The General passed on, taking it for granted that the man had never heard of a squad, and making some gentlemanlike observations on the utility of such partitions of a company, expressed himself satisfied with the fine appearance of the regiment, and our inspection ended with credit to us, this solitary instance excepted. This was, however, enough. Ill-nature and scandal seldom lack arguments. They are ever ready to take a hint, and it is unnecessary that a report should be as true as the gospel to form a foundation for their belief of it. An hour had not elapsed when the entire division were made acquainted (through some of our friends!) with the story. Groups of officers might be seen together (God forgive them!) laughing at our expense. “Well!” cried one, “did you hear what happened with the Connaughts to-day?”—“No,” replied a second, “but I’ll bet twenty dollars I guess; another sheep or goat found in their quarters?”—“No. But when General Mackinnon inspected them just now, there was not one man in the regiment who knew what a squad was!”—“I would have sworn it,” replied a third. An old crone of a major now joined the group, and shaking his head said, “Ah! they are a sad set!” Poor idiot! The 88th was a more really _efficient_ regiment than almost any _two_ corps in the 3rd Division. CHAPTER XII Officers and sergeants—Fairfield and his bad habit—Regimental mechanism—Impolitic familiarity—3rd Division at the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo—Lieutenant D‘Arcy and Ody Brophy—The Irish pilot. The joke about Darby Rooney’s wardrobe, and the conversation that took place between him and General Mackinnon, was circulated throughout the army, and I believe there was not one regiment unacquainted with the circumstance; indeed, so general was its circulation, that it reached the headquarters of Lord Wellington himself, and, if report spoke truly (which it doesn’t always do), it caused his lordship to laugh heartily.