"I can not refuse," answered José, who, like many others blessed with a discordant voice, prided himself greatly on his singing. "The more sleepy you are the more risk you run of breaking your head on the rocks, which have never been cleared away since La Corriveau's memorable trip; but I hardly know what to begin with. How would you like a song on the taking of Berg-op-Zoom?" "Berg-op-Zoom will do," said Archie, "though the English were pretty badly treated there." "Hem! hem!" coughed José. "Nothing like a little revenge on the enemy that handled us so roughly in '59." And he struck up the following: "A Te Deum for him who was born the doom (_repeat_) Of the stout-walled city of Berg-op-Zoom (_repeat_). By'r lady, he wants the best that's going, Who can do up a siege in a style so knowing." "How charmingly _naïve_!" cried Lochiel. "Is it not, captain?" said José, very proud of his success. "Indeed, yes, my dear José; but go on. I am in a hurry to hear the end. Do not halt upon so good a road." "Thank you, captain," said José, touching his cap. "Like Alexander who lived of old (_repeat_), His body is small, but his heart is bold (_repeat_). God gave him all Alexander's wit, And Cæsar's wisdom on top of it!" "'His body is small but his heart is bold,'" repeated Archie, "is a very happy touch! Where did you pick up this song?" "A grenadier who was at the siege of Berg-op-Zoom sang it to my late father. He said that it was terribly hot work there, and he carried the marks of it. He had only one eye left, and the skin was torn off his face from his forehead to his jaw-bone; but, as all these damages were on the left side, he still could manage his gun properly on the right. But let us leave him to look out for himself. He is a jolly lad who would dance a jig on his own grave, and I need not concern myself about him. Here's the third and last verse: "Oh, we combed the hides of the English well (_repeat_), A very bad lot, as I've heard tell! (_repeat_) They'll shake, by'r lady, till they get home, For fear of our boys and their curry-comb." "Delightful, 'pon honor!" cried Lochiel. "These English who were a very bad lot! These soldiers armed with the curry-comb! How exquisitely _naïve_! Charming!" "By our lady, though, captain," said José, "they are not always so easy to comb, these English. Like our good horse Lubine here, they are sometimes very bad-humored and ugly to handle if one rubs them too hard. Witness the first battle of the Plains of Abraham!" "It was the English, was it not, who carried the curry-comb then?" remarked Archie. For reply, José merely lifted up the stump of his arm, around which he had twisted the leather of his whip. For a time our travelers journeyed on in silence, and again Archie grew heavy with sleep. Perceiving this, José cried: