Transcriber’s Notes:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.
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MIDSHIPMAN MERRILL
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[Illustration: “The passengers and crew gave the young hero a rousing
cheer as he sped away.” (See page 45)]
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Midshipman Merrill
BY
HENRY HARRISON LEWIS
AUTHOR OF
“Centre-Board Jim,” “Ensign Merrill,” etc.
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA
DAVID MCKAY, PUBLISHER
610 SOUTH WASHINGTON SQUARE
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Copyright, 1899, By STREET & SMITH
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MIDSHIPMAN MERRILL.
CHAPTER I. THE WRECK OF THE TOY.
“There comes that sea cub of Beacon Cliff, mates, so let us clip his
claws.”
“So say I, mates, for he’s too blue blooded to associate with us, if he
is only a fisher lad.”
“It’s the living in that old rookery, Cliff Castle, that has turned his
head and made him so conceited.”
“No, he’s been high-toned ever since he saved that schooner from being
wrecked in Hopeless Haven; but I say let us take him down a peg or two,
mates.”
“I’m with you.”
“So am I.”
“Me, too;” and all of a group of five lads joined in with their leader
to set upon a youth who was just running for the shore in a trim little
surf-skiff with a leg-of-mutton sail.
The scene was at a small seaport upon the rugged, though beautiful
coast of Maine, and the lads, a wild lot of reckless spirits,
half-sailors, half-landsmen, stood in front of an old-fashioned tavern
fronting the water, and from whence they had sighted the surf-skiff
running swiftly in toward the wharf, and had recognized its occupant, a
lad of sixteen.
He was neatly dressed in duck pants and a sailor shirt with wide
collar, in each corner of which was embroidered an anchor in blue silk.
A blue tarpaulin sat jauntily upon his head, giving him something of a
rakish look, and a sash encircled his slender waist.
But in spite of his rather picturesque attire, he had a face of rare
manliness for one so young, a face that was bronzed by exposure, strong
in character and stamped with resolution and daring beyond his years.
He ran his little skiff in cleverly alongside the wharf, lowered sail,
and carefully taking up a toy ship, stepped ashore and started toward
the tavern.
The toy was a miniature ship, fully rigged and under sail, an exquisite
specimen of workmanship, for from keel to truck there was nothing
missing, and every rope and sail, even to a tiny flag, the Stars and
Stripes, was in place.
He had nearly reached the group of youths, who had threatened to lower
his pride a peg or two, when a seaman met him and called out:
“Ho, lad, who built that craft you have there?”
“I did, sir,” was the modest reply.
“Well, if you did you are a born sailor, that is all, for I never saw
a cleaner built craft, or a better rigged one. Are you a deep water
sailor, my lad?”
“I have been to sea, sir; but I am only a coaster now.”
“And what are you going to do with that pretty toy?”
“I am going to ask landlord Rich of the tavern to buy it of me, sir.”
“Why do you sell it?”
The lad’s face flushed, and after a moment he said:
“Well, sir, my mother is ill, and I wish to have the doctor go and see
her, and sell the ship to get the money to pay him and buy medicines
with.”
“Well, lad, in spite of your fancy rig, your heart lies in the right
place, I see; but what do you want for the craft?”
“It ought to be worth fifteen dollars, sir.”
“It is worth more, and I wish I had the money to buy it; but if the
landlord don’t buy it, I’ll see what I can do.”
“I thank you, sir,” and the lad was going on, when the group of youths,
who had heard all that had passed, laughed rudely, while one said: “Let
me see your boat, sea cub?”
The lad’s face flushed, but he knew that the speaker was the son of a
rich shipping merchant of the town, and was a spendthrift, who might
pay him a fancy price for his toy, if he wished to do so, and he,
therefore, handed the ship to him without reply.
It was the same youth who had suggested to the others to tease the lad,
and looking critically at the ship, he said:
“It looks fairly well to a landsman, but whoever saw such a rig on a
ship?”
“And the hull has no shape to it,” said another.
“Just look at the rake of the masts.”
“And the cut of her bow.”
“Whoever saw such a stern on anything but a mudscow.”
“If you do not wish to purchase the boat, Scott Clemmons, give it back
to me,” said Mark Merrill, suppressing his anger.
“I’ll buy her, if she can stand a cyclone, sea cub,” said Scott
Clemmons insolently.
“Let’s see if she can, Scott,” another said.
“All right, Birney, hold out your arm.”
The youth addressed held his arms out firmly on a level, and whirling
suddenly around, with the boat grasped in both hands, he brought it
with full force close to the deck against the outstretched arms of Ben
Birney.
The result was the wreck of the toy ship, for the masts were broken,
the decks swept clean.
But quickly as the act had been done, the movements of the young sailor
were quicker, for once, twice, his blows fell full in the faces of the
two destroyers, and they dropped their length upon the pavement.