of the tables beneath a shady tree.

On the strength of their adventure they were indulging themselves with
bitter beer, into which they dropped lumps of ice, and as soon as Billy
Mustard came, the violin was brought out, tuned, and the harmonious
sound produced had the effect of soon gathering together an audience in
the soft mellow hour before sunset.

Several officers seated themselves at the table, and followed the
youngsters' example; soldiers and sailors gathered at a little distance
beneath the trees; and unseen by the party below, Rachel Linton and Mary
Sinclair appeared at a mat-shaded window.

"Tom Long's going to sing `The Englishman,'" shouted Bob Roberts
suddenly, and there was a loud tapping upon the rough deal table.

"No, no, I really can't, 'pon honour," said the ensign, looking very
much more flushed than before.

"Yes, yes, he is," said Bob, addressing those around. "He is--in honour
of the occasion; and gentlemen, let's sing out the chorus so loudly that
those niggers in the campong can hear our sentiments, and shiver in
their shoes, where they've got any."

"Hear! hear!" said a young lieutenant.

"But really, you know, I hav'n't a voice," exclaimed the ensign in
expostulation.

"Gammon!" cried Bob. "He can sing like a bird, gentlemen. Silence,
please, for our national song, `The Englishman'!"

"I can't sing it--indeed I can't," cried the ensign.

"Oh, yes, you can; go on," said the young lieutenant who had previously
spoken.

"To be sure he will," cried Bob Roberts. "Heave ahead, Tom, and I'll
help whenever I can. It's your duty to sing it, for the niggers to hear
our sentiments with regard to slavery!"

"Hear, hear!" cried several of the officers, laughing; and the men gave
a cheer.

"Slavery and the British flag!" cried Bob Roberts, who was getting
excited. "No man, or woman either, who has once sought protection
beneath the folds of the glorious red white and blue, can ever return to
slavery!"

"Hear, hear, hear!" shouted the officers again, and the men threw up
their caps, cried "Hoorar!" and the sentry on the roof presented arms.

"Now then, play up, Private Mustard--`The Englishman,'" cried Bob
Roberts. "Get ready, Tom, and run it out with all your might!"

"Must I?" said the ensign, nervously.

"To be sure you must. Wait a minute, though, and let him play the
introduction."

Billy Mustard gave the bow a preliminary scrape, and the audience grew
larger.

"What