An Annapolis First Classman Part 8

"So you're against me too, are you?" shouted Bligh, now beside himself with anger; he then left the room and started down the corridor, and in a moment saw Harry Blunt coming toward him. He did not notice that Blunt, on seeing him, suddenly clenched his hands and seemed to breathe hard. In fact Harry's anger was yet intensely alive, and the sight of Bligh set his nerves on edge.

Bligh's overwrought feelings now left his control; he wanted somebody to hate, and because of his previous troubles with Blunt it was very easy for him to vent his pa.s.sion on that young man. So as he pa.s.sed Harry he suddenly stopped and said:

"So the Great Stonewell's pet chicken has bootlicked himself into quarter, has he?"

And then an avalanche struck Mr. Henry Bligh. Before he thought of defending himself a steam hammer blow slammed him against the corridor wall and in the s.p.a.ce of three or four seconds blow after blow was rained upon him; blows sent by Harry Blunt, animated by intense personal animosity and utter detestation. And then Bligh dropped to the floor, covered his face with his hands, acknowledging defeat, and groaning in utter despair. To that overwrought fourth cla.s.sman it seemed as if the entire world had combined against him.

Stonewell came running down the corridor. "What does this mean?" he demanded savagely of Blunt.

"He said I was your pet chicken, and had bootlicked myself into quarter.

I hit him; I had to, I couldn't help it. I hadn't said a word to him when he insulted me."

"Go to your room and keep away from him. Get up, Bligh, and go to your room."

After this episode Bligh was very quiet, and kept much to himself. But whenever he pa.s.sed Harry Blunt or Stonewell a peculiar expression crossed his face. One would have said that though he never spoke of them yet he thought much about them, and these thoughts evidently were not pleasant ones.

The football season now drew to a close, and finally those ancient friends but football rivals, Annapolis and West Point, once more faced each other on Franklin Field, in Philadelphia. It is not the purpose here to depict that glorious struggle; that is a matter of too recent history and has been told many times.

The teams seemed about equally matched. In the mighty rus.h.i.+ng of one team against the other neither side could make much, and but few first downs were recorded; end runs were nipped in the bud. All in vain would one team hurl itself upon the other, and many tremendous efforts accomplished nothing. And so before the end of the first half kicking tactics were adopted by both sides. Twice when Annapolis had recovered the ball from a punt down the field a place-kick was tried, but each time it was blocked by West Point.

Once more, while there was yet ten minutes to play, the mids.h.i.+pmen were within striking distance of West Point's goal, and once more Blunt gave the same signal for an attempt for a goal from the field; a signal the West Pointers now knew perfectly well. But they did not appreciate a difference in Blunt's manner of giving the signal, something well understood by every mids.h.i.+pman player. Stonewell fell back in his place, the mids.h.i.+pmen braced themselves as usual, and the West Pointers prepared to block the kick.

On the bleachers the mighty host who had been yelling themselves hoa.r.s.e were momentarily silent. Harry Blunt now grabbed the snapped ball and then, with terrific force, West Point plunged into the Annapolis line.

The shock was backed by all the strength and pluck and spirit that the West Pointers possessed. But bewilderment overtook them, for something out of the usual had happened, and in awful dismay they were like men groping in the dark.

Blunt grabbed the ball when it was snapped back and ran seven or eight yards to the right; and at the same instant, with the speed of a deer Robert Drake sped far over to the right. He then turned and caught the ball which with unerring skill Blunt had thrown to the point where Robert was to catch it.

In but a few seconds Robert was lying flat on the ground between the goal posts. Annapolis had made a touch-down. And now from the Navy side there broke out prolonged roars and shouts from fifteen thousand enthusiastic Navy friends, while over on the West Point side there was nothing but silent dismay.

There was no more scoring, but all Annapolis was wild with delight; for the first time in four years she had defeated West Point.

But on the mids.h.i.+pman stand, surrounded by excited mids.h.i.+pmen in blue, there was one young man who did not partic.i.p.ate in the general delight; for with brooding face and troubled eyes Mids.h.i.+pman Henry Bligh sat silent.

