CLIF ON A SCOUT.
“Clif! I say, Clif! Wake up.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Wake up, will you. There’s something in the wind.”
“Oh, go away, Toggles. Can’t you let a fellow sleep?”
“All right, if you want to see a chum hazed by----”
“Hazed! Gorry! Who is it? Where--what----”
Clif Faraday swung lightly from his hammock, and confronted a tall,
slim youth clad picturesquely in a long nightshirt.
Clif himself was similarly attired, and the single garment revealed to
advantage his erect, muscular figure. He was not over large for his
seventeen years of age, but there was grace and strength in every line
of his compact body.
“What is it, Toggles?” he queried, hastily. “Did you say some one was
getting hazed?”
“Yes. It’s Nanny.”
“Nanny? Gorry! Have they tackled that little chap? Who’s got him?”
“It’s Crane and his gang.”
Clif’s handsome teeth came together with a snap, and a queer, grim
smile crossed his lips.
“Crane, eh?” he said. “He’s broke out again. And he has tackled Nanny
as a starter. What do you know, Toggles?”
T. Oggles Andrews, or “Toggles,” as he was familiarly called by his
plebe associates, made haste to reply.
Throwing one long, skinny leg over a convenient mess chest, he
explained:
“White, that young landsman who has taken such a shine to you, told me
a few minutes ago that he saw Crane and five others drag Nanny down
the orlop deck ladder. They had the kid choked so he couldn’t resist
or make a noise. I met White on deck and he put me onto the racket. He
said he overheard them say they were going to raise merry hurrah with
certain gally plebes.”
Clif laughed ominously.
“I suppose they meant us,” he replied. “Well, we won’t wait until they
look us up.”
While speaking he had taken his trousers from beneath the hammock
mattress and was donning them.
“Call Trolley and the rest,” he added. “We will make a night of it
ourselves. Methinks the old _Monongahela_ will see some queer doings
before the sun rises again.”
Toggles gave a chuckle and slipped under the hammocks to the other side
of the deck. While he was away summoning reinforcements, Clif made a
hurried scout in the direction of the orlop deck hatchway, an opening
in the forward part of the berth deck.
The orlop on board a man-of-war of the _Monongahela_ type is, it may be
well to know, a place in the bow below the level of the berth deck. It
is subdivided into small storerooms and has a narrow hallway into which
the rooms open.
As it is down in the extreme lower part of the ship, away from the
sleeping crew, it is an ideal place for certain ingenious ceremonies
known in colleges as hazing.
When Clif reached the edge of the hatchway, Nanny was just in the act
of making the vociferous objections described at the beginning of this
chronicle. His subsequent quieting at Crane’s hands, and that cadet’s
remarks on the subject came plainly to Clif’s ears.
The latter, in his momentary anger, made a step down as if for the
purpose of rescuing Nanny, but he thought better of it.
“They can’t do much harm to the youngster,” he murmured, “and if I
interfere now it’ll spoil our scheme. It’s a good chance to teach those
brutes another lesson. They have had more than one from us, but it
seems they need more.”
He bent over the hatch and listened again. The berth deck was as quiet
as the tossing and mumbling and snoring of several hundred sleeping
lads could permit, and Clif heard plainly the conversation being
carried on below.
“He’s fixed now, the measly plebe,” growled a voice which Clif easily
recognized as Crane’s. “He’s number one, and the smallest of the gang.
I only wish it was Faraday.”
“You do, eh?” muttered the unseen listener, grimly. “Well, you’ll have
me pretty soon, but not in the way you think.”
“I say, Crane,” spoke up another muffled voice, “don’t you think your
scheme a little too risky? It’ll stir up the whole ship and raise Cain
generally. You know what the first luff said about hazers before we
sailed.”
“Oh, bother the first luff. He’s an old woman. He forgets what he did
in his second year. I’ve heard that he made a plebe eat tallow candles
until he nearly died. Why, my plan is mild. What does varnishing and
painting a few measly plebes amount to, anyway. If you don’t like to
take chances skip back to bed.”
“I’m not afraid, but I wouldn’t care to get fired this early in the
course. What if Faraday or some of his chums split on us?”
“No fear of that,” quickly exclaimed the Georgia cadet. “Faraday may be
fresh, but he’s not carrying tales.”
“Thanks,” murmured Clif, starting to leave the hatch. “I’m glad to see
that I have one virtue. I’ll bear that remark in mind, masters. Humph!
so they intend to make living oil paintings of us, eh? Well, we’ll see
who comes out best in the---- Gorry!”
Rumble! thud!
A slippery spot near the hatchway sent Clif reeling against a
stanchion. Before he could recover his equilibrium he fell into the
opening.
The hubbub created was enough to arouse the seven sleepers of Ephesus.
Bang! went poor Clif’s heels against the sides of the passageway, and
thud! he landed flat on his back at the bottom of the ladder.
He remained there half-stunned amid silence deep and profound for the
space of a minute. Then he felt himself grasped by the back of the neck
and yanked unceremoniously to his feet.
