THREE CHEERS FOR THE KING OF BELGIUM.

“I say, Grossbeck, you and I are two bigger fools than Napoleon was when he went to Russia,” said Lynch, as they reached the street again.

“That’s so.  ’There was a sound of revelry by night, and Belgium’s capital’-got considerably mixed,” replied Grossbeck, whose head was not quite so full as his companion’s.

“What shall we do, my boy?” stammered Lynch.  “That wine was nothing short of camphene.  We shall be seen by the captain, and we shall both be sent to keep company with poor McDougal.  We’ve lost our mess on the Josephine.”

“Stiffen up, Lynch.  Don’t give way to it.  What sort of a sailor are you, that can’t bear two thimblefuls of wine?”

“That wine was camphene, I tell you.  It feels just like a whole bunch of friction matches touched off at once in my stomach-that’s so.  I’m a poor boy and no mistake, Grossbeck.”

Lynch suddenly stopped, and grasped his companion by the arm.

“What’s the matter,” demanded Grossbeck.

“It’s no use for me to drink wine.  The eau de vie carries too many guns for me.  I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.  I’m going to get out of this scrape.”

“So am I; but come along, or we shall be late.”

“I’m going to join the temperance society, and never drink any more wine-not another drop of eau de vie for me.”

Lynch evidently felt that he had got into trouble for nothing; that the satisfaction of drinking the firewater was very unsatisfactory in the end.  He had sense enough left to see that disgrace and degradation awaited him, and he dreaded the prompt action of Captain Kendall, as exhibited in the case of McDougal.  While still suffering from the effects of the tipple, he resolved to drink no more; but pledges made in the heat of intoxication are not the most hopeful ones.

The boosy youngsters worried along the street; but instead of turning to the right, into the Rue de la Monnaie, they went straight ahead, and were soon lost in a maze of narrow streets.  They were conscious that they had gone astray, and looked in vain for the square in front of the Theatre Royal, which they had marked as an objective point.  At last they came across a solitary policeman, who paused on his walk to observe their unsteady tramp.

“Hotel Royal?” said Grossbeck, addressing the officer.

“Oui,” replied the man, pointing in the direction from which they had come, and leading the way himself.

In a few moments they reached the square they had missed, and Grossbeck recognized the flaming signs of a large clothing store, on the corner of the street in which the hotel was located.

“Thank you.  I am very much obliged to you,” said he to the policeman, as he pointed to the street.

“Oui,” replied the officer, solemnly, though the grateful acknowledgments of the juvenile tippler were lost upon him, except so far as he could interpret them by the motions of the speaker.

“I feel meaner than Napoleon did after the battle of Waterloo,” groaned Lynch.

“Stiffen up, now.  Here’s the hotel,” added Grossbeck.

“Well, what shall we do?  I can’t walk straight, and my head spins round like a top,” pleaded Lynch.

“Dry up.  Starch your back-bone.  Here comes a lot of the fellows.”

“Who are they?” asked Lynch, trying to stiffen his back, and get the bearings of his head.

The party approaching proved to be half a dozen of “our fellows,” who stopped, and immediately discovered the condition of the two hopefuls.

“I say, McKeon, can’t you help us out?” said Grossbeck.

“Ay, ay; certainly we can,” replied “our fellows,” in concert, as they gathered closely around the inebriates, and, thus encircling them, marched into the hotel.

“Keep still, Lynch; don’t say a word,” whispered Grossbeck, as they entered the hall, effectually concealed from the observation of the officers by their companions.

Mr. Fluxion stood at the door, and checked off the names of the party as they entered, on the list he held, so as to be sure that all had come in.  It was not an easy thing for Lynch to ascend three flights of stairs; but his companions supported him, and contrived to screen him from the officers, till they reached the room where they were to sleep.  The door was closed and fastened, and Grossbeck gratefully acknowledged the kindness of his friends in getting them out of the scrape.

“What did you drink?” asked McKeon.

“Wine,” answered the tippler.

“What kind of wine?”

“I don’t know-eau de vie.”

