One.

Two.

Three.
Four.
Then, as the bugle sounded "Right forward! fours right!" we moved off at a walk through the melancholy mist that soaked through the very fiber of man and horse, and reduced the minds of both to a condition of limp indifference as to things past, present and future.
Whither we were going we knew not, nor cared.

Such matters had long since ceased to excite any interest.

A cavalryman soon recognizes as the least astonishing thing in his existence the signal to "Fall in!" and start somewhere.