When we’d all been round, the Colonel with a faint smile on his face, requested the sergeant-major to take us round as a troop—sixteen lancers knee to knee in the front rank and the same number behind.
It happened that I was the centre of the front rank—technically known as centre guide—whose job it was to keep four yards from the tail of the troop leader and on whom the rest of the front rank “dressed.”
When we were well away from the officers and about to canter at the first jump the sergeant-major’s head turned over his shoulder.
“Oh, you’re centre guide, Gibbs, are you! Well, you keep your distance proper, that’s all, and by Christ, if you refuse——”
I don’t know what fate he had in store for me had I missed a jump but there I was with a knee on either side jammed painfully hard against mine as we came to the first jump. It was the man on either flank of the troop who had the most difficult job. The jumps were only just wide enough and they had to keep their horses from swinging wide of the wings. It went magnificently. Sixteen horses as one in both ranks rose to every jump, settled down and dressed after each and went round the course without a hitch, refusal or fall, and at last we sat at attention facing the Colonel, awaiting the verdict which would either send us back for further training, or out to—what? Death, glory, or maiming?
The Major looked pleased and twisted his moustache with a grin. He had handled our squadron and on the first occasion of his leading us in a charge, he in front with drawn sword, we thundering behind with lances menacing his back in a glittering row, we got so excited that we broke ranks and flowed round him, yelling like cowboys. How he damned us!
The Colonel made a little speech and complimented us on our work and the sergeant-major for having trained us so well,—us, the first of Kitchener’s “mob” to be ready. Very nice things he said and our hearts glowed with appreciation and excitement. We sat there without a movement but our chests puffed out like a row of pouter pigeons.
At last he saluted us—saluted us, he, the Colonel—and the officers rode away,—the Major hanging behind a little to say with a smile that was worth all the cursings the sergeant-major had ever given us, “Damn good, you fellows! Damn good!” We would have followed him to hell and back at that moment.
And then the sergeant-major turned his horse and faced us. “You may think you’re perishin’ good soldiers after all that, but by Christ, I’ve never seen such a perishin’ awful exhibition of carpet-baggers.”
But there was an unusual twinkle in his eye and for the first time in those two months of training he let us “march at ease,” i.e., smoke and talk, on the way back to stables.