PHIL felt his last hope had gone. Craig, their only witness, would make good his escape. There was nothing left for him but to face the court martial and be found guilty of one of the most serious offenses against military discipline.
“It’s perfectly hopeless, Syd,” he exclaimed dejectedly; “we can make no defense without this man.”
“Cannot Marshall be induced to hunt for him ashore?” questioned Sydney thoughtfully; “he is your friend and hasn’t any love for Lazar.”
“We might do that,” answered Phil readily. Then he shook his head on second thoughts; “it won’t help us. Lazar will find it out and see a means of keeping him aboardship too. He is a master schemer.”
A soft tap on their door sounded startlingly to the unstrung lads. They exchanged glances, despair written on their faces. They had spoken in low tones, but they knew the ship was a sounding-board. Had they said anything that might be advantageous to their enemy?
Phil stepped to the curtain and drew it cautiously aside, half expecting to see the cynical face of Lazar.
“Why, O’Neil!” he cried gladly, “you gave us a scare. Come in.”
“What is it?” Phil added, seeing the look of determination in the sailor’s face.
“I’ve heard that ‘all hands’ are to be kept on board ship,” the sailor answered. “I heard Mr. Penfield talking to Mr. Lazar on the quarter-deck a minute ago. The admiral has given the order. Mr. Lazar has gone to the admiral himself to get permission to go ashore.”
“That’s his doing,” cried Sydney hotly. “But he’ll get the permission,” he added dejectedly.
“What I was going to say, sir,” O’Neil continued, “is, I have made my mind up to catch this fellow Craig, and I’ve come for that uniform I wore on the dago war-ship.”
“I knew you couldn’t be downed, O’Neil,” Sydney exclaimed delightedly. “I have the three suits here. I was keeping them for souvenirs.”
Phil’s face during the time his companions were talking wore a look of quiet dignity. He now put his hand affectionately on the sailor’s shoulder.
“I can’t allow you to take this risk,” he said gently. “It’s my misfortune and I shall stand it.”
O’Neil interrupted him hurriedly.
“Mr. Perry, John O’Neil is always ready to obey you, but in this, sir, I know what is best. I want the clothes. I am too old a hand, sir, to get caught. You can trust me for that.”
Phil would have broken in, but O’Neil would be heard.
“I knew how you’d act about it, sir, but I need the uniform.”
Sydney dragged the uniform out from a locker and gave it to the sailor.
“Here you are,” he cried, “don’t listen to Mr. Perry. He seems to want to be convicted. I’ll go with you if you need me.”
“No, sir,” O’Neil replied decidedly. “You are better here cheering up Mr. Perry, but before that court meets you’ll see me bringing Craig back, ready to give his evidence.”
“What’s your plan?” Sydney asked, following the sailor from the room.
“It’s this, sir,” he answered. “I am going to watch every vessel that leaves port, and if I find Craig, I’ll get him to come back with me, whether he wants to or not. Trust me, sir, if I clap eyes on him back he’ll come.”
“That’s a good idea,” Sydney agreed; “our last hope is in you, O’Neil,” he added, as he returned to join Phil.
“O’Neil seems confident that he can locate him, Phil,” Sydney said in a cheering voice as he reëntered their stateroom. “He only told me half of his plan,” he said to himself. “I believe he knows what he is doing.”
Phil was reading over the fatal paper given him by the captain. The wording of the charges against him seemed written in fire on his brain.
A moment later the captain’s orderly came for the midshipman’s sword. Phil gave it to him with a heart full of anguish.
“Lieutenant Barnes is on deck, sir, and would like to see Mr. Perry,” the orderly said, a look of sympathy in his face. “I hope you ain’t guilty, sir,” he added hastily.
Phil almost smiled at the earnestness of the kind-hearted marine.
“Thank you, orderly,” he answered gratefully.
Lieutenant Barnes entered the boys’ stateroom shortly afterward. The lads stood quickly to attention.
“Mr. Perry, I am the judge advocate of your court,” the officer announced in official tones, holding himself very straight and regarding Phil coldly. “I see you have received a copy of the charges against you,” noticing the paper Phil held in his nervous hand. “Do you desire any one to act as your counsel?”
Phil’s throat was parched; he swallowed several times before he could find voice to speak.
“Midshipman Monroe, sir, has offered,” he replied.
“Very good,” the officer consented; “you will be ready at 8 A. M. to-morrow. Your counsel will inform me at that time the witnesses you wish to call in your defense.” He bowed ceremoniously and withdrew.
“There’s not much kindness in him, is there, Syd?” Phil observed sadly. “He believes I am guilty, by the way he looked at me.”
“What are we to do?” Sydney exclaimed. “If O’Neil fails you must take the stand and tell all.”
“No, I shan’t do that,” Phil declared; “the court would not believe our estimate of Lazar. It would be easy for him to convince the court that he had acted honestly and that our charges were malicious. If Craig is not found I must take my punishment in silence.”
“But if O’Neil and I both testify to the truth of your story, Phil,” Sydney urged.
“Even then,” he replied. “Lazar could not be accused. The fact that Craig deserted would point to the latter’s guilt in allowing the guns to be taken from the legation and would prove Lazar’s innocence. Sydney, if Craig is not found I stand convicted.”
The weary, anxious day dragged slowly by. The fateful morning dawned.
At the hour set, Phil and Sydney were ready to appear before the court.
