Читать книгу Midshipman Merrill - Henry Harrison Lewis - Страница 11

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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.