In appearance, and in his love of danger, he bore a strong resemblance to a Gurkah; and the following account of an incident which took place during one of the attacks on the rebel stronghold, related to me by a Legionary who was present, will give the reader some insight into the character of this plucky little soldier, and indeed into that of his fellow-tribesmen, of whom he was a good example. During one of the first engagements a section of the native regiment under the orders of a lieutenant succeeded in reaching the first palisade. From behind the trees, or lying flat on the ground, the men opened a smart fire on the rebel position, which was returned with vigour and punctuated by Oriental abuse, composed of rude remarks concerning the individual family of each _tirailleur_, and the graves of his ancestors. Doy-Tho, maddened by these insults, stood up in full view of the enemy, and poured forth upon them a torrent of curses and invective. In their admiration of his daring, and their surprise at the volubility and scope of his abuse, most of the combatants forgot to fire, and a momentary lull took place in the engagement. It lasted a few seconds only, for, lashed to fury by the stinging retorts of the speaker, every rifle on that side of the rampart was turned upon him. His _sakalo_ and cartridge-cases were shot away, and his clothes riddled with bullet holes; and it is probable that his body would have resembled a sieve had not his lieutenant sprung forward and dragged the howling mountaineer into safety behind a big tree. After this the rebels' fire slackened, and they shouted friendly invitations to the native troops to kill their officers and join them, saying that De-Nam would treat them well, and give one hundred dollars for every head of a French officer they would bring in. Tho replied with renewed invective from behind the tree, where he had been ordered to remain, and each pause, made through want of breath, he punctuated with a shot from his rifle. When the engagement was over, and the troops were retiring to Nha-Nam, the lieutenant aforementioned asked the little sergeant if he thought the promises of the rebels were _bona fide_ ones. The nearest translation of Doy-Tho's reply in bad French was something after the following: "Hum! they belong big liars. Suppose I bring your head, _mon lieutenant_, perhaps I get ten dollars only." He and I soon became fast friends, and of an evening, before the door of the fort was closed, I would sometimes go for an hour to his _caigna_ (native hut), and sit and talk with him whilst his wife prepared his evening meal of rice, dried fish, prawns and native salad. While we discussed the topics of the day, his sons--two sturdy, pot-bellied brats, aged respectively five and seven, naked as they were born--would squat down on the floor of beaten clay and stare open-mouthed at me.