of the retreat from Cabool ? Yet, had
a tithe of the order and regularity
maintained among the French military baggage
animals been enforced among our Indian
troops, a large portion of the Cabool army
would have made their way in safety to
Jellalabad, where General Sale was waiting for
them.

Half an hour before dawn, the first notes
of a bugle are heard from the tent of the
chef-d'-état-major; and, five minutes after,
all the drums in camp begin a noise enough
to awaken the dead. Before leaving the
ground, each soldier is furnished with a cup
of excellent black coffee (that is to say, coffee
without milk); and, in half an hour, all the
small tents d'abri are struck, packed on the
men's shoulders, the baggage animals loaded,
the men in their places, and the word
Mar-r-r-r-r-ch given, with that peculiar
prolonged sounding of the letter r, which every
French officer adopts when shouting the word
of command.

The moment the troops move off, the band
of the leading regiment strikes up, and plays
a lively military march for a half a mile or so.
When the musicians are tired the corps of
drummers (the French have no fifers) begins
its rub-adub, and works away in right good
earnest, while the column gets over another
mile or so.

The regimental bands of the French army
are admirably managed. In Algeria they
are as well kept up—the musicians quite as
numerous, the music is as well played, the
instruments are as good, and the band-masters
as excellent—as if the regiment were
stationed in Paris. In our own army, government
merely provides the men for the band; the
expense of teaching them, of their instruments,
of their clothing, and their extra pay,
falling entirely on the officers. To such
gentlemen as have nothing but their pay to
depend upon, this is a heavy tax; but it is a
part of the magnificent How not to do it, of
the long line of Barnacles. Moreover, an
English regiment is only allowed to employ
one sergeant and fourteen privates as
musicians; so that in case of three or four
happening to fall sick, or of the player of a
leading instrument dying, the whole band is
for the time useless. In a French corps, the
musicians number between forty and fifty ;
the entire expense of the establishment being
borne by the government. The Chef de Music,
or band-master, is invariably a gentleman of
considerable musical attainment, who ranks
as a sub-lieutenant in the regiment. Nor
can the expense of these military bands be
considered as money wasted. The cheering
effects of the music on the men, and the
manner in which it seems to make them forget
their troubles and hardships during active
field service, must be witnessed before it can
be fully appreciated. We had two bands with
our column, one belonging to the infantry,
and one to the hussars. One or other of these
kept playing from time to time, so that in the
course of each morning's march we were seldom
more than a quarter of an hour without
music.

One hour after the start from camp, a halt
was invariably directed. The men piled their
arms, fell out of the ranks, lighted their pipes,
munched the loaves of bread, or the pieces of
biscuit in their havresacks; and, if they had
money, or credit, obtained a small — very
small— glass of brandy from one of the
vivandières; who, also, had bât-mules, from which
they supplied the officers with snacks, and—
although the halt only lasted twenty minutes
— even prepared small cups of hot coffee.
Officers then lighted their cigars or pipes, and
chatted in groups until the drums summoned
them to their posts, when the bands struck up,
and we were once more on the tramp, greatly
refreshed by our brief rest.

Although considered no mean pedestrian,
either on a Scotch moor, or in an Indian,
jungle, I found myself no match at marching
with the regimental infantry officers of the
French army. They never ride on the line of
march, as is almost the invariable rule in
India. With the cloak rolled up, savage
fashion, and slung over the left shoulder,
these gentlemen trudge along by the side of
their men; field-officers alone being mounted.
The French say, and not without some reason,
that captains and subalterns should show
those under their command an example in
bearing fatigue.

At the end of the second hour's march
another halt was called; but, this time, only
for five minutes; when off we went again.
By the time three hours had passed, the sun
was generally pretty high, and very hot. I
can say with truth, that I never felt the
effects of heat upon the head during a march
in India, as I have in the interior of Algiers;
yet the Frenchmen, officers and soldiers,
never appeared to feel it in the least.
Occasionally, a mule carrying the cacolets (a sort
of arm-chair slung on each side of a mule,
which thus carries a couple of sick men), were
sent for from the rear, and a soldier, deadbeat
from heat or fatigue, was placed upon
it. This, however, was quite an exceptionable
case, and no man ever fell out during a
morning's march; which, although it would have
sent half an English battalion into hospital,
never appeared to affect these tough little
Frenchmen in the least. For this there must
be a cause, or rather more than one cause;
and, from the experiences of nearly twenty
years in our own service, I am led to the
following conclusions:

The French dress their troops for service
and for use: not for parade or show. It
is true that the French soldier carries a great
weight about him; but the articles with which
he is loaded tend more or less to his
comfort in the camp. He knows this, and never
dreams of complaining. The tent d'abri,
or small kind of gipsy-tent, is carried among