THE first time I 'smelt powder' was at Amoy. The 'Blonde'

　　carried out Lord Palmerston's letter to the ChineseGovernment. Never was there a more iniquitous war thanEngland then provoked with China to force upon her the opiumtrade with India in spite of the harm which the Chineseauthorities believed that opium did to their people.

　　Even Macaulay advocated this shameful imposition. China hadto submit, and pay into the bargain four and a half millionssterling to prove themselves in the wrong. Part of this wentas prize money. My share of it - the DOUCEUR for a middy'sparticipation in the crime - was exactly 100L.

　　To return to Amoy. When off the mouth of the Canton river wehad taken on board an interpreter named Thom. What ourinstructions were I know not; I can only tell what happened.

　　Our entry into Amoy harbour caused an immediate commotion onland. As soon as we dropped anchor, about half a mile fromthe shore, a number of troops, with eight or ten field-pieces, took up their position on the beach, evidentlyresolved to prevent our landing. We hoisted a flag of truce,at the same time cleared the decks for action, and dropped akedge astern so as to moor the ship broadside to the fortsand invested shore. The officer of my watch, the late SirFrederick Nicholson, together with the interpreter, wereordered to land and communicate with the chief mandarin. Tocarry out this as inoffensively as possible, Nicholson tookthe jolly-boat, manned by four lads only. As it was mywatch, I had charge of the boat. A napkin or towel servedfor a flag of truce. But long before we reached the shore,several mandarins came down to the water's edge waving theirswords and shouting angrily to warn us off. Mr. Thom, whounderstood what they said, was frightened out of his wits,assuring us we should all be sawed in half if we attempted toland. Sir Frederick was not the man to disobey orders evenon such a penalty; he, however, took the precaution - a verywise one as it happened - to reverse the boat, and back herin stern foremost.

　　No sooner did the keel grate on the shingle than a score ofsoldiers rushed down to seize us. Before they could do so wehad shoved off. The shore was very steep. In a moment wewere in deep water, and our lads pulling for dear life. Thencame a storm of bullets from matchlocks and jingals and thebigger guns, fortunately just too high to hit us. One bulletonly struck the back-board, but did no harm. What, however,seemed a greater danger was the fire from the ship. Ere wewere halfway back broadside after broadside was fired overour heads into the poor devils massed along the beach. Thiswas kept up until not a living Chinaman was to be seen.

　　I may mention here a curious instance of cowardice. One ofour men, a ship's painter, soon after the firing began andwas returned by the fort's guns, which in truth were quiteharmless, jumped overboard and drowned himself. I have seenmen's courage tried under fire, and in many other ways since;yet I have never known but one case similar to this, when afriend of my own, a rich and prosperous man, shot himself toavoid death! So that there are men like 'MonsieurGrenouille, qui se cachait dans l'eau pour eviter la pluie.'

　　Often have I seen timid and nervous men, who were thought tobe cowards, get so excited in action that their timidity hasturned to rashness. In truth 'on est souvent ferme parfaiblesse, et audacieux par timidite.'

　　Partly for this reason, and partly because I look upon it asa remnant of our predatory antecedents and of animalpugnacity, I have no extravagant admiration for merecombativeness or physical courage. Honoured and rewarded asone of the noblest of manly attributes, it is one of thecommonest of qualities, - one which there is not a mammal, abird, a fish, or an insect even, that does not share with us.

　　Such is the esteem in which it is held, such the ignominywhich punishes the want of it, that the most cautious and themost timid by nature will rather face the uncertain risks ofa fight than the certain infamy of imputed cowardice.

　　Is it likely that courage should be rare under suchcircumstances, especially amongst professional fighters, whoin England at least have chosen their trade? That there arepoltroons, and plenty of them, amongst our soldiers andsailors, I do not dispute. But with the fear of shame on onehand, the hope of reward on the other, the merest dastardwill fight like a wild beast, when his blood is up. Theextraordinary merit of his conduct is not so obvious to thepeaceful thinker. I speak not of such heroism as that of theJapanese, - their deeds will henceforth be bracketed withthose of Leonidas and his three hundred, who died for a likecause. With the Japanese, as it was with the Spartans, everyman is a patriot; nor is the proportionate force of theirbarbaric invaders altogether dissimilar.

