The Stobarts met us wringing their hands. There was no bread, nor could they procure any. Jan took their order, and we promised to see what could be done. As we passed the station we saw surging crowds of men, from the midst came cries of pain, and sticks were falling in blows.
"Good Lord, what's that?" we cried.
We plunged into the crowd. Some of the men and boys were gnawing angrily at pieces of biscuit which they held in their hands. The crowd surged more violently, the sticks were plied with greater vigour; presently the crowd fell back snarling. The ground which they left was covered with the crumbs of trampled biscuit, and the soldiers drove the crowd yet further back, beating with sticks and cursing. A bread sack being unloaded from a waggon had burst, the hungry crowd had pounced ... that was all. As we withdrew we saw the fortunate ones still gnawing ferociously at the hard morsels which they had captured.
We took our passes to the mayor once more. He received us angrily.
"I told you yesterday," he said.
"The War Office sent us," said Jan, sweetly, "and said that you must give us bread."
"I have no bread," said the mayor. "You must go to Colonel Milhaelovitch."
We tramped back to the yellow school. There was no sentry, and a queer air of forlornness seemed to pervade. We asked a loiterer for the colonel's office. He pointed. We climbed yet another stair and found a pair of large rooms; they were empty. Town papers were scattered on the floor, one table was overturned.
A man lounged in. "Where is the colonel?" we asked.