I entered my tent. How awfully alone I was! I should never find him again in the bottom of the camera or in the midst of postage stamps! I should never hear his little voice, prompting me with “Miferino.” I should never carry him astride the battlement, or on the crown of my hat. The imperial tomb was empty except for the white cotton bed!

I couldn’t sleep. After I don’t know how long the moon rose. I got up to look at the clock. It was midnight. Fiam had been walking four hours. How far had he gone?

The firing continued every now and then. “Little thunder,” I thought, remembering the queer idea of my friend. Every few minutes I looked at the clock. One o’clock passed; two o’clock passed. I was getting anxious. I thought an hour had gone by—it was five minutes.

At half-past two I began to listen. A quarter to three, three, a quarter past three——

I thought he hadn’t found the mine, and I almost felt glad at the idea that I might see him again.

Half-past three. The minutes seemed like eternity. Twenty-five minutes to four. Twenty minutes to four——

It was (I shall never forget it) at precisely thirteen minutes to four when the night was lighted by an immense brilliant blue light. A few seconds later the whole earth shook and a horrible explosion rent the air. Then silence.

It wasn’t long before the trumpets blew. The camp was all commotion. Commands were issued, confused with shouts. These, I made out, were joyful.

“The mine has been fired! The mine has been fired!” they repeated again and again.

The ranks formed. The regiments drew up in line of march. The officers galloped about. The flags were unfurled.

At dawn the columns moved—fresh and eager, as if starting off for the first encounter.

The terrible pass was traversed by the soldiers singing while the bayonets glistened in the rising sun. Two hours later we were safely outside the mountainous defile, and were joined by the main army.

The enemy was forced to give battle, and was defeated.

That evening they all feasted in the general’s tent. All the officers were happy. I alone was sad.

After a while they began to ask, Who could have blown up the mine? Some one said:

“The soldiers sent to explore returned without finding anything.”

“Perhaps,” another suggested, “it blew up of itself on account of poor construction.”

“No,” said a third. “It was blown up by the enemy; they thought we were on the march, near the mine.”

I arose and said solemnly:

“I know who blew up the mine and made your victory and escape possible.”

“Tell us, tell us!” they shouted in chorus. “Who?”

“It was Fiam, who....”

“Who is that?” asked twenty voices at once. “Who is our hero and our rescuer? How did you know him?”

“It is,” I proceeded firmly, “the Haji of an old willow tree that....” A tumult of laughter greeted me. Even the general joined in. They thought I was joking. The general cried:

“Still more legends, ha, ha!”

“I am in earnest,” I said, turning to him, and couldn’t help adding, “It was the Haji of Funato, your Haji.”

The laughter increased. “Legends, superstitions, fancies,” I heard in the midst of the hilarity.

I was so bewildered I didn’t know whether to get angry or laugh with them.

Suddenly I felt a touch on my shoulder. I turned to see an officer looking attentively at me. “My name is Tasa. Let me feel your pulse. Show me your tongue. I recommend a little ice on the head.”