I say let us take him down a peg or two, mates.”

“I’m with you.”

“So am I.”

“Me, too;” and all of a group of five lads joined in with their leader to set upon a youth who was just running for the shore in a trim little surf-skiff with a leg-of-mutton sail.

The scene was at a small seaport upon the rugged, though beautiful coast of Maine, and the lads, a wild lot of reckless spirits, half-sailors, half-landsmen, stood in front of an old-fashioned tavern fronting the water, and from whence they had sighted the surf-skiff running swiftly in toward the wharf, and had recognized its occupant, a lad of sixteen.

He was neatly dressed in duck pants and a sailor shirt with wide collar, in each corner of which was embroidered an anchor in blue silk.

A blue tarpaulin sat jauntily upon his head, giving him something of a rakish look, and a sash encircled his slender waist.

But in spite of his rather picturesque attire, he had a face of rare manliness for one so young, a face that was bronzed by exposure, strong in character and stamped with resolution and daring beyond his years.

He ran his little skiff in cleverly alongside the wharf, lowered sail, and carefully taking up a toy ship, stepped ashore and started toward the tavern.

The toy was a miniature ship, fully rigged and under sail, an exquisite specimen of workmanship, for from keel to truck there was nothing missing, and every rope and sail, even to a tiny flag, the Stars and Stripes, was in place.

He had nearly reached the group of youths, who had threatened to lower his pride a peg or two, when a seaman met him and called out:

“Ho, lad, who built that craft you have there?”

“I did, sir,” was the modest reply.

“Well, if you did you are a born sailor, that is all, for I never saw a cleaner built craft, or a better rigged one. Are you a deep water sailor, my lad?”

“I have been to sea, sir; but I am only a coaster now.”

“And what are you going to do with that pretty toy?”

“I am going to ask landlord Rich of the tavern to buy it of me, sir.”

“Why do you sell it?”

The lad’s face flushed, and after a moment he said:

“Well, sir, my mother is ill, and I wish to have the doctor go and see her, and sell the ship to get the money to pay him and buy medicines with.”

“Well, lad, in spite of your fancy rig, your heart lies in the right place, I see; but what do you want for the craft?”

“It ought to be worth fifteen dollars, sir.”

“It is worth more, and I wish I had the money to buy it; but if the landlord don’t buy it, I’ll see what I can do.”

“I thank you, sir,” and the lad was going on, when the group of youths, who had heard all that had passed, laughed rudely, while one said: “Let me see your boat, sea cub?”

The lad’s face flushed, but he knew that the speaker was the son of a rich shipping merchant of the town, and was a spendthrift, who might pay him a fancy price for his toy, if he wished to do so, and he, therefore, handed the ship to him without reply.

It was the same youth who had suggested to the others to tease the lad, and looking critically at the ship, he said:

“It looks fairly well to a landsman, but whoever saw such a rig on a ship?”

“And the hull has no shape to it,” said another.

“Just look at the rake of the masts.”

“And the cut of her bow.”

“Whoever saw such a stern on anything but a mudscow.”

“If you do not wish to purchase the boat, Scott Clemmons, give it back to me,” said Mark Merrill, suppressing his anger.

“I’ll buy her, if she can stand a cyclone, sea cub,” said Scott Clemmons insolently.

“Let’s see if she can, Scott,” another said.

“All right, Birney, hold out your arm.”

The youth addressed held his arms out firmly on a level, and whirling suddenly around, with the boat grasped in both hands, he brought it with full force close to the deck against the outstretched arms of Ben Birney.

The result was the wreck of the toy ship, for the masts were broken, the decks swept clean.

But quickly as the act had been done, the movements of the young sailor were quicker, for once, twice, his blows fell full in the faces of the two destroyers, and they dropped their length upon the pavement.

CHAPTER II.
THE ARREST.

The three youths of the group who had not taken a hand in the destruction of the toy ship had seemed at first to regret their inability to also fret the young sailor; but the moment that the two ringleaders, Scott Clemmons and Ben Birney, had measured their length upon the ground, falling with a force that seemed to knock the breath out of them for a moment, the trio appeared delighted that they had no hand in the breaking of the little miniature ship, and stepped quickly backward out of reach of the dangerous arm of Mark Merrill.

But Scott Clemmons was not one to submit tamely to a blow, and with his face bruised by a severe contact with the fist of the sailor lad, he arose to his feet, and whipping out his knife rushed upon his foe with a bitter oath, and the threat:

“I’ll have your life for that blow, sea cub!”

Mark Merrill had boldly stood his ground, but seeing his danger he quickly stooped, seized the hull of his broken boat, and with a lightning-like movement brought it down upon the head of his assailant with a force that appeared to kill him, so motionless he lay where he fell.

“Come, mates, he has killed Scott Clemmons, so seize him!” shouted Ben Birney, and he sprung toward the lad, followed by the other three who were made bold by their numbers.

The sailor lad stood at bay now, his face pale, but stern and determined, his eyes ablaze, while in his hands he grasped the hull of his now badly-wrecked ship, making it serve as a weapon of defense.

But ere Ben Birney had reached within arm’s length a form suddenly sprung forward, and a ringing voice cried:

“Back, you young cutthroats, for I’ll take a hand in this unequal game.”

The four youths shrank back as though they had run against a stone wall, for the sailor who had addressed Mark Merrill upon landing now confronted them, and more, he held a revolver in his hand, the muzzle covering the group, his finger upon the trigger.

A crowd had now gathered, and among them the village constable, to whom Ben Birney cried:

“Officer Roe, that fisher boy has killed Scott Clemmons—we saw him do it.”

“It isn’t so, officer, for the fellow is not dead, only stunned; and, besides, he attacked this brave lad with a knife, after the young scamps had smashed his boat to pieces. Arrest them, I say,” said the sailor.

Constable Roe was a politician, and owed his place to the influence of the fathers of Scott Clemmons and Ben Birney, so, of course, he saw the situation through the spectacles of self-interest.

The sailor was a stranger in town, and Mark Merrill was but a poor fisher lad, so he said:

“He meant to kill young Master Scott, if he didn’t do it, so I’ll arrest him, and I’ll take you in, too, as I saw you level a loaded pistol at these young men.”

The sailor laughed, and answered:

“You old fool, the weapon was just bought uptown, and there’s no load in it; but trot me off to the lockup if you wish, only let this poor lad go, as he has come for a doctor to see his sick mother.”

“No, I’ll lock you both up, I guess, if the judge has left his court—oh! Master Scott, you have come round, I see,” and the constable turned to Scott Clemmons, who just then arose to his feet, but with his face bleeding, and a dazed look in his eyes.

“He tried to murder me, Roe,” he said deliberately.

“The young scamp lies like a marine, for he tried to do the murdering; but take us to the judge, officer, who, I guess, has got more sense than you have,” and the sailor laughed.

The angry constable grasped an arm of the sailor and the lad, and with a crowd at their heels led them away toward the court, in the rear of which was the jail.

The judge had just finished his last case for the day, but took his seat, willing to hear the case, for he heard several remark that it was nothing but persecution.

The constable made his report, and the sailor told his story just as he had witnessed it, Mark Merrill remaining silent and calm until called upon to testify.

Then he told his version of the affair in an unmoved, dignified manner that impressed all, adding:

“If I am to be punished, your honor, I beg of you to accept my pledge to return, after I have sent a physician to my mother.”

Paying no attention to this remark the judge asked:

“Are there any witnesses in court who are willing to testify in favor of these two prisoners?”

“I am, Judge Miller, if you will accept me as a witness, for I saw and heard all.”

All started as a clear, sweet voice came from the rear of the crowd, and there appeared a young girl of fourteen, her beautiful face crimsoned from the glances turned upon her, but her manner firm and half-defiant.

“Ah! Miss Virgene, it is you, is it? Yes, indeed, I’ll accept your testimony with pleasure,” was the pleasant response of the judge, and the crowd fell aside to allow the pretty maiden to go to the front.

CHAPTER III.
THE GIRL WITNESS.

Virgene Rich was the beauty of the little seaport town of B——, notwithstanding that she had only been a couple of years across the threshold of her “teens.”

She was the daughter of landlord Rich, of the “Anchorage Tavern,” and every one in B—— loved her, especially the lads.

Her most persistent admirer was Scott Clemmons, though he could not boast of having been more favored by her than others.

Now, as he saw her advance as a witness, his face paled and flushed by turns, for what would she, a girl, have to say of a quarrel among men, he wondered.

“Well, Miss Virgene, do you voluntarily appear in this case?” asked the judge, with a kindly smile.

“I do, Judge Miller, because I deem it my duty to do so, for if not I would not make myself appear so forward,” was the low yet distinct response.

“Kiss the Book then, Miss Virgene, and let me hear what you have to say.”

The girl obeyed, and then said in a voice that not one failed to hear:

“I was seated in my room, sir, over the tavern parlor when I saw a surf-skiff running for shore, and noticed it particularly on account of its being so well handled.

“Right beneath stood five young men, whom I see here now. Scott Clemmons recognized the occupant of the skiff, that youth there, whose name I believe is Mark Merrill.

“A plan was at once formed, as they expressed it, to ‘clip the sea cub’s claws,’ and as Master Merrill landed they went toward him.

“He had a toy ship in his hand, and I heard him tell a sailor, this gentleman here, who met him, that he intended to sell it to my father, as he had to get money to send the doctor to his mother, who was very ill.

“Then these five young gentlemen,” and Virgene’s sarcastic reference to them made the five youths wince, “met Master Mark Merrill, and at once began to sneer at his boat, and Scott Clemmons took it from him, asking if it could stand a cyclone.

“Then Scott Clemmons bade Ben Birney hold out his arms, which he did, and turning quickly with the boat at a level, he crushed it into a wreck.”

A murmur ran through the crowd at this, and the accused did not like the look upon the face of the judge as he said:

“Well, Miss Virgene, what else?”

“Why, Master Merrill at once knocked both Scott Clemmons and Ben Birney down, as he ought to have done, Judge Miller,” was the spirited reply of the young girl.

“I agree with you, Miss Virgene—ahem! ahem!” and the judge cut off his own decided unjudicial expression of his private opinion with a loud cough.

Resuming her testimony, Virgene Rich said:

“Scott Clemmons rose quickly, sir, and drawing a knife, rushed upon Master Merrill with a threat to kill him, when he was struck a blow with the hull of the wrecked boat that stunned him.”

“The prisoner, Mark Merrill, struck the blow?”

“Yes, Judge Miller, in self-defense; and the others then, led by Ben Birney, were about to spring upon him, when this gentleman frightened them off with what seems was an unloaded weapon,” and Virgene’s musical laughter was contagious, for many joined in until the judge, checking the broad grin upon his own face, commanded sternly:

“Silence in court!”

The judge was a terror to evil-doers, and was obeyed with alacrity, while Virgene went on to tell the story of the constable’s arrest of the wrong parties.

“Constable Roe, you should not allow self-interest to lead you into error, sir, for the real culprits before me are Scott Clemmons, Ben Birney, et al.

“Miss Virgene, I thank you for your clear testimony of the facts, and discharge the accused, while I order the arrest of these young men, and shall bind them over to keep the peace, while you, Clemmons, must at once pay this youth for his boat, or I shall send you to jail.”

Then, turning to Mark Merrill, Judge Miller asked:

“Are you the lad who saved a schooner from being wrecked in Hopeless Haven some months ago?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I am glad to know you, my lad, for you took desperate chances for your own life to save others from death. Ah, Mr. Clemmons, you are here, I suppose, to pay your son’s just debt to this brave youth, and to offer bail for your boy, who can congratulate himself upon his escaping so lightly,” and Judge Miller turned to a fine-looking old gentleman who had entered court, hearing his son had been arrested.

“I am here, your honor, to do what is right,” was the cold response of merchant Clemmons.

“He ought to have fifty dollars for the boat, for it was worth it,” said the sailor bluntly.

“No, my price was only fifteen dollars, and I would not take that from him were it not for my mother’s being ill,” said Mark Merrill.

The amount was paid by merchant Clemmons, and Mark Merrill hastened from the court room, accompanied by his newly-made friend, Jack Judson, sailor.

CHAPTER IV.
THE DWELLERS IN “SPOOK HALL.”

The youth, accompanied by Jack Judson, the sailor, walked hastily up the main street of the little town, until he came to a fine residence, before which hung a sign bearing the legend:

“DR. STONE’S OFFICE.”

The physician had just returned home, and coming by the court room had heard the story of the affray, and from one who had sided with the sailor lad in the affair.

He heard Mark’s story of his mother’s illness, and at once said he would drive down that evening, and received his fee in advance, which he made exceedingly modest.

With a happy heart the lad then went to a store and made a few purchases, after which he said:

“Now, sir, I must take time to go and thank that pretty young girl for her kindness.”

“Well, I just think so, lad, for she’s one among a thousand,” answered Jack Judson, and the two went to “The Anchorage” and asked to see Miss Virgene Rich.

But that young lady saw them coming, suspected their errand, and ran off to the garret and hid, so they were told that she must have gone out.

“That’s too bad, lad; but you’ll find her in port some time; but, see here, it’s blowing a gale, and you cannot start home now.”

“Oh, yes, sir; for it would worry my mother more for me not to go.”

“Go by land?”

“It’s a walk of fifteen miles, and only a sail of twelve, while the wind is fair for me.”

“If my craft was not going out in the morning I’d go with you, for you are going to have it rough, lad.”

“I don’t mind that, sir, for my craft is a surf-skiff, and I know how to handle her.”

“I saw that as you came in, my boy; but if you must go I won’t detain you, so good-by, and don’t you forget that Jack Judson is your friend.”

“I’ll remember you, sir, you may be sure,” was the reply, and five minutes after the surf-skiff cast off and started upon her really perilous voyage.

The sailor watched her departure, as many others did, and shook his head ominously, while Virgene Rich, having returned to her room, stood in the window, and her innocent young face wore an anxious look as she saw the little craft driving swiftly into the heavy seas on her dangerous run.

In half an hour the surf-skiff was out of sight to the watchers, and soon after rounded a point of land where it felt the full force of the winds and waves.

But Mark Merrill showed his claim to the title he had won as the boy pilot of the coast, and though the shadows of night fell upon the waters, seemed to instinctively know his way over the tempestuous sea.

At length a light gleamed from a cliff far ahead, and the young sailor said aloud:

“Bless my dear, good mother! she has set the lamp in the south window, sick as she is, to guide me home, and it shows me that I was a trifle off my course.”

On sped the little craft, held firmly to her work until she ran in under the shelter of a lofty overhanging cliff.

The sail was quickly lowered, the painter made fast, and springing ashore, his arms full of the purchases he had made, Mark Merrill hastened to climb a steep path leading to the cliff above.

Here stood a large stone mansion, dark and gloomy, except in one end, where there was a light, the one which had flashed over the waters as a beacon to guide the brave boy to a haven of safety.

Entering the wing the lad passed into a large room where a woman lay upon a large old-fashioned bed.

Her face was a sad one, and her eyes were sunk with suffering, but she smiled as she beheld her son, who advanced and, bending over, kissed her forehead.

“The doctor will be down to-night, mother, for he knows the way well, having attended the Vanloo family when they lived here.”

“Heaven bless you, my noble boy; but what a rough night it is, and my anxiety for you has made me feel better, for I forgot myself.”

“Oh! you’ll soon come round all right, mother,” was the hopeful reply.

“But Mark, how can you pay the doctor, for my illness has kept you from making any money of late.”

“I sold my little model, mother, for I was tired of it, you know.”

“No, I don’t know anything of the kind, Mark, for you prized it most highly, and it took you a long time to make it.”

“Why, mother, it was no use, and I got a good price for it, so paid the doctor and bought some things we needed, and old Peggy will be back to-morrow, so that I can take a cruise and make some money.”

“I hope so, my son, and Peggy never overstays her time; but I hear wheels without.”

“It is the doctor,” joyously said the lad.

It was the doctor, and he found the patient suffering from a general breaking down.

He prescribed what he deemed best, left the medicines, and as the youth followed him to his carriage, said:

“Your mother has some sorrow to bear, my young friend, and she must have perfect rest, the best of care, and good food.”

“My old nurse, sir, Peggy, will return to-morrow, for she has been absent for a few weeks on a yearly visit to her son, and my mother has overworked herself, I fear.”

“Well, I will see her again, and I understand your situation exactly—nay, do not get angry, for I will have my way, and all your mother needs she shall have, and when you make money you can repay me, for I shall keep an account of expenditures.

“But your mother has some heartache, and you must brighten her life all you can.

“I visited the Vanloo’s when they dwelt here—where is the heir to this property?”

“I do not know, sir; but the agent gave us permission to occupy one wing of it to care for the place.”

“He might well do so, for money would buy no one else to live here after the tragedies this old mansion has seen.

“You and your mother are brave, indeed, to dwell here; but good-night,” and the good physician entered his carriage and drove rapidly away from the old mansion, which had become known as “Spook Hall,” for the superstitious country folk and the coast dwellers vowed that the place was haunted—and certainly it was by cruel memories of red deeds done there one stormy night years before.

CHAPTER V.
A BOLD RESOLVE.

It was several weeks after the attack on Mark Merrill, on his visit to the town of B—— after the doctor, and Mrs. Merrill had regained her health, old Peggy had returned to her duties, and the young sailor lad was thus able to resume his fishing and carrying the mail each week to and from several little hamlets on the coast.

By the sale of his fish and the mail carrying, both most dangerous work in rough weather, the lad made a fair living for his mother, old Peggy, and himself, the only three dwellers in the once grand old mansion of Cliff Castle, then the wonder and admiration of the country folk, but for years left deserted and crumbling to decay, its hundreds of surrounding acres allowed to grow up with weeds and undergrowth.

The furniture all had been left after the fateful tragedy beneath its roof, which had gained for it the name of Spook Hall, and the place had been shunned as a pestilence, until the moving into one wing of the Merrills, who had set at defiance the weird stories of the old mansion.

There was an unsolved mystery hanging over the Merrills, for no one seemed to know who they were, or from whence they had come.

The lad had visited B—— as one of a schooner’s crew, and not long after had come with his mother and Peggy, and sought a home in a cabin on the shore.

After a run to Boston, where he had seen the agent of Cliff Castle, he had permission to move into the mansion, and for over a year they had dwelt there, and that was all that was known of them.

At the risk of his life the brave boy had gone out in a storm one night and acted as pilot to a schooner that was in a dangerous anchorage, and this had won him fame along the coast, and the name of the boy pilot.

Again, he had sailed out in his surf-skiff to a vessel adrift, and found it utterly deserted, so had gotten up sail, as well as he could, and run the craft to a safe anchorage.

He had given notice of the fact, but no one had come to claim the pretty craft, which was a small schooner yacht, and Mark had begun to regard her as his own property.

One afternoon he was standing upon the cliff watching the coming up of what threatened to be a terrible storm.

The whole heavens to seaward were one mass of inky clouds, which were rising higher and higher, and ominous rumblings of thunder and vivid flashes of lightning grew louder and brighter as the tempest came sweeping on.

From his position on the cliff he could look down into two basins, or bays.

In one lay the little schooner at anchor, and all ship-shape to meet the coming tempest, and there, too, was his surf-skiff with a couple of boats drawn up on the beach.

The entrance to this bay was winding and dangerous in the extreme, but these very dangers of running in and out made it more sheltered and secure as a harbor.

The bay upon the other side of the cliff was larger and by no means well sheltered from a wild sea, though to an ordinary observer it appeared to be a safe anchorage for a vessel.

The lad stood upon a rock overhanging the sea, and commanding a grand view, seemingly unconscious that a false step would hurl him into the waters eighty feet below.

Suddenly he started, for around a point of land heavily wooded a vessel came in sight, driving along under reefed sails before the breeze which was the forerunner of the storm.

“It is one of those beautiful yachts out of Boston; but there can be no pilot on board, or he would have run into Rover’s Roost.

“Why does she not stand out to sea for good room?” said the lad anxiously.

Then he watched the vessel attentively, a large schooner yacht of some two hundred tons burden, painted white, which was driving along like a huge thing of life seeking a place of refuge from the storm.

“Great Cæsar’s ghost! she is running into Hopeless Haven in the very teeth of this storm. She will be wrecked!” and the boy’s voice now rang out in dire alarm for the safety of the beautiful vessel.

He saw her run, to what her skipper evidently believed a safe anchorage; the anchors were let fall and the sails furled.

Then Mark Merrill waited no longer, for from his lips came the words:

“She is doomed unless I can save her! I have no time to get my boat and run around the point, for the storm would catch me halfway—yes, I must take the chances and swim out to her!”

He paused for a few seconds, as though taking in the whole situation, and then quickly ran around the edge of the cliff to where there was a small arbor, in the top of which had been a beacon in the early days of the mansion.

Quickly divesting himself of his jacket, shoes, stockings and hat, he began to descend the steep side of the cliff with the agility of a cat.

He reached within twenty feet of the water’s edge, and turning, gazed first out at the yacht, half a mile distant, and then down into the surf, dashing with thunderous roar against the base of the cliff.

“Now for it!” and as the words left his lips Mark Merrill made the fateful spring into the surging breakers on his daring swim out to the yacht in the face of the coming storm.

CHAPTER VI.
THE BOY PILOT.

The schooner yacht Midshipman was on a pleasure cruise of several weeks with a distinguished party on board.

She was a large, roomy and stanch craft, as well as carrying the champion colors as a racer, won in showing a clean pair of heels to the fleet pleasure boats when a cup or purse was at stake.

Her distinguished owner, a millionaire Bostonian, had invited a congenial party to become his guests for a cruise from Fortress Monroe along the coast to the St. Lawrence and back to Newport, and among the guests were several who had won fame in the history of their country in civil and military life.

The Honorable Secretary of the United States Navy, gallant Commodore Lucien, and several others of lesser note, accompanied by half a dozen ladies, comprised the guests of General Peyton on the Midshipman.

The cruise had been greatly enjoyed, and the prow of the yacht had been turned homeward, when suddenly came up from out of the very sea, it seemed, the black and ugly storm.

The ladies implored the skipper to head for the shore, to seek refuge in some harbor, though he urged, as he knew little of the coast just there, the open sea was the safer.

“We will find some harbor, captain, so run in, where you deem best,” General Peyton had said, for he did not like the looks of the heavens, and night not far off.

Around a point swept the yacht, and a cry of joy came from many lips at what appeared to be a safe anchorage before them.

Into the bay ran the Midshipman, and quickly her anchors were let go, her sails furled, and all made ship-shape to meet the rising tempest, which was growing appalling in its magnitude and blackness.

“I don’t like this place, sir, and we had better fire a gun to bring a pilot off in case we have to stand out,” said the skipper to General Peyton.

“Do so, if you deem best, captain; but see, yonder stands some one upon that cliff.”

All eyes were turned upon the cliff, and they wondered to see the form of a man running at full speed along the edge of the towering rocks.

He darted into an arbor, and in a short while reappeared, and then his actions caused still greater surprise, for he was seen to come boldly down the rocky face of the cliff toward the sea.

All watched with deepest interest, momentarily forgetting the storm in their wonderment at the actions of the one on the cliff.

Suddenly a cry broke from every lip, for the form was seen to suddenly spring into the foaming waters.

The ladies turned their faces away in awe, the men watched the waters where the form had disappeared, for it seemed that the fate of the stranger was ominous of their own.

Suddenly from the inky clouds, trailing over the sea to break upon the stone-bound coast, came a blinding sheet of livid flame, followed by a crash of thunder that vibrated through the yacht from stem to stern.

In the lull that followed came a voice out upon the waters:

“Ahoy! ahoy, the yacht!”

It was faint, but distinct, and all heard it.

“Ahoy! ahoy! the yacht, ahoy!” came the hail louder than before.

Brave men looked at each other with something like awe in their faces, until General Peyton cried:

“It is the man who sprang from the cliff!”

“He is swimming out to us, brave fellow that he is.”

Seizing his trumpet he shouted back:

“Ay! ay! my man, I’ll send a boat for you!”

“No! no! I am all right, but your vessel is not. Get up your anchors, and set sail!”

There was no mistaking these cool words, and a voice cried:

“I see him!”

There, out upon the waters, swimming with powerful, rapid strokes toward the yacht could be seen, every moment as he rose on the crest of a wave, our bold young swimmer.

A cheer broke from the crew forward, and was echoed by the guests aft.

But again came from the daring young swimmer:

“You have no time to lose; get sail on your yacht and your anchors up, for this bay is a death-trap!”

The skipper was a man of quick action, and the warning from the swimmer but carried out his own ideas, and he sent his crew flying to their posts, while General Peyton stood by to throw a line to the one who was now but a few yards away.

A minute more, and amid a ringing cheer the bold swimmer stood upon the deck, a handsome, fearless-faced youth, bareheaded, barefooted, and clad only in duck pants and sailor shirt.

“Well, young man, who are you who so bravely boards my craft almost in mid-ocean?” cried General Peyton, as all gazed with admiration upon the lad.

The response came bluntly:

“I am not here, sir, to speak of myself, but to pilot your vessel to a safe harbor, for you are in Hopeless Haven, and yonder storm will wreck you here.”

“Hopeless Haven is it, my lad? Then are you a hundred times welcome, and to one who has your nerve I gladly yield the craft,” said Captain Saunders hastily, and Mark Merrill stepped to the wheel just as the anchors left the bottom, and the reefed sails went to leeward with a jerk under a sudden squall.

But the boy pilot was unmoved, and, declining a glass of liquor brought to him by the steward, at General Peyton’s order, bent his every energy upon his work, for now the rushing, furious storm was coming down in an avalanche of winds and waves, and a roaring and flaming like unto a mighty battle.

As though wild with fear the yacht drove furiously on, heading to round the rocky reef off the cliff, her crew at their posts, the guests crouched in the companionway and cock-pit, and all eyes alternately turned upon the young pilot, calm and fearless, and the storm so near upon them.

It seemed like a mad race for life, for the boy pilot had said:

“Anchors will not hold on this bottom, and we must round that reef to reach safety.”

At last the order came in the boy’s clear voice:

“Slack off the sheets! steady now! hold hard all!”

And with the orders the howling storm was upon them, and the gallant yacht went driving ahead with furious speed, with all about her now darkness and chaos.

How he knew his way, all asked, none knew, but his orders came steadily to haul taunt, or slack off sheets, until suddenly the giant waves ceased to follow, the wind was broken by the lofty cliff, and the anchors were let go in the secure haven of Beacon Cliff.

The first one to grasp the hand of the brave lad was the Secretary of the Navy, and his voice had a tremor in it as he said:

“My young friend, your courage this day has won your right to serve your country in a position of honor, and I pledge for you an appointment-at-large from the President of the berth of a cadet midshipman.”

CHAPTER VII.
THE CADET MIDSHIPMAN.

The day of work was at hand at the United States Naval Academy, situated in that quaint, sleepy old town of Annapolis, whose greatest attractions are its antiquity and its sea school.

The time had come when the “future admirals,” the “heroes in embryo” were to cease their flirting and “bone” with all their hearts and heads in latitudes, longitudes, parallelograms, tonnage, displacement, and all the other studies necessary to make the greenhorn a perfect sailor.

The middies had returned from their summer cruise, the “academy” had awakened from its lazy slumber of weeks, and all were looking forward to the year before them with varied feelings of hopes and fears.

Those who had already served one or more terms at the academy felt their superiority unquestioned to the unfortunate “Plebe,” who was standing upon the threshold in fear and trembling of what was before him.

