(Last verse to be sung with great feeling.)
Brave hearts! to Britain’s pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died;—
With the gallant good Riou;[3]
Soft sigh the winds of heaven o’er their grave!
While the billow mournful rolls,
And the mermaid’s song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave!—”
Now, I don’t want to drink tea with the boy, or girl either, who cannot appreciate this soul-stirring song; but for him or her who can love it, I have two hands to hold out to shake.
. . . . . .
Just one day, and only one, during all their delightful cruises in the good little yacht Grebe were our heroes and heroines in real danger.
There is no gainsaying the fact that a summer storm in the Channel is a very ugly one while it lasts.
Captain Antonio, lured by the loveliness of the June day, had put further out to sea than usual on this cruise, and the children were in the seventh heaven of delight. There had just been wind enough blowing from the south-west to carry the vessel along at probably seven knots an hour.
It was a beam wind, of course, and would be so on the other tack returning.
“If we put about now, dearies,” said Antonio, “we’ll just get home in beautiful time, and before the red sun dips behind the western waves.”
A few minutes after, however, he found himself mistaken. Dark clouds rose rapidly up in the west and soon obscured the sun.