else of human passion appears to be dead. Why, Loskiel, the very power
of will has deserted them; they are not civil to us, but obsequious;
not obliging but subservient. They yield with apathy and very quietly
what you ask, and what they apparently suppose is impossible for them
to retain. If you treat them kindly they receive it coldly, not
gratefully, but as though you were compensating them for evil done
them by you. Their countenances and motions have lost every trace of
animation. It is not serenity but apathy; every emotion, feeling,
thought, passion, which is not merely instinctive has fled their minds
forever. And this is the greatest crime that Britain has wrought upon
us." He struck the table lightly with doubled fist, "Mr. Loskiel," he
said, "I ask you-- can we find recruits for our regiment in such a
place as this? Damme, sir, but I think the entire land has lost its
manhood."

We sat staring out into the sunshine through a bullet-shattered
window.

"And all this country here seems so fair and peaceful," he murmured
half to himself, "so sweet and still and kindly to me after the
twilight of endless forests where men are done to death in the dusk.
But hell in broad sunshine is the more horrible."

"Look closer at this country," I said. "The highways are deserted and
silent, the very wagon ruts overgrown with grass. Not a scythe has
swung in those hay fields; the gardens that lie in the sun are but
tangles of weeds; no sheep stir on the hills, no cattle stand in these
deep meadows, no wagons pass, no wayfarers. It may be that the wild
birds are moulting, but save at dawn and for a few moments at sundown
they seem deathly silent to me."