wisps of straw overboard for targets, and I am more than pleased with the way they are shooting, at a moving target from a moving ship. You might also mention to my friend General Wace that Holmes is making excellent practice with his Maxim gun.
C.V.S. DICKINS
N.J. BOLST
CAPT. HOLMES
P.T. CORBETT
SERGT. DALE
MAXIM-GUN CONTINGENT
This is one picture of life in a troopship under the happiest conditions. There is another side to the picture, of which we may get glimpses in the experiences of men in Company B, to whom Calcutta’s citizens gave a hearty ‘God speed’ when they embarked in the ‘Ujina’ at Kidderpore Docks on March 3. Before she had cast off from her moorings the troopers had been called to dinner, and that feast was a revelation to them of all they were leaving behind. One corporal described it as ‘a sort of stew in stable-buckets, too filthy for anything’; but that may have been merely a little ebullition of aristocratic prejudice. Nevertheless, he and two comrades hurried on shore, and drove as fast as they could to Madan’s in the town, where they invested 200 rupees in sundry things which they regarded as necessaries for their sustenance during the voyage. They were back in time to hear the Lieutenant-Governor’s and Bishop Welldon’s speeches, and then to join in a parting cheer for their old adjutant, Captain Martin, who only left them to go on shore as the ‘Ujina’ cast off. The subsequent proceedings of that day are not recorded in the corporal’s diary, who contents himself with noting that he ‘had some tea—no milk, and awfully sweet.’ When he awoke next morning, after a restless night on bare planks between decks, the thought of creature-comforts must have been uppermost still, for he was aware of ‘gnawing pains—result of nothing to eat,’ and his morning reflections begin with the disjointed phrases: ‘No knives and forks. No salt. Those who had penknives were lucky. Fortunately we all had fingers.’ Was there in those last words a prophetic suggestion that some of them might not even have fingers for such uses after a while? If so, the gloomy foreboding passed without record, giving place to action, for at 6 o’clock that morning the corporal whose notes throw a glimmer of light on much of the darker side that is too often ignored, found himself in charge of a stable fatigue, wading at the heels of the horses in a foul, dark, unventilated drain about thirty inches wide, from which nothing ran off. He mentions incidentally that the four unfortunate men who had to clear away this accumulated filth were ‘very indignant’; and from this we may gather that they used adjectives to express their opinion of that first stable fatigue on board ship. It does not read like the best possible means of promoting a healthy appetite, but when called to breakfast three hours later they looked with dismay at a loaf that was to last each of them the whole day, and when one small tin of brawn was put before them for division among sixteen men at a table, they came to the conclusion that it ‘seemed very short commons indeed.’ Some of the men found that their carefully-arranged kits had been thrown aside in a confused heap to make room for native followers, and they ventured on a mild remonstrance, but were told, ‘You must look after your own things; you don’t have your bearers here.’ That obvious truth had impressed itself upon them very forcibly some hours earlier, while they were doing stable fatigue, and it needed no rubbing in. Other trials followed, as we gather from a brief but expressive note: ‘Dinner at 1.0. Soup and a messy stew in buckets, as before. Tried to get some salt unsuccessfully, and, returning, found the stew all gone. Beer was served out, which I didn’t drink. Gave my bottle away and drank water, hot and cloudy, out of a bath-tin. No knives or forks yet. Through our mess-room, while we feed, files a long procession of syces, transport wallahs, servants, Candaharis; sometimes a herd of goats, and always Lascars, carrying ropes, hoses, or buckets. Now they have kicked us out from where we were making ourselves comfortable below, and I miss much a corner, even such as my horse has, where I could put my things in safety. At night we throw our straw mattresses wherever we can find a vacant space, and scramble in confusion for our kits out of a heap of exactly similar ones. We would gladly have paid our own expenses for a little more comfort. The last straw came at 7.30, when the “cook-house” bugle went again, but the chef said, “No orders to cook anything more,” and shut the door in the faces of orderlies. The N.C.O.s then went in a body and complained. Result—bread and beer were served out. It was bread and water for me. Lay my mattress down among the horses, and was comfortable in spite of the stuffy smell and stamping about all night.’ Still, his thoughts seem to have dwelt on the idea that there was much to complain of—the coarse tin pots, the tea extremely sweet and without milk, the hot and dirty water—not even a dry canteen from which to supplement the scanty fare, and so on until he dropped into sweet sleep. That sleep must have been very refreshing, or a considerable change had come upon the ship by the next morning, when the food had improved greatly, and at supper the ‘men were merry enough, with great singing of songs.’ Later entries in this diary show that the first highly-coloured outbursts of discontent were due mainly, if not wholly, to a sudden change from the luxury and plenty of a planter’s ménage to the comparative coarseness of a simple soldier’s fare—otherwise Government rations—in necessarily rough circumstances. The additional comforts thoughtfully provided by the Calcutta Committee for consumption on the voyage were by mistake stowed away with baggage and other stores below. Thenceforward matters mended day by day, and, though there were still some discomforts to be endured, they seem to have been relieved by more amusements than appear in the letters sent for publication to the Indian newspapers. On the whole, however, a fairly comprehensive idea of the way in which B Company passed its days on board the ‘Ujina’ may be formed from the following letter, parts of which were published in the ‘Indian Daily News’:
Photo: Bourne & Shepherd. SURMA VALLEY LIGHT HORSE. CONTINGENT OF LUMSDEN’S B COMPANY
Hard work and plenty of it has been the order of the day ever since we came on board. The greater part of this is in connection with the horses. It is, of course, of very great importance that we should be in a position to move forward as soon as possible after landing, and, bearing this in mind, Major Showers and his officers are doing their utmost to keep the animals fit. For the first day or two bran mashes were given the horses, with as much hay as they could eat. This has been gradually augmented, until they are now getting a mixture of bran and gram or linseed three times a day. The watering and feeding are carried out with the greatest regularity, each section officer personally superintending the work. Our daily routine may prove interesting to the uninitiated in these matters. Awakened by reveillé at 4.30, we have time to put our kits in order before getting a cup of tea at 5.30. Half an hour later the bugle sounds ‘stables,’ and the men immediately assemble on the lower deck, each section separately, to answer the roll. Absentees who are not on the sick-list, or engaged in fatigue or other duties, have their names noted down, and are dealt with afterwards. Each horse is taken out of his stall and thoroughly groomed, and the stall itself cleaned and disinfected daily. The horses are then watered, a certain number of men being told off for this duty; the rest are occupied in drawing and mixing the feeds, which they place in tin troughs, one in front of each horse. As soon as word is passed that watering is completed, the command ‘Feed’ is given, and the troughs are immediately lifted and fixed on the breast-boards attached to each stall. The hay is then served out in bundles, each horse getting six. These are opened and put in the bags hung over the horses’ heads.
The stable picket, consisting of three men from each section, is posted at 7 o’clock in the evening, and is on duty for twenty-four hours—till seven the following evening. Each man takes his turn as stable sentry for eight hours altogether out