“Eau de vie!” exclaimed Blount, whose knowledge of French was above the average of that of “our fellows.”

“That’s what we called for,” added Grossbeck.

“And it was as strong as camphene,” said Lynch, as he tumbled into bed.

“It was brandy!” laughed Blount.

The boys all laughed at the blunder, and Lynch repeated his pledge not to drink any strong liquors, wine, or beer again.  Grossbeck defended his conduct by saying that he had heard a great deal about the light wines of Europe, which people drank like water, and he did not suppose a couple of thimblefuls of it would hurt them.

“Call for vin rouge next time,” laughed Blount; “that means red wine, or claret.  It isn’t much stronger than water.”

“No, sir!” ejaculated Lynch, springing up in bed, though with much difficulty; “I shall not call for red wine, or anything of the sort.  From this time, henceforth and forevermore, I’m a temperance man.  I won’t drink anything but water, and only a little of that.  I feel cheaper than Napoleon when he landed on the Island of St. Helena.”

The party turned in, and in a short time all of them, tired out by the fatigues of the day, were fast asleep.  Mr. Fluxion, before half past eleven, had reported all the students in the house.  At six o’clock in the morning all hands were turned out, and several squads of them were exploring the city on their own account.  But it was not till after breakfast that a systematic excursion was organized.  A number of omnibuses and one-horse barouches, or voitures, had been engaged by Mr. Fluxion, and, seated in these, the ship’s company proceeded to the Grande Place, which is a large square, with the Hotel de Ville on one side, and the old Palace, or Broodhuis, on the other side.

The Hotel de Ville is one of the most splendid municipal palaces in the Low Countries, where these structures are always magnificent specimens of architecture.  The spire, of open work, in Gothic style, is three hundred and sixty-four feet high.  The vane, which is a gilded copper figure of St. Michael, is seventeen feet high.  The building was erected in the fifteenth century.

By the attention of the governor of Antwerp, several officials were in readiness to escort the visitors through the city; and at their beck the doors of public buildings and churches, and the gates of palaces and gardens, were thrown open.  The party entered the Hotel de Ville, and in one of its large rooms an opportunity was afforded for Mr. Mapps to expatiate a little on the city of Brussels.

“Young gentlemen, what is the French name of this city?” asked the professor, as he took the stand occupied by the chief magistrate of the city.

“Bruxelles,” responded many of the boys; for they had seen it often enough upon signs and in newspapers to know it.

“Unlike many of the cities of Belgium which we have before visited, Brussels is a growing place.  Its population has doubled in twenty years, and now numbers about three hundred thousand.  It is situated on both sides of the little River Senne, one hundred and fifty miles from Paris,-which it imitates and resembles in some degree,-and twenty-seven miles from Antwerp.  It is built partly on a hill; and the city consists of two portions, called the upper and the lower town, the latter being the older part, and containing all the objects of historic interest.  In the upper town are the Park, the king’s palace, and the public offices.  The streets are irregular, narrow, and crooked; but the city is surrounded by a broad highway, having different names in different parts, as the Boulevard de Waterloo, the Boulevard de Flandre, and the Boulevard d’Anvers.

“The oldest part of the city is in the vicinity of this square-the Grande Place, in which the Counts Egmont and Horn were beheaded by the Duke of Alva.  You saw their statues in the square.  In this city, in an old palace burned in 1733, Charles V. abdicated in favor of his son Philip II.  Here, also, was drawn up that celebrated document called the Request.  It was a petition to Margaret of Parma, in favor of the Protestants of the Low Countries, of which you read in Motley.  It was presented to her in the Hotel de Cuylembourg, where a prison now stands.  She was somewhat alarmed at the appearance of the petitioners; and one of her courtiers told her, in a whisper, not to be annoyed by the ‘gueux,’ or beggars.  The leader of the confederates, hearing of this, regarded the epithet bestowed upon those who were defending the liberties of their country as an honorable appellation, and the petitioners adopted it as their war-cry.  In the evening, some of them appeared in front of the palace with beggars’ wallets on their backs, and porringers in their hands, and drank as a toast, ’Success to the Gueux!’ This trivial incident proved to be one of the leading events of the revolution which deprived Spain of the Low Countries; for it kindled the enthusiasm of the people, and urged them on in the redemption of their country.  In Motley you will find a full history of the ‘Beggars.’  Alva was so incensed at the turn of this affair, that he levelled to the ground the building in which the confederates met.

“Brussels has long been celebrated for its manufactures of lace and carpets; but while it still retains its prestige in the former, it has been outdone in the latter.  The finest and most valuable lace is made here and in some of the neighboring cities, and is literally worth its weight in gold.  The most expensive kind costs two hundred francs (or forty dollars) a yard.”

Mr. Mapps finished his remarks for the present, and the ships’ company returned to the carriages, and were driven to the Place des Martyrs, where there is a large monument erected to the memory of three hundred Belgians, who fell in the Revolution of 1830, which made Belgium an independent kingdom.  From this point they passed into the broad Boulevards to the Botanical Gardens, which, however, they did not enter, but continued up the hill to the Park, a large enclosure, beautifully laid out, and ornamented with statues.  In one corner of it is the Theatre du Parc, while in the square which surrounds it are located the king’s palace, the palace of the Prince of Orange, the Chamber of Representatives, and other public buildings.  The students visited the king’s palace;-but his majesty usually resides at Laeken, and the establishment represents royalty on a small scale-and the Chamber of Representatives, in which the two branches of the Belgian legislature convene.  In the latter, a woman showed them the Chambers, pointing out some fine pictures, including portraits of the king and queen, and the Battle of Waterloo, explaining everything in French.

“Where shall I find the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Mr. Stoute?” asked Professor Hamblin, nervous and excited at the near prospect of standing face to face before the great man of Belgium, and of being complimented upon his great educational works.

“I don’t know; but his office must be somewhere in this vicinity,” replied the fat professor, laughing at the excitement of his associate.

One of the officials in charge of the party volunteered to conduct them to the apartment of the distinguished revolutionist.

“You must come with me, Mr. Stoute,” said the professor of Greek.  “If it turns out that Mr. Rogier don’t speak English, I should be in an unfortunate dilemma.”

“I will go with you with pleasure,” laughed Mr. Stoute, who was rather desirous of witnessing the interview.

They were conducted to the apartments of the distinguished minister, and formally and ceremoniously ushered into his presence.  He bowed, and regarded his visitors with cool indifference.

“Whom have I the honor to address?” asked the minister, in good English, when Mr. Hamblin had made his best bow.

“I am Professor Hamblin, from the United States, at your service,” replied the learned gentleman, who seemed to believe that this announcement would bring the Belgian statesman to his feet, if not to his arms-the professor’s.

“Ah, indeed!” replied the minister, blankly.

“I had the pleasure of receiving a note from you at Antwerp,” added the American celebrity, annoyed at the coolness of the revolutionist.

“A note from me!” exclaimed the Belgian celebrity, curtly.  “I never saw you or heard of you before in my life.”

Mr. Hamblin produced the formidable envelope, and drew therefrom the epistle of sweet savor, which had been such a comfort to him in his troubles.  He presented it to the minister, satisfied that this would recall the matter to his recollection.

“This note is not from me.  I did not write it,” said the Belgian, when he had glanced hastily at the page.

“Really, I beg your excellency’s pardon; but it is signed with your name.”

“It is a forgery-what you Americans call a practical joke, probably.  I haven’t been in Antwerp for months.”

There was an apparent convulsion in the fat frame of Mr. Stoute, who was evidently struggling to suppress his mirth, or keep it within decent limits.

“I am very sorry, sir,” stammered Mr. Hamblin.

“The letter is an imposition, sir.  I never heard of you before in my life,” added the great Belgian, tossing the note back to the professor, with an impatience which indicated that he never wished to see him again.

That vision had exploded-no invitation to dinner, none to visit the king, none to accept the position of Librarian of the Greek portion of the Royal Library, whose only duty was to consist in drawing his salary.  Mr. Hamblin bowed, and so far conformed to his original programme as to back out of the office.  Doubtless he came to the conclusion, in his disgust, that Belgium was a “one-horse” kingdom, and that royalty was a humbug.