Standing on the sea-wall of the academy grounds one afternoon a month or more after the bold act of Mark Merrill in saving the yacht Midshipman from destruction in Hopeless Haven, on the coast of Maine, were a number of middies, unmindful of the beauties of the scene about them, the old training ship with its history of the past, waters of the Severn lashed into foam under a gale that was blowing up the Chesapeake, visible over a league away, tossing in angry billows, a vessel of war anchored off in midstream, and the ancient town of Annapolis to the right, with its fleet of oyster boats fretting their cables as they plunged and reeled on the incoming waves—I say unmindful of the scene about them, the group of young sailors had their eyes riveted upon a small schooner which had shot around Bay Ridge Point at a tremendous speed, jibed her sails to starboard most skillfully, though she reeled low under the shock, and came tearing up to the town in gallant style.

“There’s a bold skipper at the helm of that craft,” said Cadet Captain Byrd Bascomb, of the first class, with the air of one whose superior knowledge no one could contradict.

“He is too bold, for he carries too much sail for safety,” Midshipman Herbert Nazro responded, for he observed that the little schooner was carrying only a single-reefed mainsail.

“She’s one of those deep-keeled yachts that can stand her canvas,” Cadet Lieutenant Frank Latrobe added.

“Yes, and her foolhardy skipper will carry the sticks out of her yet before she reaches port,” put in Midshipman Winslow Dillingham.

“I guess he knows his craft; if he does not, he’s a fool,” was the decided opinion of Midshipman Harbor Driggs.

“Ha! what did I tell you?” cried Captain Byrd Bascomb, as a terrific squall struck the little vessel, causing her to lay over until her keel was visible.

“Aha! well done that!”

“Wasn’t it beautiful!”

“That skipper knows himself and his ship, too!”

Such were the admiring expressions that went up from the crowd of young sailors as the yacht was splendidly rescued from her danger and sent along, as before, in the same rushing style by her bold helmsman.

“Ah! he is heading for an anchorage off here!” said Cadet Captain Byrd Bascomb, as the schooner’s sheets were eased off and her prow headed away before the wind.

On she flew, at the same mad speed, reeling, staggering, rolling, until her boom ends dipped, but held on unswervingly straight toward the vessel-of-war anchored off the grounds in the Levern River.

“By Neptune’s beard, men, but that is a youngster at the helm of that craft,” cried Byrd Bascomb, as he put his glass to his eye.

It was not long before all could discover the truth of this, and that three men were all else to be seen upon the deck of the schooner, one of these forward, another at the foresheet halyards, the third at the main sheet.

Like a rocket she sped under the stern of the vessel-of-war, and then there came an order from the helmsman, the sheets were hauled in and made fast, and luffing up sharp, the anchor was let fall, the sails came down on a run, and ten minutes after a boat left her side and pulled for the shore.

The cadets lounged up to meet the single occupant of the little boat, which was a surf-skiff, and though tossed about upon the waves, was handled with a skill which caused the middies to set the rower down as a master of the oars.

The oarsman sprang ashore, touched his hat politely, and asked nobody in particular:

“May I ask where I will find the commandant of the Naval School?”

Then the innate deviltry of the juvenile tar asserted itself, and a look of mischief flashed from eye to eye, a sort of telegraphy, which said:

“Here’s fun for us.”

They saw before them a bronze-faced youth of seventeen, perhaps, with a splendidly knit frame, clad in spotless duck trousers, a sailor shirt, beneath the wide collar of which a black silk scarf was knotted, and a tarpaulin cocked on the side of his head in a kind of devil-I-care way.

“Have you the oysters the commandant ordered?” asked Midshipman Dillingham, with a look of intense innocence.

The dark face of the young sailor flushed, but he responded with dignity:

“My name is Mark Merrill, and I have orders to report here to be examined for the berth of midshipman in the United States Navy.”

CHAPTER VIII.
A RUMOR AFLOAT.

There was quite a stir at the naval school, for a strange rumor was afloat.

“Some one” had said that one of the officers had said that there was to be a new cadet at the academy, appointed under peculiar circumstances; that is, he had no political status environing him.

He was to come bearing no congressman’s brand, and no partisan motive had prompted the President to appoint him as a “cadet midshipman-at-large.” The reason of his appointment was what had leaked out through this mysterious “some one.”

The rumor afloat had it that the newcomer had done some meritorious act which deserved recognition from the government, and he had received his orders to report at the naval academy.

What this gallant service was no one seemed to know, but, of course, all would discover as soon as the honored youth arrived at the academy, as he would be only too anxious to tell of his deeds of heroism.

The rumor also had it that the youth was a specimen of the genus homo from the coast of Maine, and a fisher lad from the State which in the past has so justly won the title of “Nursery of the Navy.”

Of course the blue bloods among the cadet midshipmen had their opinions as to what a fisher lad from the coast of Maine would be like.

Hardly setting him down as being like the earlier Florida coasters, half-horse, half-alligator, they still supposed that he must be a long-pointed, two-headed, web-footed, uncouth specimen of a youth who, if he passed the surgeon for height, chest measure and perfect health, would do so through a hope that he could in time be built up into a man, while, when the examining committee ran afoul of him with what the old farmer called the Three R’s—“Reading, ’Riting and ’Rithmetic”—the youth from Maine would haul down his colors at the first fire.

Human nature is said to be the same the world over, and certainly boy nature is. The only safety-valve a boy has for his extra flow of spirits is mischief, and young tars and soldier lads are certainly no exception to the rule, but, on the contrary, more given to pranks than other youths, on account of their severe training, for their fun must break forth when discipline unbends for hours of leisure.

With this homily upon my young friends, gleaned from having been “one of the same,” I will state that there were great expectations among the boy tars at the naval academy as to the newcomers in their midst, especially regarding the lad from Maine.

They longed to have him pass the doctors and the examining committee, for that would give them a chance, and several regretted that they did not know where to find him, that they might post him a little, “get the moss off his back,” as one mildly expressed it.

There were other appointees to arrive, of course, but the interest of these ancient mariners who had already served one or more years at the academy centered in the youth who was to come under circumstances out of the usual routine, a simple appointment by the congressman of his district.

The men of the third class were more particularly interested in the newcomers, as they had so lately been in the same predicament, while the older cadets of the second and first classes looked down with supreme contempt upon the “cubs,” only worthy of their attention if any fun could be gotten out of them.

So a detail was made to keep an eye upon the entrance gate to the academy grounds, where a marine and his musket constantly paced, for the arrival of the cubs, especially the lad from Maine.

The new appointees began to arrive on time, pale, nervous, and with forebodings of the future, some of them having read or heard that young gulls were plucked of their feathers by those who had risen to the height of sea eagles.

There was legendary lore on tap that new boys who ran the gauntlet of the sawbones and examiners were then taken in hand for instruction by the cadets by a process called hazing.

Now, the new men held somewhat of a hazy view of what hazing was exactly, as, though it was fun for the hazers, it might be death to the hazed, and they stood more in awe of their learned companions-to-be than they did of the commandant and his whole crew of professors.

And they were right, as many a man can testify to-day.

One by one the new men arrived at Annapolis, and turned their uneasy footsteps in the direction of the mecca of their hopes and fears.

They passed by the grim sentinel at the gate, and he knew them at a glance, try as they might to disguise their identity as appointees.

They went, according to orders, to report to the commandant, passed that ordeal, and faced another in the surgeon, who was all business, and as merciless as a guillotine.

Then they had reason to regret that they had not studied harder at school and played less, that they had not realized that spelling, reading, and a few other things were necessary to education.

Their handwriting was a scrawl which horrified them, and their pride took a tumble under the inquisition of an examination that shattered their vanity to atoms.

Some of them were undoubtedly greenhorns, others were city boys, with an air of assurance which the first broadside of their judges laid low, and others were quiet, diffident fellows, with the look about them to go in and win.

And while the cadets were watching and waiting for the coming of the lad appointed for meritorious services, they became interested in the splendid handling of a schooner rushing into port in a gale, and to their amazement the one at the helm landed and announced himself as:

“Mark Merrill, the man from Maine.”

CHAPTER IX.
GOING ASHORE.

Leaving Mark Merrill facing the crowd of midshipmen who met him as he landed, I will ask my reader to return with me until I explain the fact of his arrival as helmsman of a schooner yacht, and his appointment to a cadetship in the naval school.

It will be remembered that he had saved the yacht, by a strange coincidence bearing the name of Midshipman, and this every one on board realized.

He had driven her through a dangerous channel, with reefs on every hand, in the darkness and storm, standing coolly at his post and issuing his orders in a voice that was firm and commanding, until he had brought her into a basin as quiet as a mill pond, and said:

“Let go the anchor!”

The storm still raged outside, the waves thundered against the rocky shore, and the winds howled among the pines that crowned the hilltops.

But the yacht rocked gently upon the swell that was driven in through the narrow channel; there was plenty of water beneath her keel, and though lofty, vine-clad cliffs were above them upon all sides, the crew knew that their vessel was safe.

Realizing this, all the guests had gone into the large and brilliantly lighted cabin, and thither General Peyton had followed with the young pilot.

The youth had urged against it, saying that he was wet, barefooted, and hardly more than half-dressed, but General Peyton had said:

“The Secretary of the Navy wishes to see you.”

Standing in his wet clothing before that august group gathered there, Mark Merrill was modest of mien, yet not abashed.

“You wished to see me, sir?” he said, bowing to the Secretary.

“Yes, my lad, sit down.”

“Ah, sir, I am not fit to be here, looking as I do; and I am anxious to return home, as my mother will be expecting me.”

“You live near here, then?”

“Yes, sir, upon the cliff.”

“And you have a mother living?”

“Yes, sir, she is all I have, except old Peggy, for my father was lost at sea.”

“And what is your calling, my lad?”

“I fish for the market boats, and then I carry the mail once each week along the coast.”

“In a boat, of course?”

“Yes, sir, in my surf-skiff.”

“Do you get liberal pay for this work, may I ask?”

“Not very, sir, for with the mail carrying and my fish-selling I average about fifty dollars a month.”

“But your mother has other means of support?”

“No, sir; we pay no rent, as we live in Cliff Castle free for keeping it, and I have a good garden, and there is plenty of game and fish for the shooting and catching.”

“What do you do when it storms too hard to carry the mail?”

“I always go, sir, for my skiff is a lifeboat, and stands any weather.”

“How did you manage to come out to our aid?”

“I was on the cliff, sir, watching the storm, and saw you round the point and run for an anchorage. I know that anchors will not hold on the bottom of Hopeless Haven, and the currents in the bay make the sea very wild, so I determined to go out and pilot you into Cliff Castle harbor.”

“And swam out to us in the face of that storm?”

“Well, sir, I had not time to go to the bay and run out in my skiff, so I slipped down the bluff and jumped in, for it was not a very long swim, sir.”

“Well, I should call it a very remarkable swim, my lad, and I regard you as a phenomenal young sailor. We all owe you our lives, I feel assured, and I shall beg of the President a naval cadetship for you. We have raised a purse, which we ask you to accept, with our best wishes for your future success.”

The dark face of Mark Merrill flushed as with shame, while he said, quickly:

“Oh, sir, I cannot accept money from you, though I thank you all. I would not touch a dollar of money for what I did if I was starving, but I will appreciate your kind promise to make me a midshipman, and it seems too much to hope for, sir.”

“I will not urge the acceptance of the purse, my brave boy, if you do not wish it, and I pledge you the appointment, and to-morrow morning we will call upon your mother, and tell her she must be content to give you up, as you will make a name she will be proud of.”

“I thank you, sir, and good-night, for I must go, as mother is not well, and my long stay will worry her.”

He bowed low, seeming not to see that all wished to shake hands with him, and left the cabin, General Peyton following, and calling out:

“Captain, lower away a boat, and land our young pilot.”

“Oh, sir, there’s no need of that, for I am all wet anyhow, and it’s a short swim ashore.” And before a hand could stay him the young pilot sprang upon the rail of the yacht and leaped head first into the dark waters of the little bay.

The startled cry of General Peyton at the youth’s bold act brought Commodore Lucien, the Secretary, and others upon the deck in some alarm.

“That fearless lad has leaped overboard and is swimming ashore, Mr. Secretary,” he explained.

“Ahoy! ahoy! my lad!” shouted Commodore Lucien.

“Ay, ay, sir!” came back in the clear voice of the young pilot.

“Hail us when you reach shore, so we may know that you are all right!” called the commodore.

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“That boy is all right, Peyton, so there is no need of sending a boat after him,” the commodore said.

“He’s half fish,” growled the captain of the yacht.

Then all waited breathlessly, and soon came a faint hail:

“Ahoy! the yacht!”

“Ay, ay!” answered Commodore Lucien.

“I’ve landed,” and the words were greeted with a cheer from all on the deck of the Midshipman.

CHAPTER X.
UNFATHOMED.

“My God! can my son have gone out in the face of this terrible storm? It is the worst I have known upon the coast for years,” and Mrs. Merrill pressed her face against the window-glass, striving in vain to pierce the blackness without.

No longer confined to her bed by illness, it could now be seen that she was a handsome woman, hardly more than thirty-five, and with the indelible stamp of refinement upon her.

Her face wore a sad look, and no flush warmed the marble-like complexion.

Her eyes were large and dreamy, seeming to be looking backward into a past clouded with bitter memory rather than lighted with hope for the future.

She was dressed in a close-fitting robe of mourning, and a miniature breastpin, and band of gold upon her wedding-finger were the only things that relieved the severe plainness of her appearance.

Old Peggy, a woman who had lived here fifty years, but was strong and active, sat in a chair before a blazing pine knot, and in answer to the remark of Mrs. Merrill, chimed in, like Job’s comforter, with:

“Well, it would be just like him; but never you fear for him, miss, for he’s not born to be drowned, that boy isn’t, and sometimes I almost fear he’s born to be hanged, he does escape the dangers of the sea so constant.”

“Oh, Peggy, don’t speak so, for you fairly frighten me,” and the slender, graceful form thrilled at the thought.

“Well, Miss Gladys, he’s not one to be hanged, either. He’s a boy who can take care of himself, come what may, for you remember what the doctor told you, how he went for rich Merchant Clemmons’ son and Ben Birney?”

“Yes, Mark will not be imposed on, gentle as is his nature; but I only wish I knew where he was.”

“So do I, miss, for the supper is getting cold waiting for him.”

“Well, I’m hungry enough to eat it, if it’s cold as ice,” said a cheery voice from the next room, and in came Mark, dripping wet.

“Oh, Mark, where have you been? I——”

“Don’t touch me, mother, for I am as wet as a drowned rat, for I’ve been overboard.”

“Ah! you were capsized?”

“Not a bit of it, mother, I’ve been swimming.”

“Where are your shoes and hat, Mark?”

“I’ll tell you all about it, mother, as soon as I have slipped into some dry togs,” and the lad hastened away to his own room.

But he was back again by the time Peggy had supper upon the table, and the three sat down to eat, for, though a servant, the old woman was a tried and trusted friend, one who had been Mark’s nurse in babyhood.

His adventure had given the youth an appetite, and his mother knew there was no hope of hearing what he had to tell until he had eaten off the edge of his hunger, so she wisely heaped his plate with edibles, and enjoyed seeing them disappear.

At last he said:

“Mother, there’s a yacht in our bay.”

“A yacht, Mark?”

“Yes, and a beauty. She’s the largest pleasure craft I ever saw.”

“But how did she get there, my son?”

“I played pilot, mother, and ran her in, and just in time, too.”

“Those on board were indeed fortunate in finding so good a pilot near at hand, Mark; but tell me of it, for this is an ugly night for such work.”

Mark told his story in his modest way, taking no credit to himself, and then added:

“Now they wanted to make a hero of me, mother, and pay me for my services, offering me a purse, and it was a well-filled one, too.”

“Which you, of course, refused?” quickly said the mother.

“Oh, of course he did, for he’d refuse money if he hadn’t two coppers to jingle together in his pocket,” growled Peggy.

“I refused it, mother, but I am to get a reward.”

“Ah, Mark, what have you done?”

“Well, you see the yacht belonged to General Peyton, a millionaire merchant of Boston, and he had as guests on board some ladies, the Secretary of the Navy, and Commodore Lucien, of whom I have often read, you know.”

“Distinguished company, indeed!” said Mrs. Merrill.

“And rich enough to spare a few thousands and not miss ’em,” Peggy ventured, with an eye to the fact that the laborer was worthy of his hire.

“I got, or will get, what to me, Peggy, is worth far more than thousands, for the Secretary promises me a cadetship in the navy,” and Mark’s eyes flashed with pride, while his mother kissed him, and murmured

“My brave, noble boy! at last! at last the clouds have a silver lining.”

The next evening, true to their promise, the guests of the yacht landed and strolled up to the mansion.

They gazed about them with interest, and Commodore Lucien remembered having heard something of the tragic history of “Spook Hall,” and told it to those with him.

Mark joined them, and this time each one grasped his hand.

He was dressed in his best sailor suit, for he wore nothing else at any time, and looked very handsome.

The grand parlor of the old mansion had been thrown open, and they were received there by Mrs. Merrill in a dignified manner.

But there was that about her face which prevented obtrusive questioning, and after half an hour all arose to go, impressed with the idea that some mystery hung about the Merrills which they were not willing to attempt to fathom.

The Secretary renewed his promise to Mark, and the lad volunteered his services to pilot the yacht out to sea, which he did, returning in his surf-skiff, which had been tossing astern.

The skipper of the Midshipman dipped his colors to the lad as he sped away, while the crew gave him a send-off in three rousing cheers.

CHAPTER XI.
THE PROMISE KEPT.

It seemed news too good to be true to Mrs. Merrill to feel that her son was going to have the advantages of a naval education.

He had enjoyed several years of schooling before they had moved to their coast home, and all else he knew she had taught him.

Fortunately for the lonely woman, who possessed a superior education, the library at Cliff Castle was well stocked with books, and from these had Mark been taught by her.

There were maps, histories and all that he could wish, while the postmasters to whom he delivered mails were wont to give him each week papers which they had read and finished with, for though late in coming, it was all news to the lad, his mother, and old Peggy.

In fact, for the latter’s benefit, Mark had to read even the advertisements in the papers.

Some weeks after the departure of the yacht, Mark sailed up to B—— on business he had in view.

He had an idea of selling the vessel he had picked up, abandoned at sea, and fitting himself out for the naval school with part, leaving the balance for his mother’s use.

He decided to place the matter before good Judge Miller, as to his claim to the craft, and, perhaps, to consult Dr. Stone, who had seemed most friendly disposed to him.

He was skimming swiftly along in his surf-skiff when he beheld a small sailboat coming toward him.

There were two persons in it, and it did not take Mark long to recognize in one of them pretty Virgene Rich, and she held the tiller.

The other was a half-witted youth who hung about the dock, making odd pennies as best he could, and whom Mark had once rescued from a crowd of boys who were persecuting him, thus winning the undying friendship of poor Silly Sam, as he was called.

As a proof that they wished to speak to him, instead of standing away upon a tack when discovering his boat, Virgene brought her boat to and lay in the course of the surf-skiff.

“Ahoy, Master Mark, and come alongside, for Miss Virgie wishes to speak to you,” called out Silly Sam.

Mark obeyed promptly, doffing his tarpaulin respectfully with one hand, while with the other he jammed his tiller down and brought the surf-skiff alongside so easily that the blow would not have crushed an egg.

“I am glad to see you, Miss Virgene, for I intended stopping at the tavern to thank you for your great kindness to me the other day when I got into trouble. Hello, Sam, how are you?”

“I’m O. K., Master Mark, and I only wish I’d a been ’round ’tother day to punish them fellers for you,” answered Sam.

“Master Mark seemed fully capable of taking care of himself, Sam,” answered Virgene with a smile, and then she continued:

“Are you not expecting a letter of importance, Master Mark?”

“No, miss, no one writes to me.”

“Strange, for I have two for you—for, you know, father is postmaster at B——, and I help him with the mails, and these arrived some days ago, so I determined to take them to you, as Sam offered to sail me there.’

“I’m sorry I started from home, miss, for my mother would like to thank you for your kindness to me; but I am obliged for the letters—ah! I know what they are now,” and the lad’s face flushed as he beheld a large official envelope bearing the stamp upon it:

“Navy Department.”

The other was a smaller letter, and had a flag in one corner.

“I gave B—— as my address, Miss Virgene, and I’ll tell you a secret, if you and Sam will keep it.”

“A girl never tells a secret,” said Virgene archly, while Sam responded:

“Ef I telled what I know’d there would be a hundred fights up in town; but I keeps my mouth shet, I does.”

“Well, I’ll tell you that this is an order for me to report for examination at the United States Naval Academy, to be examined for an appointment to a cadetship in the navy,” said Mark, with pardonable pride, as he handed over his orders to Virgene.

There was a note enclosed, which read:

“My Young Friend: I hereby redeem my promise and forward the necessary papers for your cadetship. I shall regard you as my protégé, and watch your career with the greatest of interest, for I have no doubt of your ability to go through.

“If you need aid—a loan, consider it, for you are self-confessedly poor—do not hesitate to call upon me, as I shall be more than pleased to respond. You can repay it at your leisure.

“Yours faithfully,
The Secretary.”

The other letter bore the flag of Commodore Lucien upon envelope and paper head, and was as follows:

“My Dear Young Friend: I saw the Secretary to-day, and he told me the President was pleased to appoint you to a cadetship-at-large, and that your papers would be forwarded immediately.

“I congratulate you with all my heart, and as there will be some necessary expenses falling upon you, I send herewith my check for one hundred dollars, which please consider a loan until convenient for you to repay it. I also take the liberty of ordering your kit, containing your outfit complete, for I have no idea of your failing to pass, and the amount I expend you can also return at your convenience. Present my compliments to your good mother, and regard me ever as

“Your friend,
David Lucien.”

“Will you let me sail back in your boat, Miss Virgene, and tow my own?” asked Mark, when he had read the letters; and promptly came the answer:

“Yes, indeed, and I’m glad to have you.”

So the prow of the sailboat was pointed back for B——.

CHAPTER XII.
A PLOT THAT FAILED.

Secrets often leak out of a country post office, just how no one knows, but still they do, and when Mark called upon Judge Miller after arriving in B——, and escorting Virgene home, that gentleman said:

“Well, my young friend, I suppose I am to congratulate you upon receiving an appointment to the naval school, and I am glad of it.”

Mark stood aghast, and the judge continued:

“Mr. Clemmons told me his son Scott had received an appointment, and that a like official looking document had come through the mails for you, and he supposed it was also a cadet midshipman’s berth in our navy, though he wondered how you had obtained, without influence, what he had found no easy task to secure for his son.”

“Yes, sir, I have orders to report for examination, but I wished to keep it secret, for I may fail, you know, sir.”

“Not you; but I suppose you won yours from having saved a schooner from being wrecked some half a year ago, and which made quite a hero of you, I remember.”

Mark saw that the judge was on the wrong track, so he did not correct him as to how he had gotten his appointment.

“Well, Mark, you came to see me for some purpose, so out with it,” said the judge.

Mark told of his seeing the little schooner adrift at sea, and going out in his boat had found her abandoned, so sailed her into port.

He had taken from his meager savings enough to advertise her in Boston, Portland and New York, but no claimant had come, and so he wished to know if the vessel belonged to him.

“You have a claim upon her, Mark, and can get salvage, should her owner turn up; but there is just such a craft needed, or will be within a couple of months, for running around the islands with parties, and my advice to you is to secure a skipper and a couple of men and let them run the trips for you, for it will bring in a snug income to your mother, while, should her owner appear, you have the vessel to give up to him upon the payment of salvage. Now, what do you think of my advice, Mark?”

“I thank you for it, sir, and shall take it.”

“And your skipper can report to me, if you wish, while you must tell your mother to come to me, if I can in any way serve her, for I suppose she will move up to B—— when you go?”

“No, sir, my mother will remain at Cliff Castle.”

“What, alone?”

“No, sir, she has old Peggy.”

“It is a dreary, weird place to dwell, Mark.”

“She likes it, and she prefers to remain, for we have talked it over,” answered Mark.

Soon after making a few purchases for home, he went on his way to his boat just as the sun was setting.

As he passed the tavern, Virgene Rich called to him, and said:

“Mark, I have just learned that Scott Clemmons has also an appointment to the naval academy. You must beware of him, Mark, for he is your bitter foe now, and mine, too, since I testified against him.”

“He is not dangerous, Miss Virgene,” replied Mark indifferently.

“You mistake; for all snakes are dangerous, as they strike from cover. I will see you before you go, will I not?”

“Yes, miss, and I hope you will ride down to see my mother, as you promised.”

“I certainly shall,” was the answer, as Mark walked on.

At his boat stood Silly Sam, who said:

“See here, Mister Mark, I hain’t no bullfrog to croak, but I seen a gang o’ fellers sail downstream an hour ago who hain’t no friends o’ your’n.”

“Thank you, Sam, but it’s catching before hanging, you know.” And with a light laugh Mark sprung into his skiff and sped away just as twilight fell.

He had to beat down the inlet, and as he stood over toward a point of land in the darkness, running on the port tack with the wind blowing fresh, his little craft suddenly gave a lurch and the next instant went over, throwing him into the water.

As he rose he heard the sound of oars, and in the darkness saw a large boat rowing toward him, while he heard voices say:

“That rope settled him, as you said it would.”

“Yes, and we laid it just right; but do you see his boat?”

“Yes, there she lies upset, and she’ll drive out to sea with him on her, so that ends him.”

“But he is not on the boat.”

“Then he has drowned, for Silly Sam said he could not swim a stroke.”

“Let us take up the net.”

“Oh, no, leave it down, for his boat seems caught in it, and that will tell the whole story.”

The boat, a large fishing yawl with sails down, was rowed up to the capsized skiff, and every eye was turned over the dark waters, while several hailed to see if a swimmer was near.

The surf-skiff was caught in the net, which had been stretched to accomplish just what it had done, and, confident that their victim had perished, sail was set on the fishing yawl and it sailed away toward the town.

Then from out of the shadows swam Mark Merrill, and going to his upturned boat he removed the slender mast, righted the skiff, clambered in, and with his hat threw the water out.

Then the mast was stepped once more, the wet sail spread, and the surf-skiff held on her way homeward, while Mark mused aloud:

“I know two of the three who were in that boat; but I’ll not tell on them—oh, no! I’ll just keep my secret for future reference.”

CHAPTER XIII.
STUMBLING BLOCKS.

From a hint given him by Commodore Lucien, Mark had devoted himself to certain studies, so that there should be no chance of his failure to enter the academy through ignorance.

His mother had helped him greatly, and in her mind there was no doubt of his passing the examinations, both physical and mental, severe though they might be.

As he had told Judge Miller, his mother had decided to remain at Castle Cliff with old Peggy.

They had talked it all over, and as, for some reason, Mrs. Merrill wished to shun the world, to live the life almost of a recluse, they had all agreed that it was best for her to remain where she was, and Peggy was equally as content with the arrangement.

When Mark returned from his visit to B——, which, but for his being a splendid swimmer, would have been fatal to him, he did not tell his mother of the plot he knew had been concocted to put an end to his life.

He simply told her that he had run upon a fishing net where he had never expected to find one, and going very rapidly, with a fresh breeze blowing, the surf-skiff had capsized, throwing him and his purchases out. His papers were all wet, but Peggy quickly dried them.

“But about this check, Mark, which Commodore Lucien so kindly sent you?” asked his mother.

