several pairs of eyes looked up from polishing bits and bridles to scan
me from top to toe.

I was shown into the mess tent, where I was told to wait for the C.O.,
and in the meantime made friends with "Castor," the Corps' bull-dog and
mascot, who was lying in a clothes-basket with a bandaged paw as the
result of an argument with a regimental pal at Bisley.

A sudden diversion was caused by a severe thunderstorm which literally
broke right over the camp. I heard the order ring out "To the
horse-lines!" and watched (through a convenient hole in the canvas)
several "troopers" flying helter-skelter down the field.

To everyone's disappointment, however, those old skins never turned a
hair; there was not even the suggestion of a stampede. I cautiously
pushed my suit-case under the mess table in the hope of keeping it dry,
for the rain was coming down in torrents, and in places poured through
the canvas roof in small rivulets. (Even in peace-time comfort in the
F.A.N.Y. Camp was at a minimum!)

They all trooped in presently, very wet and jolly, and Lieutenant Ashley
Smith (McDougal) introduced me as a probable recruit. When the storm was
over she kindly lent me an old uniform, and I was made to feel quite at
home by being handed about thirty knives and asked to rub them in the
earth to get them clean. The cooks loved new recruits!

Feeling just then was running very high over the Irish question. I
learnt a contingent had been offered and accepted, in case of
hostilities, and that the C.O. had even been over to Belfast to arrange
about stables and housing!