Reef Points [United States Naval Academy] on xumodaperma.ga *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. Vital reference book for incoming USNA. Brief Points: An Almanac for Parents and Friends of U.S. Naval Academy Midshipmen, Third Edition by Ross H. Mackenzie Paperback $ RFCO United States Naval Academy Polyester 3x5 Foot Flag USNA USN Midshipmen Navy MD. Essential USNA protocol and informational guide for incoming. US Naval Academy - USNA - This US Naval Academy app serves as a reference Reef Points is a small booklet of special facts all midshipmen at the United.
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Could Spruance possibly be as effective a leader? Sure enough, the wardroom had great difficulty adjusting to Spruance. Halsey had been outgoing; Spruance preferred quiet channels. Halsey paid minimal attention to detail; Spruance was compulsively focused on details and facts.
Halsey was a free spirit; Spruance was deliberate and methodical. In the end, Spruance led Carrier Task Force 16 to one of the greatest naval war victories of all time. It marked the crucial turning point in American resolve and morale in the Pacific theater. It appears that nondescript introverts can lead as effectively as gregarious extroverts. Although certain personality traits may fit certain tasks and contexts better than others, personality will always be secondary to leader knowledge, skill, and attitude.
Again, we disagree. If leadership were common sense, it is unlikely that there would be so many problems with ineffective leadership in everyday life.
Even the Navy suffers from its share of less than sterling leadership. He wondered why so many had been departing this ship and the Navy prematurely.
What he found appalled him. I assumed that low pay would be the first reason, but in fact it was the fifth. The top reason was not being treated with respect or dignity; second was being prevented from making an impact on the organization; third, not being listened to; and fourth, not being rewarded with more responsibility.
As he set about listening to his sailors and seeking creative means to inspire and motivate them to turn the Benfold into a fighting community defined by high morale, Commander Abrashoff employed more than common sense.
Aware of Gallup poll research showing that 65 percent of those who leave their companies are actually seeking to escape their direct managers, Abrashoff drew from science-based principles of reinforcement, organizational models of team building, and four years of intensive practice for leadership at the Naval Academy.
Commonsense leadership is rooted in the erroneous assumption that if most people believe it, it must be right. When students enter the Naval Academy, many are immediately thrust into leadership roles in their company, in their classes, and in the larger brigade of midshipmen. I GPH remember very clearly an example of this during my own plebe summer.
When I arrived at my room, my roommate was already there. He was a Napster, a midshipman who had attended the Naval Academy Prep School for a year prior to coming to the Academy, and the Napsters had arrived the day before the plebes the majority of whom are fresh out of high school. After a very hectic day and following evening meal, we were allowed to return to our rooms and start stowing all our gear. My roommate, Marc, because of his experience at NAPS, had been informed by the upperclass that he would be Company Commander beginning the next day.
Anxious, nervous, and a little overwhelmed at this new leadership position being thrust upon him, Marc started practicing his commands. He went on all evening until finally, much to my relief, we had to hit our racks and Taps was played over the Bancroft Hall intercom.
In fact, long before USNA, the father of the American Navy, John Paul Jones himself, was one of the earliest and staunchest supporters of a well-rounded education for naval officers. Jones wrote: It is by no means enough that an officer of the Navy should be a capable mariner. He must be that of course, but also a great deal more. He should be, as well, a gentleman of liberal education, refined manners, punctilious courtesy and the nicest sense of personal honor.
Experience has proven John Paul Jones correct. In fact, the curriculum at USNA is rooted in the assumption that formal education and seagoing training are naturally complementary and equally important. Academic preparation accelerates learning in the fleet.
Midshipmen learn models of leadership and behavioral principles for motivating and influencing others and then apply them in the context of pervasive feedback— both around the yard and during summer assignments with the Navy and Marine Corps.
The Hunt was an old destroyer. It had seen better days. It seemed to me a barely floating rust bucket that should have been scrapped years before, unfit even for mothballing. I spent most of the cruise on the bridge, where the skipper would order me to take the conn. There is a real mental challenge to running a ship of that size, and I had little practical experience for the job.
But I truly enjoyed it. I made more than a few mistakes, and every time I screwed up, the skipper would explode, letting loose an impressive blast of profane derision. Give up the conn right now. Get the hell off my bridge. Get the hell out of here. Get over here and take the conn. The skipper was proud of me, and I was much indebted to him.
He had given me his trust, and I had had the good fortune to avoid letting him down. After the two ships were tied up, he sent a message to the Admiral. Deliberate training and education equip new officers for the range of leadership challenges they will certainly encounter in the fleet.
The school of hard knocks has proven inadequate as a leadership laboratory. More than years of American naval experience has taught us this lesson: If you want great leaders, prepare them to lead.
And never assume that hard knocks alone produce leadership skills. If leadership is more than personality, common sense, and experience born of hard knocks then what do leaders need to learn? Our answer is lots. In fact, the remainder of this book is dedicated to highlighting the range of leadership lessons inculcated at USNA. But here is a summary of some key things midshipmen and other fine leaders learn to do—not just as students, but also as a way of life.
Make commitments to tasks and organizations and be faithful. Recognize that following well is a prerequisite to outstanding leadership. Actively seek out opportunities for leadership. Reflect on outcomes and explore alternatives for use in future situations. Those with specific personality traits appear to have an easier time becoming effective leaders. Personality tends to be established early in life and remains remarkably consistent across time and context.
In fact, the hallmark of a personality trait is that it is evident in most situations and interactions. Our demonstrated traits help our colleagues, loved ones, and subordinates very reliably predict our future behavior. Research aimed at connecting personality and leadership reveals clearly that certain traits are leadership-facilitative while others are leadership-inhibitive.
Still, this research shows that personality is only one ingredient in successful leadership. Possessing certain traits may simply make it more likely that a leader will take certain actions, behave in certain ways and, as a result, become more successful in the leader role. DRIVE Great leaders often exhibit a high need for achievement, an ambitious edge, and a tendency to compete in a variety of contexts. They are energetic and likely to take initiative in new situations.
They are proactive and often described by others as tenacious, persistent, and likely to work hard at overcoming obstacles.
The goal of every naval officer should be to assume a position of command, to lead men and women in the fleet and, when required, into combat. After all, that is why USNA exists, to prepare leaders for command in combat. It takes hard work, stamina, dedication, and drive to become a commanding officer.