“I answered the letter at once, mother, returning the check, and accepting the outfit, for which I shall pay him at some future day.”

“That was right, my son.”

“Mother, I went to see Judge Miller about the schooner, and he made a suggestion which I think it would be well to follow. You know Jasper Crane has no smack now, and is in hard luck, while he and his two sons are the best seamen on the coast, so we can put them on the schooner, as a crew, the old gentleman being skipper. As it will also cost considerable for me to reach the Naval School, I can make a cargo of the raft that came ashore and run it to Norfolk, thence going up the Chesapeake to the Naval Academy, while Captain Jasper Crane brings the schooner back and follows the advice of Judge Miller about putting her on as a packet among the islands.

“He is very kind, my son, and I believe the plan is a good one, as well as yours to run the lumber to Norfolk, only you must give yourself ample time, so we will begin preparations to-morrow.”

This was done, for Mark sailed down the coast to the home of Captain Jasper Crane, who dwelt near where the Merrills had first lived when coming to the coast, and the old sailor and his sons were delighted with a prospect of getting work to their liking.

Two weeks after the Venture, for such was the name of the derelict schooner, set sail for Norfolk, Captain Crane declaring that he would serve as first mate while Mark was on board.

The run south was made in good time, and the lumber brought sufficient to pay the crew liberally and return to Mrs. Merrill several hundred dollars, while Mark took sufficient for his own needs, and enough to pay his debt to Commodore Lucien.

The rush of the Venture up the Severn River in a gale, with Mark at the helm, whose masterly work won the admiration of the middies, and we will now follow the young sailor into the new world he had entered.

Mark had politely given his name to the cadets, and asked the question as to how he would find the commandant, expecting a civil response.

But here was a novelty for the fun-loving cadets.

Against all custom a new man had arrived in his own craft by sea.

He had given them ocular demonstration that he was not a greenhorn on the deck of a vessel, whatever he might be in other things.

He came dressed as gorgeously as Ralph Rackstraw of H. M. S. Pinafore, and he had not been abashed in the presence of their marine highnesses.

This was all wrong, very wrong, in their eyes.

What right had a new man to know the stem from the stern, the forecastle from the quarter-deck of a vessel, when entering the academy?

He came there to find out, to be taught, and he must start on even terms with all other verdant youths.

He attacked the academy from the sea, boarded, as it were, the sacred grounds over their marine stone bulwarks, giving the sentry at the gate the go-by, ignoring the existence of the officer of the day, and, confronting them with a natty tarpaulin set upon the side of his head, with spotless duck trousers, a sailor shirt with embroidered collar, and a sash about his slender waist, had coolly said that his name was Mark Merrill, and he wished to be directed to the quarters of the commandant.

This was too much for Winslow Dillingham, who took it upon himself to play the part of “Smart Aleck,” and he looked the stranger over with a cool, insolent stare, and said, in a drawling way:

“Beg pardon, but you said your name was Jack Hayseed, I believe?”

“I said that my name was Mark Merrill, and asked to be directed to the quarters of the commandant,” and Mark kept his temper admirably.

“Well, Mr. Pork Barrell, for such, I believe you said your name was, I will answer for the commandant that he wants no fish to-day.”

“Ah! then you are the commandant’s cook, so should know; but as I never argue with servants, I’ll seek your master.”

And Mark Merrill started on his way, when with a bound Winslow Dillingham confronted him, his face livid with rage.

CHAPTER XIV.
FACING THE MUSIC.

The quick retort made by Mark Merrill to Winslow Dillingham’s insulting words brought a general laugh, for the cadets were quick to appreciate wit and sarcasm, even if directed at one of their number.

Cadet Dillingham had offered the insult gratuitously, and he had gotten a reply that offended him deeply.

The laugh of his comrades angered him the more, and stung by the words of the stranger and their enjoying them, he lost all control of himself, and sprang before Mark Merrill in a threatening attitude.

Mark had not advanced a step since landing.

He stood upon the wall where he had stopped upon ascending from his boat, and he simply paused to ask a polite question, and received an insulting response.

The first insult he had accepted in silence, but the second one he had been stung to reply to.

He saw at once that he would have to fight his way—that whatever the “future admirals” might be considered by outsiders, they were merciless to a stranger who came into their midst.

Quickly over the crowd he had run his eyes, and he discerned with intuition that his retort had put him in favor with some of those who were lovers of fair play.

He had turned the laugh upon Midshipman Dillingham, and he was satisfied and content to drop all ill-feeling.

But not so with the irate cadet.

His own attempt at smartness had gotten him worsted thus far, and he must turn the laugh to protect himself from his own comrades.

He knew well the position he held, that many stood in awe of him on account of his brute strength and admitted courage.

Now he was angry, and he intended to resent physically what he felt he could not do in a war of words.

So he squared himself before Mark Merrill, and hissed forth, while his eyes blazed with anger:

“Retract your insulting words, sir, or I shall chastise you right here!”

“Do you mean it, mate?” Mark asked, in an innocent way.

The crowd smiled audibly at this, and Winslow Dillingham grew whiter with fury, while he savagely said:

“Yes, I do mean it. Ask my pardon, or take the consequences, sir!”

“What are the consequences?”

“A thrashing.”

“Well, I don’t wish to be whipped, so if you retract your insult to me, I’ll ask pardon for what I said.”

“I retract nothing.”

“And you will insist upon thrashing me?”

“Yes.”

“What with?”

This was too much for Cadet Dillingham, and he aimed a savage blow at Mark’s face.

It was cleverly caught, and quicker than a flash Mark Merrill had seized the cadet in his arms and hurled him into the water with the words:

“You are too hot to argue with, so cool off!”

With a splash Cadet Dillingham went beneath the surface, when the cry arose:

“He cannot swim a stroke,” and the laughter on every lip was checked.

“Is that so that he cannot swim? Then I’ll haul him out as I threw him in.” And with a bound Mark Merrill went over the sea-wall and seized the drowning youth in his strong arms, while he struck out for a landing, with the words:

“All right, mate, the ducking has cooled off the temper of both of us.”

Winslow Dillingham made no reply then; but as he was hauled out by Herbert Nazro, a dark-faced, handsome fellow of the first class, he said, as he turned to Mark Merrill:

“I humbly ask your pardon, my friend, and will escort you to the commandant and report my own rude behavior and its just punishment.”

“I thought there was manhood in you, mate, but there is no need of reporting anything. I have a dry suit aboard my craft, and will soon rig up and return ashore, when maybe some of these gentlemen will show me my course.”

“We’ll march you there in force, sir, for somehow you’ve caught on in great shape with us baby tars,” said a cadet, stepping forward and offering his hand, while he added:

“My name is Herbert Nazro, a first-class man.”

“And here’s my hand, sir, as a friend,” said Cadet Captain Byrd Bascomb.

“Don’t overlook my extended grip,” cried Cadet Sergeant Neil Carrol.

And so it went on until Cadet Lieutenant Frank Latrobe seemed to be suddenly inspired with a thought for he asked, eagerly:

“I say, my friend, are you not the youth who was appointed by the President?”

“I was appointed at large, sir, yes.”

“And it was for services rendered, was it not?”

“It was from the kindness of the Secretary of the Navy and Commodore Lucien, rather.”

“You are the man we have been told of. Go aboard your flagship, put on your dry togs, and we’ll march you to the commandant at a quick step.”

The cadets showed that this advice chimed in with their humor, and springing into his boat, Mark sent it flying back toward the schooner, while the dripping Dillingham was surrounded by a squad of friends, to hide his condition, and marched off to his room to also get on dry clothes.

“Keep him there, Nazro, until I can get ready, for I wish to be in the procession,” said Winslow Dillingham, as he dove into his room to change his clothes, glad to escape the argus-eyed officers about the buildings and grounds.

CHAPTER XV.
BOARDING THE VENTURE.

To Mark Merrill his salt-water bath with his clothes on was nothing to speak of. He had lived so much in his skiff, been overboard so often that he thought nothing of it, though he did regret losing his temper with Winslow Dillingham, who had shown himself such a good fellow after all.

Of course he did not suppose that he would have drowned, for there were too many manly fellows upon the wall who could swim to allow that.

But, having placed his life in jeopardy himself, he was the one to prevent any fatality therefrom.

The idea that the youth could not swim had never entered his mind, for swimming like a fish himself and never remembering when he could not do so, he supposed it was the most ordinary accomplishment, and, as he had said, he merely wished to cool the temper of the one who had set upon him as a butt to be made fun of.

“What’s the trouble ashore, my lad?” asked Captain Jasper Crane, who was about to launch the schooner’s yawl to come to the shore when he saw Mark returning.

“Oh! nothing to speak of, sir, only I had to stop some funny business one of the boys played on me, and finding he could not swim I leaped in after him.”

“Just like you, Master Mark, just like you,” said Captain Crane, following the youth into the cabin.

“And I tells yer, lad, you’ll find more hard knocks to put up with among them brass-buttoned gentry ashore than you’d get as a foremast hand on a merchant craft.

“My advice to yer would have been to stick to your little craft here and make money; but then you is high-minded and I knows it’s in yer to make a name for yerself, if yer sets about it, only the course are a rough one to sail. Maybe me and one o’ the boys better go ashore with yer next time, for we is some handy with our flukes when we is run afoul of.”

Mark laughed heartily, for it came into his mind how he had seen the skipper and his sons run afoul of, as he expressed it, one day in Portland, by a gang of roughs, and had a fair demonstration of how “handy they were with their flukes.”

To see him go ashore under an escort amused him greatly, as he pictured the cadet-midshipman being knocked about by the trio of salts from the Kennebec.

But he thanked the captain for his offer, and went on with his toilet. Meanwhile the skipper was called upon deck.

A boat had come alongside with a middy in command, sent from the man-of-war, to have the skipper of the strange schooner give an account of his seeking an anchorage where he had.

Having heard of the trouble Mark had met with ashore, Captain Crane gazed upon the spry young middy with no friendly eye.

“Are you the sailing-master of this craft?” asked the midshipman pompously.

“I am the mate, very much at your service, young officer.”

“Where is the master?”

“The capting is down in his cabing; but if you wish to see him I’ll send yer keerd, and maybe he’ll see yer, maybe he won’t.”

The face of the youth flushed at this, and he asked sternly:

“Is this a yacht on a pleasure cruise, my man?”

“Now, see here, my boy, I hain’t your man. I’m my old woman’s man, and nobody else has a claim on me, for I am o’ age.”

“Answer my question, sir.”

“Yes, it are a yacht on a cruise, but leetle pleasure I’m thinking it will bring her capting by coming into this port.”

“I wish the name of your vessel, her owner, and why she is here.”

“I suppose ef I don’t tell yer, you’ll tarn yer big guns on the craft; but as I said, I am only the mate, and the captain will be on deck in a minute, for he is down below changing his clothes, having just thrown a young admiral in the drink, and then had to jump in and pull him out to keep him from drowning, so you better be uncommonly polite to him, as the water are handy and real wet, too.”

The midshipman felt that he was being made fun of.

He saw the smiles on the lee side of the faces of his boat’s crew, and he knew that they saw that he was getting worsted.

His orders were simply to board the schooner and ascertain her name and business in the anchorage she had chosen.

That was all.

Much breath had been consumed thus far in conversation, and he had discovered nothing.

He was getting angry, and yet it came to him that disciplining himself was one of the first things taught at the Naval School.

If he could not command himself, he certainly could not expect to command men.

He saw that he had struck a rough old hulk, one that could be towed, but not rowed, and he decided to change his manner of attack by demanding to see the owner or captain of the vessel.

CHAPTER XVI.
UNDER CONVOY.

Just then out of the cabin came Mark Merrill, dressed as before, in a very natty sailor costume.

He had heard all that had passed, and suppressing a smile, politely saluted the midshipman, for he certainly wished no more trouble upon his début as one of Uncle Sam’s middies.

“There’s the capting now, Officer Buttons,” growled Skipper Jasper Crane to the midshipman, pointing toward Mark Merrill, as he stepped on deck.

“That!” exclaimed the middy, as he beheld a lad not as old as himself, rigged up in a dandy style.

“Yes, that, and he’s more of a sailor to-day than half your men-o’-war trained jim-cranks,” and turning to Mark, the old skipper continued:

“Capting Merrill, this is a young gent from the big gun craft yonder who sprung his catechism on me until I got weary, so I tarns him over to you.”

“How can I serve you, sir?” asked Mark, with extreme politeness.

“Do you own this schooner, sir?” asked the middy, somewhat amazed at finding so youthful a skipper.

“I may say that I do, sir.”

“You are her captain?”

“At present, yes, sir, Mark Merrill, at your service; but I expect to relinquish my vessel to good Captain Crane here within an hour or so.”

“May I ask why you sought an anchorage here in the Naval Academy harborage?”

“I am a stranger, sir, in this port, but came under orders to report as a cadet midshipman, so ran my vessel here to anchor. I trust I have broken no law, sir?”

The polite manner of Mark, his pleasant smile, quite disarmed the young officer, while he was surprised at his words that told he had come under orders as an appointee to the academy.

“No, sir, you have broken no set law, only it is uncommon for other than government vessels to run in here. But I shall report who you are and the reason of your coming.”

“Permit me also to say, sir, that my schooner will put to sea to-night, so that she will remain here but a couple of hours at the farthest.”

The midshipman bowed, then did the manly thing, for he extended his hand and said:

“Allow me to welcome you to the academy, Mr. Merrill, and hope that you will pass the ordeal of entrance with flying colors. My name is Ernest Rich.”

The name recalled the sweet face of Virgene Rich to Mark, and he grasped the extended hand with real warmth, while he said:

“I thank you for your kind wishes, Mr. Rich.”

Then he escorted the midshipman to his boat, told him he was just going ashore to report, and soon after the gig of the vessel of war pulled away he went over the side into his surf-skiff.

“Don’t yer think we’d better go ashore with yer, Master Mark?” asked Captain Crane dubiously.

“No, indeed, thank you.”

“These young fellers all seems practicing to scare ordinary folks; but, Lord love ’em, they is a clever lot o’ young sea cubs arter all, and in war times they can outfight a shark.”

Leaving good skipper Crane moralizing upon cadet midshipmen in general, Mark let fall his oars and sent his skiff shoreward.

It was an off-duty time at the academy, and the cadets were there whom he had left, with more who had been summoned to swell the procession. It had leaked out just who Mark Merrill was, for Commodore Lucien had been on a visit to the commandant, and had told of the pluck of the boy pilot of Hopeless Haven.

Then, too, the Secretary of the Navy had written a personal letter to the commandant, so of course it went the rounds that the “new man from Maine was a hero.”

Having made the discovery, Cadet Captain Byrd Bascomb and his clique meant to give the sailor lad a welcome, especially as they had found in him one who was a square good fellow.

When Mark landed he was somewhat nonplussed at the intention of the cadets to honor him.

They welcomed him with a hurrah, and Winslow Dillingham was on hand, as he expressed it:

“As dry as a ship on the ways.”

He offered his hand cordially, and said:

“We are quits now, aren’t we?”

“Do not speak of it,” was the ready reply, and as he could not help himself Mark’s arm was locked in that of Cadet Captain Byrd Bascomb, who gave the command as he took the head of the column:

“Column forward! march!”

Up to the commandant’s quarters they marched, a line was formed, and the “great mogul,” as the lads facetiously called their chief, supposed when he saw them that they had some grievance to complain of.

When the commandant appeared the cadets saluted, and waited for him to speak, Mark meanwhile, his face flushed with embarrassment, standing by the side of Byrd Bascomb and inwardly regretting that he had ever decided to come to the Naval Academy.

“Don’t skedaddle at the first sight of the enemy,” whispered Cadet Captain Byrd Bascomb, realizing how Mark Merrill felt at such an introduction to the commandant of the academy.

Under this advice Mark braced up, while the commandant asked in his pleasant way:

“Well, Cadet Captain Bascomb, may I ask why I am honored with this visit?”

This appealed to the young cadet officer, who prided himself upon his speech-making, and was always glad to get a chance to display his oratory, saluted, and responded:

“We are here, most respected commander, to present to you one who boarded the academy grounds by way of the harbor and over the sea wall.

“He asked the way to your quarters, and discovering in him the young hero who won his appointment to the service, which is more than any of us were guilty of, we came as a convoy to conduct him to your presence, and I beg to introduce Mr. Mark Merrill.”

“‘We come as a convoy to conduct him to your presence, and I beg to introduce him as Mr. Mark Merrill.’” (See page 69.)

CHAPTER XVII.
JACK JUDSON’S MEMORY.

When the little schooner Venture was seen driving up the bay and into the Severn River, the cadet midshipmen ashore were not the only interested watchers of her progress.

She had swept around the bluff, where now stands the popular resort known as Bay Ridge, in a manner that at once attracted every sailor’s eye who saw her.

The little fleet of stanch craft that found a safe harbor in Annapolis, were anchored snugly in a sheltered nook, all ship-shape to ride out the gale.

Each vessel had its crew on board in case there should be dragging of anchors, and they were compelled to get up sail, which all devoutly hoped would not be the case.

Then ashore there was an interested crowd on the oyster docks gazing with admiration upon the beautiful craft driven along like the very wind, carrying an amount of canvas which appeared foolhardy in the extreme.

Over at the fort, on the opposite side of the river, were groups of soldiers also observing the schooner’s rush up the harbor, and officers were braving the fierce wind to have a look at her.

The reviewing ship, and training ship for the middies, also had their quota of observers, while upon the stately vessel of war anchored in the stream the large crew were riveting their gaze upon the Venture, while the tars were commenting upon the manner in which she was being handled in a manner most complimentary to the helmsman, though with a belief that they would see him come to grief before he reached an anchorage.

Upon the quarter-deck of the vessel-of-war her officers were chatting over the flying craft, and various criticisms were made as to the skill and recklessness of the helmsman.

They, of course, had their own ideas as to what was good seamanship, and expressed them accordingly.

But it is forward, among the men, the bone and sinew, the human machinery of the navy, that I will ask my reader to accompany me.

Among a group of over a score of sailors leaning over the port bulwarks forward was one who was gazing with more than usual interest upon the schooner.

“Mates, I have seen that craft before,” he said decidedly, making a glass of his two hands to look through.

“When, coxswain, and whar?” asked an old salt, with gray hair and a complexion like the hide of an elephant.

“It was when I was on leave some months ago and took a run in my brother’s schooner that trades on the coast of Maine.

“I saw that craft, I am dead certain, come into the port of B——, and she came then in a living gale, and had only two men and a boy on board of her.

“The boy was at the helm, and ran her up to the dock in great shape.

“I was told that he carried the mail between some of the ports on the coast, and generally went in a surf-skiff in any kind of weather, but sometimes came up to the town with a load of fish, which he had that day.

“Several days after he came up to town in his surf-skiff and I made his acquaintance, and if that’s his craft then he’s the one as has the tiller.

“I’ll get my glass and take an observation,” and Coxswain Jack Judson went below, but immediately returned with a very handsome glass, which had been presented to him by his brother of the trading schooner.

He took a steady look, and said decidedly:

“Mates, that’s the craft, for a month’s pay it is, and it’s the boy at the helm for another!”

“Waal, what is he doin’ in these waters, coxswain?” asked a seaman.

“I don’t know, but did you ever see a craft better handled?” All admitted that they never had, while an old sailor growled forth:

“He’s trying to show off, and he’ll carry his sticks out of the craft yet before he can drop anchor. These young sailors is allus fools.”

“No, he won’t hurt her, and he isn’t any fool, either, for he knows the craft and what she’ll do when he puts her to it.

“I don’t think he’s trying to show off, for that isn’t like him, only he’s running under what sail he had up when the gale struck him.

“You see now there are four men aboard, counting the boy as a man.

“Every rope is where it belongs, the crew are at their posts and they are not at all uneasy, from their looks, while there is a gray-head among ’em.

“They all seem to be enjoying the run, looking at the scenery and unmindful that they have got everybody watching them.

“Mates, I’ll tell you a story of that lad, for I know him now without looking through my glass.

“His name is Mark Merrill, and I saw him stand to fight a gang of five young roughs who set upon him,” and Jack Judson told the story of how Scott Clemmons and Ben Birney had smashed the toy ship which Mark Merrill had taken up to sell in B——, to get money to pay the doctor for going to see his mother.

As he was talking the schooner swept by in splendid style, winning a murmur of admiration from all on board the vessel of war, and when she came to an anchorage Jack Judson said with enthusiasm:

“He’s let go his mudhooks, and didn’t carry a stick or inch of canvas away, either.

“Yes, he’s my lad, and I’m going to ask leave to go and see him, too.”

CHAPTER XVIII.
STRANGELY MET.

When Mark Merrill was presented to the commandant of the Naval Academy he felt deeply embarrassed at the publicity which had been given to his arrival.

He had sailed up to the academy from Norfolk to save money on the railroads, and then he saw that Shipper Crane and his sons had a lurking desire to see where he was going to anchor for the next few years, while cramming his head with all the cargo of learning necessary to make a skilled naval officer.

And Mark had been anxious to have the skipper tell his mother when he returned that he had left him at his destination, and what he thought of his future home.

He certainly had not intended to attract attention by his arrival, but greatness had been forced upon him by a combination of circumstances which he could not avoid.

Although when the commandant had entered the navy, back in the “Forties,” there had been no naval school, except aboard ship, he had been a middy, and was well aware that they had not changed much since those days.

He understood that Cadet Captain Bascomb and his mates had in some way gotten wind of the coming of Mark Merrill, and had at once seized upon him as a hero, the fact of his saving the yacht Midshipman having leaked out.

There were a number of officers at headquarters, and they, as well as the commandant, looked on with interest at the introduction of the newly appointed lad.

Mark, though his face was flushed with embarrassment, had doffed his tarpaulin and stepped forward toward the commandant, and said:

“I am ordered to report to you, sir, but did not know that I was breaking any rule in coming as I did by water.”

“I am glad to meet you, Mr. Merrill, and to welcome you to the Naval Academy, while I do not know of any law against a cadet coming by water.” And the commandant smiled, while, turning to the cadets, he continued:

“You may leave Mr. Merrill in my charge now, Captain Bascomb, and I am glad that you gave him the welcome you did, as, from all accounts, he is deserving of it.”

The cadets saluted, and were marched off by their captain, while the commandant, in a kindly way, invited Mark into his quarters.

To his surprise Mark beheld in the room, standing by the window where he had seen all, no less a personage than Scott Clemmons.

The latter had just arrived, and reported to the commandant.

He was most fashionably attired, wore a spotless white silk tie around his standing collar, and held in his hand a high hat, presenting a perfect specimen of the youthful genus dude.

His face was pale, and his eyes had an angry look as he turned them furtively upon Mark.

“Here is also a young gentleman from your State; in fact, I believe you are neighbors, as you both hail from B——. Mr. Merrill, Mr. Clemmons,” said the commandant, introducing them.

Scott Clemmons, in a nervous way, half-stepped forward with extended hand, but Mark simply bowed, ignoring the hand, a fact which the keen eyes of the commandant took in, and rather set down against Mark, who said:

“Yes, sir, I have met Mr. Clemmons before.”

There was something in the tone and manner in which it was said that convinced the commandant that their meeting had not been a pleasant one, and Scott Clemmons remarked in a supercilious way:

“Yes, commandant, but this young man does not move in my circle at home, being only a fisher lad.”

The commandant almost gave a start, and his kindly face changed so suddenly to a look of sternness that even Scott Clemmons saw that he had made a mistake.

Had he not seen it, he was instantly made cognizant of the fact, for the commandant turned directly toward him, and said in a distinct way:

“Mr. Clemmons, I believe your father is a man of great wealth and comes of an aristocratic family, but you must distinctly learn at once that here, in this Naval School, neither politics, riches, nor family connections hold the slightest influence.

“There are no cliques; all who come here come as young gentlemen, and though many are from the lowest walks of life they must be gentlemen here.

“Mr. Merrill may have been a fisher lad, but I have it from the best of authority that he made an honest living and supported his mother, and he was appointed here for having nobly risked his life to save the lives of others.”

“I never heard of that, sir, and wondered how he got appointed,” blustered out the confused Clemmons.

“You never heard how he saved the yacht Midshipman from being wrecked, with the Secretary of the Navy and other distinguished gentlemen on board?” asked the commandant, with some surprise.

“No, sir, it was not known in our town.”

“Then, sir,” was the very decided answer, “Mr. Mark Merrill is as modest as he is brave, not to have told of his daring deed,” and he glanced at Mark, who replied with a quiet dig at Scott Clemmons:

“I move in no social circle, sir, so had no one to tell it to.”

The commandant turned his head away to hide a satisfied smile, while Scott Clemmons felt that he had made a sad mistake in his slur at Mark for being only a fisher lad.

CHAPTER XIX.
A THREAT.

Scott Clemmons was a remarkably politic young man for one of his years.

He had seen the gathering of the cadets, and recognized Mark Merrill in their midst, and it had made him envious and hateful.

One whom he hated was coming under flying colors, it seemed.

Wondering how Mark had gotten his appointment, and angry because he had done so, he saw that he was made a hero of from the start, or else why this popular demonstration in his favor.

“Of course he will never pass the examinations, for he is too ignorant for that,” he said to himself.

Then had the commandant re-entered with Mark Merrill, and the vain youth had sneered at the sailor-boy appearance of the lad, and thought what a far greater impression he would make in his fine clothes and polished manner.

It was in a pitying way he had referred to Mark’s being a fisher lad, and he meant to condescend to shake hands with him when introduced, but got the cut in this from the one he intended to patronize.

Seeing that he had made a mistake, from the commandant’s severe reproof, the cunning youth meant to atone from policy, to give his actions an air of manliness, so he quickly said:

“I really intended no slight, commandant, but something occurred once of an unpleasant nature between Merrill and myself, in which I am free to admit I was at fault, so I frankly offer my hand now in friendship, if he will accept it.”

The commandant seemed pleased at this, and glanced at Mark.

He was a splendid reader of human nature, could from his great experience tell the inner workings of the heart, which the face was striving to hide, and he saw that Mark Merrill had some bitter cause of quarrel against Scott Clemmons, deeper by far than the latter cared to admit or had implied. But the good nature of the young sailor triumphed, and he said:

“I will accept Mr. Clemmons’ hand in friendship, sir, if he means it in good faith.”

There was a world of meaning in the words: “If he means it in good faith.”

The eyes of Mark Merrill looked unflinchingly upon the face of Scott Clemmons, but he did not meet the gaze, and his face flushed painfully.

This that keen observer, the commandant, saw, and he read who had been the transgressor in the past.

“Now, Mr. Merrill, as Mr. Clemmons had just reported when you were convoyed into port, as Cadet Bascomb expressed it, I will hear what he was about to say to me and then give my attention to you.”

Mark bowed, while the commandant read a letter from Merchant Clemmons, whom he had once met, and he took the liberty of inclosing a liberal check for the use of his son—the same as he might have done had he been sending him to boarding-school.

“I shall return this check to your father, Clemmons, and explain the situation of a cadet here, after I have heard whether you pass the examinations or not, which are before you,” and the commandant seemed not over-pleased with Merchant Clemmons’ letter.

Then he turned to Mark, and continued:

“Mr. Merrill, I am glad to welcome one to the academy who comes as you do, and I only hope that you, as well as Mr. Clemmons here, may not find the physical and mental examination too great a stumbling-block for you to surmount.

“Commodore Lucien has spoken of you to me, and of what a devoted son you have been to your mother, and it is just such boys that make the greatest men.

