Transcriber’s Notes:

“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?”

Midshipman Merrill

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 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.