And there was, as it came to pass before many days. The mystery of the cave was destined to form one of the most important incidents of Mark’s stay at West Point.
CHAPTER XVII.
MORTAR PRACTICE AT WEST POINT.
“A very good shot, Mr. Bryce. A trifle high, though. Correct your elevation for the next shot.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Number two—ready! Fire!”
The scene was West Point, and the place was the target practice ground.
Over on the opposite side of the West Point inlet, stood a post with a barrel upon it. That was the target; the fondest hope of every cadet heart was that “some day” he might hit that barrel. With a mortar that is no easy task, but it has been done in West Point’s history.
The cadets were grouped about the guns, under the command of one of the tactical officers. In response to his order to fire, a cadet pulled the lanyard and with a flash and a roar the second of the heavy cannon was discharged. A white cloud of smoke ascended, half hiding the battery. There was an anxious wait, and then a splash far out on the water. It was followed by a murmured cheer from the spectators for the aim was so close that the barrel was half hidden from sight by the spray.
“A little to the right, Mr. Thompson,” said the imperturbable “tac.” “Number three—ready!”