‘Let’s see what you’re good for. Put her at that.’
‘That’ was a furze-covered revolving pole mounted on swivelled trestles, and about three feet high. It was a leap for a child, and Polson went over it, turned and came nimbly back again. The instructor approached him and took him by the foot and ankle.
‘That’s the shape for the cavalry leg,’ he said. ‘Keep that and don’t lose it. Now put her at it again.’
As the recruit turned to obey the order, the Sergeant mischievously slashed the mare across the quarters, and the venerable she-trooper skipped; but this was hardly a thing to scare the best cross-country man of his shire, and Polson nipped over the bar and back again. At that moment entered Captain Volnay, to whom the drill, saluting, said:
‘It’s no use wasting this man’s time here, sir. Colonel’s orders are to get ‘em through as fast as possible. He’d be better engaged at foot drill.’
‘Very good,’ said Volnay. ‘You can dismount, my man. Come with me.’
On the far side of the square a squad was at work at the sword exercise, and the instructor’s voice was bawling: ‘Thrust, return, thrust—return. Carry—so! Slope—so! Shun! Stand at ease!’
‘Well,’ said Volnay. ‘How do you like it?’
‘I shall like it well enough, I dare say. I haven’t shaken into the saddle yet.’
‘I’m going to hand you over to this lot,’ said Volnay, indicating the squad with a motion of the hand. ‘D’you know anything about it?’