As he seemed a very good fellow, and I was most anxious to gain knowledge, I gave him my card, telling him I had only landed the day previous. “Yes,” said he, “I can see you are a new chum, and I saw you were getting riled at the talk of the boys inside, but you must remember that the majority of those men have been ruined by the pig-headed procrastination of the General, who with twenty thousand men at his disposal has not been able, after five years’ warfare, to gain any permanent advantage over savages who have never at any one time exceeded two thousand fighting men. Now,” he went on, “my name is West. I own a large farm on the west coast. I have been out in this country seventeen years, and, having sunk my capital in land and stock, had put in twelve years’ hard work in clearing ground, fencing farm and improving stock. Five years ago I was well off, with every prospect of becoming a rich man, having a comfortable house, a wife and two children, good horses, valuable cattle and sheep, and was contemplating a trip home for twelve months. The war broke out. I just saved the wife and kids; my house is burned, my stock and horses driven away and looted, my fences destroyed and my farm a wilderness, so that when this wretched business terminates I shall have to begin again. I am just completing three years’ service in this force, and as far as I can see we are no nearer to the end than what we were the day we began.” “But why blame the General and troops?” I asked. “Surely you have out here thousands of officers and men whose splendid conduct and courage during the Crimea and Mutiny will live in history as long as the old flag flies?”