Sporting Trips of a Subaltern 



Prom Lagos I shipped to Las Palmas, where 

 I arrived a ragged and disreputable-looking object. 

 I had no papers or kit of any kind to prove my 

 identity, and could only say that I had just 

 arrived from a place no one had ever heard of 

 in the far interior of Africa, and that I was a 

 British cavalry officer on my way to Cape Town. 

 It really was a most suspicious story, and was 

 treated as such. The skipper of a transport, that 

 arrived a few hours after I did, referred me to 

 the consul; he, in turn, wouldn't be responsible 

 for me, and sent me to interview the captain of 

 a British ship of war, who had his doubts. What 

 the end of it would have been I can't say, but, 

 luckily, I discovered that the Hertfordshire 

 company of Imperial Yeomanry, as well as some 

 Irish Yeomanry, were on the transport, and that 

 I knew many officers of both, and several of 

 my old friends were serving in the ranks of the 

 former as well. A party of officers came ashore, 

 and were beyond measure astonished to see me 

 and to hear of my predicament. All was soon 

 put right, and apologies and cocktails at the 

 hotel soothed my wounded feelings. 



It was the only time I have ever been called 

 upon to prove that I was myself, and the only 

 time, I think, that I couldn't have done it without 

 delay, and, though no one was to blame, it was 

 a most unpleasant experience. 



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