"Eight bells "-midnight-is struck. At a silent signal from the commanding officer, the drummer poises his sticks an instant, then sounds the long roll, or "alarm," which is at once followed by the quick beat to "general quarters." Instantly the scene changes to one of, apparently, the utmost confusion. Four hundred men leap from their hammocks; passing a few turns of the lashings around them, they throw them into their "nettings," then spring to their stations at the batteries, and cast loose the guns. A moment more, and a bright flash and roar from the forecastle pivot gun bursts upon the stillness and gloom of the night, followed quickly by the broadside battery. DRUMMER, MARINE GUARD. Each gun is fired once, a blank charge, but enough to show that the gun is in good order and ready for service. As suddenly the pandemonium subsides; confusion gives place to silence and order, and not a sound is heard; but the battle-lanterns flashing along the crowded deck reveal the well-disciplined crew standing at their quarters, every man equipped with cutlas and pistol, silent and alert. Sponges, rammers, supplyboxes, and battle axes litter the deck; everything is provided and ready as for action; while the captain, accompanied by the executive officer (the first lieutenant), with an orderly bearing a lantern, makes a thorough inspection fore and aft and below, including the powder-division, magazines, and shell-rooms, to see that nothing is lacking which would be required in real action. At the touch of the drum the ship has been changed from deathlike stillness to readiness for battle, every officer and man at his sta tion, armed, silent, expectant,- and all in less than three minutes! Truly, then, can it be wondered that after generations of such experiences in real war, we regret to give up the drum, at whose magic touch such changes can be wrought? Could the beating of a gong (more barbarous yet than the drum), the ringing of a bell, or can even the piercing notes of the bugle, quite fill its place, and bring that same suppressed though exhilarated excitement and readiness for action to those who know its power? I fear not. There is in the notes of the drum something unlike any other music in the world. How it sets the heart to throbbing and the blood to coursing through the veins, as it falls upon the ear! To what stirring scenes has its beating been the prelude, and what unspeakable sights have men seen within the sound of its rollings! In its music there is something that sweeps away the sluggishness of every-day life, and gives a feeling that is akin to inspiration. No matter whether it be the long roll, breathing alarm as it is beaten by startled drummers in the stillness of the night, or the softer beats when the snares are muffled and men march with arms reversed and bowed heads behind the bier of a comrade who has left the ranks forever, the voice of the drum speaks to the heart and thrills it with courage or sorrow. Every one has at some time in life felt something within him stir in sympathy with the drum. If one has ever heard it in the furious. beating of the "rally," when ranks are broken, and regiments are fading away under fire, it is something to remember through life-forever. Perhaps it sets to glowing that spark of heroism or savagery latent in every human breast, and the spark that bursts forth into flame when men grapple hand-to-hand for home and liberty. What matters it if, as musicians say, its music is barbarous-so barbarous that it has but one note? After all, it is the music of the soldier, whether it comes from the metal kettledrums glittering as they swing in the sun at the head of close columns of helmeted men, or from the tom-tom of savage tepees amidst the cold snows and dark days of Northern winters, or amidst cactus-covered desert sands glowing with the fierce heat of tropic suns. Soldiers and warriors all, be they red or white, love its fierce alarum, and not one will die the less bravely for the dreams that the drummers and their drums have conjured up. The glory of the drum is passing away. Of all the regular soldiers to-day, the Marines are the last to keep a drum-corps as their field music. After a thousand years' service as the most warlike instrument in the armies of Europe and America, the drum must now take a secondary part; and with it will soon go the bay onet and the sword, those heroic relics of the days when the ranks of foemen advanced to look into one another's eyes before firing, or waited for the inspiriting roll of the drum to urge them to battle. The drum will soon sound its own requiem. With muffled snares and arms reversed, let us sadly and sorrowfully follow it to the grave, where with bended knee we reverently lay upon it the laurel wreath of fame. The last volley rings out its farewell tribute, and the bugle sounds the soldiers' last "good-night"! MASTER SKYLARK. [Begun in the November number.] CHAPTER XXVII. THE QUEEN'S PLAISANCE. BY JOHN BEnnett. It was a frosty morning when they all marched down to the boats that bumped along Paul's wharf. The roofs of London were white with frost and rosy with the dawn. In the shadow of the walls the air lay in still pools of smoky blue; and in the east the horizon stretched like a swamp of fire. The winking lights on London Bridge were pale. The bridge itself stood cold and gray, mysterious and dim as the stream below, but here and there along its crest red-hot with a touch of flame from the burning eastern sky. Out of the river, running inland with the tide, came steamy shreds that drifted here and there. Then over the roofs of London town the sun sprang up like a thing of life, and the veil of twilight vanished in bright day with a million sparkles rippling on the stream. Warm with piping roast and cordial, keen with excitement, and blithe with the sharp, fresh air, the red-cheeked lads skipped and chattered along the landing like a flock of sparrows lit by chance in a land of crumbs. "Into the wherries, every one!" cried the old precentor. "Ad unum omnes, great and small! " ored hose, a cloak of black velvet fringed with gold, and a brand-new periwig curled and frizzed like a brush-heap in a gale of wind. How they had worked for the last few days! New songs, new dances, new lines to learn; gallant