“The surgeon and examining committee are now ready for you, and my orderly will conduct you to their quarters.

“I wish you success, young gentlemen,” and the commandant bowed the two youthful seekers after fame out, placing them under the guidance of an orderly.

Surgeon Du Bose received the appointees pleasantly, there being one other youth in his quarters just drawing on his coat after having learned the sad tidings that his chest expansion was below the average, and his general physical condition not such as to warrant his being accepted as a cadet.

The poor fellow cast an envious look at the fine forms of Mark Merrill and Scott Clemmons, and the latter gave him a pitying look of almost contempt, as though to wonder how he had dared anticipate being accepted. Then the usual formula was gone through with, Scott Clemmons being first examined, and his confident smile showed that he knew that he, at least, had “passed.”

Then came Mark’s turn, and as he stripped for the ordeal the surgeon gave a low whistle, a decided expression of admiration of the lad’s physique.

His name, age, height, weight, chest measure and expansion were all taken, his muscular developments noted, and the questions asked regarding having had any broken bones and other injuries of a harmful character. His bones were as straight as arrows, his eyesight was put to a crucial test and marked as “phenomenal,” and his health put down as perfect.

His pendulum of life, the heart, swung with the regularity of clockwork, and not a flaw was found in his teeth, which were white, even and firm.

A frown passed over the brow of Scott Clemmons as he noted the fact that Mark Merrill had stood the test better than he had, proud as he was of his fine form and handsome face.

“It is seldom, if ever, I meet a youth of your perfection of physique, Mr. Merrill,” said Surgeon Du Bose, in a complimentary way, and Scott Clemmons turned his head away to hide his plainly visible chagrin at the praise bestowed upon the young sailor.

Assured that they had passed the physical ordeal the two youths went to face the examining committee, who were to decide as to what they did or did not know.

“Here he will fail,” muttered Scott Clemmons, with malign hope that such would be the case.

Quickly they were put to the test, and when the hours of alternate hope and despair were over each knew that the other had passed, and Scott Clemmons fairly ground his teeth with rage, as he heard Lieutenant Briggs, one of the examiners, say in reference to Mark Merrill’s very fine penmanship:

“I saw you run your schooner in, Mr. Merrill, and you handle a pen as well as you do the tiller. I congratulate you that no barrier is now between you and your cadetship.”

“Curse him!” muttered Scott Clemmons. “He passed better than I did; but he shall yet be dismissed in disgrace—I swear it!”

CHAPTER XX.
THE MIDSHIPMAN.

Having passed both his physical examination and the one to discover how far he had progressed in “book learning,” Mark Merrill felt happy at the thought that there was no other barrier between him and his cadetship.

He had been asked by one of the committee where he had attended school, for he was well up in all questions asked, wrote an excellent hand, and answered with a knowledge evidently not acquired for the occasion.

His reply had been a simple one, and truthful:

“My mother taught me all I know of books, sir, for I never went to school.”

Reporting to the quartermaster of the post, Mark found there the kit which Commodore Lucien had gotten for him, and he discovered that it left no needs to be filled.

His room was a pleasant one, and by a rare stroke of good fortune he was given a first-rate fellow to be his companion to share it. He had dreaded that, as Scott Clemmons was also from Maine and known to be an acquaintance, the two might be roomed together.

In such a case he hoped Clemmons would object, but if he did not then he certainly should, for he could not bring himself to like the youth who had shown such an ugly humor toward him in the past.

The moment that he could get away Mark started to go aboard his little schooner and bid farewell to Captain Crane and his two sons, and also bring ashore the few things he had brought with him from home.

As an act of duty he had sought Scott Clemmons and said:

“Mr. Clemmons, my little schooner returns home under Captain Jasper Crane, whom you must know, and I will be glad to give him a letter for your people, if you wish.”

Scott Clemmons was in his room, getting his things to rights, and at the remark of Mark Merrill he laughed rudely.

He was no longer under the piercing eye of the commandant, and need not act for effect, as he had done when at headquarters.

He had stood the ordeal put upon him, but little less acceptably than had Mark Merrill.

He was a well-formed fellow, bright in his lessons and all that, but did not take into consideration that, with all his advantages, he had not done as well as the “fisher lad” he had sneered at.

“Send a letter by a sailing ship, Merrill? Not I, and you must live away back in the Dark Ages to think of such a thing in these days of telegraphs and railroads; but I forget that you know nothing of the world, living as secluded as you have. No, thank you, I have already telegraphed my father that I went through with flying colors, and I congratulate you upon having passed, even if it was by the skin of your teeth, for, of course, they would not refuse you, Merrill. Wait until the first year’s examination, which you cannot hope to get through.”

Mark Merrill’s eyes flashed, but he controlled his temper, and responded:

“I shall try hard to pass, Mr. Clemmons, for I came here to fight hard to win my way against all odds that I know are before me. Pardon me for disturbing you. I did not know but that you might wish to see Captain Crane and his boys, and send some word by them.”

“No, I do not associate with them at home, you know, and the telegraph and mails will answer my wants.”

Mark turned away, for he felt that he could not much longer listen to Scott Clemmons’ insulting words and patronizing manner.

“So he offered his friendship simply to blind the commandant, did he? I wondered how he could be guilty of such an act of manliness as he professed; but it was for a purpose, not meant. Well, I know what to expect from him now, and will govern myself accordingly; but I have not forgotten a voice I heard one night before I left home, when a net was set to drown me. I think I shall send Silly Sam a letter by Captain Crane, for the poor fellow is to be trusted, and is keen enough in mind when he has an object in view.”

So Mark went on board his schooner to write his letters and give the joyful news to his mother that she could address his letters to:

“Cadet Midshipman Mark Merrill,
U. S. Naval Academy
Annapolis, M. D.”

CHAPTER XXI.
SHAKING HANDS WITH THE PAST.

“Well, Master Mark, I congratulate you with all my heart,” said Captain Jasper Crane, when the youth told him that he had stood the first test, and crossed the rubicon of his hopes and fears.

The two sons of the skipper also offered their congratulations in their honest way, and the skipper added:

“Well, it means we must sail back alone, and that we’ll not see you for many a long day, Master Mark?”

“Not until my graduation leave, Captain Crane, unless business may call you to this port or Baltimore some time, when you must surely give me a call.”

“You won’t be too proud to wish to see an old coast skipper, then, after you get your brass buttons on?” said the skipper slyly.

“If I thought becoming an officer of the navy would change my nature so as to make me forget old friends, captain, I’d go back with you now and stick to the life I have been always leading at home. No, my nature won’t change, I assure you; but I hope the schooner will earn a fair livelihood for you and mother, for I hope to have her run on here with old Peggy some day to see me, as I know she will wish to do.”

“I know she will, and I’ll make the schooner pay every dollar she can; but there was a sailor here to see you, Master Mark, and yonder comes a boat, and I guess he’s coming back, for he said he would, as he wished to see you.”

Mark turned to the gangway as the boat ran alongside, and called out heartily:

“Jack Judson, my sailor friend of B——, how are you?”

The sailor grasped the extended hand, and said, warmly:

“Well, Master Mark Merrill, and glad to see you again. I recognized you at the helm of the schooner as she ran in, and I never saw a craft better handled. Going to stay in port long, young mate?”

“I hope to remain some years, Mr. Judson, for I am launched now as a cadet midshipman,” was the smiling reply.

Jack drew himself up quickly and saluted, while he said:

“Pardon me, sir, but I did not know that, or I would no have made so bold; but I am a coxswain on the cruiser yonder, and thought I’d come over to remind you that I had not forgotten you and your plucky fight in B——.”

“And I am glad to see you, Coxswain Jack, and I have not forgotten your great kindness that day in B——, either. But let me tell you that Scott Clemmons is also a cadet.”

“Then look out for him, for he’s your foe,” blurted out Jack Judson.

“I do not believe he is over friendly,” responded Mark, while Jack said:

“I must be off, sir, for there’s a difference between us now; but I wish you success, Master Mark, and if you don’t win, I’ll be mistaken in my calculations.”

The coxswain saluted, when Mark again put out his hand and said:

“Good-by, coxswain, I guess we’ll often meet now.”

The boat pulled away, the coxswain very thoughtful now, for he remembered how he had once neglected his advantages and thrown away the chance of an appointment to the navy.

“I’d have been a lieutenant now, if I had gone in; but I didn’t have the grit to study, and to-day I am only a coxswain. But that youth has it in him to work his way upward, and he will; but he must keep his eye on Scott Clemmons, or he’ll foul him if he can.”

After the coxswain’s departure Mark went into the cabin, wrote his letters, one to his mother and another to Silly Sam, and he asked Captain Crane to hand the letter to the youth in person.

“I do not know if he can read or not, Captain Crane, but if he cannot, you please read it to him, and he’ll understand it. The letter to my mother I know you will deliver first, as you will run straight for Cliff Castle harbor?”

“Yes, Master Mark, and if you get time some day drop me a line to let me know how you are getting along,” said the honest skipper.

“You shall hear from me, captain, and I’ll expect you to see my mother as often as you can, for you know her home is not a cheerful one, and she has only old Peggy.”

“Yes, and more pluck than any man I know of, to dwell in that old Spook Hall.”

Then Mark bade good-by to the captain and his boys, sprang into the boat he had rowed out, and rested on his oars while the crew got up anchor and hoisted sail.

He waved his hat as they went down the Severn, Captain Crane dipping his colors to the farewell of the youth.

For a long while the young sailor watched the retreating vessel, then rowed ashore, and returned the boat to where he had gotten it.

He sighed as he cast another lingering glance after the little Venture, returning to the weird old home and scenes he had loved so well, and murmured to himself:

“There goes the last link to bind me with my life of the past few years. Now my career is to be so different! The struggle begins—my hard fight for fame. But I will win. I cannot afford not to do so, for Scott Clemmons shall never rejoice over my failure.”

“Ah, Merrill, all broken up, I see, at parting with your fisher friends—strange that you did not stick to the low life that suited you so well.”

It was Scott Clemmons, and Mark felt as though he would like to have struck him to the earth.

But instead he said, calmly:

“I have shaken hands with the past life, Clemmons, and when I leave this academy you will be behind me!”

“Never! mark my words, never!” and Scott Clemmons uttered an oath at Mark’s threat to leave him behind in the race for honors.

CHAPTER XXII.
DISCIPLINING A “CAPTAIN.”

Mark Merrill entered upon his duties like one who had gone in to win.

His modest nature recoiled at having been discovered as a hero, for he had hoped to gain success without there being one thing in his favor.

He had as a room mate a youth from South Carolina by the name of Bemis Perry, a quiet, unassuming youth, about Mark’s age, and who made a pleasant companion.

“You knew Clemmons before you came here?” said Bemis Perry, the day after the two had become mates.

“Yes, I had met him.”

“They say his father is awfully rich, and the king bee of his part of the country.”

“Yes, Mr. Clemmons is said to be a very rich and influential man.”

“And Scott is his only heir, I hear.”

“He has a sister, I have heard, who is younger than he is.”

“What has Clemmons got against you?”

“I really do not know,” and Mark did not, for he did not recall having ever done aught to cause Scott Clemmons to dislike him.

“Well, I’ll tell you that he is not your friend, Merrill.”

“So I am aware, but it is a matter of utter indifference to me.”

Entering upon his duties, Mark was naturally put in the same “awkward squad” as Scott Clemmons.

The latter had been to a military school for a couple of terms, and was thus priding himself upon his being well up in drill.

He had, in fact, mentioned that he had been captain of his company at the military school which he had attended, and in various ways he had thrown out the hint that his father was enormously rich, and a man of great influence with the government authorities.

He had also taken occasion to say that Mark Merrill was the son of a poor widow who, from the charity of the agent in charge of a fine old house, was allowed to live in one wing of it, while her son had been a mail-carrier and fisher lad.

Now Herbert Nazro was the cadet midshipman who had the drilling of the new men, and he had with rare judgment taken in the characters of those under his command.

He realized that they were all green, some exceedingly modest and willing to admit their know-nothingness, while others were determined to “cheek it through.”

Mark reported for duty, and when the cadet officer said: “Well, sir, what do you know?” he answered, with extreme candor:

“Nothing whatever, sir.”

“Then you can be taught easily,” was the frank reply.

“And you, sir?” he turned to Scott Clemmons.

“I do not understand you,” and Scott Clemmons meant to overawe the cadet officer.

He made a mistake, and he soon realized it.

“Why were you not paying attention, so that you should know?” was the stern question.

“You were not addressing me, sir.”

“I am now, and I ask you, what do you know?”

“About drilling?”

“Yes.”

“I am pretty well drilled, though perhaps a trifle rusty from lack of practice.”

“I’ll get the rust off of you, never fear.”

“I was captain of my company.”

“In the army?”

“No.”

“When you address your superior always use the expression ‘sir.’”

Scott Clemmons flushed at the rebuke, and Cadet Officer Nazro asked:

“Where were you a captain?”

“At the military school which I attended.”

“What did I tell you about addressing your superior? Be careful not to err again. Then you have been to a military school?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir. Am I compelled to speak thus to you?”

“Go ask the commandant.”

“No, sir.”

“If you were a captain, you should have known as much. I see I shall have a hard time with you, for it is no easy task to teach an old dog new tricks. Fall in line, sir, and take the position of a soldier.”

Mark Merrill really felt sorry for Clemmons, and the little advice given the youth he decided to take to heart.

He had seen several military companies parading, and that was all, but he meant to do his best.

He fell in line, and when shown the “position of a soldier” by the splendid young drill-master, he determined to keep his mind upon the duty before him.

In spite of his having been a “captain,” Scott Clemmons was found more fault with than all the others of the awkward squad.

“You are wrong, sir,” shouted Cadet Nazro. “Just see how you stand. Your drill master must have been a veteran of 1812. Now these men can learn, for they know nothing; but you know it all, and like most know-alls, you give no demonstration of your knowledge. See Merrill there, how well he stands, and I have not had to correct him a second time, nor Perry either. Look to it, Captain Clemmons, that I don’t have to correct you again.”

There were others of the greenhorns who got rebuffs, also, but for some reason Officer Herbert Nazro seemed to have picked upon Scott Clemmons for his especial target of ill-natured flings.

“He has only himself to blame for it,” said Bemis Perry to Mark, when the squad was dismissed, after the hardest work the new men had ever known.

“Yes, he should have kept quiet about having been captain of his company,” Mark returned.

“As I did; for I was three years at the military school in Charleston, but to-day convinced me that the drill there is nothing in comparison to this naval school. We shall see stars here, Merrill.”

“I have become convinced of that,” was Mark’s laughing response.

CHAPTER XXIII.
A SECRET FOE.

Of course Scott Clemmons became a mortal enemy of Herbert Nazro after his first drill in the awkward squad, under the command of that most efficient young officer.

He dared not come out in open rebellion, as he well knew what that would mean to him; but he treasured up for Nazro a bitter feeling and a hope of revenge in the future when the chance should come in his way.

To be rebuked before Mark Merrill cut him deeper than if it had been before the entire corps, for he had tried to impress Mark with his importance.

He had watched Mark’s face for some sign of rejoicing, but even his ill-nature had failed to detect there any expression of triumph.

Fisher lad though Mark Merrill had been, the spoiled and petted child of fortune, Scott Clemmons, was intensely jealous of him.

He feared the reserve power of the youth who had gotten an appointment to the naval school by his own acts, when, with all his father’s influence, he had found it no easy task to accomplish it.

Then, too, Mark had entered with a kind of hurrah, and more, he had passed the surgeon and examining committee under flying colors, while his first drill had been marked by no grave error upon his part.

There were lads at the academy to toady to the riches and influence of Scott Clemmons, and so that youth at once found a following among them.

To his willing “satellites” Scott Clemmons, from a knowledge of his own nature, judged Mark, believing that the young sailor would inform his friends of the affair of the toy ship and what followed. He had told his version of the affair, and soon through the corps went the story of enmity between the two “men from Maine,” as they were called.

Had Scott Clemmons been less arrogant, Herbert Nazro would not have been so severe upon him as he was.

But all new cadets must expect hard times the first year they enter into Uncle Sam’s service as baby tars.

In his studies Mark went to work with the determination to win, and a feeling began to creep over the class in which he was that he meant to be a dangerous man in the race for honors.

Scott Clemmons understood this more keenly than any one else, and he began to feel his inferiority in spite of his vanity, so he decided that the only way to beat Mark Merrill was to get him out of the academy.

He sized up the others of the class, and felt that, with a struggle, he could lead for honors, but Mark Merrill was dangerous, and intended to see to it that his threat to leave him behind was carried out.

Demerits against a cadet would upset all standing for good lessons, perfect drill and attention to duties, and that these ugly little demerit marks could be readily gotten from the slightest causes Scott Clemmons soon discovered. He accordingly induced his roommate to enter into a plot against the unsuspecting young sailor.

When rigged out in his uniform Mark Merrill was certainly a very handsome and striking-looking lad.

The corps tailor had complimented him by saying he had never measured a finer formed lad for his clothes, and seldom one his equal.

Fortunately for the new men, there had recently been several dismissals from the academy of “hazers,” so that no great indignities were heaped upon Mark and the others.

Still they came in for their share of petty jokes played upon them, all of which Mark submitted to as really a part of the discipline of the institution.

He was universally good-natured, dignified, yet courteous to all, and on duty and in study hours nothing could move him from what he deemed right.

He was a favorite with the officers, popular with his comrades, and yet for all that there seemed to be some mysterious undercurrent working against him.

Once his cap was missing, and he was absent at roll call, so a demerit went against him; but he did not report that his cap had been cleverly taken from his room by some one.

Another time he could not find his shoes for parade, and again a demerit went down against his name.

A third time his handsome uniform was disfigured by enormous ink stains, and he knew that he was no more responsible for that than he had been for his missing hat and shoes.

His books, too, became disfigured in some mysterious way, and one morning he was reported as having been caught out of his room at night when he had been fast asleep in bed.

So Mark Merrill, without a word in his own defense, had been put on the list for a reprimand and punishment.

These constant demerits were counting up sadly against Mark, until he knew that by the end of his first year they would be so formidable as to mean dismissal. Yet what could he do to save himself?

He was innocent of wrong-doing, and though he suspected his persecutor, he had no proof of it that he was right in his suspicions, while, if he was, he had too manly a nature to go and report him.

So he determined to suffer in silence, and trust to some good fortune to make all things even in the end.

CHAPTER XXIV.
A SECRET FRIEND.

The petty persecutions of Mark Merrill became so persistent, so annoying, and so frequent that those who knew how matters were going became confident that, as they all counted against the young sailor and not against unknown persecutors, he would not be able to stay his year out at the academy.

It had leaked out that Mark Merrill had been a tough citizen at home, and was nothing more than a coast fisherman, until brought into a position above his station by an appointment to the naval school.

In truth there were a number of rumors about the academy detrimental to our young hero, and though they reached his ears, often most unpleasantly from hearing them himself, oftener from having them told him by his devoted chum, Bemis Perry, he suffered in silence, making no denials.

At length some who had been his friends grew cold in their greetings of him, and his popularity began to waver.

“You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,” said Scott Clemmons, one day, in speaking of Mark in a crowd, who had been referring to his many demerits.

“No, and you can’t ward off the attack of a secret assassin,” remarked Bemis Perry quietly.

All eyes turned upon the speaker, for he seldom attracted attention by any outspoken words, and Scott Clemmons, with angry face, asked:

“Do you mean that for me, sir?”

“I shot at random, Clemmons; and if you got in the way it is your lookout, not mine.”

“I wish you to explain your ambiguous words,” said Clemmons hotly.

“Permit me to do so,” was the response. “You were pleased to apply an insulting application to my roommate and friend, Mark Merrill, and as he has suffered much secret persecution from one who would stab him in the back, I say that one can no more protect oneself from a secret assassin than you can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Now, if the shoe fits you, put it on and wear it.”

“As it does not, there is no cause of quarrel between us,” Scott Clemmons said, retreating through the exit open to him.

“You are wise,” and with this Bemis Perry walked away, and as he did so he muttered to himself:

“I will do it.”

An hour after found him in the presence of the commandant, waiting to be heard by that august personage.

“Well, Mr. Perry, what is it?” said the commandant, somewhat abruptly.

“I have no complaint to make, commandant, for myself, but I have an explanation to offer in behalf of another.”

“Well, Mr. Perry, I will hear you.”

The commandant had taken a fancy to the quiet, reserved but brilliant youth who had become Mark Merrill’s roommate, and he now saw that he had something more than a favor to ask.

“I wish to make a statement, sir, and hope that you will take what I have to say as though uttered under oath.”

“So serious as that, is it, Mr. Perry?”

“Yes, sir; but as I said, it is not of myself that I will speak.”

“Who, then?”

“Of my roommate, sir.”

“Ah! Has Merrill gotten out with you, too?”

“On the contrary, I wish to say that Merrill is the noblest fellow I ever met. I have watched him closely, when he little dreamed I was paying the slightest attention to his acts, or the actions of others, and I wish to say, commandant, that the day he missed roll call on account of not finding his cap, some one had taken it to cause him a demerit. The ink stains on his uniform were put there by others, and the night that he was reported as absent without leave from his room I lay awake, unable to sleep, and he never got out of his cot; but, whoever it was, gave the name of Merrill instead of his own, and this I’ll take oath to, sir. In a number of other cases, commandant, Merrill has been accused and silently submitted, when I know he was innocent, and thus the demerits roll up against him. Against these demerits, sir, he stands perfect in lessons, thorough in drill, and no complaint against the performance of any duty he is put upon, which, I think, sir, if you will pardon the expression of my opinion, go to prove that where he has a chance to get perfect marks he gets them, while others get the demerits against him as one dangerous to have as a rival for honors.”

“Ah! I see your reasoning, Mr. Perry; but may I ask if Merrill knows of your coming to me?”

“No, sir, he has not a suspicion of it, for I come on my own responsibility, knowing the facts.”

“It does you credit, let me say, Perry, and your reasoning is so good that I shall look into the matter myself.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“But what does Merrill say of the demerits he receives?”

“I have only heard him express himself once, sir, and then he said that it was not the plain sailing he had hoped to have here, for in spite of his every effort to win success he seemed to make a dead failure of it.”

“I see; but do not speak of this visit to Merrill or any one else, and I’ll see what explanation can be arrived at of his many demerits.”

“Simply, sir, that he has a secret foe,” was the almost blunt assertion of Bemis Perry.

“Then he is fortunate in having also a secret friend in you, Mr. Perry,” was the commandant’s smiling response; and Bemis Perry saluted and retired, satisfied that he had acted as he should have done to save Mark Merrill from an underhand foe, who meant his dismissal from the academy.

CHAPTER XXV.
A CLOUDED RECORD.

Weeks passed away and the strange fact presented itself that the cadet midshipman, who was devotedly studious, thorough in every duty devolving upon him, perfect in drill and courteous to all, yet kept his list of demerit marks steadily increasing against him, a circumstance that could only end in one way.

Pranks were played, and time and again the guilty one was said to be Mark Merrill, for he was the one who seemed to be leading two lives, as it were, secretly a wild one, openly a perfect one.

Half-smoked cigars were found by the officer of inspection in his room, and when he asserted he never smoked them, as proof against him was a box of perfectos nearly empty.

Upon another occasion the inspector found a bottle that had contained whisky in Merrill’s room, and there was enough left in it to prove that it had contained the real old beverage of the Kentucky colonels.

In many other ways had seeming proof been brought against Mark Merrill that he was not all that he professed to be, and many predicted that he would take his departure from the United States Naval Academy before very long.

But one afternoon the corps were assembled, and, to the surprise of all, the demerits against the cadets were read out openly.

Here and there a name was called which held no demerit mark against it, but when the adjutant came to the name of Mark Merrill he paused, and a moment of suspense followed.

Then came the reading of the number which was known as the “Fatal Figures.”

Beyond that number no cadet could go, and Mark Merrill’s face became deadly pale as he heard the calling out of the fatal figures. Other names followed, until the whole roll of the corps had been called, and no one else came within startling distance of the fatal figures.

“Cadet Mark Merrill to the front!” came the adjutant’s command, for that officer already had his orders.

Mark advanced promptly until halted.

White-faced but cool, with every eye upon him, he stood awaiting what was to come as though he were to hear his death warrant read.

To him it was worse, for he expected ignominious dismissal from the corps.

“Cadet Merrill, the number of demerits against your name has reached the limit, the fatal figures which mean dismissal. The commandant desires to know what you have to say in your defense?”

“Nothing, sir, for the demerits stand against me, and I submit to the laws of the academy in silence.”

Every one heard the distinctly uttered reply of the young cadet.

Then the commandant’s voice was heard:

“Adjutant, you are to cancel every demerit that stands against the name of Cadet Midshipman Mark Merrill.”

In spite of stern discipline a murmur ran down the line, for such a command could not be understood.

But the explanation was not long delayed, for again the stern voice of the commandant was heard:

“Cadet Merrill, I have reason to know that when you failed to appear at roll call, from having lost your cap, that it was taken from your room to bring about just such trouble for you. I have reason to know that ink stains were placed upon your uniform to get you into trouble, and that the night when you were reported absent from your room without leave, the one who answered the officer of the guard was not you, but used your name. The bottle found in your room, also the cigars, were put there by those who meant to get you into trouble. Against such acts, which are explained away, you stand perfect in your lessons, in drill and all duties devolving upon you. Hence I cancel these demerits with the warning to your secret enemies that, were they known, dismissal should at once follow the discovery, and if like underhand acts against you, or others, are perpetrated the guilty ones shall be hunted down and the severest penalty shall be visited upon them. Return to the ranks, Cadet Merrill, with your record clear.”

There are no more manly youths in the world, taken as a whole, than our baby tars of Annapolis and boy soldiers of West Point, and none more ready to do justice to one of their number wronged, and so it was that the cadet midshipmen felt assured that the commandant was doing only justice to Mark Merrill and letting his persecutors down lightly.

So they gave three rousing cheers for Mark’s “clear record,” and a groan for his secret foes.

If there were several in the corps who joined in the cheers and groans it was to hide their own confusion worse confounded.

CHAPTER XXVI.
THE TELLTALE COIN.

Barney Breslin was not a popular youth in the Naval School.

His nature was somewhat morose; it seemed to go against him to salute his superiors, and he had never won golden opinions for his studious habits and strict attention to duty.

He had but one intimate in the corps of cadets, and that one was Scott Clemmons, his roommate.

Many wondered how it was that Scott Clemmons had gotten in with Barney Breslin, for, where the one was an aristocrat, the other had just escaped being born in the Emerald Isle, for his parents had set foot upon the “land of the brave and the free” only a week when Barney made his début in life.

The father of the youth had played his cards so well in the metropolis that he had gotten to be a man of wealth and a politician of influence, and it had been the dream of the mother’s life to see her boy an admiral before she died.

An only son, Barney had gone it a trifle rapid for a youngster, and was sent to the Naval School for training. As he passed his examinations he had the courage, when a full-fledged cadet, to write to his father of certain unpaid debts left behind in New York, and they were promptly settled by the parent, but with an admonition that not a dollar more should be received from the Breslin bank account until he had graduated, and if he failed to do this he had better ship before the mast, and not show up again under the parental roof tree.

Now, Barney was fond of a game of chance, and when he could find a congenial spirit to play with, he often indulged in gambling, generally to his sorrow, for he soon had several I. O. U.’s for various amounts.

It was supposed that Scott Clemmons helped Barney Breslin in his studies, for the former was bright and stood splendidly in his classes.

