The advanced guard, led by the handsome subaltern, was several hundred paces in front. The Hottentots brought up the rear, and the “Fighting Light-Bobs,” commanded by their grey-headed captain, formed the column. With them marched Charlie, conspicuous in his blue lancer uniform, now respectfully addressing his superior officer, now jesting good-humouredly with his temporary comrades. The sun rose on a jovial, light-hearted company; when next his beams shall gild the same arid plains, the same twining _mimosas_, the same glorious landscape, shut in by the jagged peaks of the Anatola mountains, they will glance back from many a firelock lying ownerless on the sand; they will deepen the clammy hue of death on many a bold forehead; they will fail to warm many a gallant heart, cold and motionless for ever. But the men go on all the same, laughing and jesting merrily, as they “march at ease,” and beguile the way with mirth and song. “We’ll get a sup o’ brandy to-night, anyhow, won’t us, Bill?” says a weather-beaten “Light-Bob” to his front-rank man, a thirsty old soldier as was ever “confined to barracks.” “Ay,” replies Bill, “them black beggars has got plenty of lush--more’s the pity; and they doesn’t give none to their wives--more’s their sense. Ax your pardon, sir,” he adds, turning to Charlie, “but we shall advance right upon their centre, now, anyways, shan’t us?” Ere Charlie could reply he was interrupted by Bill’s comrade, who seemed to have rather a _penchant_ for Kaffir ladies. “Likely young women they be, too, Bill, those niggers’ wives; why, every Kaffir has a dozen at least, and we’ve only three to a company; wouldn’t I like to be a Kaffir?” “_Black!_” replied Bill, in a tone of intense disgust. “What’s the odds?” urged the matrimonial champion, “a black wife’s a sight better than none at all;” and straightway he began to hum a military ditty, of which fate only permitted him to complete the first two stanzas:-- “They’re sounding the charge for a brush, my boys! And we’ll carry their camp with a rush, my boys! When we’ve driven them out, I make no doubt We’ll find they’ve got plenty of lush, my boys! For the beggars delight To sit soaking all night, Black although they be. And when we get liquor so cheap, my boys! We’ll do nothing but guzzle and sleep, my boys! And sit on the grass with a Kaffir lass, Though smutty the wench as a sweep, my boys! For the Light Brigade Are the lads for a maid, Black although she may be.”