CHAPTER V
A MYSTERIOUS CRY
The football season opened auspiciously for Annapolis. About fiftymidshipmen were members of the football squad; these were excused fromdrills except on two afternoons of the week. Of those selected to playin regular games all were seasoned players, and except Bligh, all hadplayed on the Naval Academy team the previous year. And so Stonewell andRobert and others were quite hopeful.
The head coach was Professor Danton, the field coach Gates, a famous oldYale player.
After several hard games on successive Wednesdays and SaturdaysStonewell was called into special consultation by Danton and Gates.
"Stonewell," began Gates, "I've been watching our team, and I'mconvinced we have a fine lot of men here; not only good footballplayers but real trustworthy chaps, men who will keep their promise,whose word can be depended upon."
"We don't want any other kind," replied Stonewell, thinking by Gates'manner that there was something in the wind.
"I've been trying to size up each man's character," continued Gates,"and I've decided to put personal trust in every one of them. But I willexact an individual promise of secrecy from every member of the squadfor something I'm going to give them. The matter is this: I have deviseda forward pass which if it isn't expected and is properly executed ispractically certain to bring a touch-down to the team that works it.I've sent it to Yale, where it has been tried out in secret practice,and the people there are wild over it. I've told them I wanted to giveit to the midshipmen. They don't like that idea, but it's my own play,and I can do so if I wish to. They've asked me, if I give it to themidshipmen, to take every precaution for secrecy and not to use it untilafter Yale plays Harvard. Annapolis plays West Point the same day thatYale meets Harvard, and you could work the trick against the soldiers.It's a beauty. Now what do you say, Stonewell?"
"We will most certainly agree to secrecy," replied Stonewell, muchimpressed. "I will get the individual promise you require from everymember of the squad to observe entire secrecy about this play, and we'llnever practice it except in secret practice and will never play it in agame until we meet West Point. Is that what you require?"
"Yes; I'll give it to you. We'll suppose our men have come down thefield and are within an easy place-kick of the goal; we'll then make allpreparations apparently for a goal from the field, and turn the playinto a forward pass. We'll station our men as follows----" and a lot oftechnical football talk followed.
Stonewell was delighted. "By George," he said, "that's great! We'll workthat on Franklin Field, and we'll certainly make the 'Army blue.' We'lltry it to-morrow afternoon. I'll let only the first team know of it andget your required promise from them, and we'll work it on theunsuspecting second team; we'll have everybody, officers and all, keptaway."
"Secret practice" for the football squad was ordered for the next day;at the beginning of the practice the first and second teams were orderedat first to keep in different parts of the field.
"What's up?" queried Harry Blunt, the ambitious quarter-back of thesecond team, to a group of players about him. "One would think the OnlyStonewell had something up his sleeve. Come along, fellows; if we keepup our work of yesterday this team will be the first team before long."
After half an hour's practice the two teams were called together for ascrimmage. Bucking the line, running around the ends and punting wereemployed until the ball was fifteen yards from the second team's goaland in the possession of the first team. Then quarter-back Bligh gavethe regular signal for a goal from the field. The second team knew, ofcourse, the first team's signals, but it did not know that an apparentstumbling in the numbers he called out was a signal that the Gatesforward pass was now to be played.
The first team players took their places for a goal from the field,Stonewell, as usual, dropping back, and before the second team playersknew what had happened Robert Drake was sitting on the ball between thegoal posts.
Everybody was crazy with delight. One would have imagined West Point hadbeen scored upon. The play had worked perfectly. The squad was now allgathered together and was talked to by Gates and Stonewell; it wasevident that Gates was well satisfied that his confidence in themidshipmen was not misplaced.
In the next few weeks this play was repeatedly practiced, and Gates wassatisfied that if the midshipmen had the opportunity they would play itsuccessfully on the day of the great West Point game.
It was Stonewell's purpose to develop the team as a whole, notindividual star players. As right end Robert became famous amongmidshipmen for getting down the field promptly under kicks, and fortackling and downing in his tracks the opposing player who caught theball. The two finds of the season were Bligh and Farnum. The formerknew the game and played with intelligent skill. As quarter-back hisposition was most important and at different critical moments he ran theteam with unerring judgment.
Farnum played with desperate valor. His tackling was fierce, and inrunning with the ball and interfering when one of his own side had it hetook every chance. His impetuosity brought him into prominence as a sureground gainer. In close places the ball was generally given toStonewell. There was something peculiarly invigorating in Stonewell'spersonality. When his signal was made there was a penetrating intensitythat affected every Annapolis player. The danger was in working him toomuch.
