The flock came slowly towards the fold, driven by the soldiers.
"Sho——o!" they suddenly shouted and made a rush forward. The sheep scattered everywhere, disappearing in the darkness, followed by the soldiers, laughing and chuckling, leaving the negroes and the farmer astonished and amazed. It was too dark to collect them again.
Morning came. The flock had disappeared. The nearest encampment was that of a regiment of Zouaves. The farmer, raving over his loss, visited it, and saw seventy sheep-skins lying behind the wall near the encampment. He called upon the Colonel of the regiment, who received him with courtesy.
"Colonel," he said, "I see that your soldiers have killed my flock of sheep, and I want pay for them."
"You are mistaken, sir. The orders are very strict against taking anything. The quartermaster and commissary alone can forage. I do not allow any marauding."
"Well, sir, whether you allow it or not, they have stolen my sheep."
"I will see about that, sir. If I find that my men have been marauding, I will have them punished," said the Colonel. The regiment was ordered to appear on parade. The men were questioned, and all denied having killed any sheep. The camp was searched, but no saddles of mutton were discovered.
"It must have been some other regiment, sir, who committed the depredation," said the Colonel.
The farmer visited the next regiment, the Fifth New Hampshire, commanded by Colonel Cross.
"I come to see, sir, if it was your soldiers who stole my sheep last night," said the farmer.