“I think I see a gentleman there whose elegant holiday attire seems to have been made especially for me!” said Mutchison, indicating the tall, athletic form of Mr. Montgomery Fitz Smithers, who, not feeling elated by this distinguished notice, retired behind his companions and squatted down out of sight. “But the ladies must withdraw while we make our toilet. Here, Carter, you and Gates march these girls to the other end of the woods and guard them; and, hark you! if any man of you attempts to kiss one of them until I give the word—dash him! I’ll hang him as high as Haman!” Two guerrillas stepped out from the crowd, and, with fixed bayonets drove the young ladies, like a flock of sheep, to the opposite edge of the pine woods. No one resisted, not even Elfie; for she had no desire to remain and witness the interchange of good offices between the guerrillas and the gentlemen of her party. “And now to business! I don’t like to inconvenience you, my young friends, but necessity has no law! and really our necessities are very great—none of us having had a change of linen for two months past!” said Mutchison. Again I say that successful resistance was clearly impossible. The guerrillas began to strip and throw their foul rags in a nauseous heap in the middle of the ring. And the unlucky young men had to divest themselves of their elegant festive dresses. Their fine black broadcloth coats and trousers, their glossy satin vests, their pure white linen shirts, their hats, shoes, socks, neckties, pocket handkerchiefs, gloves, scarf pins, studs, watches, chains and purses were all taken from them and distributed among the guerrillas. And then they were ordered to clothe themselves with the wretched slough just cast by these bandits. And it was at once ludicrous and lamentable to see these unhappy youths poking and picking about with sticks in the heap of rank rags, in search of the least objectionable, where, upon examination, every one seemed worse than the others. “Come, come,—don’t be so hard to please or you will take cold! These clothes were worn by us long enough without complaint! Thunderation! why don’t you make haste and dress yourselves?” roared Mutchison. And the miserable young men had no alternative but to obey, and clothe themselves from the odoriferous mound before them. The greater number of the poor fellows submitted ruefully enough to this degrading transformation. Only Mr. Allison bore the mischance with philosophy. “There are worse misfortunes at sea!” he said, as he invested himself in a nondescript garment of which it was almost impossible to tell the original form or material, and which now hung about him like sea-weed. “‘A little water clears us from this deed!’ In other words, when we get back home, a warm bath and a change of dress will make us all right!” he added.