An Annapolis First Classman

  CHAPTER XXI

  A GOOD SHOT WITH THE SIX-POUNDER

  "Bang," went the six-pounder, and four seconds later a heavy column ofwater rose up under the bow of the "Robert Centre," three quarters of amile away.

  "Well placed," called out Commander Brice, as he saw the shot fall."What," he exclaimed a moment later, "the rascal won't heave to! Splitthe mast, Mr. Drake, six feet above the deck."

  Hardly had he given the order when Robert again fired.

  "Five feet to the right; aim a little to the left of the mast."

  Again a sheet of flame leaped from the six-pounder's mouth, again thethunderous reverberating report, dying out in far-away echoes, rolledfrom the gun.

  Except for Commander Brice's orders, the noise of the gun, and the nowpainfully loud throbbing of the engines, an intense stillness prevailedon the "Nevada's" deck. Thoroughly accustomed to navy ways, not a soulon board thought of questioning the captain's reason for injuring thegraceful yacht, which had seen many pleasant sailing parties ofmidshipmen and their friends. All eyes were on the yacht; a few secondsafter Robert's last shot the tall raking mast was seen suddenly to snapoff close to the deck. Down went the mast over the side into the water,carrying with it every sail; and the yacht a minute before so full oflife and spirit, so swiftly plunging through the water, now rolledhelplessly, inert and lifeless.

  "A beautiful shot, Mr. Drake," cried Commander Brice, delightedly. "Mr.Joynes, as soon as we are near that yacht I'll slow down and stop andyou lower the life-boat; get your armed crew aboard, and row over to the'Robert Centre'! Take three men and a small boy from her--and let go theyacht's anchor; we'll let the 'Standish' tow her in after targetpractice."

  "What is it, Brice?" asked Commander Shaw, who had gone up on top of thepilot house.

  "Read this wireless message from the superintendent. It's evident thatthe kidnappers of Georgie Thompson stole the 'Robert Centre' and now areon board with the boy. By Jingo! Mr. Drake did some fine shooting.Between wireless telegraphy and good shooting villainy isn't profitablethese days."

  Before long three silent, gloomy men and a small boy were brought onboard. Two of the men were on the verge of collapse; new life had cometo little Georgie, who wondered what it was all about.

  "Master-at-arms, put these men in a cell and place a guard over them.Where is the wireless operator? Oh--send this message immediately. Lookhere, my little man, is your name Georgie Thompson?"

  "Yes, sir. Where is my papa? Is he here? What were those awful noises,Mister? May I have a piece of bread and butter? I'm awfully hungry.Where is my papa?"

  "Steward, take Georgie to my cabin and keep him there, and get himsomething to eat, right away. Full speed, both engines, hard aport thehelm. Now we'll run back by the buoys again. Take charge, Shaw, andfire as you will."

  Before long Blair's crew fired at its target, and in quick successionthe remaining four targets were fired at, and then the "Nevada" ran upto the targets to count the shot holes in them and the "Standish" wentup to repair them.

  Never did Robert Drake have a more exultant feeling than when he saw theholes his shots had torn through the canvas. He had fired twenty-twotimes in his minute, and there were nineteen gaping holes in his target.Blair had fired sixteen times and had made thirteen hits. Robert nowknew the flag was his and he was glad indeed. Six more crews were tofire, but he knew in his heart that none could hope to equal his record,because none had had the practice his crew had had.

  Nothing could have exceeded the cordial congratulations of his closestrival, Blair.

  "You've beaten me out, Bob, but, by George, you deserve to. I'm notashamed of my score; thirteen hits is not a bad record--but what luckyou have had--what a wonderful bull's-eye you made when you knockeddown the 'Robert Centre's' mast; you deserve the flag, Bob! There's nodoubt of that fact; you've won it, and by no fluke."

  The targets were soon patched up, and the remaining six gun crews firedtheir shots. On the whole the target practice was very good and themidshipmen and the ordnance officers present were jubilant.

  The "Nevada" returned to her wharf at six o'clock, and found a greatcrowd waiting for her. Present was a middle-aged gentleman, Mr.Thompson, who had come down from Baltimore on a special train; he wasfull of emotion and feeling, and wild with eagerness to see once morethe dear little boy who had been so rudely torn from him.

  Among the crowd were police officers, sailormen, and a company ofmarines. The transfer of the three miscreants to the police did not takelong. Outside of the Naval Academy gate a howling, derisive mob ofwhites and blacks had gathered and they jeered the miserable criminalsas they were taken through the streets to the railroad station.

  Language was not powerful enough for Mr. Thompson to express hisgratitude. "What can I do for you, sir?" he asked of Commander Brice. "Ihad determined to give the kidnappers the ten thousand dollars theydemanded; could I--may I----"

  "Your train doesn't leave for a couple of hours, Mr. Thompson; supposeyou take dinner with me--and of course you know how glad we all are yourboy is restored to you. But I'm going to introduce to you the midshipmanwho knocked the mast out of the yacht, the bulliest shot I've ever seen.Come here, Mr. Drake; this is Georgie's father."

  "What can I do for you, Mr. Drake?" eagerly asked the happy man. "Pleasesay something--do let me do something for you."

  Robert thought a moment, and then said: "Why, sir, I'm going to graduatein less than three weeks; won't you come to my graduation, sir? I'd beso glad if you would."

  Mr. Thompson looked reproachfully at them both. "Well, all I can say is,you are all gentlemen, every one of you!" Tears stood in his eyes as hesaid this, and he couldn't have said anything that would have touchedand pleased officers and midshipmen more deeply.

  This affair redounded to the credit of the Naval Academy. Thesuperintendent had acted quickly, Captain Brice had acted with judgment,and midshipmen could hit when they shot. This was the boiled-downnewspaper comment.

  "How did you feel, Bob, when you shot at the 'Robert Centre's' mast?"asked Stonewell later.

  "Feel? Why, I didn't feel at all, beyond an intention to hit the mast."

  "But wasn't there an idea in your mind that you might hurt somebody?"

  "You see, Stone," said Robert, "at that moment Captain Brice's willdominated my action; I was a machine, an automaton. I was completelycontrolled by him. Now when we talk this over in cold blood it seemsterrible, but I suppose that in a case like that a man loses allpersonal feeling--he is under a peculiar power. I imagine this is humannature and accounts for a lot of things. In our case it results no doubtfrom the military training we have received here these last four years.Now when we get an order from the commandant or officer-in-charge wejust naturally obey it."

  "I think you're right, Bob. Well, old chap, you are graduating withflying colors. I'd rather have aimed the shot that took down the 'RobertCentre's' mast than have done any other thing that has happened since Ibecame a midshipman. You've won the flag, that was your great ambition;and you are graduating number five or six. But everybody here isn't ashappy as you and I are, Bob. I'm quite concerned over Harry Blunt; hestands in some danger of bilging; not a great deal, but it is possible."

  Robert stiffened immediately. "Since when have you taken up with thatrascal, Stone?"

  "Look here, you've no right to call him a rascal. You've Frenchedyourself; so have I, so have Blair and Farnum."

  "Since when have you taken up with him, Stone?" persisted Robert.

  "I haven't taken up with him; I hardly ever have occasion to speak withhim. But I think a lot of Helen and his father and mother. You do too;you don't want to see him bilge, do you?"

  "For the sake of his father and mother and sister, no. Let's talk ofsomething else. This is Friday; the annual examinations commence onMonday. They will soon be over and we graduate in two weeks. I'll hateto leave this place, Stone; I've had such a happy year."

  "It has been fine, indeed. Well, Bob, we'll be back here as instructor
ssome day. Perhaps one of us may be officer-in-charge. By the way, I'mgoing to say good-bye to you for a couple of days. I've leave to go toWashington. I'm going to take the five o'clock train to-night and I'llbe back Sunday morning at about ten o'clock."

  Robert looked at his roommate with unconcealed amazement.

  "Well, Stone, you'll excuse my being astonished. But for an intimatechum you are the most remarkably secretive, non-communicative,open-hearted fellow that ever lived. Why, to go to Washington is anevent for a midshipman. Were I going to Washington, everybody in myclass would know of it. But it's just in line with your lonely tripsout to Conduit Street. Now, Stone, I'm intensely interested, you knowthat; and I'm not going to ask any questions; but if you can tell me whyyou are going, what you are going to do, I do wish you would."

  "Bob, I've had a family matter on my mind for some time and I justcannot talk about it. But I think everything is coming out all right. Iexpect to be back here with a free mind Sunday morning and I hope totalk openly with you then. Good-bye; I'm going to start now."

  "I'll go to the train with you; there's plenty of time."

  "Bob," said Stonewell, awkwardly, "I've got an errand to do before I go,and--and----"

  "All right, Stone, I understand. Good-bye, old chap, and good luck.Conduit Street again," muttered Robert to himself, after Stonewell hadleft.