“Who in thunder is it?” gasped a frightened voice.
“Blamed if I know, but he’s spoiled our fun, whoever it is,” was the
angry response. “Scoot, fellows, the officer of the deck will be down
on us like a thousand of brick.”
Clif, fully recovered and in possession of his wits, heard a scrambling
near by, and the creaking of a ladder. It was too dark for him to see
anything, but he knew that the would-be hazers were stampeding from the
orlop deck.
He realized that his unfortunate mishap would cause an alarm--in fact,
there was already a bustling above--but he was in no hurry to get back
to bed or to let any of the Crane gang seek the seclusion of their
hammocks.
The rough treatment given little Nanny and the cool proposition to
varnish and paint several of the plebes had aroused a feeling of
resentment in Clif.
And he proceeded forthwith to make things warm for his enemies--the
hazing committee of the third class.
Reaching out haphazard in the darkness he grasped something soft and
yielding. It was a leg. It was Clif’s turn to give something a yank,
and he did so with a will.
“Let go! What do you mean, confound it! Let go, I say, or I’ll break
your head.”
Clif calmly gave a second yank, and his victim sprawled back upon the
deck.
“Stop that racket down there,” whispered a voice halfway up the ladder.
“Sh-h! keep quiet and we’ll be all right. I don’t think they heard it
on the quarter-deck.”
Clif released his hold of the leg. He saw it was time to retreat. As he
started to slip up the ladder he remembered Nanny.
“It’ll never do to leave him in their hands,” he murmured.
Stepping back, he felt around for the little prisoner. It was all
guesswork in the profound darkness, and he met with small success. At
last he stumbled over some object which gave a muffled groan, but
before he could investigate further he heard several cadets descending
the ladder.
“Everything all right?” whispered a voice near him.
“Yes,” came from Crane. “The officer of the deck is snoozing, I guess.
The racket woke up the berth deck, but the fellows won’t bother us. I
ran across that Jap, Trolley, near the hatch. He was prowling about as
if he was onto us. We’ll have to wait now until things quiet down.”
“Who was the duffer who fell down the ladder?” asked another of the
gang.
“Blamed if I know. Wonder if he got away?”
“Let’s search.”
Clif crouched back in the darkness, and prepared to give a good account
of himself. He knew he was no match for the six, third class cadets,
but he trusted to receive reinforcements from his chums.
Then he felt assured the enemy would not resort to anything calculated
to create confusion and alarm. Such a course would only result in their
own undoing.
“Trolley and Toggles and the rest would come down here in a jiffy if
they knew where I was,” he muttered. “As it is, I’ll have to go to
them.”
Clif felt that he could escape by making a bold dash, but he wished to
leave without revealing his identity to the hazers.
He had a scheme of his own, the very thought of which made him chuckle.
“I wonder if all these doors are locked,” he mused, slipping back away
from the searchers. They were perilously near and he had little time to
spare.
Directly opposite him was a door leading into the medical storeroom.
It was supposed to be locked, but Clif, in desperation, felt for the
padlock.
It was unsnapped.
As quick as a flash he threw open the door, crept through and closed it
behind him, all but a slight crack, which he left for the purpose of
keeping in touch with the outside.
“I guess we must have been dreaming,” he heard Masters grumble.
“I guess not,” promptly contradicted another cadet. “It was no dream
nor nightmare, either. My leg is sore yet where the fellow gripped it.
And then the racket he made----”
“Oh, shut up!” growled Crane, who was evidently angry and discomfited.
“What’s the use of wasting time talking like that. Some one fell
down here, of course. And I’ll bet a dollar it was that fresh plebe,
Faraday. He’s always prowling around. The question is, where did he go?
He couldn’t have passed me on the ladder.”
“I wonder if any of the storerooms are unlocked?” queried Masters.
Clif listened eagerly for the reply. It was reassuring.
“Rats! Of course they are locked. Don’t talk nonsense, Masters.”
It was plainly evident Crane’s temper had not been sweetened by the
experience of the past few moments.
“We won’t waste any more time looking for the beggar,” he added. “Let’s
get up to the berth deck and find another plebe. Dodge, you stay and
keep guard over Nanny. While we are gone you might amuse yourself
decorating him for the grand appearance on the quarter-deck. You will
find paint and varnish and oakum back of the ladder.”
A stifled groan from the prisoner indicated that he had heard the
instructions.
“You don’t like the prospect, eh?” grinned Crane. “Just wait, my fresh
youngster. You’ll like it still less before we get through with you.
Come, fellows, we’ll----”
Crane never finished the sentence, for a light suddenly appeared at the
top of the ladder and a stern voice called out:
“Below there, what are you doing in the orlop? Come up here and report
for investigation.”
Clif, peering through the crack in the door, saw the cadets fall over
each other in their sudden panic. He felt the door snatched from his
grasp, thrown back, a figure slipped in, then it was hastily closed
again.
“Jumping Moses! what a snap,” came to Clif’s ears in a familiar tone.
“What a snap to find this place open. That’s the officer of the watch!”
It was Crane!