"H. B. M. CONSULATE, TAMSUI, Aug. 6th, 1884.
"DEAR DR. SINCLAIR:
"I am presuming on your good nature to make a request of you. Will you accept of Sergeant Gorman's assistance in your volunteer Red Cross Service? Ever since the cannon fire began yesterday morning, he has been aching to get into the field of action. Your going is an opportunity. He will not be an encumbrance. He has been at various times surgeon's assistant and hospital sergeant. He speaks pidgin, and knows quite a bit of vernacular. Commander Gardenier will spare me a man to take his place. Feeling sure that you will grant my request as soon as you read it, I have enclosed his passports with yours.
"Wishing you a safe and speedy return, I am,
"Your obedient servant,
"H. R. L. BEAUCHAMP."
Sinclair read between the lines. It was not merely the desire to gratify Sergeant Gorman's passion to be in any fighting which might be handy which had actuated the consul. It was solicitude for himself. He was a stranger in the island. He did not know the language. He had never been nearer war than the annual camp of a brigade of Canadian militia. This resourceful Irishman, with more than twenty years of varied service, mostly in the Orient and among Oriental peoples, would simply be invaluable to him. The consul had been up all night arranging for his convenience and safety. More to himself than to any one else he exclaimed:
"Beauchamp's a trump!"
"An' the right bower at that!" interjected Gorman.
Sinclair dashed into MacKay's study, scribbled off a hasty note of thanks, and was out again before the sergeant had finished congratulating himself on his good fortune.