o the ground, the French trumpeters blew a lively fanfare
which was followed by a roll of drums. Never was so picturesque a
parade, the verdict of one who can let his mind rove back through the
military pageants of India, Russia, Japan, Germany, Austria,
Switzerland, China, Canada, U.S.A., Australia, and New Zealand. Yes,
Alexandria has seen some pretty shows in its time; Cleopatra had an eye
to effect and so, too, had the great Napoleon. But I doubt whether the
townsfolk have ever seen anything to equal the _coup d'oeil_ engineered
by d'Amade. Under an Eastern sun the colours of the French uniforms,
gaudy in themselves, ran riot, and the troops had surely been posted by
one who was an artist in more than soldiering. Where the yellow sand was
broken by a number of small conical knolls with here and there a group,
and here and there a line, of waving palms, there, on the knolls, were
clustered the Mountain Batteries and the Batteries of Mitrailleuses. The
Horse, Foot and Guns were drawn up, Infantry in front, Cavalry in rear,
and the Field Artillery--the famous 75s--at right angles.

Infantry of the Line in grey; Zouaves in blue and red; Senegalese wore
dark blue and the Foreign Legion blue-grey. The Cavalry rode Arabs and
barbs mostly white stallions; they wore pale blue tunics and bright
scarlet breeches.

I rode down the lines of Infantry first and then galloped through the
heavy sand to the right of the Cavalry and inspected them, by d'Amade's
request, at a trot, winding up with the six Batteries of Artillery. On
reaching the Saluting Base, I was introduced to the French Minister
whilst d'Amade presented colours to two Regiments (175th Regiment de
marche d'Afrique and the 4th Colonial Regiment) making a short and
eloquent speech.

He then took command of the parade and marched past me at the head of
his forces. Were all the Houris of Paradise waving lily hands on the one
side, and were these French soldiers on the other side, I would give my
cold shoulder to the Houris.

The Cavalry swung along at the trot to the cadence of the trumpets and
to the clink-clank and glitter of steel. The beautiful, high-stepping
barbs; the trembling of the earth beneath their hoofs; the banner
streaming; the swordsmen of France sweeping past the saluting base;
breaking into the gallop; sounding the charge; charging; _ventre a
terre_; out into the desert where, in an instant, they were snatched
from our sight and changed into a pilla