harness-sheets are spread over each set there is enough for the ends
to lap over and make a roof for the head, and also for the feet. Then
I wrap myself in my two blankets, and if an oatsack is obtainable,
first get my feet into that. My waterproof sheet serves as
counterpane. It is not wanted as a mattress, as no dew falls till the
morning, and the ground is dry at bed-time. After rain, of course, it
has to go beneath one. The great point is to keep your blankets as dry
as you can, for, once wet with dew or rain, they remain wet, since we
both start and arrive in the dark, and thus cannot count on drying
them. It is a good plan before turning in to see that the horses in
the lines near you are securely tied up, as it is vexatious to be
walked on in the night by a heavy artillery horse; also to have all
your kit and belongings exactly where you can lay hands on them in the
dark. At reveillé, which, by the way, takes the shape of a rude shake
from the picket of the night (there is no trumpet used in
campaigning), you shiver out of your nest, the Sergeant-Major's
whistle blows, and you at once feed your horses. Then you pack your
off-saddle, rolling the ground-sheet, blankets, and harness-sheet,
with the muzzles, surcingle-pads, hay-nets, etc., and strapping the
roll on the saddle. Then you harness as fast as you can (generally
helped by a gunner), make up two fresh feeds and tie them up in
nose-bags on the saddle, and put on your belt, haversack,
water-bottle, and other accoutrements. In the middle of this there
will be a cry of "D coffee up!" and you drop everything and run with
the crowd for your life to get that precious fluid, and the porridge,
if there is any. You bolt them in thirty seconds, and run back to
strap your mess-tin on your saddle, put the last touches to your
harness, and hook in the team. Of course we sleep in our cloaks, and
wear them till about eight, when the sun gets strength. Then we seize
a chance to roll them at a halt, and strap them in front of the riding