“A good omen, by the gods!” and Cobb half sprang up in his seat. “A good omen, and it is for me! I feel it! I know it! Away, then, with all sorrow, and let me feel that this is my bridal trip, instead of my funeral voyage. Come, Craft, we are clear of the post; sing me the old song of ‘Benny Havens.’ It will cheer us up and I want to hear the words once more.”
“All right!” and soon Craft’s soft, melodious voice swelled forth in the strains of that old song so dear to the hearts of every man from West Point. Softly, but with power, came the words:
“Come, fill your glasses, fellows, and stand up in a row;
To singing sentimentally, we’re going for to go.
In the army there’s sobriety promotion’s very slow;
So we’ll sing our reminiscences of Benny Havens, oh!”
And then Cobb’s full voice joined in the chorus;
“Oh Benny Havens, oh! Oh! Benny Havens, oh!
So we’ll sing our reminiscences of Benny Havens, oh!”
As the last words of the chorus were sung, the lamps of California street shot their rays into the carriage.
On they went, but a silence again ensued, and neither spoke until the hack had reached McAllister street. Here Cobb caused the driver to pull up, and alighted, telling Craft to continue on until he came to where Hathaway was waiting for him.
He was then to transfer the iron box into the express wagon, dismiss the hack, and send on the team.
“You will find me at the appointed place,” he said, as he passed down the hill.