"Indeed I do, sir, and if you like, sir, there are the Confidential Reports to go in soon, sir, and——"
"Do your own dirty work, Colonel," snapped the General, who found this servility even more exasperating than Graeme's insolence. "I should advise you to remember, however, that you've always cracked the fellow up till now; made him out a sort of Julius Cæsar."
"But, sir, that was before I knew, sir. Now, sir, that my eyes are opened, thanks to you, I see my mistake, and——"
"Oh, do you? Well, here we are. Sound the officers' call, Trumpeter."
"Gad, but your trumpeters want practice," he snarled, as the man, infected by the general demoralisation, blew a cracky, discordant blast, "and look there, see the way your officers are lounging up, like a lot of ducks shuffling along. For the Lord's sake, go and march 'em here yourself properly. All present? Hum, yours too, Wicklow? Sit down there, please, closer, damn it! I don't want to shout."
"Now, gentlemen—when you've finished arguing with Captain Graves, Major Kinley, thank you—I think we've had a most instructive morning, we've learnt, or I trust most of you have, how cavalry should ... not be handled. The scheme, I allow, was perhaps a little too difficult for the 'Blue'[#] commander; but even so, that's no excuse for the insane performance it has just been our privilege to witness. No attempt at scouting, no reports sent in, merely a blind, headlong rush to destruction. May I ask, Colonel Graeme, on what information you acted? As far as I know, you had not the slightest idea of what was in front of you."
[#] On field days one side is usually designated the "Blue," the other the "Red."
"There were two companies of infantry, with two guns, holding either pass. In rear, four companies in reserve," was the careless answer.
There was a murmur from the officers of Wicklow's force—the diagnosis was correct.
"Really?" said Bumps. "Stop whispering there, will you! What do you say to that, Colonel Wicklow?"