One Saturday early in November, Annapolis was matched against Bucknell.Bucknell had always been a formidable antagonist of the midshipmen; theyear previous it had defeated them. Up to now Annapolis had not lost agame, and the midshipmen were particularly anxious to defeat Bucknell,which on this occasion had brought a stalwart lot of players. They werestrong, heavy, and confident. Before the game Stonewell called Farnumaside and said: "Now, old chap, be a little careful of yourself. You arebound to get badly hurt at the rate you are going, and we want you tosave yourself for the West Point game. You're going to be given the balla good deal to-day; Bob Drake is a bit stale, and my knee is botheringme. Now look out for yourself."
"I'll try to remember, Stone," was the reply; "but when I get startedI'm not apt to think of anything but the game. But I'll try to becareful."
Bucknell kicked off and Drake caught the ball. He was down the fieldwith a tremendous start, dodging one player, smashing by another, makingtwenty-five yards before he was downed.
Bligh believed in quick action. The Annapolis team was lined upimmediately and in a second the ball was in play. Farnum banged throughthe line between guard and tackle, making over fifteen yards forAnnapolis.
"Take it easy, Farnum," cautioned Stonewell. In an instant Farnum hadthe ball again and was around the end and speeding for Bucknell's goal.Ten yards before he got there he was brought to earth with terrificviolence, and he lay there still and limp.
On the side lines, leading the cheering, Glassfell was executing allkinds of crazy antics; the midshipmen on the bleachers, full of joy,shouted themselves hoarse. But poor Farnum lay there unheeded, entirelyunconscious. And in vain did the appreciative midshipmen shout: "Farnum!Farnum! Farnum!" for that young man was carried off the field on astretcher without regaining consciousness.
Two more plays, Stonewell carrying the ball, brought a touch-down toAnnapolis and Stonewell kicked a goal. This was the only scoring doneduring the game. In vain did each team hurl itself against the other;all for nothing did prodigies of violence occur. When time was finallycalled the score stood Annapolis 6, Bucknell 0.
And then thoughts turned to Farnum, now in the Academy sick quarters.When questioned Surgeon Pickron looked grave and said, "Mr. Farnum hashad a terrible blow on the head--he has had many recurring spasmsever since--I regard his condition as very serious."
_AROUND THE END_]
Such news travels fast, and on Saturday night the whole Academy,officers and midshipmen, were much perturbed. Sunday brought no changefor the better and Surgeon Pickron advised an operation. Farnum had notregained consciousness. Surgeon Welton, who was in command of thehospital, insisted on delaying, against Dr. Pickro
n's advice, and onMonday morning everybody was much cheered up by hearing that Farnum'sspasms had ceased and that he had come to himself. It was decided not toperform the operation, though Dr. Pickron believed that a clot of bloodhad formed and that Farnum's skull should be trephined.
From now on Farnum continued to improve and in two weeks he wasdischarged from sick quarters and sent back to Bancroft Hall, though itwas ordered that he was to play no more football. But it was not thesame Farnum. In place of the cheery, wideawake youth who had battled sovaliantly against Bucknell, was a slow-moving, hesitating young man. Heseemed afraid. The slightest unexpected noise or untoward incidentseemed to startle him, sometimes to frighten him badly. "I can't helpit, Bob," he said one time, with half a laugh and half a sob; "it's mynerves, I suppose; I'm sure there's something wrong with me; I know I'macting like a baby, and I guess it will pass after a while; but I can'thelp it, I can't help it," and then Farnum broke down.
Stonewell, Robert and some of the others had long talks with him. Theywere all drawn to him and were much concerned. One of Farnum'speculiarities was that he didn't dare to go out at night. The entirefirst class were now devoted to him. His popularity had come late in hismidshipman career, but it was now strong and abiding. And his sufferingswere so acute and so constant that he had the warm sympathy of all.
And Academy life went on apace, and Academy life at this period of theyear is mostly concerned with football. True, there are study hours andrecitations; long hard lessons must be read over and officers must hearrecitations; formations must be attended, drills undergone, andexaminations prepared for. This football spirit infected the officers asit did midshipmen. Football was the one topic of conversation, the onepurpose in life during this epoch, and those that didn't play shoutedvociferous advice, admonition and encouragement from the bleachers.
One Friday night in the middle of November, at five minutes before ten,the bugles in Bancroft Hall rang out their customary discordant warningsthat all midshipmen were to repair to their rooms immediately. In fiveminutes the midshipmen were to be in bed and all lights out. Andinstantly hundreds of midshipmen rushed through the corridors to get totheir own rooms; for they are given the time from nine-thirty, the endof their study period, to ten for visiting.
