From that time on, all the commands
were to be given by the bugle.
"Trot! March!" traveled on clear, musical notes, and the long
line of young horsemen moved forward at a faster gait. There
was none of the bumping up and down in saddle that disfigures
the riding taught in most riding schools. These gray-clad young
centaurs rode as though parts of their animals.
Straight past the canvas shelter that had been erected for the
superintendent, the Board of Visitors and their ladies, swung
the four platoons in magnificent order and rhythm.
Then, on the return, the young cavalrymen swept, at a gallop,
by platoons, in echelon and by column of squads. This done, the
cadets rode forward, baiting in line before the reviewers. Here
the senior cavalry instructor rode in front and gave the command:
"Present---sabres!"
The salute to the superintendent and his guests was given with
magnificent precision.
"Continue the drill, Mr. Prescott!" rang the senior instructor's
voice.
Once more the line of gray and steel swept over the plain. Now,
the evolutions were those of the field in war time. The charge
brought cheers from a thousand throats, and a great fluttering
of handkerchiefs.
Then, while three platoons halted, remaining motionless in saddle,
the fourth platoon, after starting at the gallop, sheathed sabres
and drew pistols.
Crack! crack! Crack! crack! It was merely mimic war, with
blank ammunition, but not an onlooker escaped the impression of
how much death and destruction such a line of charging, firing
men might carry before them.
Pages:
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183