When they reached the cabin door and Dicky got his first peep inside, it literally took his breath away. Such lights, such gorgeous uniforms, such splendor his simple eyes had never beheld.
Around a long table glittering with glass and plate and wax candles sat thirty or forty officers all in uniform. Most of them wore the dark blue and gold of the navy, but there were many in blazing scarlet. Dicky recognized Captain Forrester, and his eyes fell upon one directly facing the door—a tall, handsome, stern-looking man of middle age, in a brilliant uniform of scarlet, a gold-hilted sword, and with his breast covered with medals. The other officers addressed him as “General.” All were in a jovial humor and a rollicking chorus was dying away as Dicky and the orderly appeared at the door.
“Oh!” cried Captain Forrester at the head of the table, “this is our sweet-throated thrush from the town of which we have heard so much. This lad, gentlemen, is said to be the very finest singer hereabouts, and we have sent for him to add to our jollity this evening.”
Dicky blushed at this compliment to his powers and shuffled from one foot to another in his embarrassment.
“Now,” continued Captain Forrester to him, “pipe up, sir; do your best, and give us a new song. Something that we have never heard before.”
Dicky reflected for a moment or two and then, coloring and stammering, said:—
“If you please, sir—if you please, the only new song I’ve got is a patriot song, what you calls a rebel song, sir—and—and”—
“Very well, very well,” cried the officers, laughing. “Give us a rebel song, then. Come, my little man, pipe up.”
Dicky still hesitated between fear and bashfulness, when the “General” in scarlet spoke up:—
“Give us that song, you young rebel, or I’ll see that you get the cat, sure!”