MORE HAZING.
“That isn’t a clew line, you lubber.”
“I--I thought----”
“What’s that? Thought? How dare you think? Shade of Farragut! What’s
the service coming to? A confounded measly plebe--a worm of a
function--thinking! It’s dreadful to contemplate.”
“Please, sir, I didn’t mean----”
“You didn’t mean? Why didn’t you mean? Say, is it possible you say
things without meaning them? Then you don’t tell the truth. Ergo--you
can’t be trusted. A pretty naval officer you will make. I’ll just mark
you down for report to the commanding officer.”
And Cadet Corporal Sharpe made an elaborate flourish of his pencil as
he pretended to enter the item in his notebook.
Standing before him in evident fear and trembling was Nanny. Clif was
also present.
“Did you ever hear the beat of that, Trolley?” whispered Clif. “It’s
simply outrageous, the way Sharpe is carrying on. What does he take
us for, a lot of dummies? I think we’ll have to give him and the rest
another lesson in manners.”
“I think so very much, Clif,” replied Trolley, in the same tone. “He
what you call one dead-sure crank, eh? He bluffer from--from----”
“Bluffersville,” prompted Joy.
“Yes, him from Blufftown, eh? Him get a curve off him.”
There was a smile at this attempt of the Japanese youth to use American
slang--a smile that was observed and sternly checked by the corporal.
“What’s that,” he exclaimed, sarcastically. “Grinning during drill?
Mean it as an insult to the service, I suppose.”
“Not exactly,” mildly replied Clif.
“Who told you to speak, Mr. Faraday. How dare you make remarks. Want
to get swamped with demerits before this practice cruise of the
_Monongahela_ is over, I suppose. You haven’t nerve enough to run away,
and you are afraid to resign, so you think you will misbehave yourself
and get fired. I’m on to your little game, and, by Jupiter! I’ll help
you.”
Out came the book, and the pencil was placed in action once more. As he
closed his little book with a snap, he added:
“That means ten demerits at the very least. I see your finish, Mr.
Faraday.”
Clif coolly shrugged his shoulders and glanced across the deck toward
another group of plebes that was likewise being hazed by a cadet
officer.
It was drill hour in the morning watch on board the _Monongahela_. The
vessel was still anchored near the mouth of Chesapeake Bay. It was
considered necessary to allow the three classes on board to become
accustomed to their new surroundings before venturing to sea, and for
that reason progress was slow.
Cadet Corporal Sharpe, in charge of Clif and his chums was an expert
“plebe deviler.” He had been known to drive timid and credulous
plebes to resign in desperation. And he had driven new fourth class
men with more backbone, to open revolt, which ultimately resulted in
divers demerits for the said “mutineers.” All this to the unbounded
satisfaction and joy of the hazer and his cronies.
That morning when orders were given to teach the plebe class the
various ropes and their uses, Corporal Sharpe was assigned to the group
composed of Clif, Trolley, Toggles, Joy, Nanny Gote, Chris Spendly, and
Judson Greene.
The two last were not chums of Clif. In fact, they hated him most
cordially, and, since their entrance into the academy, had tried in
many underhand ways to “down” him.
Each attempt had resulted in their own discomfiture, and of late they
had kept rather quiet. Fate had placed them in the same squad with Clif
this day, and they were eager to see if he would get into trouble with
the cadet corporal.
From the appearance of affairs at the commencement of the lesson it
certainly seemed that their desires would be gratified. Clif viewed
with displeasure the young officer’s deviling of Nanny, as the little
lad was an especial favorite of his.
The morning lesson was to consist of instruction in the different
running ropes. At the very outset Cadet Corporal Sharpe had held up
a manilla line leading aloft amid a perfect maze of others and had
sharply demanded of Nanny its name.
The lad hazarded a guess and was immediately pounced upon as outlined
at the commencement of this chapter. After noting down Clif’s offense
in his book, the corporal proceeded with the lesson. And it was evident
from his air of complacent satisfaction that he thoroughly enjoyed the
situation.
He took Clif in hand.
“You have put on more airs than an admiral since the academy was
unfortunate enough to admit you,” he snarled, “and it’s about time you
found out that you do not run the whole show. You have raised the Old
Nick in your own estimation, and, simply because you and your gang came
out ahead in hazing once or twice you think you can do as you please.
What’s that--talking back to a superior officer, eh?”
Out came the book once more. Making an entry, the corporal restored it
to his pocket.
Clif had not spoken, but that fact made little difference. The hazer
was out for trouble.
Those standing near Clif saw two round, red spots appear upon his
cheeks, but he was still apparently cool.
Trolley and Toggles looked their disgust, but they had too wholesome a
respect for discipline to interfere.
Little Nanny--he was barely within the limits of size at the entrance
examination--seemed troubled and excited. He was not a lad of very
strong character, but he had one attribute, and that was faithful
affection.
He liked Clif exceedingly. He admired him for his manliness, and looked
upon him as ideal in every particular. His friendship for the sturdy
plebe was that of the faithful dog for his master.
Now, while the cadet corporal was doing his utmost to provoke Clif into
some breach of discipline, Nanny watched and listened with a growing
purpose in his heart.
Cadet Corporal Sharpe finally exhausted his vocabulary of invectives,
and was forced to resume the instruction. The group was gathered about
the forward pin rail to which a portion of the running rigging leads.