Good leaders show a capacity to organize, synthesize, interpret, and strategically apply a range of data. They are also naturally curious and broad in their interests and intellectual explorations. Not surprisingly, USNA midshipmen are among the brightest potential leaders anywhere. Able to think on their feet, they are notorious for sharp wit and creativity. I only recall parts of Maslow and pretty much none of Herzberg.
So, even if I get zero points for this, I thought at least I could be somewhat entertaining and not leave the page blank. This even relates to leadership in some way. War may be a lot of things, but it is never a bad show. Nonstop, year-round folk dancing. It would be required that everybody in the world be dancing 24 hours a day. When it was offered that this might be impractical, I compromised and said half the world has to be dancing all the time.
Of course this led to the distinct possibility that while half the world is folk dancing, the other half is robbing their homes. So I scaled it down. Now for 24 hours, one day a year, the world will be required to dance. Anything they want: rumba, minuet, mazurka, cakewalk, Peabody, mashed potato. Shut-ins, old, sick, they all dance. This is a good way to weed out the weak.
Not only that, but it will significantly reduce world violence because for the six months after the dance people will be too busy talking about what a great time they had.
My other plan for peace is meeting the world through formal introductions. The Malaysians? Are you kidding?! I know those people! How would you do it? Line the people of the world up single file and have the person at one end start moving down the line?
Also, due to the length of their names, some nationalities would move through the line more slowly than others. Wu Han, Chin Lu. Done, moving along. Which explains why there are so many Chinese people. Less time saying hello. Just a couple of thoughts. Personality research confirms that those who prefer to influence others and are willing to exercise power over subordinates are best suited for leader roles.
They are not afraid to seek power as a means of accomplishing goals. Persons who are more emotionally mature tend to use power for the community, not for self-aggrandizement. Of course USNA students are selected because they have been drawn to leadership in schools, athletics, and community organizations long before applying to the academy.
A given among USNA midshipmen, integrity is in many ways an absolute prerequisite for effective leadership. Naval Academy students understand that to lead men and women into combat, they must first demonstrate that they are worthy of trust; even a hint of incongruence or deceit can be fatal. We had responsibility for tracking Soviet submarines in the mid-Atlantic and I was in charge of these prosecutions.
During one particular prosecution, we had two allied flight crews working with us and, at the time, they flew an old, slow airplane. It flew at about knots but it could stay on-station a long time.
I was on the mid-watch and had briefed the crew to give me a call when they were about miles away from where they were prosecuting the submarine on their way back to the Azores. Well, they called when they got miles away from the submarine and I was able to successfully update the P-3 missions.
When I was getting off watch the next morning, one of the other officers conveyed the ominous news that the captain, my boss, had called and wanted to see me before I left.
He asked me if anything unusual had happened on my watch. He then informed me that his boss in Norfolk had called earlier and was quite upset—fearing my decision had compromised the prosecution. His final comment made a great impression on me concerning honesty and integrity.
Self-confident people are willing to effectively take control and guide others. Free of leadership-threatening hesitancy or self-doubt, they are calm, graceful under pressure, and confident enough to make a decision and move ahead.
Self-confident people are not easily threatened and, for this reason, are seldom irrational, defensive, or impulsively angry. All things considered, you are likely to have an easier time leading others if you feel good about yourself and confident in your abilities.
Any USNA instructor who has had a bright and self-assured midshipmen challenge him or her on a fact or perspective in class can vouch for the confidence among these future leaders. Personality research on USNA midshipmen shows that, compared with the general population, our students are more extroverted they direct their attention outward and receive energy from external events, experiences, and interactions as opposed to introverted, and they tend to be more ambitious, intellectually curious, and sociable than the typical young person.
However, this research also shows clearly that personality alone is a very poor predictor of successful graduation from the Naval Academy.
That is, introverted, tender-hearted, and feelingoriented students frequently succeed both at USNA and in the fleet as officers. When we look at all the inhibitive traits listed above it reminds us of one of the videos we use in class to make the point about uphelpful leader traits. Queeg exhibited many of the dark-side traits—ultimately leading to mutiny by several of his officers. Although each of these personality characteristics can be corrosive to good leadership just as there is tremendous variability among those with positive personality features, so does the intensity and severity of dark-side traits vary widely.
The perfectionist may be good natured and aware of his or her compulsive side, or may lack insight altogether and rule with an angry, fearful determination to avoid even the smallest mistake. At USNA, midshipmen personalities vary widely. Rarely will a person with severe personality problems perform well enough in high school to gain admission.
Rather than limiting where they can finish as leaders, these traits merely define where they begin the process of learning to lead. Tenacity, intelligence, experience, and training will become the other key ingredients in creating top-notch leaders. At USNA, we accomplish this not only in the classroom, but in the leadership laboratory called Bancroft Hall with its midshipmen leadership organization. Midshipmen learn leadership firsthand during plebe summer by being both followers as plebes and leaders as upperclassmen.
Midshipmen learn leadership through athletics and team play. Most importantly, midshipmen learn leadership from the examples offered by officers, coaches, and faculty assigned to the Naval Academy. The Naval Academy has been teaching leadership for over years and the proof of its effectiveness is in the quality leaders it has produced. The balance of this book rests on the firm premise that leadership can be developed. At Annapolis, it happens every day. Graduated from school for only two or three weeks, your parents have probably tearfully deposited you at Alumni Hall on the Academy grounds some time just after the crack of dawn.
Like everyone else standing in line outside Alumni Hall that morning, you worked like crazy to secure an appointment to USNA.
Walking into Alumni Hall I-Day morning is like walking into the middle of a hurricane. At first they seem nice enough, but once they get you out of Alumni Hall and away from your family, a strange metamorphosis occurs.
Previously mild-mannered detailers become crazed drill sergeants. What were you thinking when you signed up for this? Within the first hour you learn how to render a salute, count cadence, and march as a member of a military squad. You will get a demonstration on how to fold everything you own from skivvies to socks. You are amazed that you are expected to fold your socks into precise blocks and that your underwear must be stowed in a square stack.
Everything in your closet must be lined up in a very precise order as well as your shoes. You are hot, sticky, sweating profusely, and your new white works feel like they are made out of heated canvas—only making matters worse on a hot, humid, mid-Atlantic day.
From the moment you are given Reef Points it will never be out of your possession. On I-day most plebes can be seen standing at attention holding their Reef Points directly out in front of them memorizing Navy facts.
At times during this first day you will feel exhausted and overwhelmed. You may have doubts about your capacity to endure and concerns that you are an imposter who will soon be discovered as incapable of handling the rigors of life at USNA. The courtyard is surrounded by thousands of people—parents and family members—who have come to watch the final public event of I-Day, administration of the oath of office.
