A story is told of a War Office official who, ignorant of the mountainous character of Hong Kong, wished to add a regiment of British cavalry to its garrison. The general in command at the time, being possessed of a keen sense of humour, gravely requested that the men should be mounted on goats, pointing out that no other animal would prove useful on the Hong Kong hills. But even in the mountainous country of the mainland mounted infantry would be of great use to enable commanding points to be speedily gained. When stationed in Kowloon I organised mounted infantry on mules captured in North China—splendid animals most of them, one standing fifteen hands high. Even in that broken and rugged country I found that the men could move swiftly around the bases of the hills, across the narrow valleys, and up the easier slopes at a speed that defied all pursuit from their comrades on foot. In an advance overland to Canton, mounted infantry would be invaluable when the flat and cultivated country past Samchun was reached; for cavalry would be useless in such closely intersected ground. CHAPTER IX ON COLUMN IN SOUTHERN CHINA A shallow, muddy river running between steep banks. On the grassy slopes of a conical hill the white tents of a camp. Before the quarter‐guard stands a Bombay Infantry sentry in khaki uniform and pugri, the butt of his Lee‐Metford rifle resting on the ground, his eyes turned across the river to where the paddy‐fields of Southern China stretch away to a blue range of distant hills. Figures in khaki or white undress move about the encampment or gather round the mud cooking‐places, where their frugal meal of _chupatties_ and curry is being prepared. A smart, well‐set‐up British officer passes down through the lines of tents and lounging sepoys spring swiftly to attention as he goes by. On the hilltop above a signaller waves his flag rapidly; and down below in the camp a Madrassi havildar spells out his message to a man beside him, who writes it down in a note‐book. Coolies loaded with supplies trudge wearily up the steep path. Before the tents four wicked‐looking little mountain guns turn their ugly muzzles longingly towards a walled town two thousand yards away across the stream, where spots of red and blue resolve themselves through a field‐glass into Chinese soldiers. All around on this side of the river the country lies in never‐ending hills and narrow valleys, with banked paddy‐fields in chess‐board pattern. And on these hills small horseshoe‐shaped masonry tombs or glazed, brown earthen‐ware pots containing the bones of deceased Chinamen fleck the grassy slopes. Across the stream the cultivation is interspersed with low, tree‐crowned eminences or dotted with villages. There on the boundary line, between China and the English territory of the Kowloon Hinterland, a small column guards our possessions against rebel and Imperial soldier, both possible enemies and restrained from violating