were particularly anxious to defeat Bucknell, which on this occasion had brought a stalwart lot of players. They were strong, heavy, and confident. Before the game Stonewell called Farnum aside and said: "Now, old chap, be a little careful of yourself. You are bound to get badly hurt at the rate you are going, and we want you to save yourself for the West Point game. You're going to be given the ball a good deal to-day; Bob Drake is a bit stale, and my knee is bothering me. Now look out for yourself."
"I'll try to remember, Stone," was the reply; "but when I get started I'm not apt to think of anything but the game. But I'll try to be careful."
Bucknell kicked off and Drake caught the ball. He was down the field with a tremendous start, dodging one player, smashing by another, making twenty-five yards before he was downed.
Bligh believed in quick action. The Annapolis team was lined up immediately and in a second the ball was in play. Farnum banged through the line between guard and tackle, making over fifteen yards for Annapolis.
"Take it easy, Farnum," cautioned Stonewell. In an instant Farnum had the ball again and was around the end and speeding for Bucknell's goal. Ten yards before he got there he was brought to earth with terrific violence, and he lay there still and limp.
On the side lines, leading the cheering, Glassfell was executing all kinds of crazy antics; the midshipmen on the bleachers, full of joy, shouted themselves hoarse. But poor Farnum lay there unheeded, entirely unconscious. And in vain did the appreciative midshipmen shout: "Farnum! Farnum! Farnum!" for that young man was carried off the field on a stretcher without regaining consciousness.
Two more plays, Stonewell carrying the ball, brought a touch-down to Annapolis and Stonewell kicked a goal. This was the only scoring done during the game. In vain did each team hurl itself against the other; all for nothing did prodigies of violence occur. When time was finally called the score stood Annapolis 6, Bucknell 0.
And then thoughts turned to Farnum, now in the Academy sick quarters. When questioned Surgeon Pickron looked grave and said, "Mr. Farnum has had a terrible blow on the head – he has had many recurring spasms ever since – I regard his condition as very serious."
Such news travels fast, and on Saturday night the whole Academy, officers and midshipmen, were much perturbed. Sunday brought no change for the better and Surgeon Pickron advised an operation. Farnum had not regained consciousness. Surgeon Welton, who was in command of the hospital, insisted on delaying, against Dr. Pickron's advice, and on Monday morning everybody was much cheered up by hearing that Farnum's spasms had ceased and that he had come to himself. It was decided not to perform the operation, though Dr. Pickron believed that a clot of blood had formed and that Farnum's skull should be trephined.
From now on Farnum continued to improve and in two weeks he was discharged from sick quarters and sent back to Bancroft Hall, though it was ordered that he was to play no more football. But it was not the same Farnum. In place of the cheery, wideawake youth who had battled so valiantly against Bucknell, was a slow-moving, hesitating young man. He seemed afraid. The slightest unexpected noise or untoward incident seemed to startle him, sometimes to frighten him badly. "I can't help it, Bob," he said one time, with half a laugh and half a sob; "it's my nerves, I suppose; I'm sure there's something wrong with me; I know I'm acting like a baby, and I guess it will pass after a while; but I can't help it, I can't help it," and then Farnum broke down.
Stonewell, Robert and some of the others had long talks with him. They were all drawn to him and were much concerned. One of Farnum's peculiarities was that he didn't dare to go out at night. The entire first class were now devoted to him. His popularity had come late in his midshipman career, but it was now strong and abiding. And his sufferings were so acute and so constant that he had the warm sympathy of all.
And Academy life went on apace, and Academy life at this period of the year is mostly concerned with football. True, there are study hours and recitations; long hard lessons must be read over and officers must hear recitations; formations must be attended, drills undergone, and examinations prepared for. This football spirit infected the officers as it did midshipmen. Football was the one topic of conversation, the one purpose in life during this epoch, and those that didn't play shouted vociferous advice, admonition and encouragement from the bleachers.
One Friday night in the middle of November, at five minutes before ten, the bugles in Bancroft Hall rang out their customary discordant warnings that all midshipmen were to repair to their rooms immediately. In five minutes the midshipmen were to be in bed and all lights out. And instantly hundreds of midshipmen rushed through the corridors to get to their own rooms; for they are given the time from nine-thirty, the end of their study period, to ten for visiting.
On this Friday night the midshipmen ran to their rooms as usual at the warning signal. Until the last minute of the allowed time there was to be heard the scurrying of hurried feet resounding through the corridors and a babble of shouting and laughter. Eight hundred midshipmen seemed to have something to say that couldn't keep till the morrow.
Ten o'clock came, and with it complete silence save for the measured tread of cadet officers going from room to room to see the occupants thereof were all in bed. And now sounded forth the clock, with its ominous tick-tock, as though it had been silent all day, and there came the oppressive silence which reigns each night after ten o'clock. So it was this Friday night. Four bells, indicating ten o'clock, were struck, the lights were put out and a solemn hush was upon the eight hundred occupants of Bancroft Hall.
And then, in the stillness of the night, there arose an awful heart-terrifying shriek. It was plainly in the armory wing and evidently from one of the upper floors. Startled, affrighted midshipmen jumped from their beds and stood in listening attitudes. Again came a cry that permeated every nook and corner of the armory wing, and hundreds of midshipmen listening with painful intensity plainly heard the words:
"Help, help, Stonewell, help; I'm going down, going down, down." The tones were those of one in fearful agony. The midshipmen jumped to the doors of their rooms and into the corridors, all with unspeakable dread in their hearts, waiting for a leader to direct their actions.
Stonewell, rooming on the first floor, dashed into the corridor, followed by Drake.
"Where's that cry?" he demanded in strident tones.
"The top floor, sir," cried little Mr. Mumma, with trembling voice. Up the stairway bounded Stonewell and Robert.
Hardly had this occurred when the cry was again heard. It seemed now to be in the corridor of the third floor, which by this time Stonewell had reached. Stonewell stood perplexed and worried; in a second the fearful scream was again heard, but now evidently from the floor below, the second floor. Stonewell ran to the stairway at one end of the corridor, followed by the other midshipman. "Where is that cry?" he again demanded of the startled midshipmen standing about, much bewildered.
"It was here a minute ago, right here, right here," replied Harry Blunt. "But what's the matter? what's happened?" he asked. Again they were silenced by the awful cry: "Help, help, Stonewell, save me!" which arose from the floor below. It was twice repeated, each time seeming farther away, and then it ceased entirely. By this time Stonewell and Robert had run down two flights to the ground floor. Midshipmen here had heard the frightful shrieks and many scared faces were to be seen.
"Turn out, everybody; get into ranks. Company officers, muster your companies," shouted Stonewell. "Pass the word to the upper floors, Bob," he called out. "Muster on the first and ground floors," and Robert was off in a flash.
"You have anticipated my orders, Mr. Stonewell," remarked the officer-in-charge. "Make a careful muster; we'll investigate; what do you think it was?"
"I can't imagine, sir; I'm entirely bewildered; the cry was undoubtedly heard at the top of the building, and it was heard later on each floor. I followed it down from the third floor. But nobody came down on the stairways, I'm certain of that, and the cry seemed near the centre of each floor, where no stairway leads down. If it wasn't that I believe everything on earth is explainable I would say it is uncanny."
While Stonewell and the officer-in-charge were talking Bancroft Hall had burst into life. The cries had ceased.
In going along the ground floor Stonewell came across Bligh, half supporting Farnum. The latter