EPISODE: 26

Nearly all our horses for the English cavalry are brought to

India from Australia, and are broken in by the troopers

themselves.

"True enough," said Billy. "Stop shaking, youngster. The first

time they put the full harness with all its chains on my back I

stood on my forelegs and kicked every bit of it off. I hadn't

learned the real science of kicking then, but the battery said they

had never seen anything like it."

"But this wasn't harness or anything that jingled," said the

young mule. "You know I don't mind that now, Billy. It was

Things like trees, and they fell up and down the lines and

bubbled; and my head-rope broke, and I couldn't find my driver,

and I couldn't find you, Billy, so I ran off with—with these

gentlemen."

"H'm!" said Billy. "As soon as I heard the camels were loose I

came away on my own account. When a battery—a screw-gun

mule calls gun-bullocks gentlemen, he must be very badly

shaken up. Who are you fellows on the ground there?"

The gun bullocks rolled their cuds, and answered both

together: "The seventh yoke of the first gun of the Big Gun

Battery. We were asleep when the camels came, but when we

were trampled on we got up and walked away. It is better to lie

quiet in the mud than to be disturbed on good bedding. We told

your friend here that there was nothing to be afraid of, but he

knew so much that he thought otherwise. Wah!"

They went on chewing.

"That comes of being afraid," said Billy. "You get laughed at by

gun-bullocks. I hope you like it, young un."

The young mule's teeth snapped, and I heard him say

something about not being afraid of any beefy old bullock in the

world. But the bullocks only clicked their horns together and

went on chewing. "Now, don't be angry after you've been afraid. That's the worst

kind of cowardice," said the troop-horse. "Anybody can be

forgiven for being scared in the night, I think, if they see things

they don't understand. We've broken out of our pickets, again

and again, four hundred and fifty of us, just because a new

recruit got to telling tales of whip snakes at home in Australia

till we were scared to death of the loose ends of our head-ropes."

"That's all very well in camp," said Billy. "I'm not above

stampeding myself, for the fun of the thing, when I haven't been

out for a day or two. But what do you do on active service?"

"Oh, that's quite another set of new shoes," said the troop

horse. "Dick Cunliffe's on my back then, and drives his knees

into me, and all I have to do is to watch where I am putting my

feet, and to keep my hind legs well under me, and be bridle-

wise."

"What's bridle-wise?" said the young mule.

"By the Blue Gums of the Back Blocks," snorted the troop-

horse, "do you mean to say that you aren't taught to be bridle-

wise in your business? How can you do anything, unless you can

spin round at once when the rein is pressed on your neck? It

means life or death to your man, and of course that's life and

death to you. Get round with your hind legs under you the

instant you feel the rein on your neck. If you haven't room to

swing round, rear up a little and come round on your hind legs.

That's being bridle-wise."

"We aren't taught that way," said Billy the mule stiffly. "We're

taught to obey the man at our head: step off when he says so,

and step in when he says so. I suppose it comes to the same

thing. Now, with all this fine fancy business and rearing, which

must be very bad for your hocks, what do you do?"

"That depends," said the troop-horse. "Generally I have to go

in among a lot of yelling, hairy men with knives—long shiny

knives, worse than the farrier's knives—and I have to take care

that Dick's boot is just touching the next man's boot without crushing it. I can see Dick's lance to the right of my right eye,

and I know I'm safe. I shouldn't care to be the man or horse that

stood up to Dick and me when we're in a hurry."

"Don't the knives hurt?" said the young mule.

"Well, I got one cut across the chest once, but that wasn't

Dick's fault—"

"A lot I should have cared whose fault it was, if it hurt!" said

the young mule.

"You must," said the troop horse. "If you don't trust your man,

you may as well run away at once. That's what some of our

horses do, and I don't blame them. As I was saying, it wasn't

Dick's fault. The man was lying on the ground, and I stretched

myself not to tread on him, and he slashed up at me. Next time I

have to go over a man lying down I shall step on him—hard."

