At another Civic Feast I sat next to a retired Rear Admiral, who was annoyed at Sir John Glover’s name being noted to return thanks for the Navy. This was a mistake; for Glover, one of the most indomitable of men, had left the Navy as a Lieutenant, with the honorary rank of Captain, and the Admiral had reason, therefore, for his vexation, which he showed throughout the dinner. He presumably must have seen my name on the plan of the table, which he studied from time to time. In an interval between two speeches he expressed to me an opinion shown by the following conversation:--“A great deal of unnecessary fuss is being made over these men who have been to Ashanti.” “Yes, sir.” “They have done just nothing at all to what I did when I was there.” “Pray, when was that, sir?” “In 1823.” “Oh, that was when Sir Charles Macarthy was killed?” “Why, were you there?” “No, sir, I wasn’t there.” “Oh, but you must have been--you know about it.” “No, I wasn’t there, but it has been my business to read about what took place before we went there.” “Well, I will tell you a remarkable story of what happened to me that year. We were going up the Niger to attack a village at daybreak, and although the days were hot, the nights were cold, and I was wearing two pairs of trousers. We were fired on before we reached the village, and a ball from a jingal nearly as big as my fist went in at my hip, wrapping round it bits of both pairs of trousers.” “Really, sir, I am thankful you are alive here to-night to tell the tale.” “Yes, but more wonderful still, that ball went through my body and came out the other side.” I had been sipping wine for three hours, and perhaps being nettled by the Admiral’s disparaging remarks on my friends, observed quickly, “What, sir, and both pairs of trousers wrapped round it?” The moment I had spoken I reflected that he had distinguished himself in trying to reach the North Pole, that he was old, and I had been disrespectful; but I was immediately relieved by his cheerful answer, “Yes, and that’s the most extraordinary part of my story--the bits of both pairs of trousers came out with the ball”! I received three months’ leave for the recovery of my health, at the end of which I had hoped to join the Headquarters of my battalion at Dover, but the Lieutenant-Colonel then in command did not wish to have a full Colonel with him, who would often, in Field operations, have command of the brigade, and persuaded my brother-officer and junior, Major Rogers, to come from the Depot to Headquarters. I joined at Hamilton on the 1st July, and the Officer in command of the Depot, when I called on him, said to me politely, “Now, Colonel, there is only enough work for one of us here, and I am fond of work.” I said, “May I assume, then, that it is a matter of indifference to you where I live, or how often I come into barracks?” “Quite so,” he assured me.