'I knew him, my lad, I knew him well,' said the old Colonel, pressing both my hands in his; 'God bless me, but this is strange! And you are the son of old Allan Mac Innon of the Royals!—He saved my life at Nagpore—.'
'Then you are the officer, to save whom he made such a desperate effort at the head of thirty men of the Royals, and whom he found tied to the muzzle of a brass gun, which was loaded—'
'With round shot and grape, my boy! but he saved me, by cleaving with one blow of his sword the rascally Arab who was about to apply the match that would have blown me to shreds! This was just within the Durawazza gate, when poor Jack Bell of ours, with a company of the Royal Scots and a party of Sappers, stormed it. Bless my soul! and you are really the son of my old chum and comrade, Allan Mac Innon? Drink your wine, my lad, and tell me all this once again.'
In ten minutes we were quite old friends; another decanter of port was ordered up, Callum was consigned to the care of the mess-waiter, and then I made known my wishes to the colonel, who began alternately to smile and look a little perplexed.
'You wish a commission—we are now at war to be sure; but there are many difficulties. Have you any interest?'
'None—all who might have served me have died in the army.'
'You cannot purchase?'
'I have not quite twenty guineas in the world.'
'Bless my soul! Then there are the necessary studies—a curriculum in fact—an examination and cramming at Sandhurst. What languages do you know?'
'English, a little French, and Gaelic.'