Of the eleven men in the squad, only four managed to get on their horses’ backs; some of the others were sprawling wildly on their stomachs on the horses’ backs, endeavouring madly to throw the right leg over; while one heavy fellow named Wilson had bumped against his horse with so much force that the animal reared away, and Wilson, hanging wildly to the bridle with both hands, was dragged along, shouting, ‘Whoa there! whoa, back!’
‘What are you doing, you confounded tailor; you’re not driving a cab.’
‘I ain’t a tailor,’ said the man; ‘I’m a plasterer.’
‘And I’ll plaster you if you don’t watch it. Mount, man, mount!’
‘I can’t.’
‘Don’t answer me; do as I tell you.’
The assistants got to work; Wilson was hoisted up, and presently the whole squad was mounted.
Jack had got on very well, and sat quite still on Dainty, for such was his horse’s name.
‘Walk march,’ said the sergeant; and the well-trained animals, without any intimation from their riders, began to step round the school.
The sergeant kept throwing sentences at them as they went round.