Here with an effort and in response to the murmur of warning voices behind him, he curbed his temper and made another answer.
"Our grievances can't be very briefly told, Mr. Reuben Blazey; but I will set them out in as few words as possible. First and worst, the scum and offscouring of the French prisons are poured in upon us to our terrible discomfort. Next we desire to tell you that our contractors are rogues. For five days in the week the law directs that we receive one and a half pounds of brown bread, one half-pound of beef, including bone—of which God knows we get our share—one-third of an ounce of barley and salt, one-third of an ounce of onions, and one pound of turnips. The residue of the week we have one pound of pickled fish and coals enough to cook it. These things are daily served by the contractors, and we have watched them scrimp weight cruelly to fill their pockets out of our starving bellies. Upon beef days we suffer most."
"Go on," said Mr. Blazey. He yawned, scratched under his wig, and turned to a clerk.
"You are making notes, Mr. Williams?"
"Yes, sir—full notes."
"Next," continued Stark, "the printed regulations delivered to us by Commandant Cottrell speak explicitly of what your Government has undertaken to do on our account. We are not criminals, but honest men. Why do not you understand that? We are allowed each a hammock, one blanket, one horse-rug, and a bed containing four pounds of flocks. Every eighteen months we are to receive one woollen cap for our heads, one yellow roundabout jacket, one pair of pantaloons, and a waistcoat such as you give your soldiers. We are further promised one shirt and one pair of shoes every nine months."
"And 'tis high time your tarnal thieves was delivered of them shoes. Look at our feet!" burst out a voice from the ranks of the captives.
"Silence!" cried Stark. Then he turned to Mr. Blazey.
"These things——"
"You have," interrupted the Agent. "Are you not attired in them, you who speak?"