“Lower your forward fall, lively! Now unhook. Jump in! Pile in, you anchor watch men; in you go, Jenson; shove off and get that catamaran.”

“Out oars, give way together,” snapped out Jenson who was in the stern of the dinghy to the four men at the oars. “Osborn, you stand up in the bow with a boat-hook. Give way hard, men, bend your backs. Stroke! Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!” called out Jenson.

“There he is, dead ahead, half-way to the shore,” cried out Ralph excitedly.

“Lift her, men, lift her up. Stroke! Stroke! Stroke! Harder! Harder!”

The dinghy was rapidly overhauling the catamaran. In the catamaran could be seen the figure of a man standing up, working furiously at his sculling oar. The bright full moon, low down in the sky and behind his back, cast his wavering shadow in the water in a long, undulating, snake-like movement. But though he had a good start there was no hope for him in this fierce chase, and when he was a hundred yards from the shore the dinghy was almost on top of him and would be up to him in a second. He gave one quick glance to the shore, and then with a despairing, agonizing cry of: “My God, my God,” he threw down his oar and leaped into the black water about him.

“Starboard your helm,” called out Ralph, as he stood in the bow of the dinghy, with the boat-hook in his two hands. A second later he saw the man just ahead and on the port bow of the dinghy, swimming frantically. He plunged the boat-hook down inside the collar of the swimmer’s shirt and then gave the boat-hook a quick turn. “I’ve got him,” he cried. “Now help get him aboard.” The man, completely vanquished, made no resistance, and was quickly hauled aboard.

“Come aft, Osborn, and sit beside this fellow, and if he makes the slightest movement, nab him; don’t let him jump. Number one port oar, get hold of the painter of the catamaran and pass it aft. We’ll tow the catamaran back; and there’s the oar, pick that up.”

Ralph recognized the man to be Collins, the oiler. The latter sat in the dinghy’s stern, with his head in his hands, vainly endeavoring to control hopeless, convulsive sobs that shook him. Ralph looked at him with mixed feelings; first he was elated that he had done his duty well; but also his heart was touched by the utter dejection and hopeless misery of the dripping figure beside him.

In a few moments the dinghy was alongside the Puritan’s gangway. Awaiting was Lieutenant-Commander Graham.

“Have you got him?” he called out. “Yes, I see you have, and you have the catamaran. Well done. Oh, I see, it’s Collins, is it? I’m not surprised. Master-at-arms, see that Collins gets well rubbed down, put him in dry clothing, and then tie him up in double irons; we’ll attend to his case to-morrow. Mr. Anderson, you did very well. Mr. Jenson, you were up to your job, too. And who was the midshipman on anchor watch who reported Collins when he jumped ship?”

“Third Classman Osborn, sir. He also went in the dinghy and hooked Collins in the water. Collins jumped overboard from the catamaran.”

“You are beginning well, Mr. Osborn. Keep it up, young man.”

Ralph tingled with pleasure at this praise from his dreaded executive officer, yet with it he felt great pity for Collins. “Poor fellow,” he reflected, “I suppose he was made desperate by his wife being sick; I’m awfully sorry for him.”

Ralph now turned in. The next day “mast” was held by Captain Waddell, who had returned in the morning. A number of enlisted men were lined up before the captain, charged with various offenses.

“Salute,” ordered the master-at-arms, as the captain and Mr. Graham approached.

“You have quite a mast this morning, Graham,” remarked the captain.

“Yes, sir; the ordinary sailorman can’t stand a privilege without abusing it.”

“I don’t agree to that at all,” replied the captain, rather sharply; “three-fourths of our ship’s company are on the first class conduct grade and many of them are special first class, have not been reported for anything for six months and more; and we have a chief water tender, Hester, who is serving his sixth enlistment and has a record any officer might be proud of; he has never had a report against him in all of this time and has a perfect record in efficiency.”

“Yes, sir; Hester is the best enlisted man I have ever known. He can get anything from me that an executive officer can grant. The first case this morning, sir, is Harper, ordinary seaman, twenty-four hours over liberty.”

“What have you to say, Harper?” asked the captain.

Harper, a tousle-headed, mottle-faced, shambling young man stepped to the front, hat in hand and said:

“Well, captain, it was this way; I’ll tell you all about it, sir. I was comin’ back from liberty, on time, sir, and I stopped in the saloon for a few drinks before my boat shoved off. They must have put some dope in my liquor, sir, for I went to sleep, and——”

“Fourth class,” interrupted Captain Waddell. “Next.”

“Smith, P. B. Two hours late from liberty.”

“How did that happen, Smith? This is your first report.”

“I went to my home, sir, outside of Norfolk; my train was late, and I couldn’t catch the boat. I took the next boat, and when I got here I immediately hired a small boat and came off; I did the best I could, sir.”

“Statement accepted. Next.”

“Collins, sir, jumped ship last night, stole the catamaran, and would have got ashore but for some very alert midshipmen. He ought to get a court, sir.”

“What have you to say, Collins?”

“I received word that my wife, who is in Newport News, was very sick, sir. The executive officer wouldn’t let me go ashore.”

“It was his mother three weeks ago,” interrupted Mr. Graham; “you gave him liberty, when he was classed, to go to see a sick mother. He broke that liberty by a week. It will probably be his grandmother next time. You ought to give him a court, sir.”

“Mr. Graham, let me settle this, please.”

The executive officer turned red, but made no further comments. The captain then said: “Collins, nothing can justify you in stealing a boat and leaving as you did. Your personal troubles cannot justify your violation of regulations and destruction of discipline. Mr. Graham, confine Collins for ten days in double irons.”

“How about my wife, sir; she may be dying?” asked Collins anxiously.

