BROOKE'S HONORS.
The glasses and mugs are filled, and then the fugle-man[8] strikes up the old sea song:—
"A wet sheet and a flowing sea,
And a wind that follows fast," etc.,
which is the invariable first song in the School-house, and all the seventy voices join in, not mindful of harmony, but bent on noise, which they attain decidedly, but the general effect isn't bad. And then follow the "British Grenadiers," "Billie Taylor," "The Siege of Seringapatam," "Three Jolly Post-boys," and other vociferous songs in rapid succession, including the "Chesapeake and Shannon,"[9] a song lately introduced in honor of old Brooke; and when they come to the words:—
"Brave Broke he waved his sword, crying, Now, my lads, aboard,
And we'll stop their playing Yankee-doodle-dandy, oh,"
you expect the roof to come down. The sixth and fifth know that "brave Broke" of the Shannon was no sort of relation to our old Brooke. The fourth form are uncertain in their belief, but for the most part hold that old Brooke was a midshipman then on board his uncle's ship. And the lower-school never doubt for a moment that it was our old Brooke who led the boarders, in what capacity they care not a straw.
Then Warner, the head of the house, gets up and wants to speak, but he can't, for every boy knows what's coming; and the big boys who sit at the tables pound them and cheer; and the small boys who stand behind pound one another and cheer, and rush about the hall cheering. Then silence being made, Warner reminds them of the old School-house custom of drinking the healths, on the first night of singing, of those who are going to leave at the end of the half. He sees that they know what he is going to say already—(loud cheers)—and so won't keep them, but only ask them to treat the toast as it deserves.
"It is the head of the eleven, the head of big-side foot-ball, their leader on this glorious day—Pater[10] Brooke!"
BROOKE DISCOURSETH ON UNION.
And away goes the pounding and cheering again, becoming deafening when old Brooke gets on his legs; till, a table having broken down, and all throats getting dry, silence ensues, and the hero speaks, leaning his hands on the table, and bending a little forward. No action, no tricks of oratory; plain, strong, and straight, like his play.