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Submarine Boys and the Middies

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<h1>CHAPTER XI: BUT SOMETHING HAPPENED!</h1> Nor was Jack's guess in the least wrong. Even had the submarine boys attempted to bolt they would have found it impossible. They were surrounded. The cadets closed quickly in upon them. There were more than thirty of these budding young naval officers. It was Cadet Merriam who stepped straight up to Jack, giving him a grotesque and exaggerated salute, as he rumbled out: “Good evening, SIR!” Like a flash Jack Benson comprehended. These cadets intended fully to even up matters for having been obliged to say “sir” to these very youthful “civilian instructors.” “Good evening,” Jack smiled. "You have come to see the camelroorelephant, SIR?" “We've been told that we might have that pleasure,” Jack responded, still smiling. “Perhaps you may,” retorted Cadet Merriam, “though, first of all, it will be necessary to prove yourselves worthy of the privilege, SIR.” “Anything within our power,” promised Jack. “Then, SIR, let me see you all three stand 'at attention.'” “At attention” is the rigid attitude taken by a United States soldier or sailor when in the presence of his officers. Jack had already seen men in that attitude, and did his best to imitate it in smart military manner. Eph and Hal did likewise. “No, no, no, you dense blockheads!” uttered Cadet Midshipman Merriam. “'At attention' upside down—on your hands!” The other cadet midshipmen now hemmed in closely about the three. Jack thought he caught the idea. He bent over, throwing his feet up in the air and resting on his hands. Unable to keep his balance, he walked two or three steps. “I didn't tell you to walk your post, blockhead!” scowled Mr. Merriam. “Stand still when at attention.” Jack tried, but of course made a ludicrous failure of standing still on his hands. So did Hal and Eph. The latter, truth to tell, didn't try very hard, for his freckled temper was coming a bit to the surface. “You're the rawest recruits, the worst landlubbers I've ever seen,” declared Cadet Midshipman Merriam, with severe dignity. “Rest, before you try it any further.” The smile had all but left Jack Benson's lips, though he tried to keep it there. Hal Hastings made the most successful attempt at looking wholly unconcerned. Eph's face was growing redder every minute. It is a regrettable fact that Eph was really beginning to want to fight. “See here,” ordered Mr. Merriam, suddenly, taking Jack by the arm, “you're a horse, a full-blooded Arab steed—understand!” He gave young Benson a push that sent that youngster down to the ground on all fours. “You're General Washington, out to take a ride on your horse,” announced Mr. Merriam, turning to Hal. “It's a ride for your health. Do you understand? It will be wholly for your health to take that ride!” Hal Hastings couldn't help comprehending. With a sheepish grin he sat astride of Jack Benson's back as the latter stood on all fours. “Go ahead with your ride, General,” called Mr. Merriam. Jack pranced as best he could, on all fours, Hal making the load of his own weight as light as he could. Over the ground the pair moved in this nonsensical ride, the cadets following and grinning their appreciation of the nonsense. Two of the young men followed, holding Eph by the arms between them. Mr. Merriam now turned upon the unhappy freckled boy. “Down on all fours,” ordered Mr. Merriam. “You're the measly dog that barked at General Washington on that famous ride. Bark, you wretched yellow cur—bark, bark, bark!” Though Eph Somers was madder than ever, he had just enough judgment remaining to feel that the wisest thing would be to obey instructions. So, on all fours, Eph raced after Jack, barking at him. “See how frightened the horse is,” muttered one of the midshipmen. Taking the hint, Jack shied as well as he could. “That's all,” said Mr. Merriam, at last. “All of that, at least.” As the three submarine boys rose, each found himself gently held by a pair of cadet midshipmen. It was a more or less polite hint that the ordeal was not yet over. Mr. Merriam turned to whisper to one of the cadets, who darted inside the barracks building. He was back, promptly, carrying a folded blanket on his arm. A grin spread over the faces of the assembled cadet midshipmen. The bearer of the blanket at once unfolded it. As many of the cadets as could got hold of the edges, bending, holding the blanket spread out over the ground. Jack Benson's two captors suddenly hurled him across the length of the blanket with no gentle force. Instantly the cadets holding the blankets straightened up, jerking it taut. Up into the air a couple of feet bounded Jack. As his body came down the cadets holding the blanket gave it a still harder jerk. This time Jack shot up into the air at least four feet. It was the same old blanket-tossing, long popular both in the Army and Navy. Every time Jack landed the blanket was given a harder jerk by those holding it. Benson began to go higher and higher. <div class="tei tei-figure" style="text-align: center"><ANTIMG src="images/image03.jpg" width-obs="389" height-obs="600" alt="Illustration: Eph Raced After Jack, Barking at Him." title="Eph Raced After Jack, Barking at Him." /> </div> And now the cadets broke into a low, monotonous chant, in time to their movements. It ran: <div class="tei tei-lg" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em; margin-top: 1.00em"> <div class="tei tei-l" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 2.00em">Sir, sir, surcingle!</div> <div class="tei tei-l" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 4.00em">Sir, sir, circle!</div> <div class="tei tei-l" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 2.00em">Sir, sir, with a shingle—</div> <div class="tei tei-l" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 4.00em">Sir, sir, sir!</div> </div> As regular as drumbeats the cadets ripped out the syllables of the refrain. At each word Jack Benson's body shot higher and higher. These young men were experts in the gentle art of blanket-tossing. Ere long the submarine boy was going up into the air some eight or nine feet at every tautening of the blanket. As for escape, that was out of the question. No sooner did the submarine boy touch the blanket than he shot skyward again. Had he desired to he could not have called out. The motion and the sudden jolts shook all the breath out of him. “Ugh! Hm! Pleasant, isn't it?” uttered Hal Hastings, grimly, under his breath. “If they try to do that to me,” whispered Eph, hotly, under his breath, “I'll fight.” “More simpleton you, then!” Hal shot back at him in warning. “What chance do you think you stand against a crowd like this?” Just as suddenly as it had begun the blanket-tossing stopped. Yet, hardly had Jack been allowed to step out than Hal Hastings was unceremoniously dropped athwart the blanket. The tossing began again, to the chant of: <div class="tei tei-lg" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em; margin-top: 1.00em"> <div class="tei tei-l" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 2.00em">Sir, sir, surcingle!</div> <div class="tei tei-l" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 4.00em">Sir, sir, circle!</div> </div> Right plentifully were these cadet midshipmen avenging themselves for having had to say “sir” to these young submarine boys that day. “Woof!” breathed Jack, as soon as breath entered his body again. Eph clenched his fists tightly, as Hal continued to go higher and higher. But at last Hastings's ordeal was over. “I suppose they'll try that on me!” gritted Eph Somers to himself. “If they do—” That was far as he got, for Eph was suddenly flung upon the blanket. <div class="tei tei-lg" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em; margin-top: 1.00em"> <div class="tei tei-l" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 2.00em">Sir, sir, surcingle!</div> </div> Then how Eph did go up and down! It was as though these cadet midshipmen knew that it would make Eph mad, madder, maddest! These budding young naval officers fairly bent to their work, tautening and loosening on the blanket until their muscles fairly ached. It was lofty aerial work that Eph Somers was doing. Up and up—higher and higher! Without the need of any effort on his own part young Somers was now traveling upward at the rate of ten or eleven feet at every punctuated bound. Then, suddenly, there came a sound that chilled the blood of every young cadet midshipman hazer present. “Halt! Where you are!” Under the shadow of the barracks building a naval officer had appeared. He now came forward, a frown on his face, eyeing the culprits. It is no merry jest for cadet midshipmen to be caught at hazing! And here were some thirty of them—red-handed! <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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