To your great relief, your class will be marched to rows of folding chairs and you will be allowed to sit at long last. The sensation will be luxurious. It becomes evident at once that this is a solemn occasion, one dripping with meaning and consequence. After a few welcoming comments from the Superintendent always a three-star admiral , the newest USNA class is called to its feet. Warning students that the oath about to be taken is sacred and thoroughly binding, the Superintendent will then ask each of you to raise your right hand.
You may be surprised at your own visceral reaction to this event. For many young plebes, this is the first oath ever taken. It is solemn and meaningful. Freely taken, these obligations place the new midshipman in the service of the people of the United States and under the direct command of the president. The oath of office will be affirmed both in writing and in word on several occasions during the journey through USNA and every time you are promoted throughout your subsequent military career.
Upon taking the oath, the midshipman is irrevocably committed to defending and protecting the Constitution, the country, and its citizens. We are convinced that one of the palpable problems with business today is lack of organizational commitment. Employees come and go in the blink of an eye—constantly lured on by more pay or extra enticements. Sometimes young leaders are committed to excellent performance, but too often this is really a commitment to self—a commitment to look good at all costs in hopes of garnering attention and securing further promotions or external offers.
Over two centuries, the Navy has discovered a secret about commitment that modern day business would do well to take seriously. To keep your best and brightest young leaders, make the organization part of them; find ways to help them personally identify with the organization and its mission.
This deliberate process of identity formation is a cornerstone of life at USNA. Midshipmen wear uniforms and insignia of the naval profession. They are introduced to the long legacy of heroism and service rendered by their predecessors.
As they walk the halls of various USNA buildings named after famous naval and marine heroes, they pass photos, plaques, monuments, and statues rendering the images of midshipmen who have gone on to become president, congressmen, and medal-of-honor recipients. Although certain of these rituals may sound quaint to the civilian observer, they create powerful and emotionally charged memories for those who pass through them.
Researchers refer to these as flashbulb memories. These are extremely vivid and long-lasting memories—typically related to very distinctive, unexpected, and strongly emotional events.
Most of them result in good memories, things the midshipman goes on to cherish. Of course, most modern day organizations do relatively little to foster and ritualize organizational commitment at this level. Few CEOs take time to consider strategies for helping their young leaders bond effectively to the company.
It has always been true that bright young people thirst for meaning in vocation; they want to feel connected and committed to something important and enduring, something noble. After the Iraq war started, I GPH was discussing events one day with my class when one of my students made a statement that struck to the heart of the significance of commitment.
He said that watching the war on television and seeing the responsibility of command unfold in front of him was intimidating.
The thing that struck him most was that while he was watching the news, a reporter showed a young Marine 1st Lieutenant who was calling all the shots. He called for more firepower, brought in tanks, and radioed for close air support. The midshipman who planned to go Marine Corps said it was then that he realized that one day marines would be relying on him to lead them into battle, keep them safe, and complete the mission.
He said he had to rededicate his time remaining at the Academy so he could learn how to become a better leader—one who would make the right decisions during the worst of times.
He truly saw his calling as something enduring, something noble. At USNA, midshipmen are deliberately welcomed into the proud community of naval service. At each juncture in their journey through the Academy, they are officially and publicly invited, welcomed, and approved. In fact, at each of the most momentous of these milestones, the entire community stops, takes note, and honors the accomplishments of these young men and women. On Induction Day, the Herndon Climb, the Ring Dance where they finally get to wear their class rings , and Commencement, the community halts and pays homage.
Midshipmen come to feel a strong attachment to the USNA mission. They sense that they are part of something much larger than themselves, something infinitely honorable. Sometimes, that phrase is extremely difficult to utter. However, there are other naval officers and midshipmen waiting their turns to do their duty and assume positions of command, and they have to be given that opportunity. The lesson for those invested in creating loyal and emotionally attached organizational leaders is this: Find ways to help your young talent identify with the company.
How can you make them feel invited and endorsed? How can you instill a sense of purpose and noble mission? What rituals, ceremonies, and traditions might be employed to help celebrate and honor commitment and service? I GPH know one submarine commander who had a unique way of accomplishing this. Whenever a sailor on his boat got an award or advanced to a higher rank, he would have the command master chief read a citation from a World War II submarine hero during the ceremony.
He was connecting that young sailor to an age of courage, heroism, and valor in the submarine fleet, making him feel a part of an honored and brave tradition. And this is not a difficult task. These flames are usually ignited before they arrive in Annapolis. Our job is to fan them and provide plenty of fuel. But we are careful never to apply extrinsic rewards e. So, when people who love to paint are suddenly paid to do it, intrinsic joy and pleasure in the painting diminish; what was a source of delight becomes mundane and obligatory.
Far too often, business leaders assume that only extrinsic incentives will heighten performance and commitment. Or consider the work tempo of the typical Navy ship or submarine where our graduates toil in rough and sleep-deprived circumstances for months on end. And consider the comparatively low salaries our officers enjoy in comparison to their civilian managerial counterparts.
Are extrinsic rewards critical to the abiding commitment of these men and women? No way. I GPH remember a particular time in the Azores when we were prosecuting three submarines over a six-month period. I was beyond speech or thought, and yet I felt the upward or downward motion as 'the way lay in hill or glen, and I most assuredly knew when the open air was changed for the close underground. I could feel dimly that lights were flared in my face, and that I was laid in some bed on the earth.
Then with the stopping of movement the real sleep of weakness seized me, and for long I knew nothing of this mad world. Morning came over the moors with bird-song and the glory of fine weather. The streams were still rolling in spate, but the hill-pastures were alight with dawn, and the little seams of snow glistened like white fire.
A ray from the sunrise cleft its path somehow into the abyss, and danced on the wall above my couch. It caught my eye as I wakened, and for long I lay crazily wondering what it meant. My head was splitting with pain, and in my heart was the same fluttering nameless fear.
I did not wake to full consciousness; not till the twinkle of sun from the clean bright out-of-doors caught my senses did I realise that I lay in a great dark place with a glow of dull firelight in the middle. In time things rose and moved around me, a few ragged shapes of men, without clothing, shambling with their huge feet and looking towards me with curved beast-like glances.
I tried to marshal my thoughts, and slowly, bit by bit, I built up the present. There was no question to my mind of dreaming; the past hours had scored reality upon my brain.
Yet I cannot say that fear was my chief feeling. The first crazy terror had subsided, and now I felt mainly a sickened disgust with just a tinge of curiosity. I found that my knife, watch, flask, and money had gone, but they had left me a map of the countryside.
