An Annapolis First Classman
This is the fourth and last book of the "Annapolis Series." It has been the purpose of the author faithfully to portray the conditions in which our midshipmen live at the Naval Academy. The training given at Annapolis is regulated by the needs of the Fleet, and the Naval Academy in all of its departments is entirely directed and controlled by seagoing naval officers. After the Fleet's world-encircling cruise, many of the officers attached to it were sent to the Naval Academy to instruct midshipmen in navigation and electricity and gunnery and seamanship.
In the navy it is believed that the officer who is fresh from drilling a twelve-inch turret or a battery of broadside guns at record and battle target practice, should be well qualified to initiate midshipmen in the beginnings of naval gunnery. It is for this reason that the training at Annapolis reflects the needs of the Fleet, and every officer on duty there has either seen recent sea service or is looking forward to an early sea assignment.
Stonewell and Robert Drake by name never existed, but the same thoughts and ambitions that animate them have animated many hundreds of midshipmen; and incidents similar to those described have happened countless times. From this point of view these stories are true stories. The names of their chief characters may be found in no navy list, but the truth of the Annapolis books does not depend upon that. Stonewell and Robert Drake have actually lived many times, and to-day are living at Annapolis.
The author hopes he has presented in this book and its three predecessors, "An Annapolis Plebe," "An Annapolis Youngster," and "An Annapolis Second Classman," a fair picture of the life of American midshipmen; and not only of the naval atmosphere which surrounds them, but of that inner life which for the time dominates their relations to each other and to the institution made famous as the alma mater of many names illustrious in naval history.
CHAPTER I
GLASSFELL, DRAKE AND STONEWELL
"Hello, Stone! Hello, Bob! By George, but I'm glad to see you!"
"Hello, Glass, you old sinner, I can just imagine you've led those dear old aunts of yours a lively life the last two weeks."
"You'll win, Stone, but you ought to get them to tell you about it; ha, ha, ha! the dear old ladies never dropped once."
Explosively enthusiastic greetings were exchanged between three stalwart young men in the Union Station, Chicago, on the twentieth of September, of the year nineteen hundred and something. Passers-by noticed them and smiled, and in approving accents said, "College boys!" All three were tall, broad-shouldered, bronzed in face, and possessed a lithesomeness of movement that betokened health and strength.
Glassfell, Drake and Stonewell were midshipmen on leave from the United States Naval Academy. It was evident that they had met in the Union Station by appointment. Glassfell had just arrived from Wisconsin, and Drake and Stonewell were to leave in two hours for Annapolis.
"You two chaps are martyrs!" exclaimed Glassfell; "here you are giving up ten days of glorious leave just to go and train for the football team. Now here I am, cheer leader, head yeller, or whatever you call me, far more important than either of you, you'll admit, and I'm not due at Annapolis until October first."
"'Daily News,' last edition," droned a newsboy near by.
"Don't bother me, boy; Chicago news doesn't interest me. Some new sandbagging on Wabash Avenue, I suppose, and nothing else. Get out."
"A fine cruise, wasn't it, Glass?" remarked Robert Drake. "By George! I'd had some troubles on my previous cruises, but this went like clockwork; not a single thing happened to worry me, and I certainly had troubles enough on my plebe and youngster cruises."
"You did indeed, Bob," remarked Stonewell, "but you'll have to admit you were fortunate in the wind up. Now Glass, here – "
"'Daily News,' last edition," was shouted close to their ears.
"Stuff that boy. Put a corn-cob down his throat," said Glassfell with an amused glance at the persistent newsboy. "Say, fellows, wasn't that a good one I worked on old 'I mean to say'? Ha, ha, ha!"
"Which one, Glass?" asked Robert Drake.
"Oh, the best one, the time I hoisted up two red balls to the masthead when he was on watch in charge of the deck, during drill period. And didn't the captain give him the mischief?"
An outburst of wild hilarious laughter greeted this reminiscence, as evidently a very humorous episode was recalled. In seagoing language two red balls means that the ship carrying them is not under control; and at the time referred to by Glassfell the red balls had no business to be hoisted, and their presence brought down upon Lieutenant-Commander Gettem, nicknamed "I mean to say" by the midshipmen, a wrathful reprimand from his captain.
"That was pretty good, Glass," laughed Stonewell, "but you had to own up, and got sanded well for it."
"'Daily News,' last edition!" screamed a voice interrupting the midshipmen.
"Look here, boy, how many papers have you to sell?" inquired Glassfell.
"Twenty-five, boss; here's yours, and only one cent."
"All right. I'll buy your twenty-five papers and give you twenty-five cents besides if you'll make a hundred yard dash for the outside. Give me your papers; here's fifty cents."
"I'm your man, boss," cried the newsboy, handing over his papers, grabbing the fifty-cent piece and making a tremendous bolt toward the exit.
"He's afraid of a recall," laughed Robert. "Say, Glass, are you going to start a wholesale newspaper business?"
"Let's see what the news of the day is," replied Glassfell, unfolding one of the papers and laying the others down on a seat.
"Here's an alderman up for graft; a bank cashier has gone wrong; hello! My heavens, here's a naval war-ship goes to the bottom with all on board."
"What ship? what ship?" simultaneously cried out Stonewell and Robert, in affrighted tones.
"The submarine boat 'Holland'! Ha, ha, ha, I got you both that time, didn't I? You chaps will nab any bait that comes along."
All three laughed heartily. "You're an incorrigible wretch," smiled Robert; "I shudder at the idea of spending another year with you at the Academy." But the friendly hug that accompanied these words left no doubt of the affection Robert bore to the jovial Glassfell.
"By George, fellows, here is an interesting item, 'New cadet officers at the Naval – '"
"You don't sell me again to-day, Glass," grinned Robert. "You'll be giving yourself five stripes and Stone a second class buzzard."
"Pick up a paper and read for yourself," cried out Glassfell excitedly. "Farnum gets five stripes!" Glassfell read no further, but with an expression of intense disgust threw the paper down and stamped on it.
Stonewell and Robert were now eagerly reading the paper. "Cadet Commander, commanding the Brigade of Midshipmen, Farnum," read Robert. "Cadet Lieutenant-Commanders, commanding first and second battalions, respectively, Stonewell and Sewall; Cadet Lieutenant and Brigade Adjutant, Ryerson. Cadet Lieutenant, commanding first company, Blair – "
A look of blank astonishment mingled with disdain was to be seen on Robert's face. "Well, Stone," he said, "the officers have done it again, and I guess they can be relied upon to make chumps of themselves as regularly as they assign the brigade officers. You should be our cadet commander, Stone, our five striper; you know it, every midshipman in the brigade knows it, the officers ought to know it! You are number one man in the class, the leader in Academy athletics, head and shoulders above us all. And here they've picked out a regular 'snide,' a sneak, and have given him the place that belongs to you." Robert spoke passionately; he was intensely disappointed.
"You are entirely wrong about Farnum, Bob," remarked Stonewell quietly; "he's a far better man than you give him credit for. You don't understand Farnum; he'll do credit to his five stripes. I'm entirely satisfied with my four stripes; to be cadet lieutenant-commander is as much as I have any right to expect."
"You