when the horses were fed and watered, and forage drawn. Breakfast was
at seven: the food rough, but generally good. We were split up into
messes of about fourteen, each of which elected two "mess orderlies,"
who drew the rations, washed up, swept the troop-deck, and were
excused all other duties. I, and my friend Gunner Basil Williams, a
colleague in my office at home, were together in the same mess.
Coffee, bread and butter, and something of a dubious, hashy nature,
were generally the fare at breakfast. I, as stableman, was constantly
with the horses, but for the rest the next event was morning stables,
about nine o'clock, which was a long and tedious business. The horses
would be taken out of their stalls, and half of us would lead them
round the stable-deck for exercise, while the rest took out the
partitions and cleaned the stalls. Then ensued exciting scenes in
getting them back again, an operation that most would not agree to
without violent compulsion--and small blame to the poor brutes. It
used to take our whole sub-division to shove my roan in. Each driver
has two horses. My dun was a peaceful beast, but the roan was a
by-word in the sub-division. When all was finished, and the horses fed
and watered, it would be near 12.30, which was the dinner-hour. Some
afternoons were free, but generally there would be more exercising and
stall-cleaning, followed by the afternoon feeds and watering. At six
came tea, and then all hands, including us stablemen, were free.

Hammocks were slung about seven, and it was one of the nightly
problems to secure a place. I generally found under the hatchway,
where it was airy, but in rainy weather moist. Then we were free to
talk and smoke on deck till any hour. Before going to bed, I used to
write my diary, down below, at a mess-table, where the lights shot dim
rays through vistas of serried hammocks, while overhead the horses
fidgeted and trampled in their stalls, making a distracting thunder on