they were to be followed by us — and the “us,” I may remark, means, and always will mean in this narrative, the Bengal Yeomanry Cavalry— the whole being covered by a native regiment of the Madras Army as a rear guard. The line of march having thus been formed, the bugles rang out the “advance,” and away we moved.
Our route lay along that famous Grand Trunk Road leading to the North-West Provinces, and on its smooth metallic surface men and animals, fresh from the first cantonment, swung along at a smart pace, and reached the halting ground as the crowing of farm-yard tenantry proclaimed the commencement of dawn. Here to our yet inexperienced eyes the change was striking. Tents were pitched, arms piled, sentries posted, fires kindled, breakfasts served — in short, the whole force, with its long train of camp followers and beasts of burden, settled down at ease; whilst amid the novelty and routine of camp life the day glided away pleasantly enough, and at eventide retiring to rest in good time, men slept soundly and refreshed themselves for the morrow‘s work. So, in a word, began and closed the first march at the opening of our campaign.
At the break of day on the following morning the march of the force began again, and was conducted in the same manner as before, until a portion of it was suddenly detached from the main body in order to pursue mutineers through Sonthalistan. Of course hurried inquiries into the cause of this change in our
