O. [he who spake
to the seven subalterns]. And every one of those legends told him
of battles fought at long odds, without fear as without support; of
hospitality catholic as an Arab's; of friendships deep as the sea and
steady as the fighting-line; of honour won by hard roads for
honour's sake; and of instant and unquestioning devotion to the
Regiment the Regiment that claims the lives of all and lives for
ever.
More than once, too, he came officially into contact with the
Regimental colours, which looked like the lining of a bricklayer's
hat on the end of a chewed stick. Bobby did not kneel and worship
them, because British subalterns are not constructed in that
manner. Indeed, he condemned them for their weight at the very
moment that they were filling with awe and other more noble
sentiments.
But best of all was the occasion when he moved with the Tail
Twisters in review order at the breaking of a November day.
Allowing for duty-men and sick, the Regiment was one thousand
and eighty strong, and Bobby belonged to them; for was he not a
Subaltern of the Line the whole Line, and nothing but the Line as
the tramp of two thousand one hundred and sixty sturdy
ammunition boots attested? He would not have changed places
with Deighton of the Horse Battery, whirling by in a pillar of cloud
to a chorus of 'Strong right! Strong left!' or Hogan-Yale of the
White Hussars, leading his squadron for all it was worth, with the
price of horseshoes thrown in; or 'Tick' Boileau, trying to live up to
his fierce blue and gold turban while the wasps of the Bengal
Cavalry stretched to a gallop in the wake of the long, lollopping
Walers of the White Hussars.
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