Well, then, réveille blows providentially later than on shore—six o'clock; providentially and paradoxically, for who wants "a little more folding of the hands to sleep" at sea? Who, on land, does not, save the few fanatical or deranged? As many as can find ground-room there, sleep on deck, and have been peeping at the Day's-Eye for half an hour before the strident note crashes along the decks. He is blasé and weary indeed who can lie insensible to the dawn here. There is one glory of the hills at sunrise; the sea hath another glory. On land you see the dawn in part, here the whole stately procession lies to your eye, and you see all the detail of the lengthening march defined by the gently heaving sea. He who sees it not has got well to the Devil! But whether you are of the Devil or not, you obey the summons to get up, and cut short your contemplation of the pageant. There is no before breakfast duty, except for a casual swabbing-fatigue. The men mess at seven on their troop-decks; the sergeants and officers at 8.30. Thereby hang two digressions.
The troop-decks have been installed in the holds, or located where old passenger cabins have been knocked out. Much refitting of a liner, indeed, had been necessary to make of her a troop-ship. The troops have been quartered thus: the sergeants mess and sleep in the old dining-saloon; the officers' mess is the old music-room; both the smoke-room and gymnasium have been transferred into hospitals. The sergeants and the men sleep in hammocks slung above their mess-tables. The officers sleep in such cabins as are left standing.
The other digression ought to show why the sergeants and officers (apart from the distinctions which the superiority of those creatures demands) mess an-hour-and-a-half later than the men. Each unit must appoint, as ashore, an orderly-officer and orderly-sergeant for the day, and part of their duty is to supervise the issue and distribution of rations. Each sergeant is given, beside, the supervision of the quarters of a section of the unit, and this includes overlooking the complete setting-in-order after messing. Each unit in rotation supplies a ship's orderly-officer and ship's troop-deck sergeant, whose duties are general and at the dictation of the ship's commandant.
After breakfast we massage ourselves internally and open up our chests with an hour's exercise, much as ashore; but we must drill in small sections, for want of space. Most parades, apart from this last, which is universal, are for lectures; in which the officers endeavour to put the theoretical side—appropriately enough, for the practice must precede the theory in any matter whatsoever, but especially in the game of war. We were men before we became philosophers; we digested our food before we thought of physiological research; and we can put a bullet through a vulnerable part before we know much about the chemical combustion preceding the discharge. Lectures are, naturally, more or less directly on the topic of mechanical-transport, in some aspect of it, but some are on topics of generally military importance.
Curious is the variety in the method of receiving lecture; the rank and file do not readily adjust themselves to the academic outlook. "Another b——y lecture, Bill!" "That's all right; 'e'll take a tumble——" (The Censor did not pass the rest of this conversation.) But these are extreme comments, and rather a form of playfulness than serious utterances. Of the rest, some sit it through in a bovine complacency, some take the risks of dozing, some crack furtive jokes; most listen attentively enough. There are many intelligent, well-trained men who prick up their ears here and there and carry on a muffled discussion, in a sort of unauthorised semina. There is, on an average, one hour's lecture in the day.
Perhaps half the day is the men's own—clear. It is spent largely in lounging and smoking, partly in sleeping, a little in reading. There are well-worn magazines—such as Mr. Ruskin would disapprove—and little else, except sixpenny editions of the limelight authors. But in reading and such effeminate arts what good soldier will languish long?
There are sports, of a sort—very sporadic and very confined. They commonly take the form of passing-the-ball and leap-frog.
The Censor has an ipse dixit way, and is his own court of appeal. These notes could otherwise be made a little less inconsecutive.
We steamed out of —— a little after dawn in column of half sections, artistically out of step and with the alignment nautically groggy. Our ship took the head of one column; the flagship led the other. That procession is a sight unique, which you are defied to parallel in the annals of passenger shipping. The files come heaving along, like a school of marine monsters disporting themselves....