At last the active days of preparation had passed, the stormy scenes of hope and despair for the graduates and those striving to stand at the head of their classes had gone, and a calm had fallen upon the Naval School.

A restful lull was upon all.

The graduates, those who had become full-fledged officers, had gone off on their short leave to their homes, to receive the congratulations of kindred and friends, to enjoy a rest before returning to report for stern duty afloat.

They had stepped from light-hearted boyhood with all its joys, across the threshold of manhood with all its cares and ambitions.

The first class and the third were busy preparing for the annual cruise, the remainder of the cadets were to stay behind and while the time away as best they could between duty and the freedom allowed them.

Not as toy sailors were the cadets to go to sea, but in the capacity of ordinary seamen.

Theirs was to be the duty of sailors before the mast, and they were to be drilled and disciplined in all their duties as such.

If they were to command men they must learn the duties of those they were to order aloft, and, learning to obey to perfection, they could the better learn to thoroughly command.

Of course, having stepped up a grade and entered upon a higher plane of study and work, Mark Merrill was to go on the sea cruise.

Then, too, Scott Clemmons, Bemis Perry, and the others of his grade were to go with him, along with the men who had stepped into the places of those who had emerged from the embryo state of the cadet into the reality of the officer.

An old vessel of war of full rig, without steam, and sail only as a propelling power, a ship with a record away back two generations, was the craft that was to become the sea school of the young sailors.

They sailed in joyous spirits, all anxious to rove the deep blue sea.

Mark Merrill was now like one in his true element.

He had been literally born upon the ocean, and from his earliest remembrance had known how to row and sail a boat, to swim and face the ocean in sunshine and tempest.

All his companions could see that Mark’s learning aboard ship had come from stern experience rather than teaching, and here, too, Scott Clemmons felt his inferiority, and it but added another cup of bitterness to the draught he was forced daily to swallow, for still did the “poor fisher lad” prove his right to be his master.

The voyage had been mapped out for the cadet cruiser, and after a run down the beautiful Chesapeake she rounded the capes, and began to roll upon the blue waters of the Atlantic.

Her first port was to be New York, and thither all letters had been ordered to meet her, while many of the relatives and friends of the young sea-rovers were there assembled to meet them and wish them a bon voyage upon their cruise across the seas.

Hardly had the anchor been let fall in the North River when a boat with one oarsman came off bearing a visitor.

“Merrill, take an observation of that fellow and see if it is not Barney Breslin,” said Bemis Perry, pointing to the occupant of the boat.

“It certainly is; but can he be coming aboard here?” asked Mark in surprise.

“He is; but if there’s a man aboard who speaks to him he ought to be given the cut direct.”

Mark said nothing, and soon after the boat was hailed by the officer of the deck.

“I have letters for Cadet Scott Clemmons, and it is important for him to receive them at once,” was the answer to the hail.

“Ay, ay, come alongside,” was the response of the officer of the deck, as the boat ran up to the gangway.

The next moment Barney Breslin stepped on board, and was in the presence of those who had been his companions at the Naval School, face to face with those who had known him as a thief.

His face was flushed, but it seemed rather from the effects of drink than from shame, for his whole appearance indicated that he led a dissipated life.

His dress was of the shabby genteel, and those who knew something of his antecedents felt convinced that his father had not taken him back into the bosom of the family, or else, as the son of a rich man, why was he looking so very seedy?

Scott Clemmons was below aiding the commander in some work at the time he was sent for, and he was excused to go on deck and meet his visitor.

Who that visitor was he had not the remotest idea, and it flashed through his mind that it might be his paternal ancestor.

Bemis Perry was not one to let him off without a shot, so said:

“Clemmons, your old friend Barney Breslin has called upon you, and from his looks I guess he wants a loan.”

The face of Scott Clemmons flushed scarlet, and the blood, as quickly retreating, left it as white as a corpse.

There stood Breslin, calmly gazing about the vessel, with no show of emotion at the awkward predicament he had placed himself in.

He had spoken to two cadets near him, calling them by name, and addressing them in the free and easy manner of an old friendship.

One of them was Bemis Perry, and he looked him squarely in the face as he said:

“By what right, sir, do you dare to address a gentleman?”

With this he walked away and met Clemmons as he came on deck.

Decatur Knowles, the other cadet to whom Breslin had spoken, simply cut him dead in silence, and walked away.

Just then, as Breslin, not in the least abashed, for he gave a low, defiant laugh, turned and glanced over the ship, Scott Clemmons came on deck and started toward him, but all saw with no joy at beholding him.

Breslin said as he saw him:

“Ah, Clemmons, old boy, how are you?”

He held out his hand, but without taking it, Clemmons responded in a low voice, quivering with anger, but which several overheard:

“Why have you dared come here and ask for me?”