own in camp. After being relieved from
piquet, our little party set about preparing some food. Our own company
having gone back to camp, no rations had been drawn for us, and our
haversacks were almost empty; so I will here relate a mild case of
cannibalism. Of the men of my own company who were with me on this
piquet one was Andrew M'Onvill,--Handy Andy, as he was called in the
regiment--a good-hearted, jolly fellow, and as full of fun and practical
jokes as his namesake, Lever's hero,--a thorough Paddy from Armagh, a
soldier as true as the steel of a Damascus blade or a Scotch Andrea
Ferrara. When last I heard of him, I may add, he was sergeant-major of a
New Zealand militia regiment. Others were Sandy Proctor, soldier-servant
to Dr. Munro, and George Patterson, the son of the carrier of Ballater
in Aberdeenshire. I forget who the rest were, but we were joined by John
M'Leod, the pipe-major, and one or two more. We got into an empty hut,
well sheltered from the bullets of the enemy, and Handy Andy sallied out
on a foraging expedition for something in the way of food. He had a
friend in the Fifty-Third who was connected in some way with the
quarter-master's department, and always well supplied with extra
provender. The Fifty-Third were on our right, and there Handy Andy found
his friend, and returned with a good big steak, cut from an artillery
gun-bullock which had been killed by a round-shot; also some sheep's
liver and a haversack full of biscuits, with plenty of pumpkin to make
a good stew. There was no lack of cooking-pots in the huts around, and
plenty of wood for fuel, so we kindled a fire, and very soon had an
excellent stew in preparation. But the enemy pitched some shells into
our position, and one burst close to a man named Tim Drury, a big stout
fellow, killing him on the spot. I forget now which company he belonged
to, but his body lay where he fell, just outside our hut, with one thigh
nearly torn away. My readers must not for a moment think that such a
picture in the foreground took away our appetites in the least. There is
nothing like a campaign for making one callous and selfish, and
developing the qualities of the wild beast in one's nature; and the
thought which rises uppermost is--Well, it is his turn now, and it may
be mine next, and there is no use in being down-hearted! Our steak had
been broiled to a turn, and our stew almost cooked, when we noticed
tiffin and breakfast combined arrive for the E