equestrians were assembled on the parade to witness the spectacle. The regiment itself had been under arms before daylight, and the officers fell in soon afterwards, while Major Dumble — who, with a card of the manœuvres in his hand which had been prepared for him by the adjutant, was going through them in his head for the last time — sat his old trooper with a look of anxious desperation as the fatal moment approached. For now the brigadier might be seen riding at a foot-pace on his grey cob towards the line, attended by his brigade-major and the assistant quartermaster-general, also by Colonel Tartar, who had joined him on his way past the hussar parade. The brigadier and his staff were in blue coats and cocked-hats, all the other military lookers-on in full uniform except Colonel Tartar, who being a colonel of hussars might be considered to be above rule, and indeed sat his Arab pony with an air of easy superiority, as if quite aware of the amount of condescension involved in his coming at all. The ceremony is now about to begin, and Yorke's heart leaps up at seeing the well-known objects advancing rapidly out of the plain from the direction of the residency, as he had seen them come on former occasions, soon to be made out clearly as Colonel Falkland and Miss Cunningham, who canter up and join the group of visitors just as the brigadier arrives in front of the line. Yorke has just time to notice with a pang of jealousy that Colonel Tartar is turning aside to join the new-comers, when the regiment is called to attention, and as the brigadier advances towards it, a general salute is ordered; after which Major Dumble, by dint of kicking his horse and shaking its rein, persuades it to advance a few paces, and hands the brigadier a "present state" of the regiment. The latter passes over the want of style in the major's approach, riding not being laid down in the infantry regulations or a strong point personally, but reserves himself for criticism on the handling of the battalion, an art in which he deems himself to be an authority. And truly the battalion looks a goodly one to handle, over nine hundred and fifty bayonets mustering on the parade, carried by stalwart sepoys, well set up. And now begins the serious business of the morning. The salute delivered, the regiment breaking into open columns of companies marches past in slow and quick time, a feat which, having been practised every morning for the previous six weeks, is performed fairly in automatic fashion, without giving Major Dumble an opportunity for interposing a mistake. "Do believe we shall pull the major through," whispers Poynter the adjutant to Brevet-Major Passey, the senior captain, who was the other mounted officer. The "march past" over, the regiment is again formed into line and put through the time-honoured manual and platoon exercises by Major Passey, a feat to which he and the regiment are quite equal. Major Dumble the while glancing nervously at his card, and recalling for the last time the adjutant's lessons on the coming movements. The first operation, a change of front, went all right; there was little for the commanding officer to do, and the leaders of companies knew their work and made no mistake. And the second movement promised well also. It was an advance by column of double companies from the centre; and Major Dumble, as he surveyed from the rear the companies stepping off and wheeling at due intervals with precision, felt his courage reviving, and began to hope that he should really pull through the inspection. But alas! at this moment, just as the formation was completed, the brigadier called out to him in what was meant for a reassuring tone — "Very good indeed. Major Dumble — very good indeed; now suppose you form square. Don't you hear, sir?" he repeated in a louder voice — "form square."
Now a square was duly entered in the card of manœuvres, but then it was to come off later in the day, and when the regiment was halted in line. For such a change in the programme the major was altogether unprepared, and gazed in dumb anguish at the brigadier, and when the latter in still louder tones repeated his command, adding "Why don't you halt the leading division, sir?" the unhappy major mistaking the word "leading" for "rear," called out in desperation, "Rear division, halt I right about face!"
The companies in question obeyed the order. The rest of the column continued marching on.
The major saw that he had made a blunder, but there was still time to retrieve it, although no time for reflection. Obeying the impulse of despair he gave the word to the centre companies to wheel inwards, and again the order was obeyed, the leading companies still pursuing their fatal march onwards; and although the adjutant at last took upon himself to stop them, the mischief was done. They had
