Transcriber’s Notes: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end. * * * * * MIDSHIPMAN MERRILL * * * * * [Illustration: “The passengers and crew gave the young hero a rousing cheer as he sped away.” (See page 45)] * * * * * Midshipman Merrill BY HENRY HARRISON LEWIS AUTHOR OF “Centre-Board Jim,” “Ensign Merrill,” etc. [Illustration] PHILADELPHIA DAVID MCKAY, PUBLISHER 610 SOUTH WASHINGTON SQUARE * * * * * Copyright, 1899, By STREET & SMITH * * * * * MIDSHIPMAN MERRILL. CHAPTER I. THE WRECK OF THE TOY. “There comes that sea cub of Beacon Cliff, mates, so let us clip his claws.” “So say I, mates, for he’s too blue blooded to associate with us, if he is only a fisher lad.” “It’s the living in that old rookery, Cliff Castle, that has turned his head and made him so conceited.” “No, he’s been high-toned ever since he saved that schooner from being wrecked in Hopeless Haven; but I say let us take him down a peg or two, mates.” “I’m with you.” “So am I.” “Me, too;” and all of a group of five lads joined in with their leader to set upon a youth who was just running for the shore in a trim little surf-skiff with a leg-of-mutton sail. The scene was at a small seaport upon the rugged, though beautiful coast of Maine, and the lads, a wild lot of reckless spirits, half-sailors, half-landsmen, stood in front of an old-fashioned tavern fronting the water, and from whence they had sighted the surf-skiff running swiftly in toward the wharf, and had recognized its occupant, a lad of sixteen. He was neatly dressed in duck pants and a sailor shirt with wide collar, in each corner of which was embroidered an anchor in blue silk. A blue tarpaulin sat jauntily upon his head, giving him something of a rakish look, and a sash encircled his slender waist. But in spite of his rather picturesque attire, he had a face of rare manliness for one so young, a face that was bronzed by exposure, strong in character and stamped with resolution and daring beyond his years. He ran his little skiff in cleverly alongside the wharf, lowered sail, and carefully taking up a toy ship, stepped ashore and started toward the tavern. The toy was a miniature ship, fully rigged and under sail, an exquisite specimen of workmanship, for from keel to truck there was nothing missing, and every rope and sail, even to a tiny flag, the Stars and Stripes, was in place. He had nearly reached the group of youths, who had threatened to lower his pride a peg or two, when a seaman met him and called out: “Ho, lad, who built that craft you have there?” “I did, sir,” was the modest reply. “Well, if you did you are a born sailor, that is all, for I never saw a cleaner built craft, or a better rigged one. Are you a deep water sailor, my lad?”