The remaining man was one of the many mysteries in that polygenous corps. He called himself Smith. That he had once occupied a very different position in life was evident, and must have, at one time, made a considerable reputation at one of the Varsities. What he had been we never learned, but he possessed the most varied education, not only being conversant with ancient literature, but having a marvellous knowledge of mediæval and modern writers, and I have never met a man who could spout so readily any ancient or modern prose or poetry. He also possessed an unquenchable thirst, and would go to any extreme to obtain liquor, drinking any spirits he could get by the pannikinful until he became overcome, ranting the whole time passages from Shakespeare, Racine, Homer or Horace with equal facility. When sober he was of a saturnine disposition, rarely speaking to anyone, but was the very devil in action, and could stand any amount of hardship. Well, this queer crowd sat round the tent devouring Pierre’s excellent ragout with iron spoons, the said spoons, together with iron three-pronged forks, our sheath knives and our tin plates, comprising all our table equipments. Very few remarks were made during the repast, but when it had concluded and George had cleansed with sand the greasy utensils, Hutton drew out, from his roll of blankets, a bottle of rum and a bundle of cheroots, which he placed by the pole of the tent. “Here you are, boys,” said he. “I brought these up from the canteen so as to welcome the new chums. You will find both the cheroots and men all right, so sling round the pannikins, Pierre, and let’s drink them luck.” This was promptly done, and after the bottle had gone round conversation became general. I began by congratulating Pierre on the wonderful dish he had given us, and told him it reminded me of a _plat_ I had partaken of in Marseilles. In a moment he was off. “Oh, the beautiful Marseilles, and does Monsieur know Marseilles, perhaps Monsieur also speaks French?” This I allowed was correct, and in a moment he burst out with a volubility that none but his own countrymen can equal, and was going ahead nineteen to the dozen when Jack brought him to with a growl like an enraged lion. “’Ere stash it, yer darned frog-eater. This ’ere’s an English ship an’ yer don’t jabber yer dago lingos aboard us.” Pierre answered with the snarl of a wild cat, but the row was fortunately cut short by a bugle blowing the assembly, which necessitated us all falling in. It was not for a long parade, however, we were required, but only to warn fifty of us, whose names were read out, to hold ourselves in readiness to parade at one A.M. next morning for field duty, and that ten men, who were to act as scouts, were to fall in at sunset.