‘What’s the meaning of this blaze here? Can’t you see that you’re drawing the enemy’s fire? Report yourself to me at noon to-morrow. Scatter that stuff, and trample it out.’ A foot was thrust into the embers, and they flared up suddenly. The Major recognised his enemy, and looked from his eyes to the stripes upon the left sleeve of his ragged overcoat. ‘Is that your own coat?’ he asked. ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Sergeant are you? I’ll break you for this to-morrow.’ ‘That you, old chap?’ drawled Volnay from his seat on the bread-box. ‘Said you were dead. We’ve got no end of a find here. Whole pig. If you’ll let me know where to find you, I’ve bagged a ham, and I’ll invite myself to dine with you, and bring my own rations with me.’ ‘Thaanks,’ said De Blacquaire. ‘Don’t trouble. I shall find it my duty to report this scene of riot and disorder. Forward. March.’ Grand rounds went by, and the scattered fire faded. ‘If you _can_ manage to hack a slice of that pork off, Sergeant!’ said Volnay, ‘I’m beastly hungry.’ ‘Done, I think, to a turn,’ said Polson. ‘Who’s got anything that will cut?’ ‘I’m tould, sir,’ said a voice out of the darkness, with a rich oily brogue in it, ‘that there’s hours of difference between here and Limerick. Won’t it be Christmas morning in old Ireland, sir? And will the bells be ringing?’ ‘Ye’re out in your reckonin’,’ said another voice amid the shadows. ‘It’s exactly the other way. Your folks is going to bed in Limerick. The sun has a knack of risin’ in the east, my lad, and we’re far east of Ireland, or Aberdeen for that matter. I’m not mindin’ the exact particulars, but it’s a matter of some two hours, I’m thinking. It’s deep midnight here, and an hour or so beyond it, and they’ll be over their punchbowls, yonner. That’s so, sir, I’m believin’?’ ‘I don’t know, upon my word,’ said Volnay. ‘You’re out of my depth, my lad. But it’s a bit of a sin to talk about punch-bowls, isn’t it, on a night like this, when there isn’t a hot drink within a hundred miles? Sergeant, this pork is like manna in the wilderness. Look me up before you report yourself to Major de Blacquaire, will you? I’m responsible for the fire, you understand. It was my duty to retire the whole crowd of you under arrest, I know, but there isn’t a lot of fun going for you beggars here, is there? Goodnight, Sergeant, and don’t forget the hour in the morning.’ ‘Good-night, sir.’ ‘God go with you, sir.’ ‘A merry Christmas and a loight harrut to you, sir, for many a year.’