It's astonishing, isn't it, with what jealous care poor humanity looks after number one, even though life be at a discount, as it was during the siege of Plevna, when one morning Conigsby and myself sallied forth in opposite directions in quest of material for our respective papers? Each in turn, though separated by some miles, found himself under a withering fire from Turkish rifle pits, and later on each found himself hastening for the kindly protection of the same advanced Russian earthworks. "This, Montagu," said Conigsby, "is an incident which should not be overlooked. A sceptical world will never believe it--yet stay--unless--oh, yes, I have it. You do a picture for _The Illustrated News_ representing our noble selves, specially your humble servant, you know, as we now are in the forefront of the fighting, while I write up the occurrence in _The Times_. Such corroborative evidence, which is, moreover, absolutely true, will place our zeal beyond question, and show the reading and picture-loving public that life at the front is not all 'beer and skittles.'" That day is particularly marked on my memory as having been one of exceptional interest, incident, and hard work, terminating in a night made almost unbearable by the howling of wolves and the neighing of terror-stricken horses. With this--"An Attack on the Encampment of _The Times_ and _Illustrated London News_," forming a subject for the pages of that journal--and with Conigsby's version of the experience (it may be taken with several grains of salt), which he gave at a Press dinner on our return, I will bring this chapter of accidents and incidents to a close. "Never, gentlemen," said he, "never on any account go to the front with a war artist. They are dangerous individuals, I assure you. Most of you will remember a certain illustration of Montagu's in which our camp was represented as being attacked by wolves; but you don't, I think, know the true story concerning it. "One night, wearied beyond measure with a long day at the front, I was striving in vain to sleep through a medley of sounds in which the short, quick, raspy barking of wolves, and shouts of men striving to pacify scared horses, combined to make night hideous, when, unable to stand it any longer, I rushed into Montagu's tent--for, without enlisting his aid, I felt apoplexy must be the end of it--and aroused him. "Montagu, my dear fellow, do you hear those wolves? They are simply unbearable. I have tried every expedient but one--it's our last resource. If there's one thing in this world more than another calculated to scare wolves it will be one of your pictures for _The Illustrated London News_! Whereupon I seized one of his latest productions, and, rushing out, faced those fiery invaders. "The result was instantaneous. With a fearfully prolonged yelp they scuttled off helter-skelter to the hills, where they were very soon lost to sight.