In return it was hinted that Barney did many little favors for Clemmons, mostly of a menial nature, however.

The inspector always found Clemmons’ wardrobe and half of the room neat as a pin, while Barney was often “spotted” for disorder.

Cadets generally “size up” a man very correctly, and they decided that when examination day came and Barney’s displacement was taken, his tonnage in knowledge would fall short, even though aided by Scott Clemmons.

In other words, Barney could never “bone” hard enough to step across the threshold into the third class.

“He’ll bilge, certain,” was the general way of putting Barney’s prospects by his fellow cadets.

It may, therefore, be inferred that Barney Breslin was as unpopular as his roommate, Scott Clemmons, was popular, for the latter was looked upon as a “good fellow all round,” though a trifle too haughty, perhaps.

From the first Barney had not liked Mark Merrill, and he made no effort to disguise it.

A tall, heavily formed fellow, he possessed great brute strength, and was brave from this very reason, feeling his power over weaker mortals, and inclined to be a bully from nature.

One afternoon the cadets assembled in considerable force in the gymnasium, and many were giving exhibitions of their prowess as athletes, and no mean exhibition it was, either, for the training that they received made iron physiques of the youths.

For some reason an unpleasant feeling rested upon many, which soon became general when it was known that Scott Clemmons had lost a valuable coin that morning.

It was a rare coin, what is known as a fifty-dollar gold piece, octagonal in shape, and always quoted at a large premium on account of the scarcity of such issues of money.

All who had seen Scott Clemmons with it knew that he called it his “luck coin,” and that he prized it most highly.

He had changed his clothes that morning, leaving the coin in the pants he had taken off, and, going for it an hour after, he found it gone.

Barney Breslin had expressed himself boldly about one whom he believed had taken the coin, as he had said that he met a cadet coming out of the room of Scott Clemmons and himself, and unless the gold piece was returned that night, he would make his accusation public.

He would not give a hint as to whom he suspected, but said:

“Wait until night, and then I shall accuse the one I deem the thief,” and he turned away to perform an act which he had won quite a reputation for, which was to walk around the pedestrian track of the gymnasium on his hands.

“Can you do that, Merrill?” asked Scott Clemmons, who stood near him, and there was a sneer in his tone and manner.

“I think so,” was the quiet response, and Mark Merrill threw himself upon his hands and began to go around the track, when suddenly, with a loud ring, the missing gold-piece rolled from his pocket amid almost a roar of amazement from his brother cadets.

CHAPTER XXVII.
A DOUBLE ACCUSATION.

Barney Breslin had just completed his walk on his hands around the track of the gymnasium, and the applause with which he had been greeted had ceased, when Scott Clemmons asked Mark Merrill if he could accomplish a like feat.

When the gold coin fell from Mark’s pocket and the loud murmur of amazement was heard, Barney Breslin had sprang forward, and seizing the piece of gold cried:

“It is your luck coin, Clemmons, as I live!”

“It certainly is, but surely there must be some mistake, for Merrill could not be guilty of——”

“I tell you now that he is the man I saw leaving our room,” said Breslin, interrupting Clemmons.

And all this time, unheeding the dropping of the coin from his pocket, Mark Merrill had continued his hand-walk around the track, accomplishing the feat with an ease far greater than Barney Breslin had done.

As he approached the group now, his face flushed from his peculiar exercise, every eye was upon him, and a death-like silence was upon all.

“You must speak, Clemmons, for this cannot be allowed to go by,” said Breslin, breaking the silence.

“Merrill, it seems that you accomplished Breslin’s feat, but you have also done something that he could not and would not do,” said Scott Clemmons.

“What is that, may I ask, Mr. Clemmons?”

“You dropped something from your pocket awhile since?”

“Yes, I heard it drop, but as I had no claim to it I paid no attention to it.”

“You know what it was?”

“Ah! yes; an octagonal coin which Breslin stole from you and placed in my pocket, hoping to prove me the thief,” was the cool response.

“Ha! you dare accuse me of being a thief?” and, like a mad bull, Barney Breslin rushed upon Mark Merrill.

Some would have interfered had they had time, and all expected to see Barney Breslin seize and crush Mark Merrill in his iron grasp.

But instead, they saw the huge bully fly backward with terrific force and measure his length upon the track of the gymnasium.

He had been dealt a blow by Mark that half-stunned him, and amazed all, for the young sailor had never before shown what he could do with his fists, and his latent strength was never once suspected, unless it was by Scott Clemmons.

With a howl of rage Barney Breslin arose and rushed again upon Mark, who cried out:

“Back, Breslin, or you will regret it!”

A cry of defiance was Breslin’s only answer, and as the cadet struck up Mark’s guard, he was enabled to seize him in his long, powerful arms.

But only for a moment did he retain his hold, for he was raised bodily from his feet and dashed to the floor with a force that shook the building, and he lay limp and dazed from the fall.

Though astonished at Mark’s grand exhibition of strength, and glad as many were to see Barney Breslin punished, the cadets could not let the charge about the gold coin go by, and several called out:

“Prove that you know nothing about that coin, Merrill, or it will go hard with you.”

Mark was not in the least disturbed, as he faced those who demanded an inquiry into the cruel charge against him, and said in his quiet way, as he stood over the fallen Breslin:

“I have nothing to say for myself, but shall ask Mr. Dillingham to speak for me, after which Mr. Nazro can speak.”

“Out with it, Dillingham, if you can say anything to clear Merrill of this very nasty charge,” said Cadet Captain Byrd Bascomb.

“I will only say that since we came into the gymnasium here Merrill came up to me and said that he had seen Clemmons’ lost gold piece in Breslin’s hand, and that he appeared to be trying to slip it into his, Merrill’s pocket, and asked me to watch him. I did so, and I did see Breslin pass very near Merrill and appear to drop something into his pocket, but what it was I could not see.”

This testimony from Winslow Dillingham created a sensation, which was added to when Herbert Nazro said:

“And Merrill whispered to me:

“‘Watch Breslin and see what he is up to, for he has haunted me ever since I came in.’

“I did watch him, and I distinctly saw him slip something yellow into Merrill’s pocket, which now I will swear was the gold piece which Clemmons lost. Now, Clemmons, who is the one you accuse?” and Herbert Nazro turned upon Scott Clemmons, who responded:

“I make no accusation, and yet I cannot doubt the evidence of yourself and Dillingham.”

“And I ask you, Breslin, do you dare accuse me?”

The words were uttered in a low tone, yet all heard them, and Mark Merrill faced Barney Breslin, who now stood before him, his face white and bruised from the blow he had received.

“Speak, sir!”

There was a very dangerous light in the eyes of Mark Merrill now, and there followed his command a chorus of voices, saying:

“Yes, speak!”

But Barney Breslin uttered no word, and his face grew livid as his eyes roved over to where Scott Clemmons stood.

He met only a cold stare from the man who had been his friend, and placing his hand to his head in a dazed sort of way, he walked slowly out of the gymnasium.

“He shall speak!” cried Mark, starting after him, but a dozen hands held him back, while Byrd Bascomb said:

“No need of it, Merrill; for he is the thief.”

“And worse, he well-nigh ruined you, Merrill,” added Herbert Nazro.

“Forgive me, Merrill, but he accused you to me, and it was his plot to have you walk on your hands that the money might roll out of your pocket,” and Scott Clemmons held out his hand.

But sharp and decisive came the response:

“No, Clemmons, I will not take your hand, for you are no more my friend than Breslin has been—I pity him, but despise you,” and Mark walked away with Dillingham, Nazro and Byrd Bascomb.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE STORY TOLD.

Mark Merrill’s first act was to go at once to the officer of the day and report the occurrence at the gymnasium.

Accompanied by Cadet Captain Byrd Bascomb, Herbert Nazro and Winslow Dillingham, who were there to vouch for the affair as stated, the officer of the day suggested that the young cadet go immediately to the commandant, and he would give no order of arrest against Barney Breslin until he heard from headquarters.

It was decided then that Mark should go alone to the commandant and tell his story, while the three cadets whom he had as witnesses would hold themselves in readiness to be called upon for their version of the affair.

“There will be plenty more of us, Merrill, never fear, to report the affair as it occurred,” said Byrd Bascomb.

“Yes, all there knew that you were attacked by Breslin, which was reversing the old saying and adding injury to insult, to attempt to annihilate you after he had accused you of stealing; but, great Scott! what a knock-down you gave him,” said Nazro, while Dillingham responded:

“Oh, yes, Merrill can do it, as I have cause to remember—he tumbled me into the drink,” and all three laughed at the remembrance.

“It will go hard with Breslin even if he escapes arrest for stealing, for Clemmons gave him an awful ugly look when he saw that he was the thief—that it was his room mate who had robbed him,” said Dillingham.

So Mark wended his way to headquarters, and the commandant granting him an interview, he made a clean breast of the whole occurrence.

The commandant listened with an attention that revealed the deepest interest, for it was something so thoroughly out of the usual run for one who was to become an officer in the navy to be accused of theft.

Mischief untold, hazing, and even insubordination, might be charged against the jolly young tars, but anything against their honor was a stigma too serious to be lightly thought of.

At last the commandant spoke, and in a low, earnest tone:

“You requested Cadets Nazro and Dillingham to watch Breslin’s movements?”

“I did, sir, as his actions toward me were curious, and I caught him trying to slip something in my pocket. It was done so slyly that had I not been on the watch I would not have known it, but both Cadets Nazro and Dillingham saw him do it, and, of course, when I was challenged to do his feat I accepted and the coin rolled out.”

“Did he challenge you?”

“No, sir, Clemmons did.”

“And who accused you?”

“I continued my hand-walk around the track, sir, and Cadet Clemmons asked me to explain how it was I had his luck coin.”

“And your answer?”

“I told him that I had no claim to it, as Breslin had stolen it from him and slipped it into my pocket, a fact corroborated by Cadets Dillingham and Nazro.”

“And he attacked you?”

“Yes, sir, and I knocked him down.”

“And then?”

“He arose and rushed upon me again.”

“No one interfered?”

“Yes, sir; but his movements were very quick, and——”

“Contrary to his usual manner,” dryly said the commandant.

“As he rushed upon me a second time, sir, some one struck my hand upward, and he grasped me, so I had to throw him, and I did so with a force which I intended should prevent a continuance of the fracas.”

“Then you acted only in self-defense?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How many cadets were in the gymnasium at the time?”

“About one-third of the corps, I should say, sir.”

“Name others who were there?”

Mark did so, while the commandant jotted down the names, until he had fully a score on the list, men from the various classes, and some of them cadet officers, who had witnessed the affair.

Then, after a few moments of silence, the commandant said:

“Merrill, in what way have you ever offended Breslin?”

“I was not aware that I had done so, sir.”

“Yet he has never been friendly toward you?”

“No, sir.”

“You have done nothing to anger him?”

“I have seldom spoken to him, sir.”

“Did it ever strike you that he was one of your persecutors when the demerits rolled up against you in the earlier part of the year?”

“I have no evidence that he was.”

“And in what way have you wronged Clemmons?”

“I prefer not to speak of what occurred prior to my coming to the academy, sir.”

“You admit that there was trouble between you?”

“Yes, sir, we had some trouble one day.”

“I desire to hear your statement of it.”

“It was of little moment, sir; but one day I went up from my home to B—— to sell a toy ship I had made, to get money needed for my mother, who was ill. Clemmons and a few of his mates, in a spirit of amusement, set upon me, and my ship was broken. This angered me, and I used my fists, and we were arrested.”

“With what result?”

“A seaman had taken my part, and he was also arrested by the constable; but the judge made the lads pay me for my toy ship, and released the sailor and myself.”

“I am glad to see, Merrill, that you have told a very modest and uncompromising story of the affair, for I have here a letter from a witness, and he is not as lenient toward the lads who assailed you,” and in a quick glance at a letter which the commandant turned back over a file to find, Mark saw the name of “Jack Judson.”

Then the commandant continued:

“I have received several other letters from your old home, all of them compromising, but as they were anonymous I simply retain them for reference, as only a coward will refuse to put his name to an accusation against one he maligns. You can go to your quarters now, to await further orders.”

Mark saluted and departed from headquarters, when the commandant summoned an orderly and gave him the list of the cadets whose names he had taken down, ordering their presence before him.

CHAPTER XXIX.
THE ALTERNATIVE.

So high is the standard of honor among Uncle Sam’s cadets that one’s word is as good as his bond in all things, and a man who would go wrong and do a despicable thing is despised and ostracised by his comrades at once.

Instances are very rare in naval and military life where an officer goes wrong, though now and then one does hear that a paymaster, quartermaster, or commissary has gotten his accounts in a tangle, or that some officer has been guilty of a “shady transaction” to get out of debt; but, as I have said, the instances are so rare that when they do occur they come as a shock upon the whole service, afloat and ashore.

In the little world, then, at the Naval School, the going wrong of Barney Breslin was a blow to the cadets which all keenly felt.

It was like a disgrace upon them all to have one not only be guilty of theft, but to try and place the dishonor of his act upon a fellow cadet.

The young sailors gathered about in knots and discussed the affair.

Not the shadow of a cloud rested upon Mark Merrill, but sympathy was felt for him that he should have been the victim of the thief.

Breslin had sent out an explanation of his act after going to his room.

He had often borrowed the lucky coin and carried it for days, and that day he had found it on the floor, where Clemmons must have dropped it, and so had put it in his pocket, intending later to return it.

Not seeing Clemmons until they had met in the gymnasium, and then learning about his supposed loss, he had said nothing about having it, and in a spirit of fun had put it in Merrill’s pocket, intending to explain the joke, as he called it, after it had been discovered who had it.

But Merrill had accused him, Breslin, of being the thief, and so in his anger he had resented it.

Such was Barney Breslin’s explanation, as written by him, and read to the cadets by Scott Clemmons, who was inclined to accept it as the truth.

But the cadets were not so lenient as was Scott Clemmons.

They knew that Breslin had certainly allowed the belief that Mark Merrill was the thief, and he had offered no explanation then and there of his conduct.

They received his lame explanation as that of a man who was drowning “catching at a straw.”

They knew that Mark Merrill had reported himself as having struck a fellow cadet a blow, and that he had doubtless given his reason for so doing, which they adjudged a good one.

What the commandant would think remained to be seen.

The commandant’s orderly had been “seen in the land,” as they, the cadets, expressed it, and, as a result, certain uniformed gentlemen from the different classes were seen wending their way toward headquarters.

Byrd Bascomb gave his version of the affair in the presence of several officers of the academy, but with no cadet present other than himself.

The commandant’s secretary jotted down his testimony.

Then followed Herbert Nazro’s statement, Dillingham’s, and so on until all had been heard, and no comment was made in the presence of the cadets, but the officers were left to discuss the case among themselves.

In the meanwhile the door of Breslin’s room was closed against all admission, except the well-known knock of Scott Clemmons.

That youth returned from making known his roommate’s “explanation” to find him seated at his study table, writing.

Breslin was very pale and nervous, and Scott Clemmons wore a painfully anxious look, too.

“Well?” said Breslin, as Clemmons entered.

The latter threw himself into his chair and said:

“It won’t go.”

“You read it?”

“Yes.”

“What did they say?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s good.”

“That’s bad, for their silence is worse than their chin music.”

“Have you seen Merrill?”

“He is in his room under orders.”

“Well, what am I to do?”

“Resign, I should say, and at once.”

“I half thought of it, and, in fact, had written a letter to the commandant; but then——”

“What?”

“My father will not let me come home.”

“Try your mother.”

“It will do no good, for the old man runs the house.”

“There is one thing certain.”

“What is that?”

“If you don’t resign, you’ll be dismissed.”

“Oh, Lord!”

“If you were not, the cadets would cut you dead, never speak to you except officially, for they have got a standard of honor here which only an angel could hope to attain to.”

“You had better resign, then, too.”

“Why?”

“You are no angel.”

“That’s rather good of you, Breslin; your trouble seems to have sharpened your wit.”

“Well, if I resign you ought to do so too, or——”

“Or what?”

“I cannot go home.”

“Try it.”

“I will, but I know the old man.”

“Well, if you do not, get work and redeem yourself in his opinion.”

“I have no money, as you know, so if I go you must go, too, or——”

“Or what, Breslin?”

“Or support me,” and there was an ugly look came over the face of the disgraced cadet.

“I do not understand,” faltered Scott Clemmons.

“Then I will make it so clear that you can grasp it. I said that if I resign you must do the same, or you must support me until I get a good position, when I can take care of myself. Do you understand now, Clemmons?”

It seemed that Scott Clemmons did, for his face turned deadly pale at the alternative given him by the cadet who now stood at bay.

CHAPTER XXX.
NOT ACCEPTED.

Barney Breslin seemed to have turned at bay, for he was no longer the obsequious toady of Scott Clemmons that he had been.

What he had said, the alternative he had offered, seemed to have deeply moved Clemmons, for he now appeared more anxious-faced than did Breslin.

Thrice he essayed to speak, and each time the words failed him.

He at last sat almost helpless before the other, wishing him to break the silence.

Breslin paced up and down the room now with a calmer mien.

The man had suddenly become the master.

What hold he had upon Clemmons he gave no utterance to, but certainly he had a secret power to thus move the other as he did.

“Yes, I shall resign. I shall take my resignation over now to the commandant, for, after all I am tired of study, and I hardly think I am cut out to be a naval officer. The standard of excellence and honor are a trifle too high for me to reach—you see I confess it, Clemmons. So I’ll take a vacation, and as I have only a few dollars, I’ll call on you for a loan, you know. If you have not a large amount about you, give me an order upon your father, for I must have money, Clemmons, yes, I must have money, or——”

He paused as though hoping that Scott Clemmons would ask:

“Or what?”

But Clemmons remained silent, and with a determined look in his face, Breslin finished his sentence with the words:

“Or—you go with me, Clemmons.”

Half an hour after Barney Breslin left his room, and went to the commandant’s quarters.

He met an orderly at the door, who said politely:

“I was just going to seek you, sir, for the commandant wishes to see you.”

The next moment Breslin crossed the threshold with a look upon his face that expressed plainly his thought: “He who enters here leaves Hope behind.”

The commandant was there, and so were a number of officers, all wearing a serious look upon their faces.

Breslin saluted promptly and awaited the commandant’s pleasure.

“Mr. Breslin, I sent for you, as an occurrence in the gymnasium to-day demands a full inquiry,” said the commandant sternly.

“I was on my way here, sir, when I met your orderly. I am here now, sir, to make the statement that I was wrong, that what I meant as a joke proved serious; so serious, in fact, sir, that I hereby tender you my resignation as a cadet midshipman.”

All heard the words distinctly, and they were uttered without a tremor, though the face of the young man was very pale.

“Mr. Breslin, you will please sit down at that table and write and sign your explanation of this unfortunate affair.”

The youth obeyed, writing the same explanation he had sent through Scott Clemmons to the cadets.

The commandant read it aloud, and then said:

“This wholly exonerates Cadet Midshipman Mark Merrill, as you intended it should?”

“From the charge of taking the luck coin. Yes, sir.”

“From what else do you infer that he is not exonerated, sir?” sternly asked the commandant.

“From the blow he gave me,” almost fiercely answered the youth, whose revengeful nature was now revealed in his face and words.

The commandant smiled, while he said:

“From all accounts, Mr. Breslin, you had better let well enough alone, and certainly your charge was a just provocation.”

“I never forget nor forgive an injury, sir,” said the youth in a pompous manner.

“Then my decision was a wise one, just arrived at, that you leave the Naval Academy at once.”

“And this is an acceptance of my resignation, sir?”

“On the contrary, Mr. Breslin, I decline to accept your resignation.”

“I do not quite comprehend you, sir,” faltered the young man.

“I decline your resignation, Mr. Breslin, to reserve to myself the right to dismiss you, as you richly deserved. Not only did you pilfer from the pockets of your room mate, but to hide your theft, your ignominious crime, you tried to fasten the guilt upon another, a fellow cadet. Your explanation is an awkward one, a lame one in the extreme, but it serves to exonerate Mr. Merrill, and to stamp you, under your own signature, as what you are. I shall at once send my decision to the Secretary of the Navy for his approval, and for the honor of this Naval Academy I trust that the affair will not be blazoned abroad over the land. For your own sake, you had best depart quietly from the academy, for the charge against you is a most serious one.”

The stern, indignant manner of the commandant completely cowed the disgraced youth, and he departed from the presence of his judges with a crestfallen air.

Returning to his room he found Scott Clemmons there anxiously pacing the floor.

His look questioned Breslin, who dropped into a chair with the words:

“He refused my resignation.”

“What?”

“He dismissed me.”

“And—and——”

“That is all,” said Breslin, with a reckless laugh, and Scott Clemmons gave a deep sigh of relief.

CHAPTER XXXI.
A SWIMMING MATCH.

Scott Clemmons was not the only one who gave a sigh of relief when it was known that Barney Breslin had to leave the academy.

Perhaps, however, the sigh of relief of the other cadets was from a different motive than that which came from the bosom of Scott Clemmons.

The decision of the commandant, forwarded by special carrier to Washington, was promptly approved by the Secretary of the Navy, and Barney Breslin, awaiting at the hotel in Annapolis, found himself no longer a cadet.

Not even Scott Clemmons dared call openly upon him to wish him bon voyage upon the stormy sea of life upon which he had embarked.

He left the town under cover of the darkness, and the corps breathed more freely to know that the black sheep of their flock was gone.

As though to atone for his unfortunate connection with the accusation against Mark Merrill, Scott Clemmons had sought out the wronged youth, and frankly said:

“I say, Merrill, I’m deuced sorry for all that has happened, I am, ’pon honor. Breslin was such an awkward lad I felt sorry for him, but I had no idea that he was crooked, and he deserved even worse than you gave him. But say, old shipmate, let us bury the hatchet between us and be friends. We are rivals, I know, for first honors in our class, but that should not make us foes, and here’s my hand in real friendship.”

This speech was delivered, for Clemmons was nothing, if not rhetorical, oratorical and dramatic, in the presence of a dozen fellow cadets.

He would have considered it as seed sown in barren places, if he had made his little speech to Mark Merrill alone.

The cadets present set it down as “very neat,” “deuced clever,” and “quite the correct thing, you know.”

But Mark Merrill did not seem in the least impressed.

He heard Clemmons with a patience and silence that was almost embarrassing.

Then, without seeming to see the extended hand, he responded in his quiet way:

“Clemmons, what Breslin did he has suffered for, and your seemingly frank offer of friendship under other circumstances I might appreciate; but I am no hypocrite, and I will not profess a friendship I do not feel. I shall treat you with respect, yes, and shall exact the same treatment from you, but friendship between us is not to be thought of, as in your heart, you know as well as I do, that it is not sincere.”

Clemmons felt sorry that he had not gone to Merrill in private, for the rejection of his proffered friendship cut him to the quick.

His face flushed, then paled, and he said in a tone of suppressed feeling:

“So be it, sir, if you desire it,” and he wheeled on his heel and walked away.

The cadets present felt that there was an undercurrent between the two, a feeling that they were not in touch with, and somehow they decided that Mark Merrill’s response left him master of the situation, notwithstanding the very manly amende honorable of Scott Clemmons, as it had at first seemed to them.

That Mark was jealous of Clemmons as a rival for honors they did not for a moment believe.

He had some secret cause of bitterness against Clemmons, and he was of too manly a nature to play the hypocrite, they decided.

Of course the story of the friendly offer by Scott Clemmons and its rejection by Mark Merrill became known to the whole corps, and finally reached the ear of the commandant.

A cadet who happened to be present when the commandant heard the story, engaged in some work at a table near, told what he had overheard.

The commandant had said:

“Merrill was wise; yes, and right, too.”

The manner in which Mark Merrill had shown himself both a “slugger” and a wrestler in knocking out and giving a fall to Barney Breslin, convinced the corps that there was a latent power in the youth that should not be allowed to lie dormant.

He had shown himself a most clever gymnast, but always in a modest way, and when special attention was attracted to him, cadets came to understand that he was as thorough an athlete as he was a student.

This became an undisputed fact when the young sailor quietly carried off the prizes from his class one day for feats of strength, and captured the gold badge as the “best-drilled man in his company.”

When the warm days of spring came, a swimming match was arranged among a score of “champions,” and Mark entered the contest, while, to the surprise of all, Scott Clemmons went around among his fellows quietly taking wagers in favor of the sailor lad from Maine.

The result proved his wisdom, or that he had heard the stories told of the “boy fish,” as the lad had been called at home, for as far as Mark was concerned, it was no race, as he swam nearly half the time under water, rounded the turning stake and came back home at an easy stroke, distancing all the others.

Scott Clemmons smiled blandly, and said to his chum, Harbor Driggs:

“I told you to go on Merrill.”

“Yes, but Ferd Randall was in the race, and——”

“He was not in the race with Merrill, as you now know. I tell you the fellow is a wonder in the water, and the surgeon said he must have a double pair of lungs.”

“He certainly played with Ferd Randall.”

“He did not show what he could do. Why, at home they called him the ‘boy fish.’”

“Say, Clemmons,” said Ferd Randall suddenly.

“Well?”

“I wonder if he’s going to do the same way in his class at examination?”

“No, for I am in the class, you know,” was the conceited response.

“That’s so, I hadn’t thought of that,” replied Randall, and Clemmons wondered if he was in earnest or sarcastic.

CHAPTER XXXII.
THE “WATER WIZARD.”

Following the swimming races came rowing and sailing matches and the fourth class pair of sculls, and four and eight barges, had the temerity to offer a challenge, open to all.

They promptly found acceptances, in other classes, and it was found that Mark Merrill was one of a pair of scullers, and held a seat in the four and eight-oared barges, while he was also matched for an open to all in single sculls.

“No need of betting against Merrill in single sculls, for he is a fisherman, you know, and rowed in the surf from boyhood,” said Scott Clemmons with a sneer.

“You intend to bet on him, then, Clemmons?” asked Byrd Bascomb.

“Of course I do, for I know what the fellow could do in a swimming match, and he is just as good with oars.”

The day of the races for the championship came round and the eight-oared barge was ahead, but crowded by its nearest rival, when Mark’s oar snapped, and they were passed.

But he seized the oar of one of the men who had weakened, and they came in second amid tremendous cheers.

All had to admit, but for the breaking of Merrill’s oar, his boat would have led to the finish.

In the double-scull race Bemis Perry, his roommate, was his partner, and, coached by Mark, the youth had become a strong and skillful oarsman.

They dropped astern at the start, but pushed their three rivals hard apace, which began to tell in the end, and nearing the finish they slipped by, first one, then the other, and at last left the first-class men astern, winning by a strong and steady stroke.

The following day the race came off for single sculls, and it was a foregone conclusion that Mark Merrill would win.

When the word was given to go, Mark seemed not to hear it, but the others started off like arrows.

Bemis Perry, Nazro, Dillingham, Clemmons, Ferd Randall, and half a dozen more were in the race, and they all started in a bunch, all except Mark.

At last he started, crossing the line just in the nick of time to prevent being ruled out, and then seeming as though willing to give up as the others had such a long lead.

“I’ll bet my hat he’s jockeying,” cried Bascomb, and as he spoke Mark’s oars went down with a mighty sweep, and his boat clove the waters like a knife.

Randall was soon picked up, then came Neil Carroll, Harbor Driggs, Frank Latrobe, and the rear contingent were dropped astern.

A second squadron was just ahead, and in it were Nazro, Dillingham, Swamsey, and Denton.