The vision exploded; so did the mirth of Mr. Stoute, as soon as the door of the department of foreign affairs had closed behind him.  He laughed till every ounce of his adipose frame quivered.

“What are you laughing at, Mr. Stoute?” demanded the disappointed suitor for Belgian honors.

“You will excuse me, sir; but really I can’t help it,” choked the fat professor.

“I really don’t see anything to laugh at,” added Mr. Hamblin, indignantly.

“I was intensely amused at the shuffling indifference of Monsieur Rogier.  He evidently regards himself as a very great man, not to be disturbed by insignificant Greek scholars.”

“What do you mean by insignificant, Mr. Stoute?” asked the lean professor, solemnly.

“Why, the minister had never even heard of you, of your Greek Grammar, Greek Reader, and Anabasis.  Such is fame!” chuckled the good-natured instructor.

“‘What we Americans call a practical joke,’ were the words of the minister.  Do you regard this as a joke, Mr. Stoute?” said the learned gentleman, very seriously.

“I suppose it is a joke to all, except the victim.”

“Do you know anything about the author of this senseless piece of imposition?”

“Certainly not.  I had not the least idea that the ponderous document was not genuine till his excellency pronounced it a forgery.”

“Who could have done this?”

“Some of the students, probably.”

“Probably,” replied the professor, taking the note from his pocket again, and carefully scanning the handwriting.  “I have no doubt it was done by one of the students.  It is another of their infamous tricks-the fourth that has been put upon me.  Do the other instructors suffer in this manner?”

“I have not heard of any other victims, and I am inclined to think you are the only one.”

“I do not see why I should be selected as the recipient of these silly and ridiculous, not to say wicked, tricks.  A rope falls on my head, I am pitched into the river, drenched with dirty water, and now sent on a fool’s errand to the king’s chief minister!  I don’t understand why I am the only sufferer.”

Professor Stoute did understand why Mr. Hamblin had been so frequently sacrificed, but he had a habit of minding his own business, and did not venture to give an opinion on the subject, which probably would not have been well received.  What the fat professor knew all the boys in the Josephine, and most of those in the Young America, knew-that the cold, stiff, haughty, tyrannical, overbearing manner of the lean professor had made him exceedingly unpopular; that the students disliked him even to the degree of hating him; that if he had ever had any influence with them, he had lost it by his ridiculous sternness and stupid precision.  Mr. Hamblin did not know this, but everybody else did.

“Don’t you know this writing, Mr. Stoute?” demanded the irate man of Greek roots, after an attentive study of the note.

“I do not.”

“I do!” added Mr. Hamblin, decidedly.

“You are fortunate then.  If we can unearth the culprit, he will be severely punished.”

“I am not so clear on that point.  This note was written by Captain Kendall.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Mr. Stoute, seizing the note, and examining more attentively than he had done before the writing it contained.

It did look like Paul’s writing.  It was his style, and there were not more than two students in the Josephine who could have composed the French in the document.  Those two were Paul and Duncan.  But Mr. Stoute was unwilling to believe that the captain would resort to such a proceeding.

“I shall charge him with it,” added Mr. Hamblin.

“I advise you not to do it without more evidence than you have yet obtained,” said Mr. Stoute, seriously.

“After we return to the vessel I shall probably be able to obtain some proof,” continued Mr. Hamblin, as he put the letter in his pocket.

When they went to look for the rest of the party, they found them forming a line in the square.  Present with Mr. Lowington was his excellency, the governor of Antwerp, who had just invited the company to visit the palace gardens.  In even lines, with the officers in their proper places, the procession marched across the park and through the gates, at which a file of Belgian soldiers presented arms to them.  In the garden they formed a line on one of the walks.  Near the palace, walking to and fro, was an old gentleman, but still erect and manly, with a glittering decoration on his breast.  Several other persons, most of them dressed in uniform, or decked with orders, were standing near the old gentleman.

