Ten minutes afterwards, down came an orderly from the officer commanding, with a peremptory order to the effect that the officer commanding Alston’s Horse was to mount and parade his men in readiness for immediate service.
“Here is a pretty go,” thought Ernest, “and the horses not served out yet!”
Just then Jeremy came in, saluted, and informed him that the men were mustered.
“Serve out the saddlery. Let every man shoulder his saddle. Tell Mazooku to bring out the ‘Devil’ (Ernest’s favourite horse), and march the men up to the Government stables. I will be with you presently.”
Jeremy saluted again with much ceremony and vanished. He was the most punctilious sergeant-major who ever breathed.
Twenty minutes later, a long file of men, each with a carbine slung to his back, and a saddle on his head, which, at a distance, gave them the appearance of a string of gigantic mushrooms, were to be seen proceeding towards the Government stables a mile away.
Ernest, mounted on his great black stallion, and looking, in his military uniform and the revolver slung across his shoulders, a typical volunteer officer, was there before them.
“Now, my men,” he said, as soon as they were paraded, “go in, and each man choose the horse which he likes best, bridle him, and bring him out and saddle him. Sharp!”
The men broke their ranks and rushed to the stables, each anxious to secure a better horse than his neighbours. Presently from the stables there arose a sound of kicking, plunging, and “wo-hoing” impossible to describe.
“There will be a pretty scene soon, with these unbroken brutes,” thought Ernest.