56 THE HORSE AND THE WAR 



so urgently needing fit ones. So it may be that now and then a peremptory 

 order to " halt ! " breaks in on the slow march past, and the Colonel makes 

 a closer inspection of a cumbersome heavy horse or a shuffling mule. He may 

 be " tucked up," " split up," or rather " dried-up " looking — pretty expres- 

 sions that mean something not quite compatible with fighting fitness. " Pull 

 him out, and give him a little more time," observes the critic-in-chief, and the 

 " heavy " goes back to the lines to stay awhile yet in Blighty. Some chargers 

 go out, too, and many a thoroughbred has filed past this same spot to do 

 credit to our incomparable breed. Cavalry horses may have their place 

 in the procession, or their turn may be due on the morrow ; and if the}- have 

 gone to France, they may also have gone further towards the rising sun. For 

 the cavalry have accepted chances in the more distant theatres. 



So the long line of three hundred or so has been completed, to be followed 

 by another an hour later, and still another after that. With the conducting 

 ofiicer at the head, and each man mounted and leading two horses, they have 

 made a move through the streets to the docks. Each horse has been provided 

 with a canvas nosebag, for us^ it may be, on the boat, certainly for use in 

 France. How many tens of thousands, one wonders, have passed along 

 those streets and have filed through those dock gates ? How many more 

 will do so ? For four years now men, horses, and material have been 

 steadily, hour after hour, day after day, hurried France-wards, through those 

 same gates. To meet what fate ? People in those streets have long ceased 

 to wonder at the almost daily processions. Familiarity strangely deadens 

 interest. Once they stood to admire the noble outline of the heavy gun 

 horse, and they marvelled at the numbers of field-gun and wagon horses, 

 and the mules in their thousands from across the ocean. They wondered 

 more and more where they could all come from, and how soon it would be 

 before the reservoir had been drained dry. But the processions came up 

 and went by almost day after day, and the people gave up wondering, as being 

 useless and tiresome. Still they are coming and going. 



They have finished their last journey on English soil now, and they are 

 tied up in a great dock shed. They may share it with troops detraining and 

 stores awaiting shipment. A skilled veterinary officer is making a final 

 inspection prior to approving them for embarkation. A very few he keeps 

 back. He detects a high temperature and the beginnings of respiratory trouble. 

 The last three-mile walk has developed and made evident what had not been 

 suspected until then. The animal thus attacked must wait for another day. 

 So, also, must one which shows symptoms of skin irritation— anathema, 

 indeed, and feared greatly for its devastating consequences if disregarded. 

 And after these last necessary formalities have been observed they are ready 

 for shipment. 



" Mules first," is the order. That is because they are just mules. Out- 

 laws of nature they may be in spite of their tremendous utility and value as 

 aids to the carrying on of modern war, and so they are made to travel steerage 

 as it were. They have to go " below stairs " in the stalls in the dark lower 

 holds. To get there they must descend steep gangways from the main deck. 

 Their descent is necessarily undignified, though, after all. could anything 