“Mr. Graham, send a master-at-arms ashore immediately to make full inquiries about the condition of Collins’ wife and her needs. Collins, if I learn you have a wife ashore who is critically ill, I’ll send you to her.”

Mr. Graham’s lip curled. “If,” he murmured contemptuously, “if that Collins has a wife anywhere I’d be surprised.”

The captain had turned away and did not hear his executive’s remarks, but Collins did.

“Mr. Graham,” said the latter, firmly but respectfully, “I wish to inform you, sir, that I’m a self-respecting American; I tell the truth, sir; I always tell the truth.”

“Of course,” sneered Mr. Graham. “Master-at-arms, take Collins down below forward, put handcuffs on his wrists and leg irons on his ankles, and keep him there for ten days. Put a watch over him.”

“Yes, sir; come along, Harry.”

Three hours later Captain Waddell directed that Collins be brought before him.

“Collins,” he said, “I am glad to tell you your wife is in no danger at present, though she is very sick. She needs a little cash and I will let you draw fifteen dollars for her on a special money requisition; if she gets worse I’ll give you leave from Gardiner’s Bay; we leave for there to-night.”

“Thank you, captain.”

The Puritan left that evening for the North, traveling at a slow speed. She was a huge monitor displacing nearly seven thousand tons. The second day out she ran into quite a gale, making conditions aboard most uncomfortable for everybody. Hundreds of tons of water boiled over her low deck and smashed against the forward turret, from there sending great columns of foam and spray over the turret, sometimes even deluging the bridge above. It was a fearful, awe-inspiring sight to the midshipmen. The ship rolled from side to side, not easily, but with a quick, uncomfortable jerk, throwing people off their feet and sending unsecured articles spinning about the deck. “It’s glorious, isn’t it?” exclaimed Ralph, holding on to a rail on top of the superstructure deck, exulting in the fact he was not seasick. At the same instant an extra quick, heavy jerk caused him to lose his hold, and he was slammed hard down on the deck. Even the miserably seasick Bollup laughed heartily as Ralph ruefully staggered to his feet, clutching an awning stanchion for support.

The machinery was behaving badly and the coal was running short; she carried only three hundred tons, and the officers were concerned and worried; but in a couple of days the Puritan reached Gardiner’s Bay at the eastern end of Long Island without mishap, and was anchored alongside a collier. As the midshipmen could do nothing while the ship was being coaled, they were all sent ashore on a picnic and had a glorious time rambling over Gardiner’s Island.

While Ralph, Bollup, Creelton and Himski were wandering through a piece of woods they almost walked on top of a small deer. This was up and off like a shot from a gun. It was but a small incident, but was of enthusiastic interest to the young men. It was the first wild deer any of them had ever seen.

They returned aboard tired and contented; the ship had been coaled and washed down, and everything was now clean about her. When Ralph got aboard he was greeted with an order that did not please him. “Osborn, you have a forecastle watch from three to four o’clock to-morrow morning,” he was told.

“Pshaw,” said Ralph. “I hoped to have a good night’s sleep to-night, but I guess I can stand it.”

He relieved Streeter at three in the morning.

“Hello, Os,” said Streeter; “by Jove, I’m glad to see you. Good-bye. I’m going to turn in now.”

“Hold on,” said Ralph; “what have you to turn over?”

“Nothing. Everything is quiet. Both booms are alongside, the steam launch is moored astern, the catamaran is alongside the port bow; her painter is made fast to a cleat on deck. Bill Jones is on watch.”

Streeter left and Ralph commenced his lonely vigil. He took a look at the anchor chain and at the catamaran, and then paced up and down the starboard side of the forecastle deck. It was a beautiful, calm, starlight night. The moon was not visible. Ralph was sleepy and would have preferred his hammock, but after a while he rather enjoyed the feeling that all but a very few were asleep; at half-past three the quartermaster came forward and struck the bell seven times. “Half an hour more,” said Ralph; “I wouldn’t mind it if it were an hour more.” On one of his tramps forward and back, he suddenly stopped, abreast of the turret. From out of the forward hatch, in the deep gloom, he saw the figure of a man appear and then lie on the deck. It lay still for a moment and then quickly crept over toward the port side forward, and instantly was over the side. “Somebody is after the catamaran. Stop!” Ralph shouted. He rushed over to where the catamaran was secured. Here the ship’s deck was only two feet above the water,—a monitor’s deck is very low. In the catamaran Ralph saw a man unloosing the painter from the cleat on the deck, a foot from the side where it had been secured. Ralph was now bending over the chain railing. The painter of the catamaran was now untied and the man was in the act of shoving off from the Puritan’s side. Ralph leaned far over to get a grip on the man. He was full of excitement, too full for the moment to call for help. But he was determined to prevent the man from escaping. He leaned over the chain railing for a grip and instantly felt himself in the grasp of a man whose physical strength must have been prodigious. Both arms were seized; he was whirled up and over the chain and came down with a sickening crash, head first into the catamaran. He lay there stunned and helpless. The catamaran was now twenty feet from the Puritan and was being rapidly carried away by the tide. The man in the catamaran looked anxiously at the ship and at Ralph huddled in the bottom of the boat. “I can’t put him aboard. I’ll have to take him with me, but I don’t intend he shall give me away,” he reflected. He then rapidly whipped off his neckerchief from around his neck and fastened it over Ralph’s face, gagging him. He then took the catamaran painter and bound Ralph’s arms to his side and wound the end tightly around his legs. Ralph was securely tied and gagged. The catamaran had by this time drifted far from the Puritan; and the man in her looked back from time to time at the lights of the ship, but everything was perfectly still aboard, and he knew that Ralph’s cry had not been heard and that the boat had not been noticed as it had drifted by. He then picked up an oar and sculled vigorously toward the shore.