　　Is then the Victoria Cross an error? To say so would be anoutrage in this age of militarism. And what would all theQueens of Beauty think, from Sir Wilfred Ivanhoe's days toours, if mighty warriors ceased to poke each other in theribs, and send one another's souls untimely to the 'viewlessshades,' for the sake of their 'doux yeux?' Ah! who knowshow many a mutilation, how many a life, has been the price ofthat requital? Ye gentle creatures who swoon at the sight ofblood, is it not the hero who lets most of it that finds mostfavour in your eyes? Possibly it may be to the heroes ofmoral courage that some distant age will award its choicestdecorations. As it is, the courage that seeks the rewards ofFame seems to me about on a par with the virtue that investsin Heaven.

　　Though an anachronism as regards this stage of my career, Icannot resist a little episode which pleasantly illustratesmoral courage, or chivalry at least, combined with physicalbravery.

　　In December, 1899, I was a passenger on board a NorddeutscherLloyd on my way to Ceylon. The steamer was crowded withGermans; there were comparatively few English. Things hadbeen going very badly with us in the Transvaal, and thetelegrams both at Port Said and at Suez supplemented theprevious ill-news. At the latter place we heard of thecatastrophe at Magersfontein, of poor Wauchope's death, andof the disaster to the Highland Light Infantry. The momentit 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 Englisharmy - returning from leave to rejoin his regiment atColombo. If one might judge by his choice of a second-classfare, and by his much worn apparel, he was what one wouldcall 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 oftenwent to the fore part of the ship on the chance of getting aword with him. But he was either shy or proud, certainlyreserved; and always addressed me as 'Sir,' which was notencouraging.

　　That same evening, after dinner in the steerage cabin, aGerman got up and, beginning with some offensive allusions tothe British army, proposed the health of General Cronje andthe 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 endedand silence restored, my reserved friend calmly rose, tappedthe table with the handle of his knife (another steeragepassenger - an Australian - told me what happened), took hiswatch from his pocket, and slowly said: 'It is just sixminutes to eight. If the person who proposed the last toasthas not made a satisfactory apology to me before the hand ofmy watch points to the hour, I will thrash him till he does.

　　I am an officer in the English army, and always keep myword.' A small band of Australians was in the cabin. Oneand all of them applauded this laconic speech. It wasprobably due in part to these that the offender did not waittill the six minutes had expired.

　　Next day I congratulated my reserved friend. He was reticentas usual. All I could get out of him was, 'I never allow alady to be insulted in my presence, sir.' It was his Queen,not his cloth, that had roused the virility in this quietman.

　　Let us turn to another aspect of the deeds of war. Aboutdaylight on the morning following our bombardment, it beingmy morning watch, I was ordered to take the surgeon andassistant surgeon ashore. There were many corpses, but noliving or wounded to be seen. One object only dwellsvisually in my memory.

　　At least a quarter of a mile from the dead soldiers, a strayshell had killed a grey-bearded old man and a young woman.

　　They were side by side. The woman was still in her teens andpretty. She lay upon her back. Blood was oozing from herside. A swarm of flies were buzzing in and out of her openmouth. Her little deformed feet, cased in the high-heeledand embroidered tiny shoes, extended far beyond herpetticoats. It was these feet that interested the men ofscience. They are now, I believe, in a jar of spirits atHaslar hospital. At least, my friend the assistant surgeontold me, as we returned to the ship, that that was theirultimate destination. The mutilated body, as I turned fromit with sickening horror, left a picture on my youthful mindnot 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-gunbrigs. We took Hong Kong, Chusan, Ningpo, Canton, andreturned to take Amoy. One or two incidents only in theseveral engagements seem worth recording.

　　We have all of us supped full with horrors this last year orso, and I have no thought of adding to the surfeit. Butsometimes common accidents appear exceptional, if they befallourselves, or those with whom we are intimate. If thesufferer has any special identity, we speculate on hispeculiar way of bearing his misfortune; and are thus led onto place ourselves in his position, and imagine ourselves thesufferers.

