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 key shall I play it in, sir?" said Billy. "Any key you like," cried Bob, excitedly. "Play it in a whole bunch of keys, my lad, only go ahead, or we shall forget all the words." Off went the fiddle with a flourish over the first strain of the well-known song, and then, after a couple of efforts to sing, Tom Long broke down, and Bob Roberts took up the strain, singing it in a cheery rollicking boyish way, growing more confident every moment, and proving that he had a musical tenor voice. Then as he reached the end of the first verse, he waved his puggaree on high, jumped upon the table to the upsetting of a couple of glasses, and led the chorus, which was lustily trolled out by all present.