“Come here, sir! Who told you to come to Foxey?”
“Snipson, the second in my room.”
“Take that for your impertinence, now; and, when you go back, tell Snipson I will kick him to-morrow!”
The article which I was to take was a boot that was hurled at me by this cadet, whose nickname I afterwards ascertained was Foxey—a title that gave him great offence.
After having served as a target for a pair of boots, which I had after each shot to bring back to the cadet, I was asked if I could sing. Now it happened that one of our men-servants had been a sailor, and had learnt some of the popular sea-songs of the times. These I had heard him sing when I was quite a boy, and soon learnt the words, and also to sing them. Among these were “The Bay of Biscay,” “Tom Bowline,” “The Admiral,” “The Arethusa,” “’Twas in Trafalgar’s Bay,” etc. In answer to the inquiry whether I could sing, I replied that I thought I knew a song.
“Then we’ll have it presently,” said the cadet. “Now, snooker of No. 10!” he continued, “have you made out that ode to the moon yet? I’ll give you another licking if you tell me again you can’t!”
I now found there were several other cadets in the room, all last-joined, like myself; and, from the remarks made, I found that they had some task set them. The cadet addressed replied in a half-blubbering manner, “I’ll try to say something now.”
“Get onto the table, then,” said the cadet, “so that I may have a fair shot at you if you break down! And now go on, sir! You can’t sing, so you must make an ode to the moon! Now then, sir, commence!”
The cadet, who had now mounted on the table, had evidently had a rough time of it. He was a little fellow, whom I had seen belonged to our division, and who was very fat, and looked very stupid. As he stood on the table he was crying, either from fear or from the punishment he had received, or from both combined.
“Now, sir, will you commence?” said the cadet who was the head of the room.