Though An Anachronism As Regards This Stage Of My Career, I Cannot Resist A Little Episode Which Pleasantly Illustrates Moral Courage, Or Chivalry At Least, Combined With Physical Bravery.

In December, 1899, I was a passenger on board a Norddeutscher Lloyd on my way to Ceylon.

The steamer was crowded with Germans; there were comparatively few English. Things had been going very badly with us in the Transvaal, and the telegrams both at Port Said and at Suez supplemented the previous ill-news. At the latter place we heard of the catastrophe at Magersfontein, of poor Wauchope's death, and of the disaster to the Highland Light Infantry. The moment it became known the Germans threw their caps into the air, and yelled as if it were they who had defeated us.

Amongst the steerage passengers was a Major - in the English army - returning from leave to rejoin his regiment at Colombo. If one might judge by his choice of a second-class fare, and by his much worn apparel, he was what one would call a professional soldier. He was a tall, powerfully- built, handsome man, with a weather-beaten determined face, and keen eye. I was so taken with his looks that I often went to the fore part of the ship on the chance of getting a word with him. But he was either shy or proud, certainly reserved; and always addressed me as 'Sir,' which was not encouraging.

That same evening, after dinner in the steerage cabin, a German got up and, beginning with some offensive allusions to the British army, proposed the health of General Cronje and the heroic Boers.

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