There was a slight sting in the concluding words, but I had, perhaps, deserved it. “Since you bid me speak,” I said, “I, for one, feel very much disappointed at the little progress we are making. It seems to me that before you are in a position to strike, the enthusiasm and courage of your people will have vanished. You cannot get anything like a decent army together, and the few men you have are badly armed and undisciplined. Is it not plain that a march to Montevideo in these circumstances is impossible, that you will be obliged to retire into the remote and difficult places to carry on a guerilla war?” “No,” he returned; “there is to be no guerilla war. The Colorados made the Orientals sick of it, when that arch-traitor and chief of cut-throats, General Rivera, desolated the Banda for ten years. We must ride on to Montevideo soon. As for the character of my force, that is a matter it would perhaps be useless to discuss, my young friend. If I could import a well-equipped and disciplined army from Europe to do my fighting, I should do so. The Oriental farmer, unable to send to England for a threshing-machine, is obliged to go out and gather his wild mares from the plain to tread out his wheat, and I, in like manner, having only a few scattered _ranchos_ to draw my soldiers from, must be satisfied to do what I can with them. And now tell me, are you anxious to see something done at once--a fight, for instance, in which we might possibly be the losers?” “Yes, that would be better than standing still. If you are strong, the best thing you can do is to show your strength.” He laughed. “Richard, you were made for an Oriental,” he said, “only nature at your birth dropped you down in the wrong country. You are brave to rashness, abhor restraint, love women, and have a light heart; the Castilian gravity you have recently assumed is, I fancy, only a passing mood.” “Your words are highly complimentary and fill me with pride,” I answered, “but I scarcely see their connection with the subject of our conversation.”