The bandmaster arose from his seat, and raised his baton in the air. It was the "Star Spangled Banner," and the sound shook the flags that graced the walls and shook the hearts of the audience, too, and made them rise as one man.
"'Tis the Star Spangled Banner
And long may it wave.
O'er the land of the free
And the home of the brave!"
The notes died out and the Seven remembered that for a moment they had forgotten to be nervous.
The grave young chaplain arose, and raised his hands. His prayer was earnest, and his voice trembled as he spoke of the flag and its country. But alas! our friends had no eye or ear for beauty. It was time—time! Would he take more than the calculated five minutes? It was time for him to stop! Plague take it—six!—six and a half!—ah! There he had said "Finally," no, he was going off on another tack! Gee whiz—eight—thank heavens!
The sigh of relief that came at last from the Seven almost shook the roof.
Then came "music;" that had been problematical. Music might mean anything from two minutes to twenty. But there is no need of torturing the reader, even if the seven were tortured correspondingly. The piece took some ten minutes of agony, and then Cadet Captain Fischer stepped forward on the platform.
Fischer was an immensely popular man with his class, and they applauded him to the echo. He looked handsome, too, in his chevrons and sash. He read "The Declaration of Independence," and he read it in the voice that had made him first captain, a voice that was clear and deep and ringing, a voice that sounded in the open above the thunder and rattle of artillery drill, and that sounded still better in the hall, as it spoke the words that had made a continent tremble.
There was nothing in that to worry the Seven—they had gotten a copy of the "Declaration" and practiced it by the watch. Fischer finished on schedule time; but then came the tussle. And some poor plebes up in the gallery nearly had apoplexy from waiting.
There were fifteen minutes left. That allowed say ten minutes for the music, and five for Bull to get warmed up to his work.
The bandmaster arose; he played "Hail Columbia." The audience, wild with fervor, stormed and shouted; he played it again. The minutes fled by. The Seven gasped! The audience kept up their applause, and the music struck up "My Country, 'Tis of Thee," while the time fled yet faster still.