"Her chorister is Goodman Frog,
With a glow-worm for his link;
And all who would make court to her,
Are fain, good faith! to drink.
Sing, Hic and hoc sumus nocturno,
Huzza for the jolly old moon!"
This ditty was scarcely concluded—for it was spun out with several noisy repetitions of the chorus—before the troop reined up at the gate of the Fort. The drowsy sentinel undid the bolt at the Captain's summons, and, in a very short space, the wearied adventurers were stretched in the enjoyment of that most satisfactory of physical comforts, the deep sleep of tired men.
CHAPTER XII.
There remains
A rugged trunk, dismember'd and unsightly,