The young non-commissioned officer knew his business, however
overbearing and tyrannical he might be. The maze of ropes leading here
and there was not a maze to him.
Placing his hand on one he said, abruptly, still addressing Clif:
“This is the fore-to-’gallant halliards. What is it’s use, sir?”
“To hoist the fore-to-’gallant yard, sir,” was Clif’s prompt reply.
“Humph! it’s a wonder you knew that. Who told you? Where did you read
it? Humph! I guess you don’t know much more. Now, what’s this?”
He touched a thin manilla rope apparently twisted with several others.
Clif looked aloft trying to follow it with his eye.
“What are you gaping about?” snapped the corporal.
Greene and Spendly exchanged grins. Clif’s face reddened slightly, and
a peculiar smile, ominous and dangerous, crossed his lips.
“I must confess I do not recognize it,” he began. “But I think----”
“Think!” Corporal Sharpe cried. “We want no thinking here. You confess,
eh? Why don’t you confess the truth--that you are a dunce, a blamed
idiot. A----”
There was a startling interruption.
Before he could finish the sentence Nanny sprang from the group and
flung himself upon the young officer. There was a sharp clasp, a second
blow, then the corporal staggered back with his assailant clinging to
his throat.
The sudden attack was conceived and made in the twinkling of an eye.
It was a complete surprise to Cadet Corporal Sharpe and to all who
witnessed it. Clif and his friends stared in open-mouthed wonder for a
moment, then the former sprang forward to separate the two.
By that time, however, the cadet corporal, who was much stronger than
Nanny, had shaken him off. Sharpe was white with rage.
“What do--do you mean, you fool?” he gasped. “How dare you lay hands on
me? I’ll----”
He drew back his clinched fist to strike the younger lad, but his wrist
was grasped firmly, and a cool voice said:
“Don’t touch him, sir. If he is to be punished, let the proper persons
attend to it.”
“Mind your own business, Faraday,” snapped Sharpe, jerking his wrist
from Clif’s grasp. “I’ll have you soaked for interfering. As for that
crazy plebe, he’ll be fired for this.”
Just then the officer of the deck and Lieutenant Watson, the executive
officer, who had been attracted by the commotion, came hurrying forward.
Nanny, who seemed in a daze, caught sight of them. Fear for his rash
action and a vague idea of the punishment he had incurred, sent the
color from his cheeks.
He gave one appealing glance toward Clif, then he made a spring for the
port foremast shrouds.
“Hi! Stop!” called out the first lieutenant.
“Catch him, some one,” ordered the officer of the deck.
A rush was made after the lad, in which both Spendly and Judson Greene
took active part, but they were a second too late.
Nanny’s lack of experience was more than overbalanced by his fear, and
he flew up the ratlines like a reefer.
The pursuers were on the point of crowding into the rigging when a
stern command came from Lieutenant Watson.
“Stop! What is the meaning of this uproar? Who is that cadet, Corporal
Sharpe?”
“It is a new fourth class man, sir. His name is Gote, Mr. Nanny Gote,
sir.”
As “Nanny” was simply a nickname given the lad by the cadets, this
method of putting it provoked a laugh among the spectators. But
Lieutenant Watson quickly checked it.
“This is no variety show,” he exclaimed. “I want to know the meaning of
this disgraceful scene. What is that cadet doing up there?”
“He ran away, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because--because he was afraid, sir,” stammered the Cadet corporal,
growing red in the face.
“Afraid of what?”
Only small persons in this world--small in nature--bully those under
them. Corporal Sharpe was possessed of an extremely small and narrow
spirit, and he delighted in showing his petty authority and in doing
his utmost to make life unpleasant for those over whom he could
exercise his will.
His reputation as a “plebe hazer” was well established among the
cadets themselves, but it had not reached the ears of his superior
officers. He knew that, and he lost no time in taking advantage of the
fact.
“I’ll tell you all about it, sir,” he said, boldly. “I was giving this
squad of plebes--er--new fourth class men instructions in seamanship
when Mr. Gote, not liking a rebuke caused by his own inattention, made
an entirely unprovoked assault on me.”
A murmur, faint but distinct, ran through the group of plebes, and Clif
stepped forward as if with the intention of speaking. Before he could
commence, Sharpe pointed him out, and added, triumphantly: “And that
cadet helped him, sir. His name is Mr. Faraday, and he is as guilty as
the other.”
The speaker glanced toward Judson Greene and Chris Spendly as if
seeking confirmation. Their hatred of Clif was an old story to
the cadets of the Naval Academy. He was not disappointed in his
anticipations.
“That’s right,” said Greene, audibly.
“Sure thing,” spoke up Spendly.
“Do you mean to tell me they actually attacked you while you were on
duty over them?” exclaimed the executive officer, in amazement.
“Yes, sir. And it was entirely unprovoked,” glibly replied Corporal
Sharpe. “They are troublesome pupils, sir. This isn’t the first time
they have broken the rules.”
“Nor is it the first time you have told a deliberate lie, Cadet
Corporal Sharpe!”
The words came like the snap of a whip from Clif’s lips. Stepping
forward, he placed himself directly before the young non-commissioned
officer.
His face was calm, but a peculiar, mirthless smile hovered about the
corners of his mouth. It was a smile known to his intimate friends as a
certain indication of strong emotion.
“What is that, sir?” cried the executive officer. “How dare you give
the lie to a superior officer? Lieutenant Masters, place him under
arrest, and notify the captain!”