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and appointed my old friend and neighbour； Captain Meade of Earsham Hall； to act for me when I was away。 I was touched at this evidence of their regard and confidence。
In 1895 the mittee did me the honour to elect me to the Athenaeum Club under Rule 2； and in the following year I was chosen Chairman of mittee of the Society of Authors； a post which I held until 1898。
About this time I made the acquaintance of one of the most interesting of all my friends； Major F。 R。 Burnham； D。S。O。； concerning whom and whose career I should like to say a few words。 Burnham is an American； born among the Indians on the frontiers of Minnesota in 1861； and one of the best specimens of that great people whom I have ever met。 Indeed； taking him altogether； I am not sure that when the circumstances of his upbringing and life are considered； he is not the most remarkable man whom it has been my privilege to know。 He belongs to the seventh generation of pioneers； as his family went to America from England in 1635。
In personal appearance he is small and quiet…mannered； with steady； grey…blue eyes that have in them a far…away look such as those acquire whose occupation has caused them to watch continually at sea or on great plains。 He does not smoke； fearing； as he told me； lest it should injure the acuteness of his sense of smell； and he drinks less liquid perhaps than anyone else。 One wineglass of water； or perhaps claret； is the amount he will consume during a long meal。 He has trained himself to this abstinence in order that； when scouting or travelling where there is no water； he may still be able to exist； with the result that on one occasion at least he survived when all or nearly all of his panions died； I think in the deserts of Arizona。 He is not at all municative； indeed I remember his telling me that I was one of the very few people to whom he had imparted any information concerning his many adventures。
When he was in England Charles Longman was very anxious that he should write his Life； but although he offered him a handsome sum on account and； to my knowledge； Burnham at the time was not too well supplied with money； in spite of my entreaties and offers of assistance； this； to my lasting regret； he absolutely refused to do。 Therefore； if he still lives； as I believe to be the case — although somewhat to my surprise I have heard nothing from him for the last three or four years — when he dies the record of all his extraordinary adventures； of which he has experienced more in fact than Allan Quatermain himself in fiction； will； I fear； perish with him。 Of those adventures； of course； I can only repeat a few specimens from memory； as he has told them to me walking about the land or sitting together over the fire in this house。
His first recollection is of being carried away by his mother when the savage Indians attacked the place where they lived； somewhere on the Mexican border。 He was then about three years old； and at last his mother； unable to bear him any farther； hid him in a shock of maize； telling him that he must keep quite silent。 From between the stalks of the maize presently he saw the pursuing Indians pass。 Next day his mother returned and rescued him。
Later on； as a married man； he found his way with some members of his family to Rhodesia； attracted by the magic name of Cecil Rhodes； and took part in the settlement of that colony。 Prospecting and the management of mines were their occupations。 Here his little girl was born； the first white child that saw the light in Buluwayo。 He named her Nada after the heroine of my Zulu tale。 Poor infant； she did not live long； as the following dedication to one of my stories shows：
To the Memory of the Child
NADA BURNHAM
who “bound all to her” and； while her father cut his way through the hordes of the Ingubu Regiment； perished of the hardships of war at Buluwayo on May 22nd； 1896； I dedicate this tale of Faith triumphant over savagery and death。
Burnham was with Wilson when he was wiped out on the banks of the Shangani； together with all his panions； except Burnham himself and his brother…inlaw； Ingram； who had been sent back to try to bring help from the column。 All that tale I have told in the “Red True Story Book” （Longmans）； so I need not repeat it here。 I shall never forget Burnham’s account of how he tracked the missing men in the darkness； by feeling the spoor with his fingers and by smell； or of how； still in the darkness； he counted the Matabele impi as they passed him close enough to touch them。
Subsequently Burnham took service as a scout under our flag in the Boer War。 Indeed I believe that Lord Roberts cabled to him in the Klondike。 Here many things befell him。 Thus he was out scouting from Headquarters at the time of the Sannah’s Post affair； saw the Boers post their ambuscade； saw the British walking into the trap。 He rode to a hill and； with a large red pocket…handkerchief which he always carried； tried to signal to them to keep back。 But nobody would take the slightest notice of his signals。 Even the Boers were puzzled by so barefaced a performance； and for quite a long while did not interfere with him。 So the catastrophe occurred — because it was nobody’s business to take notice of Burnham’s signals！ Ultimately some Boers rode out and made him a prisoner。 They led him to a stone…walled cattle kraal where a number of them were ensconced； whence he saw everything。
