oys; but the
seniors, less frivolous, were concerned by the increasing narrowness
of the gorge, and by the dropping fire that hung on our skirts as we
entered it. However, there was but one casualty--a poor fellow of the
17th Regiment had his thigh smashed by a bullet--and we spent the
night under the ilex trees without further molestation.... It was
Christmas Eve when we sat chatting with young Beatson in his lonely
post by the Chardai streamlet; but a few hours of morning riding would
carry us to Jellalabad whither Sir Sam Browne's camp had been
advanced, and we were easy on the score of being true to tryst. As in
the cold grey dawn we resumed our journey, leaving the young officer
who had been our host to concern himself with the watchfulness of his
picquets and the vigilance of his patrols, there was a sound of
unintentional mockery in the conventional wish of a 'Merry Christmas'
to the gallant lad, and there was a wistfulness in his answering
smile.... The road to the encampment, the white canvas of whose
tents showed through the intervening hills, was traversed at a hand
gallop; and presently Kinloch and myself found ourselves in the street
of the headquarter camp, shaking hands with friends and comrades, and
trying to reply to a medley of disjointed questions. The bugles were
sounding for the Christmas Day Church Parade as we finished a hurried
breakfast. Out there on the plain the British troops of the division
were standing in hollow square, the officers grouped in the centre....
The headquarter street we found swept and garnished, the flagstaff
bedecked with holly, and a regimental band playing 'Home, Sweet Home.'
Dear old Sir Sam Browne did not believe in luxury when on campaign,
but now for the first time I saw him at least comfortable.... The mess
anteroom was the camp street outside the dining tent; and at the
fashionable late hour of eight we 'went in' to dinner, to the strains
of the _Roast Beef of Old England_. It was a right jovial feast, and
the most cordial good-fellowship prevailed. He would have been a
cynical epicurean who would have criticised the appointments; the
banquet itself was above all cavil. Rummaging among some old papers
the other day, I found the _menu_, which deserves to be quoted:
'Soup--Julienne. Fish--Whitebait (from the Cabul River).
Entrees--Cotelettes aux Champignons, Poulets a la Mayonaise.
Joints--Ham and fowls, roast beef, roast saddle of mutton, boiled
brisket of beef, boil