MIDSHIPMAN PENNINGTON'S ACCIDENT
The stop at the Azores was uneventful. It remained in the minds of the
midshipmen only as a pleasant recollection of a quaint and pretty place.
Once more the squadron set sail, and now the homeward-bound pennant was
flying. The course lay straight across the Atlantic to the entrance of
Chesapeake Bay.
On the second night out the wind was blowing a little less than half a
gale.
Darkness had fallen when Dave, Dan, Farley and several other midshipmen
gathered to talk in low tones at the stern rail.
Presently all of them wandered away but Dave. He stood close to the
rail, enjoying the bumping motion every time the descending stern hit
one of the rolling waves.
Presently, thinking he saw a light astern, he raised himself, peering
astern.
Another group of restless middies had sauntered up. Pennington, after a
swift look at the pacing officer in charge here, and discovering that
the officer's back was turned, executed a series of swift cartwheels.
"Look out, Pen!" called Midshipman Dwight, in a low, though sharp voice.
Just too late the warning came.
As Pen leaped to his feet after the last turn, one of his hands struck
Darrin forcefully.
Dave swayed, tried to clutch at something, then--
"O-o-o-oh!" rang the first startled chorus.
Then, instantly, on top of it, came the rousing hail:
"Man overboard--astern!"
Farley and Hallam were the first to reach the rail. But Lieutenant
Burton was there almost as quickly.
"Haul back!" commanded the lieutenant sternly. "No one go overboard!"
That held the middies in check, for in no place, more than in the Navy,
are orders orders.
Clack! was the sound that followed the first cry. Like a flash the
marine sentry had thrown his rifle to the deck. A single bound carried
him to one of the night life buoys. This he released, and hurled far
astern.
As the night buoy struck the water a long-burning red light was fused by
contact. The glow shone out over the waters.
In the meantime, the "Massachusetts's" speed was being slowed rapidly,
and a boat's crew stood at quarters.
The boat put off quickly, guided by the glow of the red signal light on
the buoy. Ere the boat reached the buoy the coxswain made out the head
and shoulders of a young man above the rim of the floating buoy.
Soon after the boat lay alongside. Dave, with the coxswain's aid, pulled
himself into the small craft.
Recovering the buoy, the coxswain flashed the red light three times.
From the deck of the battleship came a cheering yell sent up from
hundreds of throats.
In the meantime, however, while the boat was on its way to the buoy, a
pulsing scene had been enacted on board.
Farley went straight up to Midshipman Pennington.
"Sir," demanded Farley hotly, "why did you push Mr. Darrin over the
rail."
Pennington looked at his questioner as one stunned.
"I--I did push Darrin over," admitted Pennington, "but it was an
accident."
"An easily contrived one, wasn't it?" demanded Midshipman Farley, rather
cynically.
"It was pure accident," contended Pennington, paling. "Until it happened
I hadn't the least idea in the world that I was going to send Mr. Darrin
or anyone else overboard."
"Huh!" returned Farley dubiously.
"Huh!" quoth Hallam.
Dan Dalzell uttered not a word, but the gaze of his eyes was fixed
angrily on Pennington.
That latter midshipman turned as white as a sheet. His hands worked as
though he were attempting to clutch at something to hold himself up.
"Surely, you fellows don't believe, do you--" he stammered weakly, then
paused.
"One thing we did notice, the other day," continued Farley briskly, "was
that, when Darrin was rescued from the sea and returned to us, you were
about the only member of the class who didn't go up to him and
congratulate him on his marvelous escape."
"How could--"
"Mr. Pennington, I haven't the patience to talk with you now," rejoined
Farley, turning on his heel.
At that moment the yell started among the midshipmen nearer the rail.
Farley, Dan, Hallam and others joined in the yell and rushed to better
points of vantage.
Pennington tried to join in the cheer, but his tongue seemed fixed to
the roof of his mouth. He stood clenching and unclenching his hands, his
face an ashen gray in his deep humiliation.
"I don't care what one or two fellows may say," groaned Pennington. "But
I don't want the class to think such things of me."
He was the most miserable man on board as the small boat came alongside.
The boat, occupants and all, was hoisted up to the davits and swung
in-board. To the officer of the deck, who stood near-by, Dave turned,
with a brisk salute.
"I beg to report that I've come aboard, sir," Darrin uttered.
"And very glad we are of it, Mr. Darrin," replied the officer. "You will
go to your locker, change your clothing and then report to the captain,
sir."
"Aye, aye, sir."
With another salute, Dave hastened below, followed by Dan Dalzell, who
was intent on attending him.
Ten minutes later Dave appeared at the door of the captain's cabin. Just
a few minutes after that he came out on deck.
A crowd gathered about him, expressing their congratulations.
"Thank you all," laughed Dave, "but don't make so much over a middy
getting a bath outside of the schedule."
To the rear hung Pennington, waiting his chance. At last, as the crowd
thinned, Pennington made his way up to Dave.
"Mr. Darrin, I have to apologize for my nonsense, which was the means of
pushing you overboard. It was purely accidental, on my honor. I did not
even know it was you at the stern, nor did I realize that my antics
would result in pushing any one overboard. I trust you will do me the
honor of believing my statement."
"Of course I believe it, Mr. Pennington," answered Darrin, opening his
eyes.
"There are some," continued Pennington, "who have intimated to me their
belief that I did it on purpose. There may be others who half believe or
suspect that I might, or would, do such a thing."
"Nonsense!" retorted Dave promptly. "There may be differences,
sometimes, between classmates, but there isn't a midshipman in the Navy
who would deliberately try to drown a comrade. It's a preposterous
insult against midshipman honor. If I hear any one make a charge like
that, I'll call him out promptly."
"Some of your friends--I won't name them--insisted, or at least let me
feel the force of their suspicions."
"If any of my friends hinted at such a thing, it was done in the heat of
the moment," replied Dave heartily. "Why, Mr. Pennington, such an act of
dishonor is impossible to a man bred at Annapolis."
Darrin fully believed what he said. On the spur of the moment he held
out his hand to his enemy.
Pennington flushed deeply, for a moment, then put out his own hand,
giving Dave's a hearty, straightforward grasp.
"I was the first to imply the charge," broke in Farley quickly. "I
withdraw it, and apologize to both of you."
There was more handshaking.
During the next few days, while Darry and Pen did not become by any
means intimate, they no longer made any effort to avoid each other, but
spoke frankly when they met.
The remaining days of the voyage passed uneventfully enough, except for
a great amount of hard work that the middies performed as usual.
On the twenty-second of August they entered Chesapeake Bay. Once well
inside, they came to anchor. There was considerable practice with the
sub-caliber and other smaller guns. On the twenty-ninth of August the
battleship fleet returned to the familiar waters around Annapolis. The
day after that the young men disembarked.
Then came a hurried skeltering, for the first, second and third classmen
were entitled to leave during the month of September.