"H'm!" said Billy. "It sounds very foolish. Knives are dirty

things at any time. The proper thing to do is to climb up a

mountain with a well-balanced saddle, hang on by all four feet

and your ears too, and creep and crawl and wriggle along, till

you come out hundreds of feet above anyone else on a ledge

where there's just room enough for your hoofs. Then you stand

still and keep quiet—never ask a man to hold your head, young

un—keep quiet while the guns are being put together, and then

you watch the little poppy shells drop down into the tree-tops

ever so far below."

"Don't you ever trip?" said the troop-horse.

"They say that when a mule trips you can split a hen's ear,"

said Billy. "Now and again perhaps a badly packed saddle will

upset a mule, but it's very seldom. I wish I could show you our

business. It's beautiful. Why, it took me three years to find out

what the men were driving at. The science of the thing is never

to show up against the sky line, because, if you do, you may get

fired at. Remember that, young un. Always keep hidden as much

as possible, even if you have to go a mile out of your way. I lead

the battery when it comes to that sort of climbing." "Fired at without the chance of running into the people who

are firing!" said the troop-horse, thinking hard. "I couldn't stand

that. I should want to charge—with Dick."

"Oh, no, you wouldn't. You know that as soon as the guns are

in position they'll do all the charging. That's scientific and neat.

But knives—pah!"

The baggage-camel had been bobbing his head to and fro for

some time past, anxious to get a word in edgewise. Then I heard

him say, as he cleared his throat, nervously:

"I—I—I have fought a little, but not in that climbing way or

that running way."

"No. Now you mention it," said Billy, "you don't look as

though you were made for climbing or running—much. Well,

how was it, old Hay-bales?"

"The proper way," said the camel. "We all sat down—"

"Oh, my crupper and breastplate!" said the troop-horse under

his breath. "Sat down!"

"We sat down—a hundred of us," the camel went on, "in a big

square, and the men piled our packs and saddles, outside the

square, and they fired over our backs, the men did, on all sides

of the square."

"What sort of men? Any men that came along?" said the troop-

horse. "They teach us in riding school to lie down and let our

masters fire across us, but Dick Cunliffe is the only man I'd trust

to do that. It tickles my girths, and, besides, I can't see with my

head on the ground."

"What does it matter who fires across you?" said the camel.

"There are plenty of men and plenty of other camels close by,

and a great many clouds of smoke. I am not frightened then. I

sit still and wait."

"And yet," said Billy, "you dream bad dreams and upset the

camp at night. Well, well! Before I'd lie down, not to speak of sitting down, and let a man fire across me, my heels and his

head would have something to say to each other. Did you ever

hear anything so awful as that?"

There was a long silence, and then one of the gun bullocks

lifted up his big head and said, "This is very foolish indeed.

There is only one way of fighting."

"Oh, go on," said Billy. "Please don't mind me. I suppose you

fellows fight standing on your tails?"

"Only one way," said the two together. (They must have been

twins.) "This is that way. To put all twenty yoke of us to the big

gun as soon as Two Tails trumpets." ("Two Tails" is camp slang

for the elephant.)

"What does Two Tails trumpet for?" said the young mule.

"To show that he is not going any nearer to the smoke on the

other side. Two Tails is a great coward. Then we tug the big gun

all together—Heya—Hullah! Heeyah! Hullah! We do not climb

like cats nor run like calves. We go across the level plain, twenty

yoke of us, till we are unyoked again, and we graze while the big

guns talk across the plain to some town with mud walls, and

pieces of the wall fall out, and the dust goes up as though many

cattle were coming home."

"Oh! And you choose that time for grazing?" said the young

mule.

"That time or any other. Eating is always good. We eat till we

are yoked up again and tug the gun back to where Two Tails is

waiting for it. Sometimes there are big guns in the city that

speak back, and some of us are killed, and then there is all the

more grazing for those that are left. This is Fate. None the less,

Two Tails is a great coward. That is the proper way to fight. We

are brothers from Hapur. Our father was a sacred bull of Shiva.

We have spoken."

"Well, I've certainly learned something tonight," said the troop-

horse. "Do you gentlemen of the screw-gun battery feel inclined....