MIDSHIPMAN KENWORTH.
It had all happened back early in the naval careers of young Strong and
his chum Taylor. Kenworth, a sprig just out of Annapolis, had come to
the _Manhattan_ with an idea not uncommon among young gentlemen just
out of the Academy, that next to the captain he was probably the most
important person on the ship.
To strengthen him in this belief, he had influential relatives who had
promised to smooth out his path in life for him. Despite this fact,
though, Kenworth was still a midshipman. Why was this, when many of his
own class had passed him?
Possibly the incident which Ned and Herc had such good cause to
recollect will throw a sidelight on Mr. Kenworth's character that may
serve to explain this condition.
It was one night when the wind was blowing "great guns." Ned and Herc,
the former then a coxswain, were part of a crew sent to bring some
young officers off to the ship from Guantanamo harbor. As it happened,
the young officers were all middies and, by right of length of service,
Kenworth outranked them.
He was quarrelsome and inclined to be obstreperous when he came on
board. He began by abusing Ned, who had incurred Kenworth's ill-will
by his sturdy independence and the steady command of his temper, even
under the fledgling officer's insults and slurs.
The boat put off with a sea running that threatened momentarily to
swamp her. It required the whole strength of Ned's arm to keep the
craft, which was deeply loaded, headed into the seas in such a way as
to insure safety.
"Let her off a point there, you," ordered Kenworth, when they had
proceeded a short distance.
"It will hardly be safe, sir," rejoined Ned.
"Hang your impudence," cried young Kenworth; "do what I tell you, do
you hear?"
"Very well, sir," and sorely against his will Ned did let the boat's
head swing a trifle.
The instant result was what he had anticipated. The crest of a sea
broke on them, drenching Kenworth to the skin. He flew into a frenzy of
rage.
"You clumsy, incompetent nincompoop," he sputtered, "I'll have you up
at the mast for that."
"I obeyed your orders, sir," rejoined Ned simply, knowing there was
nothing to be gained by getting into an argument with an officer.
"Don't answer me, sir!" howled Kenworth. "Confound your impudence!"
"Oh, look here, Kenworth," remonstrated another midshipman. "It wasn't
his fault. He told you it wouldn't do and you insisted."
"And got jolly well wet for your pains," came from one of the men at
the oars in a low voice intended only for his mate's ears.
But Kenworth heard him, heard, too, the smothered laugh from the men,
none of whom bore him any liking, his ways having made him the most
unpopular officer on the ship.
"How dare you make such a remark to me, sir?" he demanded of Ned,
choosing in his anger to make a victim of the man he disliked most.
"I said nothing, sir," rejoined Ned.
"That's right; he didn't utter a word," came from another midshipman.
"He'll sing a different tune at the mast to-morrow, insolent waterfront
scum," gritted out Kenworth.
He said no more, but the next day the word was passed forward by the
sergeant-at-arms for Ned to appear "at the mast," the man-o'-war
tribunal where the captain deals out justice. Luckily Ned had no
difficulty in clearing himself, thanks to friendly witnesses, and
Kenworth was privately reprimanded by the captain for bringing a
trumped-up charge against an enlisted man.
From that day on, Kenworth had nourished such a hatred of Ned as only a
mean nature like his could cherish. He never, while he remained on the
_Manhattan_, lost a chance to "work him up," as it is called. On one
occasion, he went so far as to order Ned to count the sails of every
ship in the harbor of Hong Kong and report their number to him.
Ned stood at the rail with a grave face for an hour enjoying the
scenery, and then, stepping up to Kenworth, who was swelling with
importance as officer of the deck, he saluted with a quiet smile.
"Well, did you do what I told you?" blustered Kenworth.
"Yes, sir; there are just three thousand nine hundred and ninety-five,"
replied Ned with great gravity.
Kenworth looked sharply at him.
"How do you know?" he asked.
"I counted them, sir," was the reply. "You can check up my count if
you like, sir; you'll find it correct."
As Ned saluted and turned away, he heard a burst of laughter at
Kenworth's expense from some Jackies who had heard the little dialogue,
and who discreetly vanished before the arrogant middie's wrath could
descend on them. Soon after this Kenworth had left the _Manhattan_ and
Ned lost all track of him; not, indeed, that he felt any great interest
in the matter.
And now, by a strange quip of circumstance, they had come face to
face once more in the wardroom of the little gunboat. But now their
positions were reversed. Ned was in command, Herc was his second in
authority, with Kenworth, although he shaved daily and boasted a blue
chin, still a midshipman.
"I'm very glad to meet Mr. Kenworth again," he said, when he had
recovered his self-possession; "I recollect him on the _Manhattan_ very
well indeed."
Kenworth mumbled something about duty aft and hurried off. Ensign
Summerville saw that there was an embarrassing situation in the air and
hastened to suggest that they go on deck, where he would have the crew
mustered and formally turn over the command of the Seneca to Ned.
The crew was piped to quarters and the ensign handed Ned a complete
roster of the men. The shrill sounds of the bos'un's whistles filled
the air, reminding Ned and Herc of the days when a response was part of
their duty.
The inspection did not last long. It was actually more a ceremony of
introduction. When it was over, the ensign tarried to help Ned in
working out his course into the Sound.
"I would suggest that Mr. Kenworth take the ship out to deep water, as
he knows the channels hereabouts thoroughly," said the ensign, as he
bade good-by to the new commander of the _Seneca_.
"Mr. Kenworth, you will take the bridge, then," said Ned.
Kenworth saluted and hurried off to take his post. But as he did so, he
grinned to himself.
"Good luck!" he exclaimed. "I think I see a chance to take the wind out
of your sails before very long, you beggar on horseback, you forecastle
Jack on the quarter deck! If I don't fix you and your ambitions and
double spike 'em before this cruise is over, my name isn't Raymond
Kenworth."
Swords were removed and sent below as soon as Ensign Summerville was
over the side.
While waiting for the gig to return, Ned and Herc lingered over the
charts and gave a few necessary orders.
"Well, Ned," confided Herc in a lull, "this is actually real after all."
"No doubt of that, old boy. I'm crazy to get under way and look at my
orders. Who knows what they may contain and what lies before us?"
What, indeed, did the future hold for these two ambitious young
officers of Uncle Sam's? They were destined to learn ere long. Over the
horizon of that day of life lay new experiences to be met, new problems
and dangers to be faced like officers and gentlemen and true Americans.