Presently the governor of Antwerp approached the ship’s company, attended by an officer to whom Mr. Lowington was introduced.  The three then walked towards the old gentleman, to whom the principal was presented.  The venerable personage bowed gracefully, but did not offer to shake hands, or indulge in any republican familiarities.

“That’s the King of Belgium,” said Dr. Winstock to Paul, as the principal and the venerable person approached the line, followed by the officials.

“The king!” exclaimed Paul, taken all aback by the announcement; and this was the first time he had ever looked upon a live monarch.  “He seems just like any other man; what shall we do?”

“Give him three Yankee cheers,” replied the doctor.

Captain Kendall spoke to the flag-officer and to Captain Haven.

“Three cheers for his majesty the King of Belgium!” called Flag-officer Gordon.

They were given with a will, but the “tiger” was omitted in deference to royalty.  King Leopold gracefully and graciously acknowledged the salute by touching his hat, and then walked up and down the line, inspecting the ship’s company.  Mr. Lowington, hat in hand, walked just behind him.  His majesty then took position in front of the line, and the students came to the conclusion that he was going to make a speech; but he did not:  he spoke to Mr. Lowington again, who went to the line and called out the flag-officer and the two captains.

“You are to be presented to the king; don’t speak unless you are asked a question, and don’t turn your back to him,” said Mr. Lowington in a low tone.

Paul was startled at the idea of being presented to King Leopold, but he followed his companions, and in due time was with them handed over to the gentleman who had presented the principal, and who proved to be the grand chamberlain.

“Captain Kendall, commander of the Josephine,” said the gentleman, when Paul’s turn came.

Paul bowed, blushing up to the eyes, when he became conscious that the royal gaze was fixed upon him; but he had self-possession enough not to overdo the matter, and his salute was as dignified and graceful as that of majesty itself.  The king smiled when he saw the fine form and handsome face of the junior captain.

“Do you command a ship?” asked his majesty, surveying the young officer from head to foot, with a pleasant smile on his face.

“I command the Josephine, your majesty; she is not a ship, but a topsail schooner of one hundred and sixty tons,” replied Paul, satisfied that kings speak just like other men.

“You are very young to command a vessel of that size,” added the king.

Paul bowed, but made no reply, as no question was asked.

“Can you manage her in a gale?” asked his majesty.

“I think I can, your majesty; at least I have done so within a week on the coast of your majesty’s dominions.”

The king actually laughed at this confident reply.  As he bowed slightly, Paul, for the first time in his life, backed out, and continued to back till he reached his station at the head of the Josephines.  The king then bowed to the whole line, and retired.  As he did so, Flag-officer Gordon called for three more cheers.  The king turned and bowed again.  This time the snapper, in the form of the tiger, was applied, which so astonished the royal personage that he turned once more, laughed, and bowed.

Professor Hamblin looked very nervous and discontented.  “That boy” had been presented to the king, and he, who had compiled a Greek Grammar, a Greek Reader, and edited the Anabasis, had been “left out in the cold.”  If it was possible for a great mind like that of the savant to harbor such a vicious feeling as envy, he certainly envied Paul Kendall his brief interview with the King of the Belgians.

The party retired from the garden, and returned to the carriages.  It appeared in explanation of this unexpected honor, that the governor of Antwerp had waited on the king that day, and informed him casually of the presence of the students of the academy squadron in the capital, and he had expressed a desire to see them in a very informal manner.  Mr. Lowington was no “flunky,” and never sought admission to the presence of royalty, for himself or his pupils.

As the procession of omnibuses and fiacres moved down to the lower town, they were thrown into great excitement by seeing many of the streets and houses dressed with flags and other devices.  On inquiring at the hotel, Mr. Molenschot informed Paul that it was a saint’s day, and that a religious procession would march through some of the principal streets.

“Go down into the Boulevard d’Anvers, and you will have a good chance to see the show,” added the landlord.

“What is it?”

“O, it is really very fine and very grand; but go at once, or you will be too late.”

The students were permitted to go to the street indicated, and they had hardly secured a good place before they heard martial music, playing a solemn dirge.