nerally drove himself in one of our wagons. Sometimes, however, he
rode, as _estafette_ or orderly, a splendid sorrel stallion, also his
property; and this stallion, "Garryowen" by name, was the pride and
delight of our hearts, the pet of our camp. The major had a poodle
dog too, distinct from the Begum's. It was generosity rather than
effeminacy on his part to have this dog, for he bought it to save its
life: the former owners were about to eat it when the major came to
the rescue. The dog was white, and our Indian warrior used to spend
much time washing it on the eve of a fight. The dog would ride
stretched across its master's feet on the front of the wagon; and
upon the field, if the major was capable of the sense of fear--which-I
doubt--it was exercised solely for his horses and dog. When away from
these he was always getting to the front. The only provision he
made against any possible danger was to fill his pocket with silver
five-franc pieces. A man didn't know, he said, when he might be taken
prisoner by those "thaves" of Prussians, and he'd better have his
money with him till he could get his remittances from across the
Channel. He had enough of living upon next to nothing--which was
horse-flesh--and he didn't want to live on nothing among the Germans.
Those five-franc pieces, however, he always put to the drollest uses.
He would find his way in among the artillerymen, and, pointing to a
given spot, he would tell them in the worst imaginable French to throw
a shell in there: "Ploo haut, ploo haut, mon bong ami: aim at the
chimney, the chimney." Then he would step aside, with hands in his
pockets, and watch results. If it was a good shot, he would give the
gunner a five-franc piece. Thus he would pass along the line until he
had exhausted the money with which he had fortified himself against
starvation among the Prussians. And this was all for pure love
of fighting, for the major saw so much of the French officers'
incompetency that he soon had precious little sympathy for their
cause.

At the second assault on Bourget, O'Flynn grew tired of waiting for
the attack, and, what is more, terribly hungry. "I've lived long
enough on horse-mate," exclaimed the major, "especially when I've
none of it at all!" So he unhitched one of his black horses from the
ambulance-wagon, and, taking a saddle from an orderly, tore off his
_brassard_ and other ambulance insignia, threw away his cap, so as not
to compromise us, and rod