as though these cavalry officers had been
fashioned by nature to sit on a horse. I suppose it is heredity.
Certainly they are all of a type.

An interesting unofficial incident was provided by a man in the
4th Dragoon Guards producing a fine bay horse which he wagered 30
to 1 against any officer riding. It was a real American
buck-jumper. This challenge was enough for the dare-devil
subalterns of the ---- Hussars, and one of them, Beach-Hay, a
splendid horseman, promptly closed with the offer. For twenty
minutes or so he tried to mount, without succeeding; finally he
muffled the horse's head in a cloak and got on his back. Then he
dug his spurs in and set off at a gallop over the wide plain
where the show was being held. All went well for some time until
suddenly, without any warning, the horse put his feet together,
arched his back, and leapt several feet into the air, at the same
time turning to the left sharply. This the horse repeated several
times, up hill, down hill, sideways. How Beach-Hay managed to
keep his seat no one could tell; it was marvellous the way he
stuck on. At last the spirited animal contrived to get the rider
well forward on his neck, and then Hay slipped off and the horse
was away over the plain at full gallop, riderless. He was chased
and caught at last after a long run. Then up stepped a wily old
trooper of the 5th Dragoon Guards who used to be a jockey. He saw
that the horse was now tired out and got on his back without
difficulty, and as the animal by this time was utterly fagged, he
found little trouble in keeping his seat. All the honours,
however, belonged to the young subaltern.

Did you see that wonderful record of R. B. B. Jones[7] of
Dulwich? He shot no fewer than fifteen Boches in a scrap in the
craters on the Vimy Ridge before himself being killed. I remember
him more than well--a short, sturdy fellow, a very good shot, and
an excellent diver and gymnast. He did not go in much for cricket
or for football. Poor chap! Yet such a death, I think, is far
more to be coveted than an ignoble life far from danger and risk.
I often think of those lines of Adam Lindsay Gordon:

No game was ever yet worth a rap for a rational man to play,
Into which no accident, no mishap, could possibly find its way.