Our busy days passed quickly, and on the ninth of the month a lovely,
still blue day, I ran up to look at the Grand Canary in sight on the
starboard bow, and far to the westward the Peak of Teneriffe, its
snowy cone flushed pink in the morning sun, above a bank of cloud. All
was blotted out in two hours of stable squalors, but at midday we were
anchored off Las Palmas (white houses backed by arid hills), the
ill-fated _Denton Grange_ lying stranded on the rocks, coal barges
alongside, donkey engines chattering on deck, and a swarm of bum-boats
round our sides, filled with tempting heaps of fruit, cigars, and
tobacco. Baskets were slung up on deck, and they drove a roaring
trade. A little vague news filtered down to the troop-deck; Ladysmith
unrelieved, but Buller across the Tugela, and some foggy rumour about
120,000 more men being wanted. The Battery also received a four-footed
recruit in the shape of a little grey monkey, the gift of the
Oxfordshire Yeomanry. He was at once invested with the rank of
Bombardier, and followed all our fortunes in camp and march and action
till our return home. That day was a pleasant break in the monotony,
and also signalized my release from the office of stableman. We were
off again at six; an exquisite night it was, a big moon in the zenith,
the evening star burning steadily over the dim, receding island. We
finished with a sing-song on deck, a crooning, desultory performance,
with sleepy choruses, and a homely beer-bottle passing from mouth to
mouth.

Then came the tropics and the heat, and the steamy doldrums, when the
stable-deck was an "Inferno," and exercising the horses like a
tread-mill in a Turkish bath, and stall-cleaning an unspeakable
business. Yet the hard work kept us in fit condition, and gave zest to
the intervals of rest.