No More Learning

The next day was a Thursday, and the men, hearing that Yale was going
to shoot the Drum-Horse in the evening, determined to give the beast a
regular regimental funeral--a finer one than they would have given the
Colonel had he died just then. They got a bullock-cart and some sacking,
and mounds and mounds of roses, and the body, under sacking, was carried
out to the place where the anthrax cases were cremated; two-thirds of
the Regiment followed. There was no Band, but they all sang "The Place
where the old Horse died" as something respectful and appropriate to the
occasion. When the corpse was dumped into the grave and the men began
throwing down armfuls of roses to cover it, the Farrier-Sergeant ripped
out an oath and said aloud:--"Why, it ain't the Drum-Horse any more than
it's me! " The Troop-Sergeant-Majors asked him whether he had left
his head in the Canteen. The Farrier-Sergeant said that he knew the
Drum-Horse's feet as well as he knew his own; but he was silenced
when he saw the regimental number burnt in on the poor stiff, upturned
near-fore.

Thus was the Drum-Horse of the White Hussars buried; the
Farrier-Sergeant grumbling. The sacking that covered the corpse was
smeared in places with black paint; and the Farrier-Sergeant drew
attention to this fact. But the Troop-Sergeant-Major of E Troop kicked
him severely on the shin, and told him that he was undoubtedly drunk.

On the Monday following the burial, the Colonel sought revenge on the
White Hussars. Unfortunately, being at that time temporarily in Command
of the Station, he ordered a Brigade field-day. He said that he wished
to make the regiment "sweat for their damned insolence," and he carried
out his notion thoroughly. That Monday was one of the hardest days in
the memory of the White Hussars.

They were thrown against a skeleton-enemy, and pushed forward, and
withdrawn, and dismounted, and "scientifically handled" in every
possible fashion over dusty country, till they sweated profusely.

Their only amusement came late in the day, when they fell upon the
battery of Horse Artillery and chased it for two mile's.
This was a
personal question, and most of the troopers had money on the event; the
Gunners saying openly that they had the legs of the White Hussars. They
were wrong. A march-past concluded the campaign, and when the Regiment
got back to their Lines, the men were coated with dirt from spur to
chin-strap.

The White Hussars have one great and peculiar privilege. They won it at
Fontenoy, I think.

Many Regiments possess special rights, such as wearing collars with
undress uniform, or a bow of ribbon between the shoulders, or red and
white roses in their helmets on certain days of the year. Some
rights are connected with regimental saints, and some with regimental
successes. All are valued highly; but none so highly as the right of
the White Hussars to have the Band playing when their horses are being
watered in the Lines. Only one tune is played, and that tune never
varies. I don't know its real name, but the White Hussars call
it:--"Take me to London again. " It sounds very pretty. The Regiment
would sooner be struck off the roster than forego their distinction.

After the "dismiss" was sounded, the officers rode off home to prepare
for stables; and the men filed into the lines, riding easy.

That is to say, they opened their tight buttons, shifted their helmets,
and began to joke or to swear as the humor took them; the more careful
slipping off and easing girths and curbs. A good trooper values his
mount exactly as much as he values himself, and believes, or should
believe, that the two together are irresistible where women or men,
girls or guns, are concerned.

Then the Orderly-Officer gave the order:--"Water horses," and the
Regiment loafed off to the squadron-troughs, which were in rear of
the stables and between these and the barracks.