Mr. Cashly. What was that? I was in the brigade at the time.
Capt. Killdragon. The horse that lost his rider, and—
Mr. Cashly. Oh! yes, yes, yes. I know.
Major Swordly. Let us hear it.
Capt. Killdragon. When the regiment charged the French on the plain, one of the men was thrown off his horse: the animal dashed into the enemy's lines, and after the regiment to which he belonged had retired from the charge, he was seen scampering about amongst the French infantry, kicking and frolicking. The 5th was ordered to renew the charge, which they did; and as they were approaching the enemy, the horse in question gallopped over to them, regularly fell into the ranks, as if a dragoon had been upon his back: he continued in rank during the operation of the charge, and returned in line with his troop, to the astonishment of his rider, and the admiration of all who saw him.
Mr. Cashly. It is a fact, I know it to be so.
Capt. Ball. Mess-waiter, look to the decanters!—gentlemen, I have a proposal to make: we cannot be more harmonious than we are; but by way of diversifying our happiness, suppose Killdragon favours us with his “British Bayoneteers.” It will bring back the recollections of the “work” as he calls it.
[All now warmly called on Captain Killdragon, who was not a man that required much pressing; so, having filled his glass and put on a regular corporal countenance, he sang the following song, in a fine bold voice, and all the Mess joined in merry chorus:—
THE BRITISH BAYONETEERS.
I.