118 WANDEEINGS OF A 



along a dusty road at all likely to form a pleasant prelude to 

 an excursion in the lieat of mid-day, in a climate which re- 

 quires thiit all journeys be performed before sunrise. No- 

 madic life in a marching regiment in India has its attractions 

 nevertheless, and those who are content to follow out the 

 routine will find, on the score of health, that there are few 

 more salutary states of existence — the constant changing 

 scene, the varied novelty of every day, and regular habits, 

 have a wonderful effect on man and beast. The pale face 

 becomes bronzed, and the climate-worn soldier plucks up, 

 and after a few weeks' steady marching, and away from the 

 debilitating grog-shops, the men look as if they could do 

 anything, or go anywhere. 



An Indian camp breaking up would form a 'fine subject 

 for the painter. Suppose the hour 3 a.m. No sooner does 

 the bugle sound than the quiet of the preceding hours is 

 broken, and the noise of wooden maUets and the bellowing 

 of camels soon arouse us from our slumbers. Tents are 

 observed faUing as if by magic, the white rows of canvas 

 streets disappear one after another, louder and louder roar 

 the camels amid the hum and discord of human voices. The 

 turbaned native and red-coated soldier are seen mingling in 

 inextricable confusion. By the light of the camp fires, the 

 camels' gaunt figures, or an occasional elephant laden with 

 tents and heavy baggage, defile past one after another ; the 

 dark forms of of&cers, just turned out of bed, cluster around 

 the blazing straw fires. Again the bugle sends forth its shrill 

 and deep-toned call "to arms," when all rush through the 

 gloom, the band strikes up a lively air, and headed by two 

 native torch-bearers to light us on our pathless way, in ten 

 minutes the regiment is once more on its orderly march, 

 while nothing remains but the dying embers of the fires, a 



