sang, to a familiar old English tune, the following
song, which was perhaps a common camp ditty of the period.

"You may talk as you please of your candle and book,
And prate about virtue, with sanctified look;
Neither priest, book, nor candle, can help you so well
To make friends with the world as the Jolly Bottle."

"Chorus, my lads; out with it!" shouted the singer; and the whole crew
set up a hideous yell as they joined him.

"Sing heave and ho, and trombelow,
The Jolly Bottle is the best I trow.

"Then take the bottle, it is well stitched of leather,
And better than doublet keeps out the wind and weather:
Let the bottom look up to the broad arch of blue,
And then catch the drippings, as good fellows do.
With heave and ho, and trombelow,
'Tis sinful to waste good liquor, you know.

"The soldier, he carries his knapsack and gun.
And swears at the weight as he tramps through the sun
But, devil a loon, did I ever hear tell,
Who swore at the weight of the Jolly Bottle.
So heave and ho, and trombelow,
The Jolly Bottle is a feather, I trow."

Here the song was interrupted by the return of the two files who had
been sent to bring in the bodies of the dead. They had found the missing
horse, and now led him into the circle laden with the corpses of Bell
and Waters. The troopers halted immediately behind the ring of the
revellers, and in such a position as to front Peppercorn and the
captain, who were thus afforded a full view of the bodies by the blaze
of the fire.

"Easy," almost whispered Habershaw, now half-intoxicated, to the two
troopers, as he lifted his hands and motioned to them to halt; "put them
down gently on the ground. Go on, Peppercorn; let the dead help
themselves: finish the song! That chorus again, my boys!" And here the
last chorus was repeated in the highest key of merriment.

Peppercorn cast an eye at the bodies which, during the interval, had
been thrown on the earth, and while the men who had just returned were
helping themselves to the drink, he proceeded, in an unaltered voice,
with the song.

"When drinkers are dry, and liquor is low,
A fray that takes off a good fellow or so,
Why, what does it do, but help us to bear
The loss of a comrade, in drinking his share?
Then heave and ho, and trombelow,
A fray and a feast are brothers