The old general smiled grimly as he muttered— "They’re getting on." In this way he conducted the fight to the point of assault. This, of course, was the critical stage of the whole manœuvres. But before proceeding he gave another address. "Look here, my boys. This is where you’ve got to frighten the devil out of the enemy, and charge like Hell. When you charge, open your mouth and yell like a mad Dervish. Keep yelling till you get at them, and then plug your bayonet home with a mighty thrust. As you pull it out give it a pleasant twist. Every twist helps to end the war. Are you ready?" "Yes, sir." "Well, charge!" and off went "Sunny Jim" at their head yelling like a mad fakir. They gleefully followed and charged as they never had before. At the conclusion he formed them up, remarking, "Well, how did you like that?" "Fine, sir," was the quick response. "All right, lads; that’s the way I want it done—good day to you." "Good day, sir," answered the company, as proud as Punch. There was no more growling in the Mixed Division, for the general had shown them that he could do their job. CHAPTER XIII. TRAINING FOR WAR. _The_ soldier of to-day is a very different person to the one of fifty years ago. In the past, all that was asked of a Tommy was clean buttons, a padded chest, and handling of arms. To-day, the soldier is equal to the officer of Wellington’s time. His brain is a well-packed encyclopedia on everything from minor tactics to sanitary duties in war. In the past, he was a machine—a splendid machine; now he is an individualist, one trained to use his science in such a way that he feels that upon his conduct the fate of a battle depends. Many stripes have been lost, and many hearts broken, in the achievement of this necessary standard; but, thank Heaven, common-sense has come to stay. It is now practically impossible for an officer to hide his inefficiency under a mask of haughty reserve. Modern tactics demand that he shall teach his men the alphabet of military affairs, as well as those side-issues which count so much in the making of a soldier. Mental superiority and physical efficiency are the only qualities which can inspire loyalty, discipline, and confidence. Of course, the strain is hard, especially upon an officer. Too hard, perhaps, when one thinks of the niggardly pay and the chance of losing one’s life in the tender and more useful years. Nevertheless, it is mighty interesting and equally amusing. Imagine a corps like the Glesca Mileeshy suddenly mobilised and ordered to train and become fit within three months. Fortunately Colonel Corkleg was a resourceful and a clever man. He commenced at the bottom—that is, on the square. It is there that obedience and discipline are developed and perfected. When a regiment can march and drill like the Guards’ Brigade, there is no fear for its conduct in the sternest battle. This was the colonel’s reasoning, and all agreed that he was correct.