"I had not the least idea of what he was talking about, but made up my mind that it would not take me long to find out. Then he passed down the line, picking out straw bosses. I asked one of the men in my gang what were the duties of a straw boss. He had been over with horses before, and told me that a straw boss meant being in charge of the gang to feed the horses and that he had to draw and keep careful check of the straw, hay, oats and bran. As I had served in the Cavalry, this job, as I figured, would be regular pie for me. "In about an hour and a half's time Pinero had selected his straw bosses and divided the men into gangs, and assigned us to our quarters on the ship. These quarters were between decks and very much crowded, and the stench was awful. Iron bunks, three deep, with filthy and lousy mattresses on them, were set into the sides of the ship. The atmosphere in that dirty hole turned my stomach and I was longing for the fresh air of the deck. A dirty bum, with tobacco juice running out of the corner of his mouth, turned to me and asked: 'Do the gray-backs bother you much, matey?' A shudder ran through me as I answered: 'Not much.' I figured out that as soon as I got them, as I knew in a very short time I should, they certainly would bother me, but I had to keep a stiff upper lip if I wanted to retain their respect and my authority as straw boss. Yes, 'gray-backs' are cooties. "One fellow in my gang was a trouble-maker. He must have been about forty years old and looked as hard as nails. He was having an argument with a pasty-faced looking specimen of humanity, about twenty-six years old. To me this man appeared to be in the last stages of consumption. I told the old fellow to cut out his argument and leave the other fellow alone. Upon hearing this he squirted a well-directed stream of tobacco juice through his front teeth, which landed on my shoe. I inwardly admired and respected his accuracy. I saw my authority waning and knew that I would have to answer this insult quickly. I took two or three quick steps forward and swung on his jaw with my fist. His head went up against the iron bunk with a sickening sound and he crumpled up and fell on the deck, the blood pouring from a cut in his head. I felt sick and faint, thinking that he had been killed, but it would not do outwardly to show these signs of weakness on my part, so without even moving near him I ordered one of the men to look him over and see if he was all right. He soon came around. From that time on he was the most faithful man in the section and greatly respected me. The rest of the men growled and mumbled and I thought I was in for a terrible beating. Lying close at hand was an iron spike about 18 inches long. Grasping this, I turned to the rest, trying to be as tough as I possibly could: