nterprises of the lesser sort, could not be
counted on the fingers of both hands. We have had fighting with Afghans
and Burmese (twice); Scinde, Gwalior, and Sikh wars; hostilities with
Kaffirs, Russians, Persians, Chinese, and Maoris (twice), Abyssinians,
Ashantis, Zulus, Boers, and Soudanese, not to mention the repression of
the most stupendous of mutinies, a martial promenade in Egypt, and
expeditions against Jowakis, Bhootanese, Looshais, Red River rebels, and
such pitiful minor fry.

In St. Jean de Luz, the nearest point to the disputed ground and the
best place from which to transmit information, there was a small and
select British colony, mostly consisting of retired naval and military
officers. A dear friend of mine amongst them was Major Russell, who had
spent a lengthened span of years in the East--an admirable type of the
calm, firm, courteous Anglo-Indian--who had never soured his temper and
spoiled his liver with excessive "pegs," who understood and respected
the natives, who had shown administrative ability, and who, like many
another honest, dutiful officer, had not shaken much fruit off the
pagoda-tree, or even secured the C.B. which is so often given to
tarry-at-home nonentities. Russell used to pay me a regular visit to the
Fonda de la Playa. One morning as we were chatting, Leader strode into
the coffee-room, a vision of splendour. He had got on his uniform as
Commandant of the Foreign Legion--a uniform which did much credit to his
fancy, for he had designed it himself. He wore a white boina with gold
tassel, a blue tunic with black braid, red trousers, and brown gaiters.
He had donned the gala-costume with the object of getting himself
photographed. Commandant is the equivalent of Major in the British
service, so we agreed to dub the young Irishman henceforth and for ever,
until he became colonel or captain-general, Major Leader.

"Promotion is quick in this army," murmured Russell. "I served all my
active life under the suns of India, and here I am only a major at the
close. Leader joined the Carlists less than three months ago, and he is
already my equal in rank."

"The fortune of war, Russell," said I; "don't be jealous. I was offered
command of a brigade under the Commune, but I declined the tribute to my
merit, or I would not be here to-day. I met a man in Bayonne yesterday,
and he was ready to assume control of the entire insurrectionary
forces."

"Who? Cabrera?"

"No," I answered; "catc