Thus all goes on as merry as a cuckoo until eight miles are covered, when the halt sounds, companies pile arms, and a cup of good coffee is issued to each man with a biscuit, if he requires it, provided by Native cooks who are sent on over night. In half-an-hour the coffee is drank, biscuits are put out of sight, and the pipe is brought to the front; and a nice lot of beauties the men look, covered with dust and sweat. Fall in again, and off for, perhaps, another eight or nine miles; the baggage and tents keep well up with us, for the camels can swing along at a good pace, although they appear to hang over the ground. The new camp ground is duly reached, all marked out by the Quartermaster and his establishment. One would be astonished to see how quickly a canvas city springs into existence; the tents are all up in an incredibly short space of time. The poor Bheasty (water-carrier) has enough of it. In about an hour the men have had a good wash and brush down, when in come the cooks with breakfast--either beef steaks or mutton chops. Breakfast over, some of the men who are tired lie down for a little rest. Some get a book, while others play all sorts of games in the tents. Those who do not feel tired get permission to go off shooting. Game of all kinds is very plentiful in most parts of the country, and it does not take long to find a good hare or a brace of pheasants, and there are no game laws in India. When they come back what they have shot is handed over to the cooks. In forced marching not many go out shooting, for the men are pretty well tired out. From twenty-five to thirty miles per diem, with rifle and accoutrements to carry, in a climate like India, is no joke. But it has been proved that our men can beat the Natives hollow, and march quite away from them. A camel is soon knocked up if you over-work him; and if you attempt to over-task an elephant, he is liable to turn crusty. Moreover, he wants plenty of room, and he'll quietly shake his load off, and put all hands at defiance.