was pointed at him, he as coolly as possible put his gun over his
horse's shoulder and shot the would-be murderer dead on the spot. Then
turning to me he said quite calmly, 'I call you to witness that that
man intended to murder me.' How differently all would have ended had my
gun been loaded! The villain would have shot my chief, taken both guns,
and galloped off, leaving me ignominiously stuck to my saddle.

The audacity of this one man attacking us two armed sportsmen showed the
immense confidence these prairie people feel in themselves, especially
in their superior horsemanship. However, the fellow caught a Tartar on
this occasion.

As for me, the knife had gone, as I said, through my loose shooting
jacket just below the waist, through the upper part of my trousers, and
so into the saddle, without even touching my skin. I have kept the knife
in memory of my lucky escape.

While laying at Monte Video there was on each side of us a French
man-of-war, the officers of which were very amiably inclined, and many
were the dinners and parties exchanged between us.

In those days the interchange of our respective languages was very
limited on both sides, so much so, that our frantic efforts to
understand each other were a constant source of amusement. A French
midshipman and myself, however, considered ourselves equal to the
occasion, and professed linguists; so on the principle that in the 'land
of the blind the one-eyed man is king,' we were the swells of the
festivities.

I remember on one occasion, when the birthday of Louis Philippe was to