It seemed strange to look at the calico, with the name of a London printer stamped on the back, and lines of railway and highroad running through every shire. Decent and comfortable civilisation! And here was I a prisoner in this den of nameless folk, and in the midst of a life which history knew not. Courage is a virtue which grows with reflection and the absence of the immediate peril.
I thought myself into some sort of resolution, and lo! They tied me all but my hands with some strong cord, and carried me to the centre,' where the fire was glowing.
Their soft touch was the acutest torture to my nerves, but I stifled my cries lest some one should lay his hand on my mouth. Had that happened, I am convinced my reason would have failed me. So there I lay in the shine of the fire, with the circle of unknown things around me. There seemed but three or four, but I took no note of number. They talked huskily among themselves in a tongue which sounded all gutturals. Slowly my fear became less an emotion than a habit, and I had room for the smallest shade of curiosity.
I strained my ear to catch a word, but it was a mere chaos of sound. The thing ran and thundered in my brain as I stared dumbly into the vacant air. Then I thought that unless I spoke I should certainly go crazy, for my head was beginning to swim at the strange cooing noise. I spoke a word or two in my best Gaelic, and they closed round me inquiringly. Then I was sorry I had spoken, for my words had brought them nearer, and I shrank at the thought.
But as the faint echoes of my speech hummed in the rock-chamber, I was struck by a curious kinship of sound. Mine was sharper, more distinct, and staccato; theirs was blurred, formless, but still with a certain root-resemblance.
Then from the back there came an older being, who seemed to have heard my words. He was like some foul grey badger, his red eyes sightless, and his hands trembling on a stump of bog-oak. The others made way for him with such deference as they were capable of, and the thing squatted down by me and spoke.
To my amazement his words were familiar. It was some manner of speech akin to the Gaelic, but broadened, lengthened, coarsened. I remembered an old book-tongue, commonly supposed to be an impure dialect once used in Brittany, which I had met in the course of my researches. The words recalled it, and as far as I could remember the thing, I asked him who he was and where the place might be. He answered me in the same speech—still more broadened, lengthened, coarsened.
I lay back with sheer amazement. I had found the key to this unearthly life. I forgot the horror of the place, and thought only of the fact that here before me was the greatest find that scholarship had ever made.
I was precipitated into the heart of the past. Here must be the fountainhead of all legends, the chrysalis of all beliefs. I actually grew light-hearted. This strange folk around me were now no more shapeless things of terror, but objects of research and experiment. I almost came to think them not unfriendly. For an hour I enjoyed the highest of earthly pleasures.
In that strange conversation I heard—in fragments and suggestions—the history of the craziest survival the world has ever seen. I heard of the struggles with invaders, preserved as it were in a sort of shapeless poetry. There were bitter words against the Gaelic oppressor, bitterer words against the Saxon stranger, and for a moment ancient hatreds flared into life. Then there came the tale of the hill-refuge, the morbid hideous existence preserved for centuries amid a changing world.
I heard fragments of old religions, primeval names of god and goddess, half-understood by the Folk, but to me the key to a hundred puzzles. Tales which survive to us in broken disjointed riddles were intact here in living form. I lay on my elbow and questioned feverishly.
At any moment they might become morose and refuse to speak. Clearly it was my duty to make the most of a brief good fortune. And then the tale they told me grew more hideous. I heard of the circumstances of the life itself and their daily shifts for existence. It was a murderous chronicle—a history of lust and rapine and unmentionable deeds in the darkness. One thing they had early recognised—that the race could not be maintained within itself; so that ghoulish carrying away of little girls from the lowlands began, which I had heard of but never credited.
Shut up in those dismal holes, the girls soon died, and when the new race had grown up the plunder had been repeated. Then there were bestial murders in lonely cottages, done for God knows what purpose. Sometimes the occupant had seen more than was safe, sometimes the deed was the mere exuberance of a lust of slaying. As they abbled their tales my heart's blood froze, and I lay back in the agonie of fear.
If they had used the others thus, what way of escape was op n for myself? I had been brought to this place, and not murdered on the spot. Clearly there was torture before death in store for me, and I confess I quailed at the thought. But none molested me. The elders continued to jabber out their stories, while I lay tense and deaf. Then to my amazement food was brought and placed beside me—almost with respect.
Clearly my murder was not a thing of the immediate future. The meal was some form of mutton—perhaps the shepherd's lost ewes—and a little smoking was all the cooking it had got.
I strove to eat, but the tasteless morsels choked me. Then they set drink before me in a curious cup, which I seized on eagerly, for my mouth was dry with thirst.
The vessel was of gold, rudely formed, but of the pure metal, and a coarse design in circles ran round the middle. This surprised me enough, but a greater wonder awaited me. The liquor was not water, as I had guessed, but a sort of sweet ale, a miracle of flavour. The taste was curious, but somehow familiar; it was like no wine I had ever drunk, and yet I had known that flavour all my life.
I sniffed at the brim, and there rose a faint fragrance of thyme and heather honey and the sweet things of the moorland. I almost dropped the thing in my surprise; for here in this rude place I had stumbled upon that lost delicacy of the North, the heather ale.
For a second I was entranced with my discovery, and then the wonder of the cup claimed my attention. Was it a mere relic of pillage, or had this folk some hidden mine of the precious metal? Gold had once been common in these hills. There were the traces of mines on Cairnsmore; shepherds had found it in the gravel of the Gled Water; and the name of a house at the head of the Clachlands meant the 'Home of Gold. There and then I heard that secret for which many had died in old time, the secret of the heather ale.
They told of the gold in the hills, of corries where the sand gleamed and abysses where the rocks were veined. All this they told me, freely, without a scruple. And then, like a clap, came the awful thought that this, too, spelled death. These were secrets which this race aforetime had guarded with their lives; they told them generously to me because there was no fear of betrayal. I should go no more out from this place. The thought put me into a new sweat of terror—not at death, mind you, but at the unknown horrors which might precede the final suffering.
I lay silent, and after binding my hands they began to leave me and go off to other parts of the cave. I dozed in the horrible half-swoon of fear, conscious only of my shaking limbs, and the great dull glow of the fire in the centre. Then I became calmer. After all, they had treated me with tolerable kindness: I had spoken their language, which few of their victims could have done for many a century; it might be that I found favour in their eyes.
For a little I comforted myself with this delusion, till I caught sight of a wooden box in a corner. It was of modern make, one such as grocers use to pack provisions in. It had some address nailed on it, and an aimless curiosity compelled me to creep thither and read it.