compliments for the Queen, who was as fond of flattery as a girl; new clothes, new slippers and caps to try, and a thousand whatnots more. The school had hummed like a busy mill from morning until night. And now that the grinding was done and they had come at last to their reward,—the hoped-for summons to the court, which had been sought so long in vain,- the boys of St. Paul's bubbled with glee until the under-masters were in a cold sweat for fear their precious charges would pop from the wherries into the Thames, like so many exuberant corks. They cheered with delight as London Bridge was shot and the boats went flying down the Pool, past Billingsgate and the oystermen, the White Tower and the Traitors' Gate, past the shipping, where brown, foreign-looking faces stared at them above sea-battered bulwarks. The sun was bright and the wind was keen; the air sparkled, and all the world was full of life. Hammers beat in the builders' yards; wild bargees sang hoarsely as they drifted down to the Isle of Dogs; and from slow ships that crept away to catch the wind in the open stream below, with tawny sails drooping and rimmed with frost, they heard the hail of salty "Into the wherries!" echoed the under- mariners. masters. "Into the wherries, my bullies!" roared old Brueton the boatman, fending off with a rusty hook as red as his bristling beard. "Into the wherries, yarely all, and we'll catch the turn o' the tide! 'T is gone high water now!" Then away they went, three wherries full, and Master Gyles behind them in a brisk sixpenny tilt-boat, resplendent in new ash-col The tide ran strong, and the steady oars carried them swiftly down. London passed; then solitary hamlets here and there; then dun fields. running to the river's edge like thirsty deer. In Deptford Reach some lords who were coming down by water passed them, racing with a little Dutch boat from Deptford to the turn. Their boats had holly-bushes at their prows and holiday garlands along their sides. the children players came ashore through an aisle of uplifted oars. They were met by the yeomen of the guard, tall, brawny fellows clad in red, with golden roses on their breasts and backs, and were marched up to the postern two and two, with Master Gyles the last of all, as haughty as a Spanish don come courting fair Queen Bess. They were all shouting gaily, and the stream rub their paint. The lords made way and was bright with their scarlet cloaks, Lincolngreen jerkins, and gold embroidery. But they were very badly beaten, at which they laughed, and threw the Dutchmen a handful of silver pennies. Thereupon the Dutchmen stood up in their boat and bowed like jointed ninepins; and the lords, not to be outdone, stood up likewise in their boats and bowed very low in return, with their hands upon their breasts. Then everybody on the river laughed, and the boys gave three cheers for the merry lords and three more for the sturdy Dutchmen. The Dutchmen shouted back, "Goot Yule!" and bowed and bowed until their boat turned round and went stern foremost down the stream, so that they were bowing to the opposite bank, where was no one at all. At this everyone laughed again till their sides ached, and cheered them twice as much as they had before. And while they were cheering and waving their caps, the boatmen rested upon their oars and let the boats swing with the tide, which thereabouts set strong against the shore, and a trumpeter in the Earl of Arundel's barge stood up and blew upon a long horn bound with a banner of blue and gold. Instantly he had blown, another trumpet answered from the south, and when Nick turned the shore was gay with men in brilliant livery. Beyond was a wood of chestnut-trees as blue and leafless as a grove of spears; and in the plain between the river and the wood stood a great palace of gray stone, with turrets, pinnacles, and battlemented walls, over the topmost tower of which a broad flag whipped the winter wind, blazoned with golden lions and silver lilies square for square. Amid a group of towers large and small a lofty stack poured out a plume of sea-coal smoke against the milky sky, and on the countless windows in the wall the sunlight flashed with dazzling radiance. There were people on the battlements, and at the port between two towers where the Queen went in and out the press was so thick that men's heads looked like the cobbles in the street. The shore was stayed with piling and with timbers like a wharf, so that a hundred boats might lie there cheek by jowl and scarcely A smoking dinner was waiting them, of whitebait with red pepper, and a yellow juice so sour that Nick's mouth drew up in a knot; but it was very good. There were besides silver dishes full of sugared red currants, and heaps of comfits and sweetmeats, which Master Gyles would not allow them even to touch, and saffron cakes with raisins in them, and spiced hot cordial out of tiny silver cups. Bareheaded pages clad in silk and silver lace waited upon them as if they were fledgling kings; but the boys were too hungry to care for that or to try to put on airs, and waded into the meat and drink as if they had been starved for a fortnight. But when they were done Nick saw that the table off which they had eaten was inlaid with pearl and silver filigree, and that the table-cloth was of silk with woven metal-work and gems set in it worth more than a thousand crowns. He was very glad he had eaten first, for such wonderful service would have taken away his appetite. And truly a wonderful palace was the Queen's Plaisance, as Greenwich House was called. Elizabeth was born in it, and so loved it most of all. There she pleased oftenest to receive and grant audiences to envoys from foreign courts. And there, on that account, as was always her proud, jealous way, she made a blinding show of glory and of wealth, of science, art, and power, that England, to the eyes which saw her there, might stand in second place to no dominion in the world, however rich or great. It was a very house of gold. Over the door where the lads marched in was the Queen's device, a golden rose, with a motto set below in letters of gold, "Dieu et mon droit"; and upon the walls were blazoned coats of noble arms on branching golden trees, of pure gold and finest silk, costly beyond com |