This little book is not written on my own initiative. I have not so much as given a hint of my 'naval days,' either from the pulpit or in conversation. But my friends have condemned me for being so reserved about the matter, and for a long time have, with persistent entreaties, been urging me to tell the story of my life.
l as I now hold in my possession.
At this juncture I became a member of the drum and fife band, under the supervision of the Millbrook Band of Hope Committee. Never shall I forget our bandmaster. He was a strict disciplinarian. No looseness was allowed in our playing; thoroughness was stamped on every tune we played. On practice nights he took each of the boys aside, and one by one each had to play the music as set--every note must be clear and distinct. Occasionally our band would march through the village, the drum major with his staff leading.
Those days of memory, so near and yet so far!
Then came the Sunday when he was lowered in the dark, cold grave, and we solemnly played whilst encircled around it--
"Goodnight, beloved, not farewell!"
He went home to Music-Land, where they praise Him day and night.
One day we shall all meet again, and together with him we will tune our song to harps of gold.
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