　　Major Daniel, the senior marine officer of the 'Blonde,' wasa reserved and taciturn man. He was quiet and gentlemanlike,always very neat in his dress; rather severe, still kind tohis men. His aloofness was in no wise due to lack of ideas,nor, I should say, to pride - unless, perhaps, it were thepride which some men feel in suppressing all emotion byhabitual restraint of manner. Whether his SANGFROID wasconstitutional, or that nobler kind of courage which feelsand masters timidity and the sense of danger, none couldtell. Certain it is he was as calm and self-possessed inaction as in repose. He was so courteous one fancied hewould almost have apologised to his foe before heremorselessly 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 morestrongly fortified, and the ship was several-times hulled.

　　We were at very close quarters, as it is necessary to passunder high ground as the harbour is entered. Those who hadthe option, excepting our gallant old captain, naturally keptunder shelter of the bulwarks and hammock nettings. Not soMajor Daniel. He stood in the open gangway watching theeffect of the shells, as though he were looking at a game ofbilliards. While thus occupied a round shot struck him fullin 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 navalbrigade was commanded by Sir Thomas Bouchier. Our men werelying under the ridge of a hill protected from the guns onthe city walls. Fully exposed to the fire, which was prettyhot, 'old Tommy' as we called him, paced to and fro withcontemptuous indifference, stopping occasionally to spy theenemy with his long ship's telescope. A number ofbluejackets, in reserve, were stationed about half a milefurther off at the bottom of the protecting hill. They werecompletely screened from the fire by some buildings of thesuburbs abutting upon the slope. Those in front werewatching the cannon-balls which had struck the crest and wererolling as it were by mere force of gravitation down thehillside. Some jokes were made about football, when suddenlya smart and popular young officer - Fox, first lieutenant ofone of the brigs - jumped out at one of these spent balls,which looked as though it might have been picked up by thehands, and gave it a kick. It took his foot off just abovethe ankle. There was no surgeon at hand, and he was bleedingto death before one could be found. Sir Thomas had come downthe hill, and seeing the wounded officer on the ground with agroup around him, said in passing, 'Well, Fox, this is a badjob, but it will make up the pair of epaulets, which issomething.'

　　'Yes sir,' said the dying man feebly, 'but without a pair oflegs.' Half an hour later he was dead.

　　I have spoken lightly of courage, as if, by implication, Imyself possessed it. Let me make a confession. From my soulI pity the man who is or has been such a miserable coward asI was in my infancy, and up to this youthful period of mylife. No fear of bullets or bayonets could ever equal mine.

　　It was the fear of ghosts. As a child, I think that at timeswhen shut up for punishment, in a dark cellar for instance, Imust have nearly gone out of my mind with this appallingterror.

　　Once when we were lying just below Whampo, the captain tooknearly every officer and nearly the whole ship's crew on apunitive expedition up the Canton river. They were awayabout a week. I was left behind, dangerously ill with feverand ague. In his absence, Sir Thomas had had me put into hiscabin, where I lay quite alone day and night, seeing hardlyanyone save the surgeon and the captain's steward, who washimself a shadow, pretty nigh. Never shall I forget mymental sufferings at night. In vain may one attempt todescribe what one then goes through; only the victims knowwhat that is. My ghost - the ghost of the Whampo Reach - theghost of those sultry and miasmal nights, had no shape, novaporous form; it was nothing but a presence, a vagueamorphous dread. It may have floated with the swollen andputrid corpses which hourly came bobbing down the stream, butit never appeared; for there was nothing to appear. Still itmight appear. I expected every instant through the night tosee it in some inconceivable form. I expected it to touchme. It neither stalked upon the deck, nor hovered in thedark, nor moved, nor rested anywhere. And yet it was thereabout me, - where, I knew not. On every side I wasthreatened. I feared it most behind the head of my cot,because I could not see it if it were so.

　　This, it will be said, is the description of a nightmare.

　　Exactly so. My agony of fright was a nightmare; but anightmare when every sense was strained with wakefulness,when all the powers of imagination were concentrated toparalyse my shattered reason.

　　The experience here spoken of is so common in some form orother that we may well pause to consider it. What is themeaning of this fear of ghosts? - how do we come by it? Itmay be thought that its cradle is our own, that we arepurposely frightened in early childhood to keep us calm andquiet. But I do not believe that nurses' stories wouldexcite dread of the unknown if the unknown were not alreadyknown. The susceptibility to this particular terror is therebefore the terror is created. A little reflection willconvince us that we must look far deeper for the solution ofa mystery inseparable from another, which is of the lastimportance to all of us.