“Three cheers for the General!” cries a voice in the gallery.

Three of the noisiest fill the ship.  And, when a hundred British officers have yelled three cheers, it’s in the nature of them to go on and sing:  “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” and to finish up with a final cheer that leaves its forerunners nowhere.  It’s a way they have in the Army.

“Speech!  Speech!” demand exalted voices.

The General rises:  and that’s an excuse, heaven help us, for more cheers, and “He’s a jolly good fellow” all over again.  The seniors are young enough to beat time on the tables by hammering with their spoons till the plates dance; and by tinkling their glasses like tubular bells.  In the last cheer one major so far forgets himself—­his name is Hardy—­as to let go with a cat-call, after which he immediately retires into his monocle, and pretends he hasn’t.

The General, who is a kindly old brigadier with twinkling eyes, says:  “I can’t make a speech, but I’ll sing you a song.”  He raises his glass to the gallery, and to the hundred faces looking down, and starts in a wheezy tenor:  “For they are jolly good fellows.”  He gets no further, but takes advantage of the tumult of cheering to resume his seat.

The Captain, a naval hero of the Helles landing, is put through it.  And in his speech he says:  “If the Navy is really the father and mother of the Army in this Gallipoli stunt, then I say—­father and mother are proud of their children”—­(cheers from the ship’s officers).  “The ships came as close in shore as possible—­and always will, gentlemen, as long as you’re on that plagued Peninsula—­but, by God! it was the Army that left the shelter of the ships, and went through the blizzard of bullets on to the beaches of Cape Helles.”

Can such a compliment be acknowledged otherwise than uproariously?  Close your ears, if you can’t stand a noise.

The Chief Officer is put through it.  And by way of a speech he says:  “Suppose, instead of cheering me, you cheer the fellows who have landed at Suvla?”

“Highland Honours!” yells a voice.  And the seniors rise, stand upon their chairs, put one foot on the table amongst the plates, and, raising their glasses, join in the musical honours given to the new army at Suvla.

Major Hardy is called, and a speech demanded from him.  Loudly applauded, he limps to the middle of the saloon, puts his monocle in his eye, and says one sentence:  “I never heard such bloody nonsense in all my life.”  Releasing his monocle so that it falls on his chest, he limps back to his seat, and apologises to Monty.

The seniors having been thus sporting, it occurs to some bright young devil that it would be a graceful thing to sing “Home, sweet Home” to them, as they finish their meal.  And “Home, sweet Home” leads naturally to “Auld Lang Syne,” sung with linked arms and swaying bodies.