A torn and weather-stained scrap of paper, with the nails at the corner rusty with age; but something of the address might still be made out. Amid the stains my feverish eyes read, 'To Mr. M—Carrickfey, by Allerfoot Station. I remembered the shepherd's shrinking from the place and the name, and his wild eyes when he told me of the thing that had happened there. I seemed to see the old man in his moorland cottage, thinking no evil; the sudden entry of the nameless things; and then the eyes glazed in unspeakable terror.
I felt my lips dry and burning. Above me was the vault of rock; in the distance I saw the fire-glow and the shadows of shapes moving around it. My fright was too great for inaction, so I crept from the couch, and silently, stealthily, with tottering steps and bursting heart, I began to reconnoitre. But I was still bound, my arms tightly, my legs more loosely, but yet firm enough to hinder flight.
I could not get my hands at my leg-straps, still less could I undo the manacles. I rolled on the floor, seeking some sharp edge of rock, but all had been worn smooth by the use of centuries.
Then suddenly an idea came upon me like an inspiration. The sounds from the fire seemed to have ceased, and I could hear them repeated from another and more distant part of the cave.
The Folk had left their orgy round the blaze, and at the end of the long tunnel I saw its glow fall unimpeded upon the floor. Once there, I might burn off my fetters and be free to turn my thoughts to escape. I crawled a little way with much labour. Then suddenly I came abreast an opening in the wall, through which a path went.
It was a long straight rock- cutting, and at the end I saw a gleam of pale light. It must be the open air; the way of escape was prepared for me; and with a prayer I made what speed I could towards the fire. I rolled on the verge, but the fuel was peat, and the warm ashes would not burn the cords. In desperation I went farther, and my clothes began to singe, while my face ached beyond endurance.
But yet I got no nearer my object. The strips of hide warped and cracked, but did not burn. Then in a last effort I thrust my wrists bodily into the glow and held them there. In an instant I drew them out with a groan of pain, scarred and sore, but to my joy with the band snapped in one place. Weak as I was, it was now easy to free myself, and then came the untying of my legs. My hands trembled, my eyes were dazed with hurry, and I was longer over the job than need have been.
But at length I had loosed my cramped knees and stood on my feet, a free man once more. I kicked off my boots, and fled noiselessly down the passage to the tunnel mouth. Apparently it was close on evening, for the white light had faded to a pale yellow. But it was daylight, and that was all I sought, and I ran for it as eagerly as ever runner ran to a goal. I came out on a rock-shelf, beneath which a moraine of boulders fell away in a chasm to a dark loch.
It was all but night, but I could see the gnarled and fortressed rocks rise in ramparts above, and below the unknown screes and cliffs which make the side of the Muneraw a place only for foxes and the fowls of the air. The first taste of liberty is an intoxication, and assuredly I was mad when I leaped down among the boulders. Happily at the top of the gully the stones were large and stable, else the noise would certainly have discovered me. Down I went, slipping, praying, my charred wrists aching, and my stockinged feet wet with blood.
Soon I was in the jaws of the cleft, and a pale star rose before me. I have always been timid in the face of great rocks, and now, had not an awful terror been dogging my footsteps, no power on earth could have driven me to that descent.
Soon I left the boulders behind, and came to long spouts of little stones, which moved with me till the hillside seemed sinking under my feet. Sometimes I was face downwards, once and again I must have fallen for yards. Had there been a cliff at the foot, I should have gone over it without resistance; but by the providence of God the spout ended in a long curve into the heather of the bog. When I found my feet once more on soft boggy earth, my strength was renewed within me.
A great hope of escape sprang up in my heart. For a second I looked back. There was a great line of shingle with the cliffs beyond, and above all the unknown blackness of the cleft.
There lay my terror, and I set off running across the bog for dear life. My mind was clear enough to know my road. If I held round the loch in front I should come to a burn which fed the Farawa stream, on whose banks stood the shepherd's cottage.
The loch could not be far; once at the Farawa I would have the light of the shieling clear before me. Suddenly I heard behind me, as if coming from the hillside, the patter of feet.
It was the sound which white hares make in the winter-time on a noiseless frosty day as they patter over the snow. I have heard the same soft noise from a herd of deer when they changed their pastures. Strange that so kindly a sound should put the very fear of death in my heart.
I ran madly, blindly, yet thinking shrewdly. The loch was before me. Somewhere I had read or heard, I do not know where, that the brutish aboriginal races of the North could not swim. I myself swam powerfully; could I but cross the loch I should save two miles of a desperate country. There was no time to lose, for the patter was coming nearer, and I was almost at the loch's edge. I tore off my coat and rushed in.
The bottom was mossy, and I had to struggle far before I found any depth. Something plashed in the water before me, and then something else a little behind. The thought that I was a mark for unknown missiles made me crazy with fright, and I struck fiercely out for the other shore. A gleam of moonlight was on the water at the burn's exit, and thither I guided myself. I found the thing difficult enough in itself, for my hands ached, and I was numb with my bonds.
But my fancy raised a thousand phantoms to vex me. Swimming in that black bog water, pursued by those nameless things, I seemed to be in a world of horror far removed from the kindly world of men. My strength seemed inexhaustible from my terror. Monsters at the bottom of the water seemed to bite at my feet, and the pain of my wrists made me believe that the loch was boiling hot, and that I was in some hellish place of torment. I came out on a spit of gravel above the burn mouth, and set off down the ravine of the burn.
It was a strait place, strewn with rocks; but now and then the hill turf came in stretches, and eased my wounded feet. Soon the fall became more abrupt, and I was slippingdown a hillside, with the water on my left making great cascades in the granite. And then I was out in the wider vale where the Farawa water flowed among links of moss.
Far in front, a speck in the blue darkness shone the light of the cottage. I panted forward, my breath coming in gasps and my back shot with fiery pains.
Happily the land was easier for the feet as long as I kept on the skirts of the bog.
My ears were sharp as a wild beast's with fear, as I listened for the noise of pursuit. Nothing came but the rustle of the gentlest hill-wind and the chatter of the falling streams. Then suddenly the light began to waver and move athwart the window.
I knew what it meant. In a minute or two the household at the cottage would retire to rest, and the lamp would be put out.
True, I might find the place in the dark, for there was a moon of sorts and the road was not desperate. But somehow in that hour the lamplight gave a promise of safety which I clung to despairingly. And then the last straw was added to my misery. Behind me came the pad of feet, the pat-patter, soft, eerie, incredibly swift. I choked with fear, and flung myself forward in a last effort. I give my word it was sheer mechanical shrinking that drove me on.
