had vague ideas of the power of the Press.

"You see, Sir," remonstrated his Colour-Sergeant; "if the rear rank
think they should stand fast when you give the command 'Open order!'
it is only a matter of opinion. You may be right, or you may be wrong.
Speaking for myself, I am inclined to fancy that the men are making a
mistake; but you can't always consider yourself omniscient."

"Sergeant," returned the officer, harshly; "it is not the business of
men to argue, but to obey."

"Pardon me again, Sir, but isn't that slightly old-fashioned? I know
that theoretically you have reason on your side; but then in these
days of the latter end of the nineteenth century, we must not he bound
too tightly to precedent."

The Captain bit his moustache for the fourth time, and then again gave
the order. But there was no response. The Company moved not a muscle.

"This is mutiny!" cried the officer. "I will break everyone of you.
I will put you all in the cells; and in the orderly room to-morrow
morning, we will soon see if there is such a thing as discipline."

"Discipline!" repeated the Sergeant. "Beg your pardon, Sir, but I
don't think the men understand what you mean. The word is not to be
found in the most recent dictionaries."

And certainly things seemed to be reaching a climax, for however much
the Commander might shout, not one of the rank and file stirred an
inch. It was at this moment that a cloaked figure approached the