Just before the race I scratched, as I wanted to see it run, as did most of the other men. It was Duff’s best distance and we all knew he would try his utmost, and although I had great faith in my neophyte, yet it was a big order to expect him to beat a man with a known record such as Duff had. Well, the pistol cracked and Duff gained a lot of ground at the start; nor did Bright, for the first fifty yards, seem to be able to set himself going, but then he all at once appeared to get into his stride. His pace increased in a marvellous manner, and he seemed to run up to the others with an ease and rapidity I have never seen approached, while before they reached the hundred-yard peg he had collared Duff, who was leading. The latter made a game effort to retain his place, and for perhaps ten yards or more did so, when Bright shot ahead, going faster and faster, and without an effort ran right away, winning easily by at least thirty yards. This was a glorious victory, and when he had won the high jump, clearing five feet seven inches, one grim old Maori chief gravely asked me if I had imported the devil, and proposed that he should kill him off-hand, as in his opinion no such common personage as a cook or baker had any right to beat warriors or chiefs. He also stated he had for some time entertained grave doubts of Bright’s respectability, as some hot bread he had eaten of Bright’s making had given him a most infernal pain in the stomach, so at any rate he thought he might tomahawk him just a little bit in the way of utu (payment or revenge) for his dose of indigestion. But then again on second thoughts his tummie-ache was a thing of the past, his present need was tobacco, and as the fellow was one of my slaves, perhaps if I handed him over a plug it might be as well to forgive and forget. Needless to say he received his plug. That day was a big day for the troopers, as Tim won both the mile and the long jump, so after a good dinner my men returned to our fort weighed down with plunder which the wily one had extracted from the pouches of the footsloggers, and all confessed that even a rotten bad baker may sometimes prove useful. Among a crowd like ours there were, of course, some very queer fish, men from every grade of society and every walk of life. To very many of these, society had said good-bye without regret, and yet we had men in our ranks who, but for a single failing, were fit to occupy any position in the beau-monde they had quitted for ever. Nor had they all been wrong uns; far from it, as many, like myself, had simply been born unlucky or had not the means to retain the positions in which they had been born.