Phil dreaded the ordeal. Far rather would he have faced a battery of Colt guns than go before those seven commissioned officers, accused as he was of a military crime.
With heart beating fast, and with pale, set face he took the chair next the judge advocate; Sydney sat beside him, a determined look in his eyes.
Phil raised his head and braved the eyes of the court.
The picture now before his eyes would never be forgotten. The officers were all strangers to him, selected from other ships than his own. At the head of the long table sat the president, a captain in the navy, commanding a battle-ship in the fleet; the other six officers were all above the rank of ensign.
Phil saw his sword brought in by the captain’s orderly and placed on the court table, its sheathed point directed at himself, the accused. He knew that this sword would be the silent tale bearer of the court’s verdict. If after the trial was over the sword remained with its point toward him he had been adjudged guilty, but if upon entering to receive the judgment, the sword had been swung with its hilt toward him, then the court had found him not guilty.
The judge advocate arose, and in a clear voice read the admiral’s order assembling the court for the trial of Midshipman Perry.
The formalities of organization were soon over and the court was ready to try the accused on the charges.
As one in a dream Phil heard the detailed charges read. He knew them by heart, but now in the cold hard tones of Lieutenant Barnes they rang ominously.
“He, the said Midshipman Philip Perry, did maliciously and wilfully disobey the order of his superior officer Ensign Jules Lazar, who was then and there in the execution of his lawful duty, and further did treat his superior officer, the said Ensign Jules Lazar, with contempt, and was insubordinate to him by words and gestures; this to the prejudice of good order and military discipline.”
The awful sound took his breath away. A voice was saying to him in his inner consciousness, “You are guilty, you are guilty.”
Yes, every word was only too true; he could deny nothing, but he must plead “not guilty,” in hopes that Craig would arrive in time to give his testimony.
There was a pause; the judge advocate cleared his throat. The court shifted their positions expectantly. Phil’s heart seemed almost ready to stop beating while the prosecutor’s voice sounded through the quiet room:
“You, Philip Perry, have heard the charges preferred against you. What say you: Guilty or not guilty?”
Phil mustered all his strength and in a clear voice answered:
“Not guilty.”
In a few moments Lazar entered the courtroom. He was calm and self-possessed. He walked up to the president promptly and took the oath; then he sat down carelessly in the witness chair, and turned upon Phil a cold scrutinizing gaze.
Lazar told his story to the hushed court. Phil knew it was the truth, but not the whole truth which Lazar had sworn to tell.
The witness had finished; the judge advocate turned to Phil, questioningly.
“Do you wish to interrogate the witness?” he asked.
Phil shook his head and Lazar withdrew from the room, casting an incredulous look at the accused midshipman.
The judge advocate ceased his writing and looked up at the president of the court.
“Mr. President,” he announced slowly, “there is no other witness for the prosecution. Ensign Lazar’s testimony is not disputed; it proves every word of the charges against the accused.” He sat down in silence, then he glanced quickly at Sydney, sitting stunned by Phil’s side.
“The defense begins,” he added.
The two lads exchanged glances. O’Neil had not returned.
“Who is your first witness?” asked the judge advocate impatiently.
Sydney was about to speak; he would ask to be put in the witness chair; he could tell the true story to the court; surely they would see it was the truth, but Phil’s quiet resigned voice cut short his intentions.
“I have no witnesses to call,” he said in a low voice.
The court was astounded; its members looked surprisedly at one another. The president arose to his feet.
“Mr. Perry,” he began, “do you understand the gravity of these charges? Can you make no defense? Can you give no reason, no excuse for your extraordinary conduct? Will you not make a statement to the court? Your record at the Naval Academy and here on the ‘Connecticut’ is too good to be so stained without some reason.”
The court showed their accord by nods of assent.
Phil turned to Sydney, a look of pain in his eyes.
“O’Neil has failed,” Sydney whispered; “he would come direct to the court if he were on board.”
Phil arose to his feet, his face pale and anxious. The court was silent, in breathless expectancy.
“I can offer no excuse, sir,” he said in a voice suppressed with emotion. “I can only say that I acted according to my belief in what was my duty.” His face became suffused with embarrassment as he realized how odd his words must sound to these officers who knew nothing of the real circumstances; but he must gain time; perhaps even now O’Neil was returning with the missing witness. Once the trial was finished he would stand convicted and even Craig’s testimony could not change the decision of the court.
“My first duty was to remain where I was, and to do this it was necessary that I should disobey Mr. Lazar’s direct order. I can say no more,” he said finally, covered with confusion.
As Phil stopped and sat down, a hum of astonishment passed over the court. What did he mean? Had the strain unbalanced his mind? were the questions asked in glances of the eye by his judges sitting solemnly before him.
The judge advocate arose to his feet to make his closing address to the court.
“Gentlemen,” he commenced, “the accused by the evidence is proved guilty. It is my duty as prosecutor for the United States Navy to point out that the offense of which he is charged is one of the most serious against military and naval discipline, and is punishable under the ‘articles of war’ by dismissal from the navy of the United States. The excuse offered by the accused is unintelligible and worthless.”
He sat down, his eyes riveted on the president of the court. The latter raised his hand; Phil knew that when it fell to the table the trial would be over and no more witnesses could be summoned. It was a dreadful moment for the accused midshipman. He knew he sat before his judges adjudged guilty of the military crime of which he was accused.
The president, with his hand still raised, hesitated; he seemed unwilling to make the trial a closed book. As he paused thus, there came a knock on the door of the cabin.