They were at the turning-stake and Mark Merrill swept out beyond them, giving them ample room.

But when they settled for the pull home it was seen that he had them astern, and he was rowing well, with long, tremendous strokes that did not seem to distress him. Ahead of him were three scullers, McNulty, the champion of the year before, with Bemis Perry and Scott Clemmons leading him by a length.

Clemmons was gradually drawing ahead of Perry, but so slowly as to be almost imperceptible, and all had their eyes upon the tremendous strokes of the racer coming on astern.

The excitement now grew intense ashore as Mark was seen to draw up even with McNulty.

“He can never catch the leaders,” yelled Bascomb.

“That boy is a wizard with the oars,” said a professor.

Then all saw Mark deliberately rest his oars a second, raise his skull-cap to McNulty, and then shoot on toward the leaders.

Such a yell as went up ashore made the buildings ring.

Ahead Perry and Clemmons were struggling manfully, the latter bending every energy to defeat Merrill, whom he now had come to fear, for that raising of his cap to McNulty showed that he had confidence in his power to win.

On they swept, Clemmons leading Perry half a length and Merrill three lengths behind the latter.

The finish was yet a third of a mile away, and the pace was terrific, for all realized that Mark Merrill had taken tremendous chances for losing by his play at the start, for every one now knew that he had been purposely playing.

Nearer came the goal, and Perry still held his place on Clemmons’ quarter.

But Mark had lessened the daylight between them until he was but a length astern.

“He is dropping back!” yelled Bascomb.

But no, he was only drawing off to one side to get good passing room, for he did not like to pass too near Scott Clemmons. He did lose half a length by this, but he had a clear reach ahead of him.

Ashore the excitement was dreadful, the suspense painful.

“Can mortal man do it?” was the question on every lip.

The rear scullers had stopped rowing, and were watching the race.

There were three prizes, and the three men ahead, Clemmons, Perry and Merrill, in the order named, could never be overhauled.

The others were not in the race, even McNulty knew this.

The fourth class was winning the day, no matter who held first at the finish of that superb trio.

With a grand spurt Mark Merrill leveled himself with Perry, and a yell burst from every lip, as that same performance was repeated—Mark raised his cap to Perry.

Only a couple of hundred yards away was the finish. Could he win it?

Clemmons was pulling forty strokes to the minute, long, telling strokes they were, too, and the goal was near.

Merrill was upon his quarter, then abreast, then his sharp prow shot ahead amid the wildest enthusiasm, while suddenly as though to show he knew his strength and speed far better than all others he got daylight between his rival so well that he sped like an arrow across his bows, and with a quick turn again fairly threw himself over the line, while the fact that Bemis Perry had suddenly forged a quarter of a length ahead of Clemmons and came in second, was hardly noticed in the pandemonium that followed the triumph of the “water wizard.”

“Mark Merrill crossed the line a winner.” (See page 132)

CHAPTER XXXIII.
“HONORS EASY.”

The wild applause which greeted Mark Merrill as the boat race ended with his shooting across the finish a length in advance of Bemis Perry, who was a quarter of his boat ahead of Scott Clemmons, lasted for some time.

At last the cadets got the victor upon their shoulders and carried him around in spite of his great desire to hide himself from the furore his wonderful endurance and phenomenal speed had created.

“Every record broken!” cried one.

“He is a marvel!”

“Why, he played with Clemmons!”

“He rows as he swims!”

“The fourth class has bagged the prizes this time.”

“Look out now that Merrill does not have honors easy in the classrooms.”

Such were the expressions heard upon every side as the enthusiastic cadets roamed about, talking over the race.

As for Bemis Perry, he accepted the congratulations in his quiet way, and remarked:

“I knew that Merrill would win, for you know I have rowed often with him; but I feared he was playing too much after we got started.

“He said to me that I would beat Clemmons, and I did, I am glad to say; but Merrill is a wonder.”

“He is, indeed,” chimed in McNulty.

“He said as he passed me:

“‘Pardon me, McNulty, but I wish to catch up with the procession.’”

“And he did,” said Bascomb.

“The trouble was the procession did not keep up with the music Merrill played; the time was too rapid,” Herbert Nazro said.

“How it cuts Clemmons.”

“Yes, he feels his defeat more keenly than Merrill enjoys his victory—here comes Clemmons now.”

And Clemmons walked up, his face flushed from exercise, and a look in his sunken eyes as of an overworked man.

“Well, Clemmons, you got one of the prizes,” said Byrd Bascomb.

“Give it to McNulty, for I take only first prize or none,” was the ill-tempered response.

Bascomb’s face flushed, and he said:

“You would have won if it had not been for one thing, Clemmons.”

“What was that?” eagerly asked Scott Clemmons, catching at a straw of hope.

“You did not row fast enough.”

A laugh followed this, and Clemmons responded:

“Merrill crossed my bow and kept me back.”

“He did nothing of the kind.”

“He did not cross my bow?”

“Yes, he did that, and he gave you plenty of water, as every man here will testify. The act was against him, not you, for it retarded him; yet he recovered his speed and landed ahead of you. He crossed Perry’s bow also, and yet he makes no such claim as a foul.”

“I’ll admit he is a wonderful oarsman, and I said so before the race; but still I hoped to beat him.”

“You are also a superb oarsman, Clemmons, as is Perry, McNulty, and others, but Merrill is a wonder, for he came in the freshest man of the lot.”

“He ought to row fast and long, for he is a fisherman,” growled Clemmons.

“Was, my friend, not is; for he is now a cadet and a gentleman, as all are supposed to be, though now and then we catch a black sheep in the fold, like your roommate, Breslin,” and Byrd Bascomb walked away after delivering this shot, for all knew how sensitive Clemmons was about his former friend, Barney Breslin.

Seeing that his ill-natured remarks about Mark’s splendid victory would meet only with rebuke, Scott Clemmons said:

“Well, I must give in that he is physically my superior; but there are three things I will have a chance to get even with him on.”

“What are they?” asked Herbert Nazro, in an interested manner.

“Swordsmanship, pistol practice and the mental examinations.”

“Well, we will see,” was the reply of Nazro, and as he walked away with Dillingham he said:

“I would not be surprised if Clemmons did carry off the honors of his class at examination, and he has the name of being a dead shot and splendid hand with the sword.”

The boat race was the talk of the cadets for some days, and then the shadows of the final struggle for mental supremacy occupied every mind.

The time was near at hand when the classes were to face the dread ordeal of examination, and the cadets were busy “boning” at every chance they got.

There was a certain reserve force in Mark Merrill which caused his rivals to fear him.

He had never been boastful about his strength and powers as an athlete, yet when put to the test he easily took first place.

He had told no tales of the superb power he possessed as a swimmer, and yet when matched in a race showed what he could do.

It was the same in a boat race, for though he had a fine, strong stroke, he only drew upon his hidden powers when victory demanded it.

In his class he stood well in his studies, always knew his lessons, no more; but would he not surprise all when it came to the tug of war?

At last the time came round for this much mooted question to be answered, and when the honor man of the fourth class was called upon to come to the front, his name was Mark Merrill.

“I told you so! it was honors easy for Merrill,” Byrd Bascomb had muttered to Nazro, who whispered:

“Look at Clemmons.”

Opposite the name of Scott Clemmons stood “Number Two;” but the look upon his face was such as a man might wear who had dropped from hope to despair.

CHAPTER XXXIV.
A LETTER FROM HOME.

Mark Merrill had passed his first year in his fight for fame, and he had won against every obstacle placed in his path.

The humble fisher lad, “entered at large for gallant services rendered,” but coming from the rock-bound coast of Maine, the nursery of hero sailors, as is, in fact, the whole coast of New England, had cast his anchor to windward and thus kept himself off the breakers.

It had held firm, and he had been landed as the master mind of his class.

Thanks to a splendid physique he had passed the surgeon, and his gratitude went out whole-souled to his noble mother, because her teachings had enabled him to know sufficient of books to enter upon his career as a cadet.

Thanks to his splendid training as a sailor, a fisher lad, and mail-carrier in the roughest weather, he had the constitution, training and endurance to face every hardship, and thus had won victory in sports as well as in the study hall.

He possessed a soul too proud to fail after what the Honorable Secretary of the Navy had done for him, and the encouragement given him by Commodore Lucien.

To that officer he had written, returning the money he had paid for his “outfit,” and received a kind, encouraging letter in return.

Though confident that the commandant, and other officers of the academy, were his firm friends, he had been most cautious never to abuse that friendship.

He had fought his way unaided, and he believed that he had won the respect and friendship of his comrades, or most of them, against every slur cast upon him, every innuendo, every prophecy of failure.

Warmly came the congratulations of the cadets upon his success, and going to his room with a happy heart, he found there Bemis Perry, who said warmly as he entered:

“Old man, you knocked Clemmons clean over the ropes, and the Lord bless you for it. I just heard him say that next year would tell a different story, so you know what is before you. He is a bad man on even terms.”

“Yes, he’s a dangerous rival, I admit; but being forewarned is forearmed. Perry and I thank you for the hint. Clemmons did splendidly, and I congratulate you upon your standing number three—make it number two next time, for I intend to be number one.”

“Well, Merrill, that is the first boast I ever heard from your lips; but I’ll keep it dark and book it for future reference.”

“Do so,” said Mark with a laugh.

“Ah! I nearly forgot to tell you that I receipted for three express packages for you and put them in your wardrobe.”

“Three express packages for me?” asked Mark, with surprise.

“Yes, you will find them here,” and Bemis Perry opened the wardrobe.

One was a box, a foot square, and marked:

“Valuable.

“CADET MIDSHIPMAN MARK MERRILL.”

The second was a small package also, bearing a value mark, while the third was a money envelope addressed in a graceful feminine hand which caused Mark to exclaim:

“This is from my dear, good mother.”

He broke the seal, and within found a letter and one hundred dollars.

The letter he hastily read. It was as follows:

“Cliff Castle, Thursday.

“My Own Dear Son: I have had you in my mind ever since your last letter informing me of your triumphs in the sports allowed at the academy, and your determination to win the first honors of your class, though, as you state, young Clemmons, of B——, may be a dangerous rival.

“I fear that you will study too hard and make yourself ill, for well I know your determined nature to stop at no obstacle. My anxiety is such that I wish you to telegraph me of your health the moment you receive this, for I express my letter from B——, and have arranged to have your message sent to me as soon as it arrives. I shall be in suspense until I hear from you. I send herewith one hundred dollars, knowing that you will have use for money, now that your first year is about ending, and I can readily spare it, as your venture with your schooner has turned out most substantially, as I hinted in a former letter.

“Captain Crane is as honest as the day is long, and has paid me from the earnings of the schooner during the past year twelve hundred dollars as my share, and as the expenses of Peggy and myself are so modest, one-third the sum supplies our wants. Then, too, I have not had to touch the amount in bank, which you sent to me from the cruise to Norfolk, so, you see you can afford to use the money I send you. I have subscribed for a New York daily and anxiously read in it all naval news, so you see you are ever in my mind, my dear son. I suppose you will go upon a cruise for the summer, and I hope it will greatly benefit you after your year of hard study, also giving you a chance to see something of the world.

“Next year I shall try and pay you a visit. My health is excellent and Peggy is positively getting fat. Captain Crane and his boys always ask about you. I had no idea how many warm friends you had in B—— until I came here to-day. I am writing this letter at the hotel, and Miss Virgene, who is a lovely girl, asks me to send her best wishes and regards.”

There was a little more about home affairs and then Mark sprang to his feet.

“Perry, I must go and telegraph to my mother, as she fears I am ill, so open those other two packages for me, please.”

Then Mark hastened out of the room, obtained leave, and sent the following dispatch:

“Letter received with money. Many thanks for your kindness. Am in perfect health. Stood Number One in my class. Regards to Peggy. With love.

“Mark.”

CHAPTER XXXV.
THE MIDSHIPMAN’S REVERIE.

Having telegraphed his mother as requested, Mark Merrill made his way back to the academy.

If he had sought for an opportunity to show his popularity it could not have come to him any better, for at the telegraph office the operator who read his message said, pleasantly:

“Permit me to congratulate you, Mr. Merrill, upon your success.”

The sergeant, at the entrance to the academy grounds also had a polite and pleasant congratulation for him, as did several of the officer’s wives whom he met, while a group of cadets, as he went by, gave him a salute and a hurrah.

Returning to his room he was greeted with a shout of delight from Bemis Perry.

“Old man, you are a lucky dog! Behold!”

Upon the table before him lay a handsome watch and chain.

Upon one side of the watch was engraved a yacht scudding along in a storm, and at her helm a bareheaded, barefooted boy.

The engraving was certainly most artistically done, while beneath were the words:

“A BOY PILOT OUR ONLY HOPE.”

Upon the other side of the watch was engraved the following:

“PRESENTED TO
CADET MIDSHIPMAN MARK MERRILL,
as a souvenir of his heroism in risking his own life to save others from death.”

Below was the date of the saving of the yacht Midshipman, and the name of the Secretary of the Navy.

“There’s something for your grandchildren to be proud of, Merrill,” cried Bemis Perry.

“Yes, I am proud of it myself; but it is more than I deserve, Perry, as I did not risk my life, you know, for I could have swam back to the shore if I found I could not have reached the yacht, and I got my reward in my appointment here; but here is a card,” and Mark read aloud:

“Since your entrance to the Naval Academy my eye has been upon you, my young friend, and I congratulate you upon your success, and beg your acceptance of the accompanying as a token of my appreciation of the debt of gratitude I owe you.”

“Most neatly expressed, Merrill; but now look here,” and Perry took from the box a superb, gold-mounted sea-glass.

“How beautiful!” exclaimed Mark, as he had just put his watch and chain in place.

“The commodore has got his eye on you, too, Merrill,” said Perry, with a laugh, as he pointed to what was engraved on the glasses:

“PRESENTED AS A TRIBUTE TO TRUE COURAGE
TO
CADET MIDSHIPMAN MARK MERRILL,
FROM
David Lucien, Commodore U. S. Navy.”

Mark Merrill was deeply moved by these expressions of gratitude and good will from such men as were the donors of the magnificent gifts to him.

He walked to the window of his room, glass in hand, and stood gazing listlessly out upon the scene before him.

It was no dream, as he had often feared, for before him was the ocular demonstration of the fact that he was a naval cadet in the service of his country.

His thoughts went back to little more than a year, when in his little surf-skiff he was carrying the mail through sunshine and storm along the rugged coast.

Just then Scott Clemmons passed before him, and he recalled the change since that meeting at B——, when his toy ship had been broken.

Then Clemmons, the son of a rich man, coming of a family of aristocrats, had seemed to tower far above him.

But to-day how different, for Clemmons was his vanquished rival.

Then he was, as his rival had so often said, a poor fisher lad, unknown to all except the few who admired his pluck as a young sailor.

Now he stood here a victor, honored by his commanders and comrades, the recipient of costly gifts from the head of the navy, and one high in rank.

Then, little over a year before he was poor, his mother with scarcely the money to buy medicine, and now she had sent him money and had plenty remaining—what seemed a small fortune to her and to him, for he was economical, though not mean, and not a dollar of his pay had he squandered.

The past was behind him, the future opened brightly before him.

Three more years[1] and he would win his fight for fame, if all went well.

He had vowed to win, and that vow must be kept, come what might, against all odds.

“Only death shall conquer me!” broke sternly from his lips, as the midshipman finished his reverie and turned again toward his roommate, whose very presence he had forgotten.

FOOTNOTE:

[1] Before the making of the term six years at the Naval Academy. The Author.

CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE FIRST CRUISE.

At last the active days of preparation had passed, the stormy scenes of hope and despair for the graduates and those striving to stand at the head of their classes had gone, and a calm had fallen upon the Naval School.

A restful lull was upon all.

The graduates, those who had become full-fledged officers, had gone off on their short leave to their homes, to receive the congratulations of kindred and friends, to enjoy a rest before returning to report for stern duty afloat.

They had stepped from light-hearted boyhood with all its joys, across the threshold of manhood with all its cares and ambitions.

The first class and the third were busy preparing for the annual cruise, the remainder of the cadets were to stay behind and while the time away as best they could between duty and the freedom allowed them.

Not as toy sailors were the cadets to go to sea, but in the capacity of ordinary seamen.

Theirs was to be the duty of sailors before the mast, and they were to be drilled and disciplined in all their duties as such.

If they were to command men they must learn the duties of those they were to order aloft, and, learning to obey to perfection, they could the better learn to thoroughly command.

Of course, having stepped up a grade and entered upon a higher plane of study and work, Mark Merrill was to go on the sea cruise.

Then, too, Scott Clemmons, Bemis Perry, and the others of his grade were to go with him, along with the men who had stepped into the places of those who had emerged from the embryo state of the cadet into the reality of the officer.

An old vessel of war of full rig, without steam, and sail only as a propelling power, a ship with a record away back two generations, was the craft that was to become the sea school of the young sailors.

They sailed in joyous spirits, all anxious to rove the deep blue sea.

“With a wet sheet,
And a flowing sea,
And a wind that follows fast.”

Mark Merrill was now like one in his true element.

He had been literally born upon the ocean, and from his earliest remembrance had known how to row and sail a boat, to swim and face the ocean in sunshine and tempest.

All his companions could see that Mark’s learning aboard ship had come from stern experience rather than teaching, and here, too, Scott Clemmons felt his inferiority, and it but added another cup of bitterness to the draught he was forced daily to swallow, for still did the “poor fisher lad” prove his right to be his master.

The voyage had been mapped out for the cadet cruiser, and after a run down the beautiful Chesapeake she rounded the capes, and began to roll upon the blue waters of the Atlantic.

Her first port was to be New York, and thither all letters had been ordered to meet her, while many of the relatives and friends of the young sea-rovers were there assembled to meet them and wish them a bon voyage upon their cruise across the seas.

Hardly had the anchor been let fall in the North River when a boat with one oarsman came off bearing a visitor.

“Merrill, take an observation of that fellow and see if it is not Barney Breslin,” said Bemis Perry, pointing to the occupant of the boat.

“It certainly is; but can he be coming aboard here?” asked Mark in surprise.

“He is; but if there’s a man aboard who speaks to him he ought to be given the cut direct.”

Mark said nothing, and soon after the boat was hailed by the officer of the deck.

“I have letters for Cadet Scott Clemmons, and it is important for him to receive them at once,” was the answer to the hail.

“Ay, ay, come alongside,” was the response of the officer of the deck, as the boat ran up to the gangway.

The next moment Barney Breslin stepped on board, and was in the presence of those who had been his companions at the Naval School, face to face with those who had known him as a thief.

His face was flushed, but it seemed rather from the effects of drink than from shame, for his whole appearance indicated that he led a dissipated life.

His dress was of the shabby genteel, and those who knew something of his antecedents felt convinced that his father had not taken him back into the bosom of the family, or else, as the son of a rich man, why was he looking so very seedy?

Scott Clemmons was below aiding the commander in some work at the time he was sent for, and he was excused to go on deck and meet his visitor.

Who that visitor was he had not the remotest idea, and it flashed through his mind that it might be his paternal ancestor.

Bemis Perry was not one to let him off without a shot, so said:

“Clemmons, your old friend Barney Breslin has called upon you, and from his looks I guess he wants a loan.”

The face of Scott Clemmons flushed scarlet, and the blood, as quickly retreating, left it as white as a corpse.

There stood Breslin, calmly gazing about the vessel, with no show of emotion at the awkward predicament he had placed himself in.

He had spoken to two cadets near him, calling them by name, and addressing them in the free and easy manner of an old friendship.

One of them was Bemis Perry, and he looked him squarely in the face as he said:

“By what right, sir, do you dare to address a gentleman?”

With this he walked away and met Clemmons as he came on deck.

Decatur Knowles, the other cadet to whom Breslin had spoken, simply cut him dead in silence, and walked away.

Just then, as Breslin, not in the least abashed, for he gave a low, defiant laugh, turned and glanced over the ship, Scott Clemmons came on deck and started toward him, but all saw with no joy at beholding him.

Breslin said as he saw him:

“Ah, Clemmons, old boy, how are you?”

He held out his hand, but without taking it, Clemmons responded in a low voice, quivering with anger, but which several overheard:

“Why have you dared come here and ask for me?”

CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE DEMAND.

In answer to the hail of the officer of the deck Barney Breslin had asserted that he had important letters for Scott Clemmons, and so had come on board.

His speaking to Bemis Perry and his rebuff, his cut by Decatur Knowles, and the fact that a score of middies took it into their heads to pass near him and make no acknowledgment of his existence, did not appear to distress him in the least.

“He has the gall of a book agent,” muttered a cadet, in reference to him.

“The cheek of a Chinese idol,” another remarked.

“I pity him that he has fallen so low,” Mark Merrill commented, for it did distress him to see one who had once had the same opportunity they all had of making a name for himself throw it away as he had done.

“Your heart is softer than your fist, Merrill,” Dillingham returned with a smile.

“Hard as you can hit, Merrill, I do not believe you could bruise that fellow’s cheek,” said Nazro.

Though not wishing to appear to watch his meeting with Clemmons, all eyes turned surreptitiously upon the two, and several who were nearest heard the very decidedly uttered words of the cadet midshipman as to why the disgraced youth had dared visit him aboard ship.

But Breslin did not seem in the least disconcerted, nor did he make an effort to hand over the “important letters,” which he had said he brought with him.

He simply dropped his outstretched hand, which Clemmons failed to take, and while his eyes flashed with anger, replied:

“Ah! you, too, do not care to recognize me, Clemmons; but I guess that you will have to do so, for I came to see you and am not to be snubbed.”

“I was told I had a visitor, but had I known that it was you, Breslin, I would not have seen you.”

“Indeed! but suppose I had insisted?”

“Come, say why you have come here, where not a man will recognize you.”

“True; but what do I care for the recognition of my foes so long as my dear friend Clemmons recognizes me.”

“Will you tell me why you are here, for I am busy in the captain’s cabin?”

“If you cannot find time to see me here, appoint an hour ashore, for it is important.”

“It will be impossible for me to see you, Breslin.”

“See here, Clemmons, I wish to see you upon a matter of importance, I tell you.”

“I cannot tell when I will come ashore.”

“Then I will appoint to-night at eight o’clock, at the Astor House.”

“I cannot be there.”

“Very well, I shall take a trip to Maine to-morrow, if you do not come.”

“What do I care where you go?”

“I believe you live in Maine.”

“I am a sailor, sir, my home being aboard ship.”

“Ah! grandiloquently said, my sea cub, my baby tar, who is not yet out of Uncle Sam’s nursery for middies. You do not live in Maine now?”

“No, sir.”

“Your father does.”

“Well?”

“I shall go there to see him.”

Scott Clemmons started, and asked quickly:

“And why?”

“Because I can get no satisfaction from you.”

“What do you wish from my father?”

“What I desire is from his son. I am poor, very poor, and in distress, as I wrote you, and which letter, with several others, you did not favor with a response. But I know you got the last, for I sent it to your town in Maine to be registered, and I got the return card with your name on it as having received it. You thought it was a money package from home, and found it was a letter from your old chum whom you have treated so badly. I told you that my parents had refused to receive me at first, but relented, and I was given a chance; but I lost heavily in gambling one night, so got money to pay the debt by using my father’s name, which is the same as my own, you know, only I forgot to mention on the check that I was my paternal’s junior, you know, and this little discrepancy got me fired out of the home circle. Luck is against me now, I’m down at the heels, and must have money, so I came to my rich friend and bygone chum, Scott Clemmons. I’ll be at the Astor House at eight o’clock, and if you are not there I’ll be there again at the same hour in the morning. Then if I miss you I’ll start for Maine, and have a talk with Clemmons, senior—ta-ta, Scotty—tra la-la, dear boy,” and Barney Breslin made a mock salute and turned toward the gangway.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
KEEPING AN APPOINTMENT.

Scott Clemmons did not even walk to the gangway with his visitor.

He saw him depart, and then walked aft to where a group of cadets stood.

He knew he would have to face the music, so he decided to meet the onslaught at once.

“I say, Clemmons, who was your seedy friend?” asked one.

“What a loud suit he wears.”

“Yes, he is as striped as a zebra.”

“But the stripes run up and down.”

“True, and it makes a heap of difference to a man which way he wears his stripes.”

“If I recognized the gentleman aright his home should be an institution where the stripes should run round him,” said Perry.

“You are right, Perry; for, as you all know, doubtless, the fellow was my old chum, Barney Breslin,” remarked Clemmons.

“Why did he not give you the letters he had for you?”

“What letters?”

“He answered the hail of the officer of the deck with the remark that he had most important letters for you.”

“Indeed! he said nothing to me about them. In truth, that was a mere excuse to get aboard, for he came to borrow money.”

“Ah! he had cheek to come here, and to get any money was worse.”

“You don’t owe him any money, do you, Clemmons?” innocently said one of the cadets.

“Owe him? I only wish I had what he owes me; but he came and asked me for a loan, and I guess he has gone to the bad utterly, for his father has cast him off, he told me.”

“I didn’t see you lend him any.”

“No, and I told him never to cross my path again,” and with this Clemmons returned to his work in the captain’s cabin.

Later a number of midshipmen were given leave ashore, and Scott Clemmons was among them. So, too, were Mark Merrill and Bemis Perry.

The latter two went off for a sight-seeing expedition alone, and a group of cadets also started on a “voyage of discovery” together.

But Scott Clemmons separated from all the others, saying that he had friends to visit, and punctually at eight o’clock he entered the Astor House, the place of his appointment with Barney Breslin.

New York is a large city, but yet people who are friends will run upon each other there in a most unaccountable manner. Two cadets were seated in the gentlemen’s parlor and saw Clemmons when he came along the hall.

A moment after they saw him joined by Barney Breslin, and the two, after some parley, entered the dining room together.

“Well, that looks friendly, Merrill.”

“It certainly does, Perry,” was the answer.

The appointment had been as faithfully kept by Barney Breslin as by Scott Clemmons.

“Well, I have come,” said the latter.

“You are wise,” was the reply.

“What is it, now that I am here?”

“I am hungry, and cannot talk upon an empty stomach. Come, let us have some dinner, and over it we can come to some understanding.”

Clemmons frowned, but replied:

“Do I understand that this is an invitation for me to dine with you?”

“On the contrary, I am to dine with you, for I have not a dollar to my name.”

“Well, as this is to be our last meeting, Breslin, I will honor you.”

They entered the dining room together, and a good dinner with wine was ordered.

“Now, what do you wish to say, Breslin?” asked Scott Clemmons, an hour after the dinner had been dispatched, Breslin eating with a degree of relish that showed he was, indeed, hungry, while Clemmons ate sparingly, seeming nervous and ill at ease.

“I wish to go West and grow up with the country, or go to South America and get a berth there, and I need just one thousand dollars to go with,” said Breslin, rendered bolder by the wine he had drank.

“Won’t your father give it to you?”

“Not a dollar.”

“Then I cannot see how you’ll get there.”

“I can.”

“How?”

“You will give it to me,” was the almost threatening response.

“You were never more mistaken in your life.”

“Am I?”

“You are.”

“Then there is no need of further talk, for I can work my way to B——, and hold an interview with your father, who I believe will think it a small sum to stand between his son and——”

“He will not give you a cent.”

“Then I shall work my way back to Baltimore, tramp it, or beat the railroad, to Annapolis and see the commandant of the Naval Academy, and when I have had my interview with him somebody will find that they have made a mistake—that is all,” and Breslin arose to go.

