“Go ahead, then, young feller! Propel! Shoot away! Beady—present—fire!”
Waiting for the noise to subside, Bart stood in the midst of them, and after the cries had ceased, he began:
"Should Capting Corbet be forgot,
A-sailin’ o’er the sea!
O, no! when we get back to school,
We’ll often think of he.
Choruss.
"We’ll often think of he, my friends;
We’ll often think of he.
O, yes! when we get back to school,
We’ll often think of he.”
“What’s that?” cried Captain Corbet, with a smile of pleasure wreathing his venerable face. “Why, it ain’t—why, railly—why, it is me, too! Why, railly! An’ you made up all that? Wal, now, I call that rale cute. I do, railly. On’y I do wish, sense you did take the trouble to make up that there,—bein’ as your hand was in,—I wish you’d kinder added a line interriducin’ the babby. We like to be kind o’ onseparable. It seems kind of agin natur’ to separate us.”
“All right. I’ll introduce anything,” said Bart. “Here, boys, I’ll give you another chorus.
‘We’ll often think of he, my friends;
We’ll often think of he;
The capting and his schewner gay,
Likewise his small ba-be-e-e-e-e.’”
This new impromptu chorus was sung with still greater enthusiasm. Captain Corbet was affected to tears. Emotion overpowered him. As soon as he could muster strength to speak, he exclaimed,—
“You’ve onmanned me—you have, railly. The mention of that blessed babby kind o’ took away all my strength. But I’ll reward you, boys. When we get back, I’ll make you all come up, and introduce you all to the babby himself,—sometime when the old woman’s away, you know,” he added, mysteriously.
“I will now occupy the time by continuing the hymn,” said Bart, solemnly. Whereupon he proceeded:
"I love to go to Blomidon,
Its beauty for to feel;
But I’d prefer a better fare
Than pork and Indian meal.
Chorus.
"Than pork and Indian meal, my friends;
Than pork and Indian meal.—
O, I’d prefer a better fare
Than pork and Indian meal.”
This was sung earnestly and with very deep feeling. The recollection of their melancholy condition caused a mild pathos to be infused into the tones of all. Some of them seemed to be shedding tears. At any rate, they held handkerchiefs to their eyes.
The next verse:
"I love to sail on Minas Bay,
Its beauty for to see;
To hunt for clams among the sands,
And put them into me.
CHorus.
"And put them into me, my friends;
And put them into me.
To hunt for clams among the sands,
And put them into me.”
The mild melancholy that characterized the last chorus here changed into a livelier note, expressive of greater cheerfulness.