seemed to make his blood boil and seethe, he seemed to be degenerating
into the state of mind commonly attributed to the dumb beasts of the
field--indifferent to everything in the wide world except food and
sleep.

That night a draft commanded by one Subaltern arrived to fill up the
gaps.

The next day the retreat continued. The men's nerves were tried to
breaking-point, and a little detail, small and of no consequence in
itself, opened the lock, as it were, to a perfect river of growing anger
and discontent.

This was how it happened. The Colonel had repeated the previous night
the order about looting, and the men were under the impression that if
any of them took so much as a green apple he would be liable to "death
or some such less punishment as the Act shall provide." They talk about
it and grumble, and then suddenly, without any warning except a
clucking and scratching, the Mess Sergeant is seen by the greater part
of the Battalion to issue triumphantly from a farm gate with two or
three fat hens under his arms. Smiling broadly, totally ignorant of the
enormity of his conduct, he deposits his load in the mess-cart drawn up
to receive the loot!

The men did not let the opportunity slip by without giving vent to a lot
of criticism.

The Subaltern's ears tingled at the remarks that he heard. Never in his
life had he felt so ridiculous.