CHAPTER VIII

"THE MAN WORE A SLOUCH HAT"

"Bang," went the reveille gun at six in the morning, rattling every window in Bancroft Hall; and out of bed jumped Robert Drake in a hurry.

He first took his customary cold shower-bath, and then quickly threw on his clothes. "Turn out, Stone," he called to his roommate, who was in his own sleeping room across the study. A suite for two mids.h.i.+pmen consists of two sleeping rooms separated by a longer room used in common by both, a large clothes closet, and a shower-bath.

Hardly had the reverberating roar of the morning gun died away than Bancroft Hall was filled with the harsh, sleep-blasting notes of discordant bugles.

"Turn out on this floor, turn out, turn out," called out Robert in the corridor just outside of his own room.

Then he entered the room next to his own, in which Peters and Gla.s.sfell roomed.

"All right, Bob," came from each sleeping room which opened into the study room where Robert had entered, and Robert left and rushed into the next room. It must be confessed that Robert was hardly out of the room when Gla.s.sfell was once more sound asleep. And further it is admitted that Robert did not give the same stern inspection to first cla.s.smen's rooms that he gave to those of the lower cla.s.ses. He was satisfied with the report from his own cla.s.smates of "all right," but saw with his own eyes that all others were actually turned out. On this particular morning Mr. Harry Blunt, mids.h.i.+pman third cla.s.s, was strangely very tired after what should have been eight hours of sleep, so tired, in fact, that neither gun-firing nor bugle detonation awakened him.

"Turn out, Blunt, turn out," called out Robert, standing over him. "Get up; you're on the report for not being turned out at reveille inspection."

Harry slowly turned out, and Robert rushed away to continue his inspection.

Breakfast formation came half an hour later. Most mids.h.i.+pmen were in ranks before roll call, but at the last note of the bugle swarms of mids.h.i.+pmen rushed madly from Bancroft Hall; mids.h.i.+pmen who had taken a few winks after reveille inspection, hoping to get to the formation without being marked late. This was Gla.s.sfell's habit, and he had developed remarkable skill in dressing himself while running at full speed. He would leave his room half dressed and at the end of a dead run he would appear in ranks ready for inspection.

"By George, Stone," said Robert later, "can you imagine there is anybody in the world who does more mad rus.h.i.+ng than mids.h.i.+pmen do? We are jumped out of our sleep by a cannon going off right under us, and we run about in a feverish hurry all day long, always having to be present at some formation or other, always fearful of punishment if we are late at anything. And one day is just like another; we were jumped about all day long when we were plebes, and we are still at it."

Every minute of Robert's life was interesting and never had it been so full of zest as in this, his last year at Annapolis. He enjoyed his rank with its duties and authority as cadet lieutenant, also his studies and drills were engrossing. These days, though so crowded with detail, were much the same; several hours daily were spent in preparing lessons; recitations followed, and then at four o'clock came the afternoon drills. The practical drills supplemented the theoretical work in cla.s.s rooms, and all was based upon what was to be required of the mids.h.i.+pmen after graduation. And as an important duty of graduated mids.h.i.+pmen is to teach and train enlisted men, Robert, in common with the rest of his cla.s.smates, was drilled at many different things. He commanded his own company at infantry and artillery manoeuvres and felt proud and important in this position, but at other times he was to be found at a forge, dirty with grime and sweat, or taking the place of a fireman at a boiler. He could now turn out a fair piece of work at the lathe, shaper, or drill-press; and he was quite at home in sailing a boat, running an engine or manipulating a twelve-inch gun turret. For at Annapolis drills are many and varied, and the mind, eye and hand are all trained together.

December pa.s.sed and with it football was forgotten. In the last of January came the semi-annual examinations; of the first cla.s.s there now remained but one-half of those who had originally entered.

In February occurred an incident of much interest to Robert. At a Sat.u.r.day night dance he saw his first commander, Captain Blunt, and with the latter was Miss Helen, his daughter, and Harry Blunt's sister. It would be hard to decide who was most pleased at this meeting. Captain Blunt evinced real pleasure in meeting Robert again, and Helen's welcome was a genuinely glad one.

"Come and see us, Mr. Drake," said Captain Blunt to Robert; "I've given up my command and am on leave; I've brought Mrs. Blunt and Helen to Annapolis. We've opened our house here, as I'm going to be here for several months and then go to the Light House Board. Come and see us, and bring Mr. Stonewell with you."

Meanwhile Mids.h.i.+pman Henry Bligh lived a very quiet life. After the football game the reason for his dismissal from the squad became noised about, and Bligh felt he was ignored by upper cla.s.smen and shunned by his own cla.s.s. He probably thought more of this than did anybody else and his thoughts were not happy. Besides, he was low in his studies and in danger of "bilging." He was barely satisfactory at the semi-annual examinations.

One night early in February, after taps inspection, and after the mids.h.i.+pmen in charge of floors had been sent to their rooms, the door of Bligh's room opened and that young man's head cautiously appeared.

Looking up and down the corridor, and seeing the mids.h.i.+pmen in charge were not at their desks, Bligh left his room and walked to the end of the corridor for a gla.s.s of water. This act was inoffensive in itself, except that mids.h.i.+pmen are required to attend to such matters before ten o'clock or wait until after eleven; it was not yet eleven and naturally Bligh did not wish to be seen.

While drinking the water Bligh heard some steps on the stairway leading to the next upper floor, and fearing it might be the officer-in-charge he quickly slipped into a dark corner at the side of the stairway, hoping he would not be noticed; in a moment a figure pa.s.sed a few feet from him, and to his surprise he saw it was Third Cla.s.sman Blunt.

"Now, what's that fellow up to?" reflected Bligh, his mind full of the injuries he imagined he had received from Harry Blunt. Bligh peered around the corner and in the dim light he saw Harry quickly and quietly walk down the corridor and then stop for a moment in front of the door of the room that Bligh knew was the office of Lieutenant-Commander Brooks, one of the discipline officers. The next instant Harry had opened the door of this room and entered it. Bligh was astounded. He walked softly to the room, paused an instant, and then gently, without making any noise, turned the k.n.o.b of the door.

The door was locked. Bligh was filled with wonder. It was evident that Blunt had a key to the door, had entered the room, and was now inside.

Bligh could not imagine why any mids.h.i.+pman should want to enter a discipline officer's room; it was certain no mids.h.i.+pman had a right to be in that office except to see Lieutenant-Commander Brooks on duty.

Blunt was committing a serious offense in being in the room. This did not worry Bligh at all, but he was completely puzzled.

"What can Blunt be doing in there?" he asked himself again and again. He listened intently and heard Blunt moving about; and then he heard a noise as if a chair were being moved and had knocked against something.

Looking up through the transom he saw it was all dark within; Blunt had not turned on any light.

Bligh now entered his own room, which was next to the one that Blunt had entered, and where Bligh now lived alone without a roommate. With a puzzled mind he drew a chair to his window, and thought and wondered.

His imagination could not help him. He had been in the office next door and knew it contained nothing but a desk, a table, two chairs and a mids.h.i.+pman wardrobe where Lieutenant-Commander Brooks could hang a coat if he were so disposed.

Bligh sat by his window, his mind full of Harry Blunt. The soft moonlight streamed into his room. And then Bligh was startled by hearing a noise in the room next door, as if a window were being raised.

Straining his eyes he looked out from his window, and in the next instant he saw the dark figure of a man creep out on the pa.s.sageway leading from the window of the office to the terrace.

The man turned to his left, and with the bright moonlight full on his face Bligh got a good look at him, but did not recognize him. The man wore a slouch hat, sack coat, and had a moustache and full beard.

The dark figure stole over to the terrace and soon disappeared.

"Now I understand," cried Bligh to himself. "Blunt had an appointment with some 'cit' and they met in the room next door. He's up to something, and I'll see that he gets reported for this, and I hope it will bilge him."

Bligh now opened the door of his room and looked out, expecting every moment to see Harry Blunt emerge from the office. Bligh was thoughtful for a while, then he took a spool of black linen thread from a drawer in his wardrobe. He tied one end of the thread to the door-k.n.o.b of the office and carried the thread overhead through the open transom of his room. He then sat in the chair by the window holding the thread hauled taut; and Bligh sat there for the next two hours, thread in hand.