as if he were some local go-between
and non-combatant; perhaps a guide or a journalist. He has been closeted
with old Colonel Clancy; but is more often seen talking to the major.
Indeed, the major is somewhat prominent in this soldier's narrative;
a lean, dark-haired man, apparently, of the name of Murray--a north of
Ireland man and a Puritan. There are continual jests about the contrast
between this Ulsterman's austerity and the conviviality of
Colonel Clancy. There is also some joke about the Vulture wearing
bright-coloured clothes.

"But all these levities are scattered by what may well be called the
note of a bugle. Behind the English camp and almost parallel to the
river ran one of the few great roads of that district. Westward the road
curved round towards the river, which it crossed by the bridge before
mentioned. To the east the road swept backwards into the wilds, and some
two miles along it was the next English outpost. From this direction
there came along the road that evening a glitter and clatter of
light cavalry, in which even the simple diarist could recognise with
astonishment the general with his staff. He rode the great white horse
which you have seen so often in illustrated papers and Academy pictures;
and you may be sure that the salute they gave him was not merely
ceremonial. He, at least, wasted no time on ceremony, but, springing
from the saddle immediately, mixed with the group of officers, and fell
into emphatic though confidential speech. What struck our friend the
diarist most was his special disposition to discuss matters with Major
Murray; but, indeed, such a selection, so long as it was not marked, was
in no way unnatural. The two men were made for sympathy; they were men
who 'read their Bibles'; they were both the old Evangelical type of
officer. However this may be, it is certain that when the general
mounted again he was still talking earnestly to Murray; and that as
he walked his horse slowly down the road towards the river, the tall
Ulsterman still walked by his bridle rein in earnest debate. The
soldiers watched the two until they vanished behind a clump of trees
where the road turned towards the river. The colonel had gone back to
his tent, and the men to their pickets; the man with the diary lingered
for another four minutes, and saw a marvellous sight.

"The great white horse which had marched slowly down the road, as it had
marched in so many processions, flew back, galloping up