On this Friday night the midshipmen ran to their rooms as usual at thewarning signal. Until the last minute of the allowed time there was tobe heard the scurrying of hurried feet resounding through the corridorsand a babble of shouting and laughter. Eight hundred midshipmen seemedto have something to say that couldn't keep till the morrow.
Ten o'clock came, and with it complete silence save for the measuredtread of cadet officers going from room to room to see the occupantsthereof were all in bed. And now sounded forth the clock, with itsominous tick-tock, as though it had been silent all day, and there camethe oppressive silence which reigns each night after ten o'clock. So itwas this Friday night. Four bells, indicating ten o'clock, were struck,the lights were put out and a solemn hush was upon the eight hundredoccupants of Bancroft Hall.
And then, in the stillness of the night, there arose an awfulheart-terrifying shriek. It was plainly in the armory wing and evidentlyfrom one of the upper floors. Startled, affrighted midshipmen jumpedfrom their beds and stood in listening attitudes. Again came a cry thatpermeated every nook and corner of the armory wing, and hundreds ofmidshipmen listening with painful intensity plainly heard the words:
"Help, help, Stonewell, help; I'm going down, going down, down." Thetones were those of one in fearful agony. The midshipmen jumped to thedoors of their rooms and into the corridors, all with unspeakable dreadin their hearts, waiting for a leader to direct their actions.
Stonewell, rooming on the first floor, dashed into the corridor,followed by Drake.
"Where's that cry?" he demanded in strident tones.
"The top floor, sir," cried little Mr. Mumma, with trembling voice. Upthe stairway bounded Stonewell and Robert.
Hardly had this occurred when the cry was again heard. It seemed now tobe in the corridor of the third floor, which by this time Stonewell hadreached. Stonewell stood perplexed and worried; in a second the fearfulscream was again heard, but now evidently from the floor below, thesecond floor. Stonewell ran to the stairway at one end of the corridor,followed by the other midshipman. "Where is that cry?" he again demandedof the startled midshipmen standing about, much bewildered.
"It was here a minute ago, right here, right here," replied Harry Blunt."But what's the matter? what's happened?" he asked. Again they weresilenced by the awful cry: "Help, help, Stonewell, save me!" whicharose from the floor below. It was twice repeated, each time seemingfarther away, and then it ceased entirely. By this time Stonewell andRobert had run down two flights to the ground floor. Midshipmen here hadheard the frightful shrieks and many scared faces were to be seen.
"Turn out, everybody; get into ranks. Company officers, muster yourcompanies," shouted Stonewell. "Pass the word to the upper floors, Bob,"he called out. "Muster on the first and ground floors," and Robert wasoff in a flash.
"You have anticipated my orders, Mr. Stonewell," remarked theofficer-in-charge. "Make a careful muster; we'll investigate; what doyou think it was?"
"I can't imagine, sir; I'm entirely bewildered; the cry was undoubtedlyheard at the top of the building, and it was heard later on each floor.I followed it down from the third floor. But nobody came down on thestairways, I'm certain of that, and the cry seemed near the centre ofeach floor, where no stairway leads down. If it wasn't that I believeeverything on earth is explainable I would say it is uncanny."
While Stonewell and the officer-in-charge were talking Bancroft Hall hadburst into life. The cries had ceased.
In going along the ground floor Stonewell came across Bligh, halfsupporting Farnum. The latter was shivering with unconcealed fright.
"What is it, Stonewell?" he half whispered. "Oh, what has happened?Hasn't something dreadful occurred?"
Farnum had the appearance of a sick man. He was agitated in manner, andseemed weak and trembled; without Bligh's assistance he would havefallen.
"Just a joke, old chap," replied Stonewell kindly; "nothing to worryabout; but you're sick, I can see that. Man, you have a raging fever!"
"Get to your company, Bligh; I'll take care of Farnum."
Stonewell reported Farnum as being sick, and received permission to takehim to sick quarters, at some distance from Bancroft Hall.
The result of the muster was that Bligh and Farnum were reported as notbeing present but the absence of both was explained, Farnum being sickand Bligh being with him when the latter's company was mustered.
The midshipmen, tremendously interested and impressed, were now waitingto be dismissed. All sorts of conjectures were ventured to explain themystery, and some had superstitious fears in their hearts. Mr. HenryBligh listened with a queer expression to a great many theories of thisremarkable episode, but offered none himself. But after he was dismissedhe chuckled and laughed, being apparently much pleased with something.