When the British were snared a Boer lad took some sighting shots at them； and at length said laconically； “Sechzen hondert！” whereon the Boers sighted their rifles to that range and began to use them with deadly effect。 A whole battery of English guns opened fire upon this kraal。 The air screamed with shells。 Some fell short and exploded against the wall； some went high； some hit upon the top of the wall。 The result of that terrific bombardment was — one horse blown to bits。 The practice was not bad； but those behind the fortable。
When everything was over Burnham was taken off as a prisoner。 A change of guard enabled him to pretend a wound； so he was placed on an ox…waggon。 He sat on the fore…part of the waggon； and just before day the guards nodding in their saddles gave him the chance to drop down between the wheels； letting the waggon trek away over him。 Then he rolled himself into a little gully near the road； and； as he dared not stand up； lay cooking there during the whole of the following day with the fierce sun beating on his back。 When night came again he walked back to the English camp； a distance of nearly a hundred miles； and reported himself。
This exploit was equalled； if not surpassed； by one of my sons…inlaw； Major Reginald Cheyne of the Indian Army。 He was posted on a ridge with a few men in one of the affairs of this war when an overwhelming force of Boers opened fire on them。 He held out until all but two of those with him were dead or wounded and the ammunition — even of the wounded — exhausted。 Then； having been shot through the face behind the nose； in another part of the head； and also cut by a bullet all along the forehead； which caused the blood to flow down into his eyes and blind him； he surrendered。 He was taken prisoner； and in this dreadful state carried off in a waggon。 At night he pretended that it was necessary for him to retire。 The Boer guard showed him his revolver； which he tapped significantly。 Cheyne nodded and； taking his risks； made a bolt for it。 In due course he； too； staggered into the British camp； where he recovered。 I hope I have given the details right； but Cheyne； like Burnham； is not given to talking of such things。 It was only after much urging on the part of my daughter that he told me the story； of which I had heard rumours from a brother officer； who spoke of him as “a hero。” He was remended； together with his Colonel； for a V。C。 or a D。S。O。 — I forget which — but； unfortunately for him； the Boers captured and burnt the despatch； so that nothing was known at home of his services until too late。 However； they made him a brevet…major。 Such are the fortunes of war。
After Pretoria was occupied Burnham was sent out to cut the railway line by which the Boers were retreating。 He exploded part of his gun…cotton and destroyed the line； and then rode over a ridge — straight into a Boer bivouac！ He turned his horse and； lying flat on the saddle； galloped off under a heavy fire。 He thought he was safe； but the Boers had got his range against the skyline — it was night — and suddenly he remembered no more。 When he came to himself the sun was shining； and he lay alone upon the veld。 The horse was gone； where to he never learned。 He felt himself all over and found that he had no wound； also that he was injured internally； probably owing to the horse falling on him when it was struck by a bullet。 Near by was a little cattle or goat kraal； into which he crept and lay down。 From this kraal he saw the Boers e and mend the line。 When night fell again he crawled upon his hands and knees — he could not walk — down to the line and destroyed it afresh； for his gun…cotton cartridges remained in a bag upon his shoulders。 I am not certain whether he did this once or twice。 At any rate in the end； feeling that he was a dead man if he remained where he was； he tore up the bag； tied the sacking round his wrists and knees； and； thus protected against the stones and grass stumps； dragged himself out into the veld； where； by the mercy of Providence； an English patrol found him。 It turned out that his stomach had been ruptured； and that； had it not been for his long abstinence from food； he must have expired。 No treatment could possibly have been better for him； and as it was the break in the tissues found time to heal。 In the end he recovered； though that was the last service which he did in South Africa。 It was rewarded with a D。S。O。 and the rank of major in the British Army。 Lord Roberts gave him a remarkable letter of thanks and appreciation： it sets forth his admiration of Burnham’s skill； endurance and ability in difficult scouting inside the lines of the enemy。
Burnham told me that during that war on many occasions he passed through the sentries of both the British and the Boer forces without being seen。 Once he perated into a Boer camp and came to a waggon where a fat old Dutchman lay snoring。 To the trek…tow were tied sixteen beautiful black oxen； no doubt that Dutchman’s especial pride。 With his knife he cut them loose and drove them away back into the British lines。 Often； he told me； he had speculated as to what the old Boer said when he woke up and found them gone for ever。 On another occasion when he was scouting he was absolutely surrounded by the Boers and could find no cover in which to hide。 With the help of an old Kaffir blanket and a stick he made himself up as a beggar and limped away between them without even being questioned。
In all such matters he seems to possess a kind of sixth sense； evolved no doubt in the course of his long training in Indian warfare。 He was one of the pioneers in the Klondike； whither he travelled across the winter snows on a sledge drawn by dogs； which for some weeks were his sole panions。 These dogs he watched very closely； and as a result of his observations informed me that he was sure from their conduct at night that t