The matter, however, was finally arranged after this fashion, between Captain Hall, Colonel Ingleby, the police, and myself. We were to have a grand field-day, to end by a display of military prowess on the part of the men in a sham engagement, and thereby prove their fighting capacity against her Majesty’s sable foes. The general plan consisted in the police, and all the artillerymen Colonel Ingleby could spare, landing on the beach just outside the castle, under the protection of the guns of Captain Hall’s ship. They were then to proceed inland towards Wineberg, and, on arriving about two miles from the shore, were to be suddenly confronted by my corps, and driven back to the ship. The first part of the plan was carried out as intended. In the first place, Colonel Ingleby, in full uniform, attended by a sub-lieutenant, Dr B----, and two commissariat officers in regimentals, passed a review of the men, 167 rank and file. They looked very well in line, and knew enough drill to take open order for inspection; so that the first part of the programme gave every appearance of having a happy issue, by the way in which it was being carried out. Colonel Ingleby, however, had the unfortunate idea to make the men a speech in praise of their gallant appearance. This was not in the order-book, so I scarcely knew what to say in reply. Happy Jack, however, was equal to the occasion. He stepped boldly out of the ranks and walked up to the Colonel, and said that as he was so pleased with their trim, he hoped he would, man-o’-war fashion, order a glass of grog all round. The good-tempered Colonel, rather taken aback, replied, “You had better ask Captain Lakeman for that.” “No, no,” said Jack; “I know better than to ask the skipper when the admiral is present, so please order the grog.” It _was_ ordered. The Colonel drank to our success, I returned thanks, the men cheered, and then broke out with “We won’t go home till morning.”