"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?" "Look at me!" answered Stark. "Regard these scarecrows behind me and say if such a pandemonium of grotesque devils ever filled human eyes outside a nightmare. Heaven knows that we are thin enough, yet our yellow jackets might have been made for skeletons. Look!" He stretched up his arms. "Mine comes scarce below my elbows." "You happen to be a giant," objected Blazey. "Then why, in the name of God, don't you give him a giant's jacket?" roared Knapps from the rear. He was silenced and Stark proceeded. "Our pantaloons you can study for yourself, Mr. Blazey. You can note the space visible between them and our waistcoats. But the shoes are still worse. They are made of wood and rotten yarn, and these granite floors knock them to pieces in a week. I pray you see to these things. Here surely are caricatures of men that would make England weep if she could see them." "Have you done with your facts, sir?" inquired the Agent.