PREPARING FOR THE ENTERTAINMENT.
When Saturday dawned, the weather was promising and the members of the
plebe class on board the old _Monongahela_ were as happy as hearty,
good-natured boys can be.
On board a vessel of war Saturday is regarded as a holiday. Only the
necessary work, such as cleaning decks and bright work, is done.
Quarters are held at the usual hour, then Jack’s time is his own. The
“smoking lamp” is lighted, and those who care to indulge in a pipe are
permitted to do so. In passing it may as well be understood that naval
cadets are forbidden to smoke, a wise government deeming it unnecessary
for their health or pastime.
Clif and his friends set to work immediately after quarters. The
forward part of the gun deck was turned over to them, and a stage
prepared by the ship’s carpenter. A curtain was extemporized of bunting
and canvas, and the space about the stage tastefully decorated with
flags of all nations.
“Now, fellows,” said the young leader, cheerfully, “we must have just
one more rehearsal before the grand event.”
“I thought we had the last one yesterday,” grumbled Toggles.
“We did until this morning. Come, Toggles, exert yourself. Remember the
importance of the occasion. We’ve got to do our level best and turn out
a good show or the upper classes will have the laugh on us. Get out
your big horn and try that solo again.”
The affair was to be on the lines of a minstrel performance, but with
novel features. Instead of the familiar, old-time black faces and negro
costumes, Clif had provided different ideas.
“We’ll make it a deep-sea combination,” he had said; “something more
appropriate to the raging main than nigger minstrelsy. We’ll have
Father Neptune and his suite.”
The idea captured the plebes at once, and they had lost no time in
settling on a programme.
Clif, disguised as Neptune, was to occupy the center of the circle. At
the ends were to be Trolley, Toggles, Joy, and another plebe named Grat
Wallace. They were to take the parts of bones and tambo, but to be clad
in the fantastic garb of sea wolves.
Eight other plebes, dressed in cadet uniforms, were to occupy the other
chairs. They were supposed to represent eight mortals captured by
Neptune and compelled to assist in entertaining him.
The plan was novel, and Clif was very anxious to conceal it from
outsiders until the curtain rose on Saturday night.
His efforts had proved successful and he was doubly concerned at this
last moment to keep the secret. While the company was preparing for
the final rehearsal he carefully examined the curtain and saw that the
plebe sentries were alert.
But he totally forgot several deadlights and two gun ports which opened
from the gun deck. They overlooked the sea, and for that reason it
probably never occurred to him that they could be utilized by prying
eyes.
When he returned from his tour of investigation he found the “Naval
Academy Plebe Minstrel Troupe” in their places in full costume.
The orchestra was rather weak. It consisted of two asthmatic fiddles, a
brass horn, an old drum, and a peculiar instrument Trolley had rigged
out of a dishpan and a variety of strings.
In addition Clif was to perform on musical glasses, an accomplishment
he had learned at home. This was to come in the olio, or second, part,
together with juggling by Trolley, tumbling by Toggles, an alleged
humorous address from Joy, and a boxing match between Nanny Gote and
Walters, two of the smallest plebes on board.
The entertainment was to wind up with a skit on life at the Naval
Academy, which promised to create no end of fun.
Clif and Grat Wallace were the joint authors and they had incorporated
sly hits and jokes calculated to drive the upper classes into a frenzy.
The rehearsal proceeded without a hitch until the end of the first part.
Clif was just in the act of rising and ordering his sea wolves to take
the unhappy mortals to the darkest coral cavern in his realm when he
suddenly caught sight of a face at one of the ports.
Clif was shrewd. He knew that it was a spy, and that the slightest
alarm would frighten the fellow away. His plan was formed in an instant.
“Let’s try that last song and chorus again, fellows,” he exclaimed,
cheerily. “I think one more practice would not hurt it. Now, ready! Let
’er go!”
The drum banged, the violins squeaked, and Grat Wallace’s rich tenor
voice rang out in the refrain of “The Cumberland’s Crew.”
While the music was echoing Clif quietly leaned over and whispered to
Joy:
“There’s a spy peeping in the port. I think it is Judson Greene. He
must not be allowed to get away. See if you can’t nip him.”
Joy gave an extra blast on his bass horn, then sprang to his feet and
began to caper around as if it were part of a grotesque dance.
“Good boy!” applauded Clif. “That’s right. That will catch the
audience. Now give us the long slide and that will wind it up.”
Joy did give the “long slide,” and it brought him to the port. He was
lean and lank and agile, and in the twinkling of an eye had reached out
and grasped the spy by the hair.
Clif sprang to his aid, and the two dragged Judson, yelling and
struggling, through the port where he was dangling from a rope leading
to the top of the forecastle. The rope was cut and the end used to make
Master Greene secure.
“Now, you confounded traitor!” cried Clif, “we’ve got you in a place
from which you won’t escape in a hurry. You will spy on us, eh?”
“I’ve got the right to look in a port if I want to,” sullenly retorted
the prisoner. “Let me go, or I’ll tell the captain.”
“Let him go? Not much!” chattered Nanny, excitedly. “He’s in the pay of
the upper classes. I know it because I saw him talking to Ferguson and
his gang. Let’s lick him.”
“No. A whipping would be altogether too good for him,” replied Clif,
sternly. “We’ll gag the traitor and stow him under the stage until the
performance is over.”
Judson set up a yell, but he was effectually squelched by Trolley and
Toggles. A couple of towels were brought into use and he was speedily
gagged and thrust into a corner.
“Nanny, you and Walters can stand guard over him until evening,”
directed Clif, “then we’ll stow him under the stage. He won’t be missed
without Ferguson tumbles to the racket.”
If Judson Greene had the power of speech he might have said something
that would have made Clif rather uneasy. He could think, though, and he
did. And his thoughts took this form.
“Clif Faraday, you think you are clever, but you’ll find out there are
others on earth. Before ten o’clock you will not only have your show
busted up, but you’ll be in disgrace, too!”