“Hold, Breslin, and be reasonable. Now I know you can make charges which you could not sustain; but I wish to avoid a suspicion, and I’ll give you all the money I have, but I cannot raise a thousand dollars.”

“How much have you?”

“Well, both of my parents have been liberal, as I was going upon a foreign cruise, and I have some six hundred dollars.”

“I’ll take it, so hand it over.”

“You are to give me a written pledge never to cross my path again.”

“Of course.”

Pen, ink and paper were sent for, the written pledge was given, the money handed over, and paying the shot for the dinner, the two left the hotel to come face to face upon Mark Merrill and Bemis Perry, who were just about to enter and have dinner together, having taken another stroll after seeing Clemmons and his companion enter the dining room, as they did not wish to be seen by them.

CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE TELL TALE PAPER.

With six hundred dollars in his pocket, and made so easily, and a bottle of wine beneath his vest, Barney Breslin was feeling in a mood to be reckless.

He stopped short upon seeing Mark Merrill, stepping directly in front of him, and in a very determined way.

As for Scott Clemmons his face flushed with shame at being seen with Breslin, after what he had said aboard ship, and he would have passed on.

So also would Merrill and Perry, but Breslin was not thus inclined.

He had been in so many scrapes since the one that disgraced him from the Naval Academy that he had forgotten his affair with Mark, more than to recall that he had some cause of hatred against him.

“I say, Merrill, do you intend to cut me, or do you fail to recognize me?” he asked, in an insolent manner.

“I recognize you, yes, Breslin, and I desire to cut you utterly,” was the cool response.

“Then take that.”

A vicious blow was aimed, but it was cleverly turned, while the fist of Mark Merrill caught Breslin squarely between the eyes, and sent him to the floor.

“Mark cleverly avoided Breslin’s attack, and with a well-directed blow sent him to the floor.” (See page 156)

A crowd sprang toward the spot, and when Breslin arose he shouted:

“Arrest that fellow for assault!”

Mark Merrill was not to be seen. He had been quickly drawn aside by Bemis Perry.

A policeman, hearing that “a cadet had knocked the gentleman down,” at once seized Scott Clemmons against his earnest protests.

But from this predicament Breslin released him, by coming to his rescue with the words:

“You are wrong, officer, that is not the man. But I will show you the man.”

“No, I’d not arrest any one on your charge, Breslin, for I know you now, and you doubtless insulted the one who knocked you down,” and, turning to Clemmons, he continued:

“You, sir, doubtless do not know this man, so I warn you against him as a barroom loafer and dead beat generally, who fleeces all strangers he can pick up.”

With this the officer walked off, while Scott Clemmons felt as though he would like to sink into the floor to hide himself, especially as he caught sight of a cadet uniform vanishing from the crowd.

So he skulked away, as under the words of the officer Breslin had quickly vanished.

In the meantime Mark and Perry had gone into the dining room, and by a strange coincidence took a seat at the same table where Clemmons and Breslin had had dinner together.

“I beg pardon, sir, but are you from the cruising ship now in port?” asked the waiter.

“We are, and we wish the best dinner you can give two fresh young salts,” said Perry.

“I’ll give you a good dinner, sir; but the two gentlemen who were here awhile since, one of them wearing a uniform like yours, left this paper. I just picked it up as you came in.”

Perry took the paper and said, after glancing at it:

“I will deliver it to the gentleman whose name is here, for he is on our ship. Now, my man, we are hungry, so do your best,” and a liberal fee was slipped into the hand of the waiter.

“Oh, thank you, sir; but what wines will you drink?”

“We will not take wine, my man.”

The waiter disappeared with a look of surprise upon his face that any one in uniform ate dinner and drank no wine.

“See here, Merrill, I am going to do perhaps a mean thing, but I am curious to know a few things, and I shall question that waiter.”

“What do you wish to know, Perry?”

“What he can tell me about Clemmons and Breslin, for he took an inkstand, paper and pen off this table as we came up, and here is the paper which the waiter picked up—see!”

He held the piece of paper up, and Mark said:

“If it is Clemmons’, give it to him.”

“It does belong to Clemmons.”

“Then neither of us have a right to read it.”

“Pardon me, but I read it at a glance, and as it is but a few lines I will read it to you, as I am sure it concerns you.”

“Concerns me?”

Without reply Bemis Perry read aloud:

“In consideration of the sum of six hundred dollars, received from Scott Clemmons, I hereby pledge myself to never cross his path again, and to make no further demand upon him for money.”

“Well, what do you think of that, Merrill?”

“It would seem that Breslin holds some claim upon Clemmons; but it is none of our affair.”

“I think it is.”

“How do you mean?”

“I believe that the wrong man was dismissed from the academy, that Breslin was simply the tool of Scott Clemmons,” was the startling reply of the young South Carolinian.

Mark fairly started at this, and yet made no response, while Perry continued:

“Now I shall return this paper to Clemmons, and I shall question this waiter to please myself, and then I shall keep my eye upon that young man from Maine, see if I do not, and if he means mischief toward you I will play the same game.”

Mark still remained silent.

Whatever he might think of Scott Clemmons’ conduct toward him he did not wish others to suspect him of treachery, and he was really sorry that the paper had been found.

But he knew that Bemis Perry was circumspect, and would not act without discretion.

When the waiter returned Perry gave him another fee, praised the dinner, and questioned him closely about the two others who had dined at the table before them.

Mark listened in silence to all that was said, and as they walked away Bemis Perry remarked:

“I am right, Merrill. Breslin was simply the tool of Scott Clemmons.”

CHAPTER XL.
THREE REPORTS.

Captain De Long, the commander of the cruising ship Constellation, was seated in his cabin smoking his cigar before retiring, when Cadet Midshipman Mark Merrill requested an interview, which was at once granted by the genial commander.

“Well, Mr. Merrill, did you enjoy your run ashore?”

“Yes, sir, with the exception of an unfortunate meeting with Barney Breslin, which I desire to report to you.”

“Ah! have you had trouble with him?”

“Yes, sir, I regret to say, too, that it was in a public place. Another cadet and myself went to the Astor House for dinner, and met Breslin and a friend coming out. The former stepped in front of me, and asked if I recognized him and meant to cut his acquaintance. I responded that I certainly did, when he aimed a blow at me, which I parried, and at the same time knocked him down. My cadet friend drew me out of the quickly gathering crowd, and we had our dinner, sir; but I deemed it best to report the affair to you.”

“You did right, Mr. Merrill, but who was your comrade?”

“Must I make known his name, sir?”

“He was not involved in the affair?”

“No, sir.”

“Then tell me his name.”

“It was Mr. Perry.”

“That will do, Mr. Merrill,” and Mark saluted and retired from the cabin.

The captain still continued his cigar, until a second interruption came in a request from another cadet to see him.

It was Scott Clemmons, his face flushed from the wine he had been drinking.

“Well, Mr. Clemmons, you have just come off from shore leave, I believe?”

“Yes, sir, and I desire to report to you, sir, an occurrence ashore which may not reach your ears otherwise, but which, for the good of the ship’s name, I deem it my duty to make known.”

“I am ready to hear you, Mr. Clemmons,” said the captain blandly.

“I went to dine at the Astor House, sir, and met there Barney Breslin, who begged me for a loan, for he has gone utterly to the bad, I fear. As I was talking to him two cadet midshipmen came in and one of them jostled up against Breslin, who had been drinking, and a disgraceful knock-down followed, in which I was seized by a policeman as the one who made the assault. Of course Breslin cleared me of the charge, and I make this report, sir, in case, should it reach your ear, that you may understand my position in the affair.”

“Who were these cadets, Mr. Clemmons?”

“Do you command me to answer, sir?”

“I do.”

“Cadet Midshipmen Perry and Merrill, sir.”

“Which one of the two struck the blow?”

“Cadet Midshipman Mark Merrill, sir.”

“That will do, Mr. Clemmons.”

The next morning Bemis Perry was ordered to report in the captain’s cabin.

He did so, and Captain De Long said:

“You were ashore yesterday, Mr. Perry?”

“Until six bells, yes, sir.”

“Who was your companion?”

“Mr. Merrill, sir.”

“You dined ashore?”

“Yes, sir, with Mr. Merrill at the Astor House.”

“Did you see any cadets there?”

“Mr. Clemmons, sir.”

“Who was he with?”

“Some friend, sir; not a cadet, however.”

“Did you know him?”

“Yes, sir,” said Perry hesitatingly, for he, like Mark Merrill, did not care to say aught against Clemmons.

“It was the youth who was dismissed from the academy, was it not?”

“Yes, sir; Breslin.”

“What did Merrill pick a quarrel with him for?”

“Merrill pick a quarrel with Breslin, sir?” asked Perry, in amazement.

“Yes.”

“It was the opposite way, sir, for Merrill sought to avoid him; but Breslin stepped directly in his path, and demanded to know if he knew him and meant to cut his acquaintance. Mr. Merrill responded in the affirmative, and Breslin struck at him, but missed, and went down with a suddenness and force that made his teeth rattle. I drew Mr. Merrill quickly away, and that ended it, sir.”

Captain De Long was silent for fully a minute.

He seemed to be arguing in his own mind the pros and cons of the case.

At last he said:

“That is all I wished to know, Mr. Perry.”

The young sailor bowed, and was disappearing up the companionway when Captain De Long called out:

“Send Mr. Clemmons to me, Mr. Perry.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” and with another salute Bemis Perry departed from the cabin.

He at once went in search of Scott Clemmons, and found him pacing to and fro amidships, looking a little the worse for his dissipation ashore the day before.

“Mr. Clemmons, Captain De Long wishes to see you.”

Scott Clemmons started.

“The captain wishes to see me?”

“So he informed me, sir, a minute ago.”

“I say, Perry, do I look as though I had been going it rather deep?”

“You look a trifle bilged, Clemmons.”

“You do not know what he wants with me?”

“No.”

“Has he gotten hold of that row of Merrill’s ashore, I wonder?”

“What row of Merrill’s ashore?”

“When he ran afoul of that beat Breslin.”

“Ah, your friend Breslin, whom he knocked down, as he should have done; but then Breslin was well tanked up after his dinner with you, and lost his reckoning so far as to run across Merrill’s course, and foundered under the blow; but when you have seen Captain De Long, Mr. Clemmons, I desire a word with you,” and Bemis Perry went on his way, while Scott Clemmons sought the cabin of Captain De Long.

CHAPTER XLI.
A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE.

It was with considerable nervousness that Scott Clemmons went into the cabin of his captain.

It may have been from the effects of his too liberal “treats” of himself the night before, and, perhaps, from a knowledge of the fact that he had yawed wide of his course in telling his story about the affair ashore in which Mark Merrill had been mixed up.

He, however, without a chance to “splice the main-brace” to steady his nerves, braced up as best he could, and reported himself to his commander.

“Mr. Clemmons, may I ask you if you actually saw the occurrence ashore last evening in which Cadet Midshipman Merrill and Breslin had a set-to?”

“Yes, sir, I was, as I said, talking to Breslin at the time, for he was importuning me to give him some money.”

“Then I beg to say, Mr. Clemmons, that for sixty days you are allowed no leaves ashore, in ports we may visit, as your condition at the time of the affair was such that you could not see straight, or viewed it with purposely biased eyes.”

“But Captain De Long, may I ask, sir, if this censure of me is from having heard the report of others?”

“It is, sir; I have the facts from witnesses of the affair. I have no more to say, Mr. Clemmons.”

Scott Clemmons felt crushed at the rebuke, but mustered up courage to say:

“I beg, Captain De Long, that you will remember that Merrill is not friendly toward me, sir, and his statement——”

“Silence, sir! Mr. Merrill reported his act at once to me, and did not even mention your name as having been the friend of Breslin at the time, while you, on the contrary, never friendly toward Mr. Merrill, saw his actions only in a prejudiced way. I have no more to say, Mr. Clemmons.”

Scott Clemmons dared say no more, so departed from the cabin with the knowledge that he had made a mistake in reporting an affair in which he had no concern.

Then, too, he recalled a disagreeable meeting before him, as Bemis Perry had said that he desired to see him.

That young sailor was awaiting his coming, aware, seemingly, that the captain would not detain him long.

“You desired to see me, Perry?” he said, his face flushed and angry.

“Yes, as I told you,” was the quiet response.

“May I ask if you reported to Captain De Long that I was present yesterday in that disgraceful scene at the Astor House?”

“See here, Clemmons,” and the words of the cadet were spoken very quickly: “I am not a tattler, nor am I an informer. Captain De Long sent for me, and asked for my version of the affair.”

“Who first told him?”

“Merrill, like the man he is, reported his action ashore, but never referred to you, and Captain De Long asked who was Breslin’s companion, and I told him that you were, for, as a fellow cadet, you certainly would be willing to prove, as a witness, that Breslin was the aggressor, and was justly punished. Since I came aboard ship I learn that others saw the affair.”

“Ah!” and Clemmons started, and quickly asked:

“Do you know who they are?”

“I do not, for I overheard the affair being talked about, and as neither Merrill nor myself referred to it, and you doubtless did not, some of our fellows must have seen it, though unseen by us. If the affair is called up we will doubtless know who they are.”

Scott Clemmons looked uneasy, for he felt that his version would differ from what all others had, or might tell of the occurrence.

But he hoped that as he was already under punishment he would hear no more of it, so he said coldly:

“You wished to see me, I believe?”

“Yes, I wished to return to you a paper which you left on the dining table at the Astor House yesterday—the waiter gave it to me.”

He handed over the telltale paper as he spoke, and after a glance at it the face of Scott Clemmons crimsoned to a painful extent, and then so suddenly grew white that he seemed as though about to faint.

But he rallied quickly, and with a reckless laugh said:

“Oh, yes, I had not missed it. It is the pledged word of that scamp Breslin never to come near me again, as I suppose you know?”

“Yes, I read it, I frankly confess, for it was handed to me open; but you pay high for the loss of Breslin’s society, Clemmons, and one would almost think he blackmailed you. That was all I wished to see you about,” and Perry walked away, leaving Scott Clemmons in a very unenviable humor.

After a few days passed in the harbor of the metropolis the good ship set sail and headed across the seas for a run to English, French, Spanish, Italian, and Egyptian ports, that the young sailors might have a glance at other lands and also enjoy to its full extent

“A life on the ocean wave,

A home on the rolling deep.”

CHAPTER XLII.
“MAN OVERBOARD!”

The cruiser is in midocean, bowling merrily along over a dark sea, growing darker and rougher under the approach of a storm and increasing wind.

As the breeze freshens a strong swell causes the ship to roll heavily, and the barometer steadily going down, causes the officer of the deck to keep his weather eye to windward alow and aloft.

“Knowing ones,” old salts who have sailed the seas over for a generation or more, also cock an eye to windward now and then, but of course, feel only confidence in their officers and the man who happens just at that time to hold the ship’s destiny in his keeping.

The ship has been kept well crowded with sail, and the wind being fair the run across promises to be a phenomenal one, a promise that pleases all hands.

The middies have had their chance to work the ship in fair weather and foul, but just now the falling barometer promises a night of it that will blow great guns, for the cloud-bank is steadily rising and the wind comes in stronger and stronger squalls.

The ship is sticking her nose deep into huge white billows, but surging ahead the while in splendid manner.

Suddenly a cadet comes aft and reports to the captain:

“The wind is freshening, sir.”

A few seconds after comes the ringing cry of the first lieutenant:

“All hands ahoy to reef topsails.”

In an instant all is seemingly wild excitement on board the good ship, and yet perfect order reigns, for every man knows his duty.

The “executive” takes command, great coats are donned, cap peaks pulled hard down over their eyes, and the middies, acting as sailors, rush for their posts of duty.

Then comes in trumpet tones the orders, issued in the commanding tones the sailors love so well to hear, and which fill their hearts with confidence in their commander:

“Reef topsails! Man the topsail clew lines and buntlines—weather topsail braces! Stand by the lee braces, bowlines and halyards!”

The young reefers obey with alacrity and seeming recklessness, the orders being taken up and repeated, the boatswain’s whistle piping merrily the while.

Soon comes another order in hoarse, manly tones from the executive, and it is given to a mass of youthful humanity huddled together at the foot of the shrouds, and awaiting their turn with all the eagerness of champions about to spring away upon a race of life or death.

Loud came the orders:

“Haul out the reef tackles! Haul up the buntlines! Aloft, topmen! Lay out!”

Away they go up the shrouds like a stampede of monkeys, and out upon the slender yards and “lay out.”

With strong hands they gather in the flapping, heavy folds of canvas and reef close, while just as the order is upon the lips of the officer: “Lay in, top men!” one of the reefers, by a violent lurch of the ship, is torn from his hold and goes downward, striking with a dull thud the yard below in his fall, and thence downward into the sea.

The command of the officer is heard and obeyed:

“Lay down from aloft!”

While a score of voices utter the thrilling cry:

“Man overboard!”

But all are startled by seeing a form run out on the yard and spring into the sea. What does it mean?

The executive officer did not lose his head for an instant, for his command came sharply, and with promptness to lay the ship to and man the lifeboat. At the order:

“Lay down from aloft!” came the young sailors at a run, some of them fairly flying down the shrouds, others sliding down the backstays, and getting to the deck as best they can.

The good ship is “laying to,” and the life boat is lowered and pulls back over her wake to pick up the two men who have gone overboard, while the question goes the rounds:

“Who are they?”

At last one answers who knows:

“It was Clemmons who was thrown from aloft, and Merrill who sprang after him.”

The speaker was Bemis Perry, and he was at once ordered before his captain, who asked:

“Do you know the men, Mr. Perry?”

“Yes, sir, the one who fell was Clemmons, and as he struck the yard Merrill called out to me:

“‘He struck hard, so must be hurt. I will go after him.’ And then he ran out on the yard and made the leap, sir.”

For once discipline was cast to the winds, and such a yell as rose from the midshipmen at this news had never been heard on the good ship before.

But every eye now was upon the life boat, as it went leaping over the seas, and again came a ringing cheer as the executive called out:

“The boat is returning, sir.”

But had those on the boat given up the search in the face of that terrible storm, threatening to break every instant?

Had they found one?

Had they found both?

These questions could not be answered until the boat returned.

The clouds grew blacker, the sea ran higher, and the wind whistled more viciously.

Over the black waters, dimly seen, the bounding light carried on board the lifeboat was seen to draw nearer and nearer.

The ship’s lights were burning brightly to guide the daring rescuers back to safety.

“They are pulling for their lives,” said the executive officer, somewhat anxiously, and then came the low response of Captain De Long:

“They have need to.”

Nearer and nearer came the leaping light in the boat, and the storm was keeping pace with it, perhaps outracing it, for so many believed.

Once it struck the ship before the lifeboat reached it, and the rescuers would share the fate of those they had risked their lives to rescue.

CHAPTER XLIII.
A DEBT OF GRATITUDE.

The suspense on board of the cruiser was terrible, the more so because perfect discipline kept it under, and it could find no vent in words.

Men spoke in muffled tones, cadets hoped and feared, and all awaited the result—life or death to the bold rescuers.

No one yet knew whether the safety of his crew had caused the gallant cadet officer at the helm of the lifeboat to put back for the ship before the storm struck them, or he had returned because he had accomplished his perilous errand.

The ship plunged and keeled as she lay to, and the eyes of all were alternately turned toward the inky-black tempest roaring down upon them, and the lifeboat struggling so manfully to reach the lee of the vessel and safety.

“Ahoy, my brave fellows! pull for your lives!”

It was the voice of the gallant De Long thus sent over the black, tempestuous waters.

The brave commander could stand the strain of suspense no longer—he must speak.

Then came a faint cheer from the struggling oarsmen, and a roar like mighty winds went up from the ship’s deck in response.

“Pull! Pull for your lives, brave lads!” shouted Captain De Long.

And back over the waters came the answer:

“Ay, ay, sir, we’ll make it!”

But would they?

Hushed were all for a moment more, and then the leaping light shot up under the lee of the cruiser, the men aboard cheered wildly, while those in the boat were drawn on board by ready and willing hands.

The next instant the lifeboat was hung to its davits and firmly lashed, while from it was taken a limp form and carried below to the care of the ship’s surgeon.

The storm was upon them now, and the men sprang to their stations, yet loud and ringing were the cheers in honor of the gallant rescuers, for the lifeboat had picked up those for whom they had risked their lives.

“Mr. Merrill, the captain wishes to see you aft, sir.”

It was an hour after the breaking of the storm, and the good ship was driving along before the gale, and directly on her course.

Stars were seen now in the black cloud-rifts, and all knew that the hardest work was over.

Mark Merrill had not gone below to change his clothes.

“What’s the use in this sea?” he had said, and he reported at his station.

Now he was sent for to come aft, and he promptly reported, saluting, though capless.

“Mr. Merrill, accept my congratulations upon as plucky a deed as I ever beheld,” and Captain De Long grasped the hand of the young midshipman.

“Thank you, sir; but I saw that he was hurt and could not swim,” said Mark modestly.

“You found him readily, it seems?”

“Yes, sir, and he was unconscious, so I had no trouble in keeping him up until the lifeboat took us in.”

“May I ask if you knew who it was when you made your leap to the rescue?”

“Yes, sir.”

Just then a cadet came up and said:

“Pardon, sir, but the surgeon asks to see Mr. Merrill.”

“Go below, Mr. Merrill, and then you had better turn in for the night. To-morrow morning report to me at eight bells.”

Mark departed from the quarter-deck and sought the surgeon’s quarters.

There he found Scott Clemmons, who had returned to consciousness, with a gash upon his head, skillfully dressed, and his left arm bound close to his side, for his collar-bone was broken.

“Ah, Merrill, I wish to say that your plucky act saved Clemmons, for he was stunned by the blow on the head, and his collar-bone is fractured. He wishes to see you.”

Mark’s hand had been warmly grasped by the ship’s surgeon as he spoke, and now he stepped toward Scott Clemmons.

“Say, old fellow, you did a manly thing, they tell me, and I owe you my life. We haven’t been exactly chummy in the past, but, of course, now you’ll believe in my friendship for you?”

Mark Merrill would have given much could he have escaped the thanks of Scott Clemmons.

He could understand how much it cost him of pain and humiliation to say what he did.

But he said:

“Oh, we are good enough friends, Mr. Clemmons, and what I did for you I would have done for any one else, and you know I don’t mind a ducking and a swim even in the sea.”

“I don’t recall any of it except that I lost my hold and felt the dull thud as I struck the yard; but they say you leaped from aloft and kept me afloat until the lifeboat picked us up. Now I’m laid up in ordinary for a few weeks, so come in and see me often.”

“You’ll be all right soon, Clemmons, and now you need sleep, as the doctor will tell you,” and Mark Merrill turned away and went to swing his hammock, get on a dry rig, and turn in, for his struggle with the sea even his iron frame could not help but feel.

The next morning all hands were mustered on deck, and Captain De Long, in a few well-spoken words, complimented Mark Merrill upon his noble act, and praised the crew of the lifeboat for their gallant service.

Mark blushed like a girl under the words of the captain, and to his brother midshipmen made light of his act; but he got full credit for the deed all the same, for all understood that there had been no love lost between Scott Clemmons and himself.

And so on its way held the cruiser until the shores of England hove in view, and the anchor was soon after let fall in the Mersey.

Among the first to land were three midshipmen who seemed to have some special mission ashore.

They were Herbert Nazro, Winslow Dillingham and Bemis Perry, and they made their way directly to a fashionable jewelry establishment, where an order was left for some special work, with directions to forward it by express to Lisbon by a certain time, when the ship would touch there.

After a few days in port the cruiser again set sail, and Scott Clemmons was again on duty, though there was a red scar still visible upon his forehead.

But all noticed that, in spite of owing his life to Mark Merrill, Scott Clemmons seemed rather to shun the one to whom he owed his life than to seek his company.

CHAPTER XLIV.
THE PILOT MIDSHIPMAN.

From port to port went the cadet’s cruiser, saluting the flags, forts, and ships of other nations and receiving salutes in turn, while the young sailors were given a run ashore to see something of the countries they were visiting.

At length one night came the cry from aloft:

“Light ho!”

It was Cape Rosa Light, and on the vessel sails in the coming dawn until all the cadets gather on deck to behold the land of Portugal.

Lateen-rigged craft pass out, and other vessels are met, one large bark flying the Stars and Stripes, which brings a cheer of greeting from the young sailors.

The high crags of Cintra, with its castle and surrounding fields, are passed, the old fort of St. Julian, next frowning Fort Bugio, and thence onward into the waters of the Tagus.

The tower of Beleur next looms up, with fortress-clad cliffs, and the cadets soon after are called to their stations as Lisbon, seated upon her many hills, rises in terraces before them, telling them that the haven is reached, for with a plunge the anchor is let fall.

Then up aloft is run a ball of bunting, which, when shaken out, reveals the standard of Portugal, and gun after gun thunders a salute from the cruiser to the old city of Lisbon.

As the health officer has reported all safe on board, a boat soon after goes ashore, and in it are the three cadets who landed first at Liverpool, and visited the jewelry establishment.

They now seek the offices of the Continental Express Company, and there awaiting them is a small package.

The jeweler has kept his promise.

After a few days spent in Lisbon the cruiser sets sail for the blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea, and once the shores of Portugal are left astern a muster of all hands on deck is called, and Captain De Long orders:

“Cadet Midshipman Merrill to the front!”

Mark Merrill promptly obeys, and then as the captain takes from a morocco case a beautiful gold badge, he, for the first time, realizes that he is to be the recipient of a token as an appreciation of his services when he leaped from the yardarm to save the life of Scott Clemmons.

In a few well-chosen words the captain made the presentation, in which occurred the following:

“This souvenir, Midshipman Merrill, is a unanimous expression of the appreciation of your daring deed by this ship’s crew, for from quarter-deck to forecastle every one has insisted upon being a subscriber, with the one exception of Mr. Clemmons, from whom the intention was kept a secret as well as from yourself. I pin it upon your breast for you to wear as a badge which you may well feel proud of.”

As the captain spoke he pinned upon the jacket of the young hero a beautiful emblem of his courage, which was a massive anchor of solid gold, to which was suspended a shield with bars of pearls, turquoises and rubies to represent the colors red, white and blue, while below was engraved:

“PRESENTED
BY THE OFFICERS AND MEN
OF
The U. S. Cadet Cruising Ship Constellation
TO
CADET MIDSHIPMAN MARK MERRILL
As an Appreciation of His Splendid Courage
in Leaping Overboard at Night
in a Storm to Save the Life of
a Shipmate.”

In what was certainly a very neat speech, though taken unawares, Mark Merrill thanked Captain De Long and all for their great kindness, and raised his cap as three cheers were given for him.

A number of eyes were turned upon Scott Clemmons during this scene, and it could be easily discovered that he seemed ill at ease, though he stepped forward and told his rescuer how glad he was of the honor bestowed upon him, adding, with some feeling:

“Had I chipped in, Merrill, it would have spoiled all, or had I suggested it, for my debt to you can never be cancelled.”

Had Scott Clemmons overheard the criticism which Bemis Perry made of his speech he would have been overwhelmed with confusion, for though the young South Carolinian said but one word, and used slang, it was to the point, for he simply said:

“Rats!”

There was another criticism offered also, and by Herbert Nazro, who said with a wicked little laugh:

“Go tell that to the marines, Clemmons.”

After this episode Clemmons seemed more constrained than ever in his conduct toward Mark Merrill. He seemed positively uneasy in his presence.

At last, after a visit to several ports in the Mediterranean the prow of the cruiser was turned homeward, for a stop was to be made upon the New England coast.

