There
is first the riding--simple enough if they catch you young. There are
bits, saddles, and cavalry packs. I know men who have not spoken to each
other in years because they disagree about these. There are the sore
backs and colics--that is a profession in itself. There are judgment of
pace, the battle tactics, the use of three very different weapons; there
is a world of history in this, in forty languages. Then an ever-varying
_terrain_ tops all. There are other things not confined to cavalry, but
regarded by all soldiers. The crowning peculiarity of cavalry is the
rapidity of its movement, whereby a commander can lose the carefully
built up reputation of years in about the time it takes a school-boy to
eat a marsh-mallow. After all, it is surely a hard profession--a very
blind trail to fame. I am glad I am not a cavalryman; still, it is the
happiest kind of fun to look on when you are not responsible; but it
needs some cultivation to understand and appreciate.
I remember a dear friend who had a taste for out-of-doors. He penetrated
deeply into the interior not long since to see these same troopers do a
line of heroics, with a band of Bannocks to support the role. The
Indians could not finally be got on the centre of the stage, but made
hot-foot for the agency. My friend could not see any good in all this,
nor was he satisfied with the first act even. He must needs have a
climax, and that not forthcoming, he loaded his disgust into a trunk
line and brought it back to his club corner here in New York.
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