“Especially the Writers to the Signet,” muttered Anthony.
“But there are others who are new to the movement. To these gentlemen, therefore, I shall address a few words of caution; they are short and simple. Screw yourselves tight in your saddles—hold hard at first—keep together as you best can—think that the enemy are before you—and go at it like blazes!”
A shout of approval followed this doughty address, and the heart of every trooper burned with military ardour. For my own part, I was becoming quite reconciled to the thing. I perfectly coincided with my commanding-officer in his amazement at the adhesive powers of myself and several others, and with desperate recklessness I resolved to test them to the utmost. The bugle now sounded the signal to fall in. Soda bottles and cigar cases were returned to their original concealment, and we once more took our respective places in the ranks.
“Now comes the fun,” said Randolph, after the leading squadron had charged in line. “Mind yourselves, boys!”
“March—trot—gallop.”
On we went like waves of the sea, regularly enough at first, then slightly inclining to the line of beauty, as some of the weaker hacks began to show symptoms of bellows.
“Cha—a—rge!”
“Go ahead!” cried Randolph, sticking his spurs into his Bucephalus. Masaniello, with a snort, fairly took the bridle into his teeth, and dashed off with me at a speed which threatened to throw the ranks into utter confusion. As for Pounset, he appeared to be possessed with the fury of a demon. His kicking mare sent up at every stride large clods of sand in the teeth of the unfortunate Anthony Whaup, whose presence of mind seemed at last to have forsaken him.
“What the mischief are you after, Whaup?” panted the trooper on his left. “Just take your foot out of my stirrup, will you?”
“Devil a bit!” quoth Anthony “I’m too glad to get any thing to hold on by.”