Such were the greetings, with a warm shake of the hand, which Cecil received from Pelham and Stanley when he visited them in the infantry camp, which was chiefly in a wood near Deligrad, and where he found them with some other officers seated near a fire, whereat a suddenly improvised meal was in process of being cooked by their Servian servants, and which consisted simply of a turkey, coated with clay and roasted in a hole covered with hot ashes; which, together with potatoes and tomatoes, was to be washed down with German beer.
'Life here is not exactly the life of flies in amber, or that of lotus-eaters,' said Pelham, laughing, after he heard the story of Cecil's misadventure; 'but even here, where we have Montenegrins and Bashi Bazouks in plenty, we don't often come across so accomplished a scoundrel as this Mattei Guebhard.'
'But, Falconer, old fellow, though a genuine Scot, brave as a lion and obstinate as a mule, he nearly proved too much for you,' said Stanley, proffering his cigar-case, 'and would have done so in the end, but for your fair auxiliary. By Jove! that girl must be a regular brick!'
'You gave the Turks an alerte at Alexinatz after I left the camp?' said Cecil, to change the subject.
'Your branch of the service, the cavalry, did,' replied Pelham; 'we came on with the infantry supports, and, as we had to keep our faces quite as often to our men, in leading them on, as to the enemy (you know what cowardly beggars the Servians are!), I nearly had my dorsal fin carried away by a carbine bullet. But here comes our turkey, done to time; and now to dinner with what appetite we may.'
'We have had no fighting since Alexinatz,' said Stanley, 'and our camp-life seems tame after what has gone before it.'
'Like claret on the top of champagne.'
'Man alive! for days we have had nothing better to drink than German beer, and Pelham consoles himself by expatiating on Moselle as if he had been weaned on it.'
It was as music to Cecil, hearing once again the pleasantly modulated and frank English voices of Pelham and Stanley, who made him so welcome to share their humble repast—humble in its mode of production and appurtenances—but both declared themselves sick of Servia and its army, and after another battle or two, as the novelty had worn off, they had resolved to resign and return home.
Cecil thought that he would gladly do the same; but he had no home that he knew of to return to.