The schooner yacht Midshipman was on a pleasure cruise of several weeks with a distinguished party on board.

She was a large, roomy and stanch craft, as well as carrying the champion colors as a racer, won in showing a clean pair of heels to the fleet pleasure boats when a cup or purse was at stake.

Her distinguished owner, a millionaire Bostonian, had invited a congenial party to become his guests for a cruise from Fortress Monroe along the coast to the St. Lawrence and back to Newport, and among the guests were several who had won fame in the history of their country in civil and military life.

The Honorable Secretary of the United States Navy, gallant Commodore Lucien, and several others of lesser note, accompanied by half a dozen ladies, comprised the guests of General Peyton on the Midshipman.

The cruise had been greatly enjoyed, and the prow of the yacht had been turned homeward, when suddenly came up from out of the very sea, it seemed, the black and ugly storm.

The ladies implored the skipper to head for the shore, to seek refuge in some harbor, though he urged, as he knew little of the coast just there, the open sea was the safer.

“We will find some harbor, captain, so run in, where you deem best,” General Peyton had said, for he did not like the looks of the heavens, and night not far off.

Around a point swept the yacht, and a cry of joy came from many lips at what appeared to be a safe anchorage before them.

Into the bay ran the Midshipman, and quickly her anchors were let go, her sails furled, and all made ship-shape to meet the rising tempest, which was growing appalling in its magnitude and blackness.

“I don’t like this place, sir, and we had better fire a gun to bring a pilot off in case we have to stand out,” said the skipper to General Peyton.

“Do so, if you deem best, captain; but see, yonder stands some one upon that cliff.”

All eyes were turned upon the cliff, and they wondered to see the form of a man running at full speed along the edge of the towering rocks.

He darted into an arbor, and in a short while reappeared, and then his actions caused still greater surprise, for he was seen to come boldly down the rocky face of the cliff toward the sea.

All watched with deepest interest, momentarily forgetting the storm in their wonderment at the actions of the one on the cliff.

Suddenly a cry broke from every lip, for the form was seen to suddenly spring into the foaming waters.

The ladies turned their faces away in awe, the men watched the waters where the form had disappeared, for it seemed that the fate of the stranger was ominous of their own.

Suddenly from the inky clouds, trailing over the sea to break upon the stone-bound coast, came a blinding sheet of livid flame, followed by a crash of thunder that vibrated through the yacht from stem to stern.

In the lull that followed came a voice out upon the waters:

“Ahoy! ahoy, the yacht!”

It was faint, but distinct, and all heard it.

“Ahoy! ahoy! the yacht, ahoy!” came the hail louder than before.

Brave men looked at each other with something like awe in their faces, until General Peyton cried:

“It is the man who sprang from the cliff!”

“He is swimming out to us, brave fellow that he is.”

Seizing his trumpet he shouted back:

“Ay! ay! my man, I’ll send a boat for you!”

“No! no! I am all right, but your vessel is not. Get up your anchors, and set sail!”

There was no mistaking these cool words, and a voice cried:

“I see him!”

There, out upon the waters, swimming with powerful, rapid strokes toward the yacht could be seen, every moment as he rose on the crest of a wave, our bold young swimmer.

A cheer broke from the crew forward, and was echoed by the guests aft.

But again came from the daring young swimmer:

“You have no time to lose; get sail on your yacht and your anchors up, for this bay is a death-trap!”

The skipper was a man of quick action, and the warning from the swimmer but carried out his own ideas, and he sent his crew flying to their posts, while General Peyton stood by to throw a line to the one who was now but a few yards away.

A minute more, and amid a ringing cheer the bold swimmer stood upon the deck, a handsome, fearless-faced youth, bareheaded, barefooted, and clad only in duck pants and sailor shirt.

“Well, young man, who are you who so bravely boards my craft almost in mid-ocean?” cried General Peyton, as all gazed with admiration upon the lad.

The response came bluntly:

“I am not here, sir, to speak of myself, but to pilot your vessel to a safe harbor, for you are in Hopeless Haven, and yonder storm will wreck you here.”

“Hopeless Haven is it, my lad? Then are you a hundred times welcome, and to one who has your nerve I gladly yield the craft,” said Captain Saunders hastily, and Mark Merrill stepped to the wheel just as the anchors left the bottom, and the reefed sails went to leeward with a jerk under a sudden squall.

But the boy pilot was unmoved, and, declining a glass of liquor brought to him by the steward, at General Peyton’s order, bent his every energy upon his work, for now the rushing, furious storm was coming down in an avalanche of winds and waves, and a roaring and flaming like unto a mighty battle.

As though wild with fear the yacht drove furiously on, heading to round the rocky reef off the cliff, her crew at their posts, the guests crouched in the companionway and cock-pit, and all eyes alternately turned upon the young pilot, calm and fearless, and the storm so near upon them.

It seemed like a mad race for life, for the boy pilot had said:

“Anchors will not hold on this bottom, and we must round that reef to reach safety.”

At last the order came in the boy’s clear voice:

“Slack off the sheets! steady now! hold hard all!”

And with the orders the howling storm was upon them, and the gallant yacht went driving ahead with furious speed, with all about her now darkness and chaos.

How he knew his way, all asked, none knew, but his orders came steadily to haul taunt, or slack off sheets, until suddenly the giant waves ceased to follow, the wind was broken by the lofty cliff, and the anchors were let go in the secure haven of Beacon Cliff.

The first one to grasp the hand of the brave lad was the Secretary of the Navy, and his voice had a tremor in it as he said:

“My young friend, your courage this day has won your right to serve your country in a position of honor, and I pledge for you an appointment-at-large from the President of the berth of a cadet midshipman.”