One of these groups seemed even more merry than the rest. It was composed of about a dozen men, prominent among whom was Preston’s serjeant, Macdonald, who acted as the director of ceremonies for the time being, and saw especially to the circulation of the cup. “Keep it up, boys.” he said, handing around the bottle, “it isn’t often we get such real old stuff as this, for it’s not every day we have the rifling of a rich Tory’s cellars, as we had last week. A short life and a merry one, is my motto. Hillo! my excellent friend, Jacob, why don’t you drink? You needn’t sit showing us your teeth all the time, though they are so handsome. Comrades, here’s the health of Jacob Snow—that’s you, my old chap, I suppose—he serves as pretty a mistress as there is in the thirteen colonies, and boasts a shin-bone that curves like a reaping-hook. Jacob Snow, standing, egad!” “Lor, Massa Macdonald, I’m deeply obligated for dis honor,” said the old butler, for it was indeed he. “I am discumfounded for words to distress my feelings.” Here he laid his hand on his heart. “That’s it—blaze away, old fellow,” said the serjeant, slapping him on the back, “I knew you could talk as glib as a parson. So you were at Mrs. Blakeley’s when we were before that place, were you? You remember my sending in for my baggage!” “Gor Amighty, yes!” said old Jacob, full of reverential admiration. “And you’se de gentleman too dat shot Lieut. Torriano at three hundred yards. Yaw! yaw! yaw! dat made ’em furious. Major Lindsay said you were an Injun, and no better dan a cannon-ball—he, yaw!” “Ha! ha! A cannibal, you mean, my old brave, I suppose. But that hitting of the lieutenant was a trifle to the way I served Major Gainey. Wasn’t it, lads?” “Ay, was it!” echoed half a dozen voices, “Tell it to him—tell it.” “Shall I?” said the serjeant, addressing Jacob with something of drunken gravity; for the whole party, by this time, had done ample justice to their flagons. Old Jacob nodded, and Macdonald begun.