When the little schooner Venture was seen driving up the bay and into the Severn River, the cadet midshipmen ashore were not the only interested watchers of her progress.

She had swept around the bluff, where now stands the popular resort known as Bay Ridge, in a manner that at once attracted every sailor’s eye who saw her.

The little fleet of stanch craft that found a safe harbor in Annapolis, were anchored snugly in a sheltered nook, all ship-shape to ride out the gale.

Each vessel had its crew on board in case there should be dragging of anchors, and they were compelled to get up sail, which all devoutly hoped would not be the case.

Then ashore there was an interested crowd on the oyster docks gazing with admiration upon the beautiful craft driven along like the very wind, carrying an amount of canvas which appeared foolhardy in the extreme.

Over at the fort, on the opposite side of the river, were groups of soldiers also observing the schooner’s rush up the harbor, and officers were braving the fierce wind to have a look at her.

The reviewing ship, and training ship for the middies, also had their quota of observers, while upon the stately vessel of war anchored in the stream the large crew were riveting their gaze upon the Venture, while the tars were commenting upon the manner in which she was being handled in a manner most complimentary to the helmsman, though with a belief that they would see him come to grief before he reached an anchorage.

Upon the quarter-deck of the vessel-of-war her officers were chatting over the flying craft, and various criticisms were made as to the skill and recklessness of the helmsman.

They, of course, had their own ideas as to what was good seamanship, and expressed them accordingly.

But it is forward, among the men, the bone and sinew, the human machinery of the navy, that I will ask my reader to accompany me.

Among a group of over a score of sailors leaning over the port bulwarks forward was one who was gazing with more than usual interest upon the schooner.

“Mates, I have seen that craft before,” he said decidedly, making a glass of his two hands to look through.

“When, coxswain, and whar?” asked an old salt, with gray hair and a complexion like the hide of an elephant.

“It was when I was on leave some months ago and took a run in my brother’s schooner that trades on the coast of Maine.

“I saw that craft, I am dead certain, come into the port of B——, and she came then in a living gale, and had only two men and a boy on board of her.

“The boy was at the helm, and ran her up to the dock in great shape.

“I was told that he carried the mail between some of the ports on the coast, and generally went in a surf-skiff in any kind of weather, but sometimes came up to the town with a load of fish, which he had that day.

“Several days after he came up to town in his surf-skiff and I made his acquaintance, and if that’s his craft then he’s the one as has the tiller.

“I’ll get my glass and take an observation,” and Coxswain Jack Judson went below, but immediately returned with a very handsome glass, which had been presented to him by his brother of the trading schooner.

He took a steady look, and said decidedly:

“Mates, that’s the craft, for a month’s pay it is, and it’s the boy at the helm for another!”

“Waal, what is he doin’ in these waters, coxswain?” asked a seaman.

“I don’t know, but did you ever see a craft better handled?” All admitted that they never had, while an old sailor growled forth:

“He’s trying to show off, and he’ll carry his sticks out of the craft yet before he can drop anchor. These young sailors is allus fools.”

“No, he won’t hurt her, and he isn’t any fool, either, for he knows the craft and what she’ll do when he puts her to it.

“I don’t think he’s trying to show off, for that isn’t like him, only he’s running under what sail he had up when the gale struck him.

“You see now there are four men aboard, counting the boy as a man.

“Every rope is where it belongs, the crew are at their posts and they are not at all uneasy, from their looks, while there is a gray-head among ’em.

“They all seem to be enjoying the run, looking at the scenery and unmindful that they have got everybody watching them.

“Mates, I’ll tell you a story of that lad, for I know him now without looking through my glass.

“His name is Mark Merrill, and I saw him stand to fight a gang of five young roughs who set upon him,” and Jack Judson told the story of how Scott Clemmons and Ben Birney had smashed the toy ship which Mark Merrill had taken up to sell in B——, to get money to pay the doctor for going to see his mother.

As he was talking the schooner swept by in splendid style, winning a murmur of admiration from all on board the vessel of war, and when she came to an anchorage Jack Judson said with enthusiasm:

“He’s let go his mudhooks, and didn’t carry a stick or inch of canvas away, either.

“Yes, he’s my lad, and I’m going to ask leave to go and see him, too.”