God knows I would have lain down to die in the heather, had the things behind me been a common terror of life. I ran as man never ran before, leaping hags, scrambling through green well-heads, straining towards the fast-dying light.
A quarter of a mile and the patter sounded nearer. Soon I was not two hundred yards off, and the noise seemed almost at my elbow. The light went out, and the black mass of the cottage loomed in the dark. Then, before I knew, I was at the door, battering it wearily and yelling for help. I heard steps within and a hand on the bolt. Then something shot past me with lightning force and buried itself in the wood. The dreadful hands were almost at my throat, when the door was opened and I stumbled in, hearing with a gulp of joy the key turn and the bar fall behind me.
The Troubles Of A Conscience My body and senses slept, for I was utterly tired, but my brain all the night was on fire with horrid fancies. Again I was in that accursed cave; I was torturing my hands in the fire; I was slipping barefoot among jagged boulders; and then with bursting heart I was toiling the last mile with the cottage light—now grown to a great fire in the heavens—blazing before me.
It was broad daylight when I awoke, and I thanked God for the comfortable rays of the sun. I had been laid in a box-bed off the inner room, and my first sight was the shepherd sitting with folded arms in a chair regarding me solemnly. I rose and began to dress, feeling my legs and arms still tremble with weariness. The shepherd's sister bound up my scarred wrists and put an ointment on my burns; and limping like an old man, I went into the kitchen.
I could eat little breakfast, for my throat seemed dry and narrow; but they gave me some brandy-and-milk, which put strength into my body. All the time the brother and sister sat in silence, regarding me with covert glances. My nerves had been too much tried to be roused by any new terror. Out of doors it was fair weather, flying gleams of April sunlight and the soft colours of spring. I felt dazed, isolated, cut off from my easy past and pleasing future, a companion of horrors and the sport of nameless things.
Then suddenly my eye fell on my books heaped on a table, and the old distant civilisation seemed for the moment inexpressibly dear. And you must come too. You cannot stay here. I tell you it is death. If you knew what I know you would be crying out with fear. How far is it to Allermuir? Eight, fifteen miles; and then ten down Glen Aller to Allerfoot, and then the railway. We must go together while it is daylight, and perhaps we may be untouched. But quick, there is not a moment to lose.
My sister will bide and keep the house. If naething has touched us this ten year, naething will touch us the day. You are mad,' I began; but he cut me short with the words, 'I trust in God. I dare not think of a woman alone in this place. The glen was full of sunlight. There lay the long shining links of the Farawa burn, the rough hills tumbled beyond, and far over all the scarred and distant forehead of the Muneraw.
I had always looked on moorland country as the freshest on earth—clean, wholesome, and homely. But now the fresh uplands seemed like a horrible pit.
When I looked to the hills my breath choked in my throat, and the feel of soft heather below my feet set my heart trembling. It was a slow journey to the inn at Allermuir. For one thing, no power on earth would draw me within sight of the shieling of Carrickfey, so we had to cross a shoulder of hill and make our way down a difficult glen, and then over a treacherous moss. The lochs were now gleaming like fretted silver, but to me, in my dreadful knowledge, they seemed more eerie than on that grey day when I came.
At last my eyes were cheered by the sight of a meadow and a fence; then we were on a little byroad; and soon the fir-woods and cornlands of Allercleuch were plain before us. The shepherd came no farther, but with brief good-bye turned his solemn face hillwards.
I hired a trap and a man to drive, and down the ten miles of Glen Aller I struggled to keep my thoughts from the past. I thought of the kindly South Country, of Oxford, of anything comfortable and civilised.
My driver pointed out the objects of interest as in duty bound, but his words fell on unheeding ears. At last he said something which roused me indeed to interest—the interest of the man who hears the word he fears most in the world.
On the left side of the river there suddenly sprang into view a long gloomy cleft in the hills, with a vista of dark mountains behind, down which a stream of considerable size poured its waters. Awa' at the heid they say there's a terrible wild place called the Scarts o' Muneraw,—that's a shouther o' the muckle hill itsel' that ye see,—but I've never been there, and I never kent ony man that had either.
I dared not trust myself for one moment alone, so I hung about the goods-shed, talked vacantly to the porters, and when one went to the village for tea I accompanied him, and to his wonder entertained him at the inn. When I returned I found on the platform a stray bagman who was that evening going to London. If there is one class of men in the world which I heartily detest it is this; but such was my state that I hailed him as a brother, and besought his company. I paid the difference for a first-class fare, and had him in the carriage with me.
He must have thought me an amiable maniac, for I talked in fits and starts, and when he fell asleep I would wake him up and beseech him to speak to me. At wayside stations I would pull down the blinds in case of recognition, for to my unquiet mind the world seemed full of spies sent by that terrible Folk of the Hills. When the train crossed a stretch of moor I would lie down on the seat in case of shafts fired from the heather. And then at last with utter weariness I fell asleep, and woke screaming about midnight to find myself well down in the cheerful English midlands, and red blast-furnaces blinking by the railway-side.
In the morning I breakfasted in my rooms at St. Chad's with a dawning sense of safety. I was in a different and calmer world. The lawn-like quadrangles, the great trees, the cawing of rooks, and the homely twitter of sparrows—all seemed decent and settled and pleasing.
Indoors the oak- panelled walls, the shelves of books, the pictures, the faint fragrance of tobacco, were very different from the gimcrack adornments and the accursed smell of peat and heather in that deplorable cottage.
It was still vacation- time, so most of my friends were down; but I spent the day hunting out the few cheerful pedants to whom term and vacation were the same.
It delighted me to hear again their precise talk, to hear them make a boast of their work, and narrate the childish little accidents of their life. I yearned for the childish once more; I craved for women's drawing-rooms, and women's chatter, and everything which makes life an elegant game. God knows I had had enough of the other thing for a lifetime! That night I shut myself in my rooms, barred my windows, drew my curtains, and made a great destruction.
All books or pictures which recalled to me the moorlands were ruthlessly doomed. Novels, poems, treatises I flung into an old box, for sale to the second-hand bookseller. Some prints and water- colour sketches I tore to pieces with my own hands. I ransacked my fishing- book, and condemned all tackle for moorland waters to the flames. I wrote a letter to my solicitors, bidding them to go no further in the download of a place in Lorne I had long been thinking of.
Then, and not till then, did I feel the bondage of the past a little loosed from my shoulders. I made myself a night-cap of rum-punch instead of my usual whisky-toddy, that all associations with that dismal land might be forgotten, and to complete the renunciation I returned to cigars and flung my pipe into a drawer.
But when I woke in the morning I found that it is hard to get rid of memories. My feet were still sore and wounded, and when I felt my arms cramped and reflected on the causes, there was that black memory always near to vex me. In a little, term began, and my duties—as deputy-professor of Northern Antiquities—were once more clamorous.
I can well believe that my hearers found my lectures strange, for instead of dealing with my favourite subjects and matters, which I might modestly say I had made my own, I confined myself to recondite and distant themes, treating even these cursorily and dully. For the truth is, my heart was no more in my subject.
I hated—or I thought that I hated—all things Northern with the virulence of utter fear. My reading was confined to science of the most recent kind, to abstruse philosophy, and to foreign classics. Anything which savoured of romance or mystery was abhorrent; I pined for sharp outlines and the tangibility of a high civilisation. All the term I threw myself into the most frivolous life of the place. My Harrow schooldays seemed to have come back to me. I had once been a fair cricketer, so I played again for my college, and made decent scores.
I coached an indifferent crew on the river. I fell into the slang of the place, which I had hitherto detested. My former friends looked on me askance, as if some freakish changeling had possessed me. Formerly I had been ready for pedantic discussion, I had been absorbed in my work, men had spoken of me as a rising scholar. Now I fled the very mention of things I had once delighted in. The Professor of Northern Antiquities, a scholar of European reputation, meeting me once in the parks, embarked on an account of certain novel rings recently found in Scotland, and to his horror found that, when he had got well under weigh, I had slipped off unnoticed.
I heard afterwards that the good old man was found by a friend walking disconsolately with bowed head in the middle of the High Street. Being rescued from among the horses' feet, he could only murmur, 'I am thinking of Graves, poor man! And a year ago he was as sane as I am! I kept up the illusion valiantly for the term; but I felt instinctively that the fresh schoolboy life, which seemed to me the extreme opposite to the ghoulish North, and as such the most desirable of things, was eternally cut off from me.
No cunning affectation could ever dispel my real nature or efface the memory of a week. I realised miserably that sooner or later I must fight it out with my conscience. I began to call myself a coward. The chief thoughts of my mind began to centre themselves more and more round that unknown life waiting to be explored among the unfathomable wilds.
One day I met a friend—an official in the British Museum— who was full of some new theory about primitive habitations. To me it seemed inconceivably absurd; but he was strong in his confidence, and without flaw in his evidence. The man irritated me, and I burned to prove him wrong, but I could think of no argument which was final against his. Then it flashed upon me that my own experience held the disproof; and without more words I left him, hot, angry with myself, and tantalised by the unattainable.
I might relate my bona-fide experience, but would men believe me? I must bring proofs, I must complete my researches, so as to make them incapable of disbelief. And there in those deserts was waiting the key. There lay the greatest discovery of the century—nay, of the millennium.
There, too, lay the road to wealth such as I had never dreamed of. Could I succeed, I should be famous for ever. I would revolutionise history and anthropology; I would systematise folk-lore; I would show the world of men the pit whence they were digged and the rock whence they were hewn.
And then began a game of battledore between myself and my conscience. The terror is more than mortal, and I cannot face it. It would be purely for my own aggrandisement if I went, and not for any matter of duty. I knew that the strife was hopeless, that I should have no peace in this world again unless I made the attempt.
The dawn was breaking when I came to the final resolution; and when I rose and looked at my face in a mirror, lo! Summer On The Moors The next morning I packed a bag with some changes of clothing and a collection of notebooks, and went up to town. The first thing I did was to pay a visit to my solicitors. If I did not return within six months, communications were to be entered into with the shepherd at the shieling of Farawa—post-town Allerfoot.
If he could produce any papers, they were to be put into the hands of certain friends, published, and the cost charged to my estate. From my solicitors, I went to a gunmaker's in Regent Street and bought an ordinary six- chambered revolver, feeling much as a man must feel who proposed to cross the Atlantic in a skiff and downloadd a small life-belt as a precaution.
I took the night express to the North, and, for a marvel, I slept. When I woke about four we were on the verge of Westmoreland, and stony hills blocked the horizon. At first I hailed the mountain-land gladly; sleep for the moment had caused forgetfulness of my terrors.
But soon a turn of the line brought me in full view of a heathery moor, running far to a confusion of distant peaks. I remembered my mission and my fate, and if ever condemned criminal felt a more bitter regret I pity his case.
Why should I alone among the millions of this happy isle be singled out as the repository of a ghastly secret, and be cursed by a conscience which would not let it rest? I came to Allerfoot early in the forenoon, and got a trap to drive me up the valley. It was a lowering grey day, hot and yet sunless.
A sort of heathaze cloaked the hills, and every now and then a smurr of rain would meet us on the road, and in a minute be over.
I felt wretchedly dispirited; and when at last the whitewashed kirk of Allermuir came into sight and the broken-backed bridge of Aller, man's eyes seemed to have looked on no drearier scene since time began.
I ate what meal I could get, for, fears or no, I was voraciously hungry. Then I asked the landlord to find me some man who would show me the road to Farawa. I demanded company, not for protection—for what could two men do against such brutish strength? The man looked at me anxiously. I said I was, that I had often stayed in the cottage. The man never comes here forbye once or twice a-year, and he has few dealings wi' other herds. He's got an ill name, too, for losing sheep. I dinna like the country ava.
Up by yon Muneraw—no that I've ever been there, but I've seen it afar off— is enough to put a man daft for the rest o' his days. What's taking ye thereaways?
It's no the time for the fishing?
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He shook his head, and then after some delay found me an ostler who would accompany me to the cottage. The man was a shock-headed, long-limbed fellow, with fierce red hair and a humorous eye. He talked sociably about his life, answered my hasty questions with deftness, and beguiled me for the moment out of myself. I passed the melancholy lochs, and came in sight of the great stony hills without the trepidation I had expected.
Here at my side was one who found some humour even in those uplands. But one thing I noted which brought back the old uneasiness. He took the road which led us farthest from Carrickfey, and when to try him I proposed the other, he vetoed it with emphasis.
After this his good spirits departed, and he grew distrustful. Finally, I asked him if he knew the man, and had seen him lately. He cam doun one afternoon to the public-hoose, and begood to drink. He had aye been kenned for a terrible godly kind o' a man, so ye may believe folk wondered at this. But when he had stuck to the drink for twae days, and filled himsel' blind-fou half-a-dozen o' times, he took a fit o' repentance, and raved and blethered about siccan a life as he led in the muirs. There was some said he was speakin' serious, but maist thocht it was juist daftness.
It was about some kind o' bogle that lived in the Muneraw—that's the shouthers o't ye see yonder—and it seems that the bogle killed his sheep and frichted himsel'. He was aye bletherin', too, about something or somebody ca'd Grave; but oh! The man wasna wise. And then below us in the valley we saw the shieling, with a thin shaft of smoke rising into the rainy grey weather. The man left me, sturdily refusing any fee. A walk in the hills is neither here nor there to a stoot man.
When will ye be back, sir? Will you see to that? Nervousness possessed me, and though it was broad daylight and the whole place lay plain before me, I ran pell-mell, and did not stop till I reached the door.
The place was utterly empty. Unmade beds, unwashed dishes, a hearth strewn with the ashes of peat, and dust thick on everything, proclaimed the absence of inmates.
I began to be horribly frightened. Had the shepherd and his sister, also, disappeared? Was I left alone in the bleak place, with a dozen lonely miles between me and human dwellings? I could not return alone; better this horrible place than the unknown perils of the out-of-doors. Hastily I barricaded the door, and to the best of my power shuttered the windows; and then with dreary forebodings I sat down to wait on fortune. In a little I heard a long swinging step outside and the sound of dogs.
Joyfully I opened the latch, and there was the shepherd's grim face waiting stolidly on what might appear. At the sight of me he stepped back. He sat down on the untidy bed and waited. I saw too much to give me any peace elsewhere. I must go back, even though I risk my life for it. The cause of scholarship demands it as well as the cause of humanity. Weel, I've mair to tell ye. Three weeks syne my sister Margit was lost, and I've never seen her mair. I lookit for her up hill and doun, but I couldna find her.
Syne I think I went daft. I went to the Scarts and huntit them up and doun, but no sign could I see. The folk can bide quiet enough when they want. Syne I went to Allermuir and drank mysel' blind,—me, that's a God-fearing man and a saved soul; but the Lord help me, I didna ken what I was at.
That's my news, and day and nicht I wander thae hills, seekin' for what I canna find. There is a law in the land, and you had only to find the nearest police- office and compel them to assist you. Forby, when I went into Allermuir wi' my story the folk thocht me daft. It was that set me drinking for—the Lord forgive me! I threepit till I was hairse, but the bodies just lauch'd. Grim though the tidings were, I can only say that my chief feeling was of comfort.
Pity for the new tragedy had swallowed up my fear. I had now a purpose, and a purpose, too, not of curiosity but of mercy. But first I want to give you something to do. The letter will tell him what to do.
He is to raise at once all the men he can get, and come to the place on the chart marked with a cross. Tell him life depends on his hurry. They let me pass without trouble, for they've nae use for me, but I see fine they're seeking you. Ye'll no gang half a mile the morn afore they grip ye.
I set myself to put that house in order, to rouse the fire, and prepare some food. It was dismal work; and meantime outside the night darkened, and a great wind rose, which howled round the walls and lashed the rain on the windows.
In tuas manus, Domine! I had not got twenty yards from the cottage door ere I knew I was watched. I had left the shepherd still dozing, in the half-conscious state of a dazed and broken man. All night the wind had wakened me at intervals, and now in the half-light of morn the weather seemed more vicious than ever. The wind cut my ears, the whole firmament was full of the rendings and thunders of the storm.
Rain fell in blinding sheets, the heath was a marsh, and it was the most I could do to struggle against the hurricane which stopped my breath. And all the while I knew I was not alone in the desert. All men know—in imagination or in experience—the sensation of being spied on. The nerves tingle, the skin grows hot and prickly, and there is a queer sinking of the heart.
Intensify this common feeling a hundredfold, and you get a tenth part of what I suffered. I am telling a plain tale, and record bare physical facts. My lips stood out from my teeth as I heard, or felt, a rustle in the heather, a scraping among stones. Some subtle magnetic link seemed established between my body and the mysterious world around.
I became sick—acutely sick—with the ceaseless apprehension. My fright became so complete that when I turned a corner of rock, or stepped in deep heather, I seemed to feel a body rub against me. This continued all the way up the Farawa water, and then up its feeder to the little lonely loch. It kept me from looking forward; but it likewise kept me in such a sweat of fright that I was ready to faint.
Then thenotion came upon me to test this fancy of mine. If I was tracked thus closely, clearly the trackers would bar my way if I turned back. So I wheeled round and walked a dozen paces down the glen.
Nothing stopped me. I was about to turn again, when something made me take six more paces. At the fourth something rustled in the heather, and my neck was gripped as in a vice.
I had already made up my mind on what I would do. I would be perfectly still, I would conquer my fear, and let them do as they pleased with me so long as they took me to their dwelling. But at the touch of the hands my resolutions fled.
I struggled and screamed. Then something was clapped on my mouth, speech and strength went from me, and once more I was back in the maudlin childhood of terror. In the cave it was always a dusky twilight. I seemed to be lying in the same place, with the same dull glare of firelight far off, and the same close stupefying smell.
One of the creatures was standing silently at my side, and I asked him some trivial question. He turned and shambled down the passage, leaving me alone. Then he returned with another, and they talked their guttural talk to me. I scarcely listened till I remembered that in a sense I was here of my own accord, and on a definite mission. The purport of their speech seemed to be that, now I had returned, I must beware of a second flight.
Once I had been spared; a second time I should be killed without mercy. I assented gladly. The Folk, then, had some use for me. I felt my errand prospering. Then the old creature which I had seen before crept out of some corner and squatted beside me. He put a claw on my shoulder, a horrible, corrugated, skeleton thing, hairy to the finger-tips and nailless.I've tracked them, and it's ill they are to track; but I never got beyond ae place, and that was the Scarts o' the Muneraw that ye've heard me speak o'.
Still, this research shows that personality is only one ingredient in successful leadership. Now the son of the original author has taken on the responsibility of bringing the popular reference up to date. I began to call myself a coward. But the hills—that black stony amphitheatre before me—it seemed strange that the hills bore no traces of them. Did the Academy experience satisfy your expectations? Here is the singular mission of the United States Naval Academy: To develop midshipmen morally, mentally, and physically, and to imbue them with the highest ideals of duty, honor, and loyalty in order to provide graduates who are dedicated to a career of naval service and have potential for future development in mind and character to assume the highest responsibilities of command, citizenship, and government.
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