It was a stormy passage home, keeping the young tars constantly busy reefing, pulling, and setting more sail, and giving them a thorough experience in the life of a sailor.

In the last storm not far off the coast, the cruiser had sprung her mainmast, but fortunately the gale blew itself out, and a calm fell upon the sea. The next morning the shores of New England were in view.

The weather was hazy and sultry, the barometer was steadily falling, and Captain De Long and his lieutenants viewed the weather with anxiety.

There was a huge black mass gathering to seaward, and as the day passed it began to rise slowly, though the deadest of calms still rested upon the sea.

The shore was a little over a league distant, and with a breeze the good ship could readily work off, but in the teeth of a storm, and with the mainmast sprung, there were too many odds against her.

The afternoon passed, all eagerly watching for a cap full of air, to bear the vessel into a haven of safety, the Kennebec River.

But no ripple stirred the glass-like waters, and to landward a wild and forbidding coast only was seen.

The charts were examined closely, but no harbor was noted just there, and all wondered what was to be done, for the sprung mast would never stand to beat out to sea against such a tempest as was rising.

At last Captain De Long turned to Cadet Midshipman Clemmons, and asked:

“Do you not live somewhere in this vicinity, Mr. Clemmons?”

“Some leagues from here, sir.”

“And you know of no haven into which we could tow with our boats!”

“I have heard of several harbors for fishing boats, sir, but I do not know of them,” replied Scott Clemmons, who would not say:

“But Merrill might know.”

He did not care to put another feather in the cap of his rival—his rescuer though he had been.

“Pardon me, Captain De Long, but Mr. Merrill pointed out to me a while ago with his glass his own home, and he may know,” said Herbert Nazro, who had heard the captain questioning Clemmons.

“Ah, yes, he is the very man! Send Mr. Merrill here at once,” said the captain, with considerable eagerness.

Mark Merrill reported promptly.

“Mr. Merrill, your home is near here, I am told?”

“My mother dwells in the large mansion, sir, you see on the cliff yonder, a league and a half away, but it is not our own home, sir.”

“Do you know of any harborage in here which we can tow into with our boats, for yonder seems like a good anchorage ground?”

“That, sir, is a death trap with a storm from seaward, for the coasters call it Hopeless Haven. Yonder, where you see the cliff, is a harbor, and a safe one, though small, and the entrance is dangerous.”

“Do you know these waters well?”

“Perfectly, sir,” was the response, and there was no boasting in the reply.

“There is depth for this ship in the harbor you refer to?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you can pilot her in with the boats ahead, if we can get there before the storm breaks?”

“It was there, sir, I took General Peyton’s yacht, the Midshipman, sir, when the Secretary of the Navy and Commodore Lucien were on board.”

“Ah, indeed! I have been told of that bold piloting by the commodore himself; and it got you your appointment?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I will order the boats out ahead, and——”

“Pardon me, Captain De Long, but as the gale is coming from seaward, I can run in, sir, if you will order topmasts housed and set only lower sails, to save the sprung mainmast,” said Mark modestly.

“Mr. Merrill, you are a born sailor, sir, and I give the ship over to you as pilot,” said Captain De Long, with frank acknowledgment of the youth’s skill and nerve.

CHAPTER XLV.
UNEXPECTED VISITORS.

Standing upon Beacon Cliff were three persons, watching with interest and deep anxiety the cadets’ cruiser as she lay off the coast a league or more.

They were Mrs. Merrill, the mother of the gallant middy, old Peggy, and a beautiful young girl whom the reader will recall as Virgene Rich, the fair witness who had testified so well in behalf of the young sailor in his affray with Scott Clemmons, Ben Birney, and others of like ilk at B——.

Mrs. Merrill read at a glance the danger of the vessel, when she saw that she was becalmed and a storm rising from seaward; but her anxiety would have been far greater had she known that the craft was crippled and might not be able to beat off the coast.

What her feelings would have been had she known that her only son was on board the vessel can well be imagined.

But though she saw that it was a vessel of war she did not connect Mark with her, as she supposed that his cruiser was in foreign seas, not having received his last letter from Lisbon, in which he had told her what the remainder of the voyage would be.

Mrs. Merrill looked several years younger than when Mark had gone to the Naval School.

Her really beautiful face had almost lost its expression of sadness and her form was still youthful and graceful.

Virgene Rich, true to her promise, had often ridden down to see Mrs. Merrill, and so attached had she become to her that Landlord Rich had asked her to become his daughter’s governess, and thus we find the young girl also an inmate of “Spook Hall.”

Mrs. Merrill had kept up the flower garden, made the wing in which she dwelt more comfortable, and, with a horse and phaeton, which she had purchased, did not seem near so far away from civilization as before.

Then, too, Skipper Jasper Crane, with the Venture, was making a very snug living for her, and her bank account steadily increased, while Mark was winning his way in the world, as she well knew.

So the three stood watching the cruiser, the rising storm, and the coming of night.

“It will be a terrible night, I fear,” Mrs. Merrill said, with increased anxiety for the cruiser.

At length the deep rumbling of thunder was heard, the lightning flashes rent the black clouds, and the roar of the still distant tempest reached their ears.

Then there came a ripple upon the waters, and instantly sail was set upon the cruiser, which, under its influence, began to move ahead.

“She heads down the coast,” said Mrs. Merrill.

But the wind came in gusts, followed by calms, and each squall was more severe.

Sail was shortened upon the cruiser at last, as the storm was coming near, lights were set, and night, black, threatening and dangerous, came upon land and sea. But the three watchers upon the cliff had secured wraps, and kept their places to watch the lights that marked the position of the cruiser.

Louder burst the thunder crashes, more vivid flashed the lightning, and wilder roared the winds as they bore down upon the devoted ship.

“See, see! she heads in toward our harbor!”

“She is lost!” cried Mrs. Merrill, wringing her hands in distress.

“Perhaps she has a pilot on board,” suggested Virgene.

“No! no! for the coasters shun this harbor, and only Captain Crane and one of his boys know the channel in.”

“Mark knows,” said old Peggy, in a very decided way.

“Yes, but he is not here—see! the lights advance steadily, and—Virgene, there is a pilot on board yonder craft, for she has rounded Whaleback Rock and passed between The Sentinels, and that was not chance, surely.”

“And the storm is upon her now,” cried Virgene, as the lurid glare upon the sea showed now the advance of the tempest directly down upon the ship.

“Yes, but Whaleback Rock and The Sentinels will break its force, while she has now gotten under the lee of Castle Rock, and heads into the harbor.”

As Mrs. Merrill spoke the storm was seen to catch the ship and hide the lights from view in an instant; but the rocky islands she had spoken of broke its force, and, though the cruiser was driven onward with a rush, she was held firmly on her course, and a few minutes after glided in under the lee of Beacon Cliff.

“She is safe!” cried Mrs. Merrill, as she saw the lights reappear in the harbor, and the three were almost blown by the wind to the mansion.

The storm howled savagely about the old mansion, but all was comfort within, and old Peggy set about getting supper, when all were startled by a loud knock.

“It must be some one from the ship,” said Mrs. Merrill, and she and Virgene went to the door.

“Mother!” and a form clad in a greatcoat steps forward, while other cloaked forms are behind him.

“My son!” cried Mrs. Merrill, as she was enfolded in her son’s arms, but quickly released as the others stepped in out of the storm, and Mark said:

“Mother, I wish to present my commander, Captain De Long, Lieutenant Briggs, and my chum, Cadet Midshipman Bemis Perry.”

Other introductions followed to Virgene, and Captain De Long said:

“We found ourselves on your coast, Mrs. Merrill, in distress, for we had a crippled mast, and your brave son became our pilot, and ran us into a safe harborage. Then I gave him leave to come ashore on condition that he brought us with him.”

It was a pleasant evening that was passed there in old “Spook Hall,” and old Peggy sat down to them one of her most tempting suppers.

It was midnight before Captain De Long started upon his return to his ship, but he gave Mark permission to remain till after breakfast the following morning, when, if the weather was not severe, the cruiser would sail on her course once more, as, with his crippled mast, the commander wished to reach Annapolis as soon as possible, knowing that he would have to run from port to port in good weather.

It was noon the next day when the cruiser sailed, Mark again acting as pilot out to sea, and fair weather and a stiff breeze held her on her way, until once again she dropped anchor off the Naval School, and the young sailors went ashore to “bone it” hard for another long year, and to struggle for honors.

CHAPTER XLVI.
A FORCED RESIGNATION.

The second year began with Mark Merrill in the lead for honors.

He had not only won a badge for a gallant act at sea, but he had received “honorable mention” for his services as pilot under circumstances where only skill and nerve alone could have saved the cruiser from a very dangerous position.

Then, too, he held the honors of his class for the first year, and that was in his favor.

He had enemies, of course—what really good fellow has not?—yet he was generally popular, and the officers all liked him.

Scott Clemmons was still distantly polite, and his clique of toadies imbibed his manner toward Mark Merrill.

But of their treatment Mark was severely indifferent.

Scott Clemmons had given out that he meant to win the honors of his second year.

He had thrown this challenge, or rather defiance, in the face of Merrill, and at once he set about his task to win.

But those who made the situation a study were convinced that Scott Clemmons would never stand number one, though he had a strong chance for position number two.

There were more who said it was very bad form for him to attempt to take first honors away from a man to whom he owed his life, but Mark Merrill seemed not to regard it in that light.

One afternoon Mark received a letter which seemed to give him a great deal of worry.

At last he sought Bemis Perry, and said:

“See here, Perry, you have got a very level head, and I wish to ask your advice.”

“Fire away, old man, for I am at your service from truck to keelson.”

“I have a letter here from Miss Virgene Rich, whom you met at my mother’s.”

“Ah! I see; but you are over-young to marry yet, Mark. Flirt all you wish to, have a sweetheart in every port, which is a sailor’s prerogative, but don’t let any girl get her grappling irons on you too securely to shake off.”

“My dear Perry, you generally speak with the wisdom of Solomon, but just now you are on the wrong tack, so go about and know your course before you set full sail.”

“My anchor’s down, Merrill, and hatches closed,” and Perry dropped into his chair and placed his finger upon his lips.

“It concerns Clemmons, and places me in an awkward position.”

“Ah! more of his deviltry, eh?”

“I’ll read you Miss Virgene’s letter.” And taking it from his pocket, Mark read aloud as follows:

“My Dear Mark: A letter from me will doubtless surprise you, but I write for Silly Sam, who is not gifted with a superior style of penmanship.

“Let me first tell you that all at Spook Hall jogs on in the same easy way, and I am still under your sweet mother’s kind charge, though I am spending Sunday, to-day, at home with father, so I can send no message from your mother, and, in fact, my letter to you is a secret known only to the writer, Silly Sam, and the recipient.

“Now to Sam’s letter. He begs me to say to you that he is in the employ of Merchant Clemmons, and that the other day, when asleep in the little room adjoining the office, Mr. Clemmons came in, accompanied by a young man whom he had met at his door.

“Sam did not make his presence known, and through the door, he being back in the dark, he saw that the young man presented a very seedy, dissipated look, but had a very defiant air.

“Then, as near as I could get it from Sam, the young man demanded money from the merchant, and was refused.

“Then he told him that he would go to the Naval Academy, where he had been a cadet, and make a clean breast of it to the commandant that his son, Scott Clemmons, had led him into a plot against you.

“Scott had paid him well for his services, said services being to persecute you in any way in his power, to cause you demerit marks, and that Scott Clemmons had arranged a plan by which you should be found with a gold fifty-dollar coin, which he, Clemmons, had pretended was stolen from him.

“The plot did not turn out a success, as you had thwarted him in some way, and he had been dismissed from the academy.

“To keep him quiet and accept his dismissal, Scott Clemmons had paid him well, and he had all the proofs of what he said, and knew that it was the intention of Scott Clemmons to get you dismissed from the academy by some foul means, notwithstanding that you had saved his life, for he treated you with the bitterest venom.

“Then, Sam says, the visitor, who gave his name as Barney Breslin, boldly demanded two thousand dollars from Merchant Clemmons, or he would go to the commandant and give proof of Scott’s villainy and have him dismissed in disgrace.

“Sam says that Mr. Clemmons was deeply moved, when convinced that the young man told the truth, and told him that he would give him the money, and more, on condition that he should give into his hands all proofs and then leave the country.

“This the young man promised to do, and when Mr. Clemmons sent to the bank for the money, he handed over to him a bundle of papers, letters, which Scott Clemmons had written, and other documents, which the merchant seemed glad to get.

“Such is Sam’s story, and you now know what a foe you have in Scott Clemmons, and can govern yourself accordingly, Mark.”

Such was the letter, and Bemis Perry listened to every word of it with the deepest attention.

“Now, Perry, you have the facts.”

“Yes, and you asked my advice?”

“I did, and I wish it, for, though I do not fear Clemmons’ open hostility, I do not care to be on guard constantly against his blow in the dark, nor do I wish a scandal, for of that there has been enough with Breslin.”

“So I think; but my idea is to save a scandal, and to keep the secret between ourselves, while I force Clemmons to resign, for it will come better from me than from you. If you will trust me with that letter I will act.”

Mark handed it over without a word, and, rising, Bemis Perry went to his desk and took out a paper he had locked therein.

“I will soon return,” he said, and he left the room.

He went straight to the quarters of Scott Clemmons, whom he found alone.

Scott Clemmons looked up with some surprise as he entered, for they were upon barely speaking terms; but Perry gave him no time to consider, but said:

“I have come to see you, Clemmons, upon a matter of vital importance to you, and we must be alone.”

“Well, sir, we are not likely to be disturbed.”

“Mr. Clemmons, I have come to ask you to do yourself a favor.”

“In what way?”

“To resign.”

“What do you mean, sir?” angrily asked Clemmons.

“Be patient, extremely patient, and you shall know. I am here to do you a favor, if you will so consider it; to do my duty by the service, the academy, and my brother cadets, if you do not obey my wishes.”

“Your words are inexplicable to me, sir!”

“Well, I’ll be more explicit than you can wish, sir. You had as a friend here one Barney Breslin, a cadet who became your tool, for you paid him well to persecute Mark Merrill in every manner possible—hold! I have here Breslin’s confession, and more, I hold other papers to criminate you in that gold coin affair, which you professed to have had stolen from you for the purpose of disgracing Merrill. Now the paper I handed to you, which you left upon the table in the Astor House, I allowed three cadets to read, and I took a copy of it. That shows that Breslin blackmailed you out of six hundred dollars. He did not leave the country, but on the contrary has forced money from your father, who has feared to have you disgraced by his coming to the commandant.”

“My father?” gasped Clemmons.

“Yes, your father paid him over two thousand dollars to prevent his coming here, and so, as I hold all proofs of your villainy——”

“Sir!”

“I repeat it, of your criminal scoundrelism toward Merrill, I tell you, that if you do not this day send in your resignation to the commandant I shall place the whole matter before him, and the result will be your utter disgrace. See, I am blackmailing you now, threatening, forcing you to resign, for if you do not, I shall do as I say; if you do, I shall keep your secret, upon my honor. What will you do?”

“Resign,” and the word was hardly audible.

“When?”

“To-day.”

“You are wise.”

“You will keep my secret?”

“Yes; write your resignation now.”

It was done, and Bemis Perry said:

“Now, good-by, Clemmons; but permit me to say that I pity one of your splendid attainments who was not man enough to fight a rival openly.”

And Bemis Perry left the room, while soon after Scott Clemmons went over to the quarters of the commandant and handed in his resignation.

It was a surprise to the commandant, a wonder to all, the resignation of Scott Clemmons, but all questioning as to the cause went unanswered, for Bemis Perry kept his word and the secret.

CHAPTER XLVII.
A MIDNIGHT EXPEDITION.

Mark Merrill continued on in the even tenor of his way through his second year, and once more stood at the head of his class.

As for honors won the third year was but a repetition of the other two, and he entered upon the last year of his Naval School life with the goal of his ambition in sight, the chance of becoming the “first honor man.”

When the last day rolled around, the one that was to make or mar his hopes of winning or losing, he was pale but calm.

He had held his popularity with all, and they all wished him success.

He had held his place so well in his studies, his deportment, and through every duty and drill, that only a slip could send him to the rear.

There, among the visitors, was the Honorable Secretary of the Navy, and there, too, was the gallant old sailor who had been his friend, and who had been honored by promotion, and now appeared as Rear-Admiral Lucien.

“I dare not fail in their presence,” Mark Merrill had muttered to himself, and his face flushed as he suddenly beheld two others there with their eyes upon him.

Those two were his mother and Virgene Rich, the latter now grown into a beautiful young lady of twenty.

Dare he fail now? No, and he did not, for his name stood at the head of the list as number one.

And more, he was praised in no measured terms, and cheered in a manner that showed that his fellows were glad in their inmost hearts.

And that night when he appeared at the Naval Ball he was the cynosure of all eyes, and justly so, for a splendid, handsome fellow was this daring young sailor who had made such a brave fight for fame.

When Mrs. Merrill and Virgene returned homeward they had as an escort the young naval officer, who was on his “graduation leave” before being ordered away on a three years’ cruise.

Arriving at Spook Hall, and mingling among those who had known him in the past, the verdict of all was that he was not in the least spoiled by the honors he had won.

Asking about Scott Clemmons, Mark learned that he had gone away from home upon an expedition to Cuba, to fight with the Cuban patriots struggling to free the “ever faithful isle” from the tyrannical yoke of Spain.

After a happy visit at home, where Herbert Nazro came and visited him the last month of his leave, and fell desperately in love with Virgene Rich, Mark reported for duty, and was ordered on board the United States steamer Frolic, which was to sail for the West Indies.

Three months after, one dark and rainy night, the Frolic lay at anchor in the harbor of Santiago de Cuba.

In the steerage a number of young officers were gathered around a table, before which was spread a map of the harbor and the town.

One was talking in low, earnest tone, and others were listening with rapt attention.

The speaker was saying: “Now, gentlemen, these prisoners have been placed in this prison—here it is upon this map, and to-morrow they will be taken to the fortress, where they will remain until Sunday, when, with the others now condemned and captured on the Commandatario, they will be shot by the Spaniards, for Spain is merciless to her foes. If they are removed to the fortress, then all hope for them is gone, so we must act to-night. I have bribed a Spaniard to aid us, and he is to secure the uniform of an aide to General Buriel, and meet us at this point—here on this map. He will have uniforms awaiting us, and we will march to the outpost for the prisoners, while he states that he has been sent to conduct them to the fortress, fearing an attempt at rescue by the Cubans. The commandant of the outpost prison is a new man, and his men have just come from Havana, so that Buriel’s aides are not known to them, and herein is our strength. Now I saw these prisoners to-day, and every one of the seven are Americans, whom, as our cruiser will not protect, we must aid to escape. Nay, more, one of these prisoners is the gallant Bascomb, who resigned after leaving the academy, and accepted a position as commander of a Cuban blockade runner. Another is Scott Clemmons, also once a cadet, who was Bascomb’s lieutenant, and the others are also brave American boys who must not be shot to satiate Governor Buriel’s thirst for blood. Are you with me?”

“To a man,” said Bemis Perry, and the others, eight in number, held forth their hands and grasped that of Mark Merrill, who continued:

“It is not law; I know, it is against naval discipline; but it is justice, it is humanity, for if we do not save those poor lads they are dead men within thirty-six hours. Now we have leave to go on a special invitation to our fellows of the Powhattan, so we’ll instead pull ashore and meet my Spaniard.”

“We are ready,” said Perry, and soon after, muffled in their great coats, the young officers entered a cutter and were rowed away through the darkness and rain.

They landed at a certain point on the shore where there was a hut in which shone a light.

Here a Spaniard met them, and Spanish uniforms were put on over their own, muskets were taken, and they marched off.

The Spaniard was in the uniform of a captain, and wore a cloak.

He led the way, and after a march of half a mile they came to the outpost carcel, or prison.

The pretended Spanish officer gave the countersign, and going into the carcel told what his orders were.

It seemed a long time for the waiting officers in their disguise, but at last the clanking of chains was heard and out marched the prisoners, seven in number, and heavily ironed.

The pretended captain placed them in single file between his men, and off they marched in the darkness and storm. They did not return to the cabin, but continued along the shore, until they came to a boat, and dimly seen offshore was a small sailing craft.

“Now, señor, unlock these irons, and let the men go aboard as quickly as possible, for their craft must be well off the coast before dawn, and with this gale they can be, for it blows straight out of the harbor. Then see us back to the cabin, and your work is done,” said Mark Merrill.

“I should know that voice among a thousand—by heaven! you are Mark Merrill.”

“Yes, Bascomb, but breathe it not, for we are Spanish soldiers this night of our Lord.”

“Ever the same noble, gallant fellow, Merrill, and God knows I’ll never forget you for this, will we——”

“Come, you must be off, or you will undo all that has been done. There is your craft and two men on board, chartered for the cruise—please go.” And thus urged the rescued men hastened into the boat, which at once shoved off, while brave Bascomb cried:

“We’ll meet again, Merrill; God bless you and your brave crew, whoever they be.”

“Now we must get out of this,” said Mark, and the Spaniard led the way rapidly back to the hut.

When the uniforms were discarded Mark handed the Spaniard the amount promised him, and getting into their boat, it was headed back to the Frolic.

“Merrill,” said Bemis Perry, in a low tone.

“Yes?”

“You engineered the bravest act of your life to-night, one which, dared it be known, would win you a name that would never die. I am proud to have been with you; but did you see that Clemmons skulked away when Bascomb recognized you, that he uttered no word?”

“Yes, he’s the same old Clemmons, Perry,” was the reply.

The ship was reached, and when the next morning came the news of the daring rescue of the prisoners became known, but no one placed the daring deed where it belonged, and that the call of the captured men was a close one was proven by the deliberate and cruel execution, as the murder was called, of scores of gallant men who had volunteered to aid the patriot cause of Cuba, and were doomed to death by the butcher, Buriel.

Soon after the Frolic steamed away from the shores of the ever faithful isle, and no one ever dreamed the real truth of that midnight rescue of Americans led by Mark Merrill.

CHAPTER XLVIII.
CONCLUSION.

After her West Indian cruise the Frolic dropped anchor in New York harbor, and, to his surprise, Mark Merrill found a leave of absence granted him from active duty.

A letter from his mother partly explained the situation. She had begged the leniency of a leave for him.

Upon his arrival in B—— his mother met him, and upon the drive home he learned the story, which I will now let the reader know.

Mark’s father had been a wild, but not wicked, lad, and his mother had married a second time.

The stepfather, Vance Vanloo, had treated the youth so cruelly, wishing to get rid of him so that his own son could get possession of his wife’s valuable estates, that the lad had run away to sea.

He had the proper spirit in him, and had worked his way up from the forecastle to the command of a fine vessel, when he had fallen in love with a young girl who was crossing the ocean with her invalid father.

The father had died, and was buried at sea, and the daughter, falling in love also with the handsome young captain, had married him.

And she it was who afterward became Mark Merrill’s mother.

But soon after little Mark reached his twelfth year the father was lost at sea, and his wife was left destitute, for, as sorrows never come singly, what they had saved up in bank was wiped out by the failure of the bank.

So it was that Mark, born upon the sea and reared upon his father’s vessel, turned his attention to the water to earn a living for himself and mother.

They had sought the coast of Maine, near B——, and afterward became dwellers, by the kindness of the agent, in the grand old mansion known as Spook Hall. But, better still, an inquiring attorney had sought out the heirs of the estate, and of other large property coming to them, and found them in Mrs. Merrill and her son.

So the Vanloo mansion, old Spook Hall, was in reality the home of Mrs. Merrill, who suddenly found herself a very rich woman.

Such was the mystery hanging over the Merrills, and hovering about Beacon Castle, and such was the story told to the young naval officer during his drive to the place so long dreaded as Spook Hall, but which had been fitted up and refurnished by Mrs. Merrill to welcome home its master.

A pleasant month did Mark spend at home, and while there he gave away in marriage, for her father had died the year before, pretty Virgene Rich to Herbert Nazro, of the United States Navy, and a handsome couple they were, too.

And Mark Merrill?

But if I say more I fear I will be pointing too directly at the officer who has been my hero, and whom, perhaps, too many already have recognized; so I will let fall the curtain upon the gallant young sailor who won the victory in his fight for fame.

THE END.

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Transcriber’s Notes:

Illustrations have been moved to paragraph breaks near where they are mentioned.

Punctuation has been made consistent.

Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

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Table of Contents

- Transcriber’s Notes:

- Midshipman Merrill

- CHAPTER I. THE WRECK OF THE TOY.

- CHAPTER II. THE ARREST.

- CHAPTER III. THE GIRL WITNESS.

- CHAPTER IV. THE DWELLERS IN “SPOOK HALL.”

- CHAPTER V. A BOLD RESOLVE.

- CHAPTER VI. THE BOY PILOT.

- CHAPTER VII. THE CADET MIDSHIPMAN.

- CHAPTER VIII. A RUMOR AFLOAT.

- CHAPTER IX. GOING ASHORE.

- CHAPTER X. UNFATHOMED.

- CHAPTER XI. THE PROMISE KEPT.

- CHAPTER XII. A PLOT THAT FAILED.

- CHAPTER XIII. STUMBLING BLOCKS.

- CHAPTER XIV. FACING THE MUSIC.

- CHAPTER XV. BOARDING THE VENTURE.

- CHAPTER XVI. UNDER CONVOY.

- CHAPTER XVII. JACK JUDSON’S MEMORY.

- CHAPTER XVIII. STRANGELY MET.

- CHAPTER XIX. A THREAT.

- CHAPTER XX. THE MIDSHIPMAN.

- CHAPTER XXI. SHAKING HANDS WITH THE PAST.

- CHAPTER XXII. DISCIPLINING A “CAPTAIN.”

- CHAPTER XXIII. A SECRET FOE.

- CHAPTER XXIV. A SECRET FRIEND.

- CHAPTER XXV. A CLOUDED RECORD.

- CHAPTER XXVI. THE TELLTALE COIN.

- CHAPTER XXVII. A DOUBLE ACCUSATION.

- CHAPTER XXVIII. THE STORY TOLD.

- CHAPTER XXIX. THE ALTERNATIVE.

- CHAPTER XXX. NOT ACCEPTED.

- CHAPTER XXXI. A SWIMMING MATCH.

- CHAPTER XXXII. THE “WATER WIZARD.”

- CHAPTER XXXIII. “HONORS EASY.”

- CHAPTER XXXIV. A LETTER FROM HOME.

- CHAPTER XXXV. THE MIDSHIPMAN’S REVERIE.

- FOOTNOTE:

- CHAPTER XXXVI. THE FIRST CRUISE.

- CHAPTER XXXVII. THE DEMAND.

- CHAPTER XXXVIII. KEEPING AN APPOINTMENT.

- CHAPTER XXXIX. THE TELL TALE PAPER.

- CHAPTER XL. THREE REPORTS.

- CHAPTER XLI. A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE.

- CHAPTER XLII. “MAN OVERBOARD!”

- CHAPTER XLIII. A DEBT OF GRATITUDE.

- CHAPTER XLIV. THE PILOT MIDSHIPMAN.

- CHAPTER XLV. UNEXPECTED VISITORS.

- CHAPTER XLVI. A FORCED RESIGNATION.

- CHAPTER XLVII. A MIDNIGHT EXPEDITION.

- CHAPTER XLVIII. CONCLUSION.

- Transcriber’s Notes:

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE