WE CATCH A TARTAR.
When I awoke at six o'clock in the morning, most of the officers and men were still sleeping, but the colonel had disappeared. There was nothing to be done beyond feeding and grooming my horse, which I always made a point of doing myself. As to my own breakfast, my haversack was empty, and I think there was hardly a pound of meat to be found among the whole column.
After a short time the men were roused, and just after seven o'clock we saw the colonel come tearing along on horseback, as if pursued by a cavalry division. Evidently he was in a great hurry, and his face was wreathed in smiles.
"Good-morning, gentlemen," he cried. "You will be glad to hear my news: we move in an hour's time. The general has only a scanty stock of provisions, but there is sufficient to provide your men with breakfast.—Crawford, hunt up Lieutenant-Colonel O'Brien, and ask him to come to me at once."
O'Brien was a famous Irishman who had served with San Martin all through the Chilian War. He was a fine fellow, standing six feet six inches high, and well proportioned. Every one loved him for his winning ways, his ready smile, his perfect honesty, and his absolute fearlessness.
"Colonel Miller?" said he, on hearing my message. "Faith, I'll come instantly." And we rode back together.
"You're prompt, O'Brien," exclaimed the colonel, laughing; "Have you had enough of this slow-time business?"
"More than enough, colonel. What are your fellows looking so pleased about?"
"First, the prospect of a breakfast; and then—"
"You've badgered the general into giving you a free hand!"