signed by Sultans, Secretaries of War, Emperors, filibusters. They
were military commissions, titles of nobility, brevets for
decorations, instructions and commands from superior officers.
Translated the phrases ran: "Imposing special confidence in," "we
appoint," or "create," or "declare," or "In recognition of services
rendered to our person," or "country," or "cause," or "For bravery
on the field of battle we bestow the Cross----"

As must a soldier, the general travels "light," and all his worldly
possessions were crowded ready for mobilization into a small
compass. He had his sword, his field blanket, his trunk, and the tin
despatch boxes that held his papers. From these, like a conjurer, he
would draw souvenirs of all the world. From the embrace of faded
letters, he would unfold old photographs, daguerrotypes, and
miniatures of fair women and adventurous men: women who now
are queens in exile, men who, lifted on waves of absinthe, still,
across a _cafe_ table, tell how they will win back a crown.

Once in a written document the general did me the honor to
appoint me his literary executor, but as he is young, and as healthy
as myself, it never may be my lot to perform such an unwelcome
duty. And to-day all one can write of him is what the world can
read in "Under Fourteen Flags," and some of the "foot-notes to
history" which I have copied from his scrap-book. This scrap-book
is a wonderful volume, but owing to "political" and other reasons,
for the present, of the many clippings from newspapers it contains
there are only a few I am at liberty to print. And from them it is
difficult to make a choice. To sketch in a few thousand words a
career that had developed under Eighteen Flags is in its very
wealth embarrassing.