Don't tell me, you ruffian!" exclaimed Allison, the oldest
of the midshipmen. "It's poison! What have you been doing to it?"

"Well, your honor, the only way I can account for it is that a while
ago I took off the lid to see if it was boiling nicely, when a bit of
tallow candle I had in my fingers slipped and fell into it. I couldn't
get it out, though I scalded my fingers in trying, and it just melted
away in no time. I skimmed the fat off the top, your honors, and
didn't think it would make no matter."

The shout of laughter which greeted the explanation was loud and
general.

"You're a scoundrel, Tom!" Allison said, "and I shall have to ask Mr.
Hethcote to disrate you, and get some one here who is not a born
idiot. Here, take this horrible mess away! Pour the contents of your
plates back into the pot, boys, and put the plates together. You must
wash them, Tom, or the tallow will taste in everything we have."

The things were passed out of the tent, and after five minutes the
plates were returned, and with them a great tin piled up with Irish
stew, the contents of five tins. A cheer rose as the smell of the food
greeted their nostrils.

"Hurrah! This is something like! I don't think there's any mistake
this time."

Nor was there. The stew was unanimously voted to be perfect, and Tom
was again called to the tent-door, and solemnly forgiven.

Then came fried rashers of ham, eaten with hard biscuit. Then came the
great triumph of the banquet--a great plum-pudding, which had been
sent out from England in a tin, ready cooked, and which had only
required an hour's boiling to warm it through.

In order to eat this in what the midshipmen called proper style, a tin
pannikin half filled with brandy was held over the candles, and the
brandy being then ignited, was poured over the pudding. Not a scrap of
this was left when the party had finished, and the table being
cleared, pipes were brought out and lighted; the drinking-cups
refilled with grog, and the party set-to to enjoy a long evening.

"It is a beastly night," the one sitting next to the door said,
peering out into the darkness. "It is a fine rain, or rather a Scotch
mist, so thick I can hardly see the next tent. It will be as much as
you fellows will be able to do to find your way back to your camps.

"Now," Allison said, "let us make ourselves comfortable. It is only
seven o'clock yet, and you've got three hours before 'lights out.'
It's my duty as presiden