sailors, I do not dispute. But with the fear of shame on one
hand, the hope of reward on the other, the merest dastard

will fight like a wild beast, when his blood is up. The
extraordinary merit of his conduct is not so obvious to the

peaceful thinker. I speak not of such heroism as that of the
Japanese, - their deeds will henceforth be bracketed with

those of Leonidas and his three hundred, who died for a like
cause. With the Japanese, as it was with the Spartans, every

man is a patriot; nor is the proportionate force of their
barbaric invaders altogether dissimilar.

Is then the Victoria Cross an error? To say so would be an
outrage in this age of militarism. And what would all the

Queens of Beauty think, from Sir Wilfred Ivanhoe's days to
ours, if mighty warriors ceased to poke each other in the

ribs, and send one another's souls untimely to the 'viewless
shades,' for the sake of their 'doux yeux?' Ah! who knows

how many a mutilation, how many a life, has been the price of
that requital? Ye gentle creatures who swoon at the sight of

blood, is it not the hero who lets most of it that finds most
favour in your eyes? Possibly it may be to the heroes of

moral courage that some distant age will award its choicest
decorations. As it is, the courage that seeks the rewards of

Fame seems to me about on a par with the virtue that invests
in Heaven.

Though an anachronism as regards this stage of my career, I
cannot resist a little episode which pleasantly illustrates

moral courage, or chivalry at least, combined with physical
bravery.

In December, 1899, I was a passenger on board a Norddeutscher
Lloyd on my way to Ceylon. The steamer was crowded with

Germans; there were comparatively few English. Things had
been going very badly with us in the Transvaal, and the

telegrams both at Port Said and at Suez supplemented the
previous ill-news. At the latter place we heard of the

catastrophe at Magersfontein, of poor Wauchope's death, and
of the disaster to the Highland Light Infantry. The moment

it became known the Germans threw their caps into the air,
and yelled as if it were they who had defeated us.

Amongst the steerage passengers was a Major - in the English
army - returning from leave to rejoin his regiment at

Colombo. If one might judge by his choice of a second-class
fare, and by his much worn apparel, he was what one would

call a professional soldier. He was a tall, powerfully-
built, handsome man, with a weather-beaten determined face,

and keen eye. I was so taken with his looks that I often
went to the fore part of the ship on the chance of getting a

word with him. But he was either shy or proud, certainly
reserved; and always addressed me as 'Sir,' which was not

encouraging.
That same evening, after dinner in the steerage cabin, a

German got up and, beginning with some offensive allusions to
the British army, proposed the health of General Cronje and

the heroic Boers. This was received with deafening 'Hochs.'
To cap the enthusiasm up jumped another German, and proposed

'ungluck - bad luck to all Englanders and to their Queen.'
This also was cordially toasted. When the ceremony was ended

and silence restored, my reserved friend calmly rose, tapped
the table with the handle of his knife (another steerage

passenger - an Australian - told me what happened), took his
watch from his pocket, and slowly said: 'It is just six

minutes to eight. If the person who proposed the last toast
has not made a satisfactoryapology to me before the hand of

my watch points to the hour, I will thrash him till he does.
I am an officer in the English army, and always keep my

word.' A small band of Australians was in the cabin. One
and all of them applauded this laconic speech. It was

probably due in part to these that the offender did not wait
till the six minutes had expired.

Next day I congratulated my reserved friend. He was reticent
as usual. All I could get out of him was, 'I never allow a

lady to be insulted in my presence, sir.' It was his Queen,
not his cloth, that had roused the virility in this quiet

man.
Let us turn to another aspect of the deeds of war. About

daylight on the morning following our bombardment, it being
my morning watch, I was ordered to take the surgeon and

assistantsurgeonashore. There were many corpses, but no
living or wounded to be seen. One object only dwells

visually in my memory.
At least a quarter of a mile from the dead soldiers, a stray

shell had killed a grey-bearded old man and a young woman.
They were side by side. The woman was still in her teens and

pretty. She lay upon her back. Blood was oozing from her
side. A swarm of flies were buzzing in and out of her open

mouth. Her little deformed feet, cased in the high-heeled
and embroidered tiny shoes, extended far beyond her

petticoats. It was these feet that interested the men of
science. They are now, I believe, in a jar of spirits at

Haslar hospital. At least, my friend the assistantsurgeon
told me, as we returned to the ship, that that was their

ultimate destination. The mutilated body, as I turned from
it with sickeninghorror, left a picture on my youthful mind

not easily to be effaced.
After this we joined the rest of the squadron: the

'Melville' (a three-decker, Sir W. Parker's flagship), the
'Blenheim,' the 'Druid,' the 'Calliope,' and several 18-gun

brigs. We took Hong Kong, Chusan, Ningpo, Canton, and
returned to take Amoy. One or two incidents only in the

several engagements seem worth recording.
We have all of us supped full with horrors this last year or

so, and I have no thought of adding to the surfeit. But
sometimes common accidents appear exceptional, if they befall

ourselves, or those with whom we are intimate. If the
sufferer has any special identity, we speculate on his

peculiar way of bearing his misfortune; and are thus led on
to place ourselves in his position, and imagine ourselves the

sufferers.
Major Daniel, the seniormarine officer of the 'Blonde,' was

a reserved and taciturn man. He was quiet and gentlemanlike,
always very neat in his dress; rather severe, still kind to

his men. His aloofness was in no wise due to lack of ideas,
nor, I should say, to pride - unless, perhaps, it were the

pride which some men feel in suppressing all emotion by
habitual restraint of manner. Whether his SANGFROID was

constitutional, or that nobler kind of courage which feels
and masters timidity and the sense of danger, none could

tell. Certain it is he was as calm and self-possessed in
action as in repose. He was so courteous one fancied he

would almost have apologised to his foe before he
remorselessly ran him through.

On our second visit to Amoy, a year or more after the first,
we met with a warmer reception. The place was much more

strongly fortified, and the ship was several-times hulled.
We were at very close quarters, as it is necessary to pass

under high ground as the harbour is entered. Those who had
the option, excepting our gallant old captain, naturally kept

under shelter of the bulwarks and hammock nettings. Not so
Major Daniel. He stood in the open gangway watching the

effect of the shells, as though he were looking at a game of
billiards. While thus occupied a round shot struck him full

in the face, and simply left him headless.
Another accident, partly due to an ignorance of dynamics,

happened at the taking of Canton. The whole of the naval
brigade was commanded by Sir Thomas Bouchier. Our men were

lying under the ridge of a hill protected from the guns on