The first nights, at Milton Ducis, were without shelter. That was agreeable. The first day was without shelter. That was disagreeable. The horses twitched without cease. The army took none with short docks: oddly, not all were long tailed.
They were used to stalls. But there wasn't a petition. Each was allowed three foot.
Seasoned hunters, when picketed, were expected to give no trouble. Yet a few were alarmed. The noises unsettled them. When the lines were shifted, a night was suffered within thirty yards of canvas. The canvas creaked.
There was a day when a dark brown gelding scratched his ear with a hind foot and got that foot over his head rope. On another, a bay mare, with a dish face and nervous ears, went down and panicked, injuring herself and a neighbour.