I heard a chain dragging along the ground, and a yoke of the great sulky white bullocks that drag the heavy siege-guns when the elephants won’t go any nearer to the firing, came shouldering along together; and almost stepping on the chain was another battery-mule, calling wildly for “Billy.”
“That’s one of our recruits,” said the old mule to the troop-horse. “He’s calling for me. Here, youngster, stop squealing; the dark never hurt anybody yet.”
The gun-bullocks lay down together and began chewing the cud, but the young mule huddled close to Billy.
“Things!” he said; “fearful and horrible things, Billy! They came into our lines while we were asleep. D’you think they’ll kill us?”
“I’ve a very great mind to give you a number one kicking,” said Billy. “The idea of a fourteen-hand mule with your training disgracing the battery before this gentleman!”
“Gently, gently!” said the troop-horse. “Remember they are always like this to begin with. The first time I ever saw a man (it was in Australia when I was a three-year-old) I ran for half a day, and if I’d seen a camel I should have been running still.”
Nearly all our horses for the English cavalry are brought to India from Australia, and are broken in by the troopers themselves.
“True enough,” said Billy. “Stop shaking, youngster. The first time they put the full harness with all its chains on my back, I stood on my fore legs and kicked every bit of it off. I hadn’t learned the real science of kicking then, but the battery said they had never seen anything like it.”
“But this wasn’t harness or anything that jingled,” said the young mule. “You know I don’t mind that now, Billy. It was Things like trees, and