When the ox-herd had collected a little heap of scrapings in the hollow of his hand, he raised the lid of his pipe and emptied them on the burning tobacco, whereupon such a penetrating and offensive odour arose as had never before saluted the nose of man or beast. What the connection may be between the nervous system of an ox and an odour of this sort, neither Oken nor Cuvier has explained; but all cattle-raisers and ox-herds know that, after inhaling these pungent fumes, an ox ceases to be an ox and becomes a wild animal. It is as if he were reduced to his original untamed condition: he falls into a rage, breaks away, tries to toss on his horns every one who opposes him, runs down and tramples upon all in his path, and, in short, becomes utterly unmanageable. As soon as the leader of the herd scented the powerful stench which Boksa had raised, he sprang up from his bed on the ground, tossed his head, and sniffed the breeze. A fresh puff of smoke from Gregory's pipe made the now excited animal shake his head till the bell he wore around his neck rang aloud. Then he lashed his sides with his tail and gave a short, hoarse bellow like that of a wild bull. Next he began to leap and plunge and throw his head this way and that, whereupon all the rest of the herd sprang up in great excitement. In a state of evident alarm and panic, the oxen all backed away from the quarter whence came the offensive odour, their horns lowered as if in expectation of attack from some unseen enemy. The consequence of this retreat in a body was that the hedge was broken down--it could not have withstood the strain even had it been of iron--and the whole herd went dashing away over the meadow beyond in the wildest confusion. At the sound of this outbreak, officers, orderlies, and corporals came running to the scene and called upon Gregory to know what it all meant. It needed no lengthy explanation on his part, however, to show that the herd was running away. It did no good to ply the whip or belabour the animals with the flat of one's sword: they crowded the sentinels to one side, ran over the watch-fires, and broke completely through the lines, with loud bellowing and a deafening thunder of hoofs on the hollow ground. Why they behaved so was a mystery to all. Surely Gregory Boksa had done nothing whatever to them; he could not have aroused them to such a mad stampede. He had been lying there on his stomach, quietly smoking, all the while. "What is going on here? What does this mean?" cried the colonel, approaching the newly appointed ox-herd. The latter removed his pipe and put it away in his pocket, as is becoming when a man is addressed by his superiors, and then, with an air of profound wisdom, proceeded to explain matters. "The oxen have seen a vision, sir," said he. "A vision?" repeated the colonel, puzzled.