ly on Board the _Pearl_]

Baden-Powell's friends were amused during the early days of the siege
of Mafeking by the complaint of some fellow in the town who had
incurred the Colonel's wrath. I forget the exact words of the silly
creature's complaint, as, indeed, I forget his offence, but it was
something after this fashion: "The Colonel called me before him
and, in a dictatorial manner, told me that if I did it again he would
have me shot. He then most insolently whistled a tune." The last words
I believe to be quite correctly quoted: "He then most insolently
whistled a tune." How they suggest laughter! One of Baden-Powell's
choicest epigrams refers expressly to this very trick of whistling:
"There is nothing like whistling an air when you feel exasperated
beyond reclaim." Uncle Toby whistling "Lillabullero" when muddled by
his scarps and counter-scarps, and Baden-Powell whistling a scrap from
_Patience_ to prevent himself from kicking a dangerous idiot out of
his presence! "He then most insolently whistled a tune." I recall
those words sometimes when I am dropping off to sleep, and they wake
me up to laugh. I tell this story not only for its own dear sake, but
because it is necessary to remember, when considering Baden-Powell's
character, that though he meets you with a smile on his face he
carries a stick in his hand to prevent you from taking liberties with
his good nature. The best-tempered fellow in the world, and blessed
with the keenest sense of humour, he can be as uncompromising a
martinet as the sternest fire-eater of old days--_when there is real
necessity for it_.

In this flannel-shirt life of his, Baden-Powell has had many
adventures, but few, I think, are more interesting in a subdued way
than one he records in his diary of the Matabele campaign. I give it
in his own words: "To-day, when out scouting by myself, being at some
distance from my boy and the horses, I lay for a short rest and a
quiet look-out among some rocks and grass overlooking a little stream,
and I saw a charming picture. Presently there was a slight rattle of
trinkets, and a swish of the tall yellow grass, followed by the
apparition of a naked Matabele warrior standing glistening among the
rocks of the streamlet, within thirty yards of me. His white war
ornaments--the ball of clipped feathers on his brow, and the long
white cow's-tail plume which depended from his arms and
knees--contrasted strongly with his rich brown skin. His kilt of