After a great deal of preparatory crowing and humming, the captain began the following duet from the opera of ‘Paul and Virginia,’ in that grunting tone in which a man gets down, Heaven knows where, without the remotest chance of ever getting up again. This, in private circles, is frequently designated ‘a bass voice.’
‘See (sung the captain) from o—ce—an ri—sing
Bright flames the or—b of d—ay.
From yon gro—ove, the varied so—ongs—’
Here, the singer was interrupted by varied cries of the most dreadful description, proceeding from some grove in the immediate vicinity of the starboard paddle-box.
‘My child!’ screamed Mrs. Fleetwood. ‘My child! it is his voice—I know it.’
Mr. Fleetwood, accompanied by several gentlemen, here rushed to the quarter from whence the noise proceeded, and an exclamation of horror burst from the company; the general impression being, that the little innocent had either got his head in the water, or his legs in the machinery.
‘What is the matter?’ shouted the agonised father, as he returned with the child in his arms.
‘Oh! oh! oh!’ screamed the small sufferer again.
‘What is the matter, dear?’ inquired the father once more—hastily stripping off the nankeen frock, for the purpose of ascertaining whether the child had one bone which was not smashed to pieces.
‘Oh! oh!—I’m so frightened!’
‘What at, dear?—what at?’ said the mother, soothing the sweet infant.