im. Instantly he had a scheme. In a subdued
growl, yet distinctly, he threw over his shoulder an order that eight
men should go to the right and eight to the left. Then, on his feet, he
sent into the darkness a stern "Halt!" Instantly there was a sputter,
arms thrown up, the inevitable "Kamerad!" and Hirondelle ordered the
first German to pass him, then a second. Out of the darkness emerged a
third. Hirondelle waved him on, and with that there was a fourth. And a
fifth. Behold a sixth. About then Hirondelle judged it wise to give more
orders to his imaginary squad of sixteen. But such a panic had seized
this German mob; that little acting was necessary. Dark figure followed
dark figure out of the darker night--arms up. They whimpered as they
came, and on and on they came out of shadows. Hirondelle stated that he
began to think the Crown Prince's army was surrendering to him. At last,
when the procession stopped, he--and his mythical sixteen--marched the
entire covey, without any objection from them, only abject obedience, to
the French trenches.

The colonel, with this whining crowd weeping about him, with
Hirondelle's erect figure confronting him, his black eyes regarding the
cowards with scorn as he made his report--the colonel simply could not
understand the situation. All these men! "What are you--soldiers?" he
flung at the wretched group. And one answered, "No, my officer. We are
not soldiers, we are the cooks." At that there was a wail. "Ach! Who,
then, will the breakfast cook for my general? He will _schrecklich_
angry be for his sausage and his sauerkraut."

By degrees the colonel got the story. A number of cooks had combined to
protest against new regulations, and the general, to punish this
astounding insubordination, had sent them out unarmed, petrified with,
terror, into No Man's Land for an hour. They had there encountered
Hirondelle. Hirondelle drew the attention of the colonel to the fact
that he had promised prisoners, fat ones. "Will my colonel regard the
shape of these pigs," suggested Hirondelle. "And also that they are
twenty in number. Enough _en masse_ for one man to take, is it not, my
colonel?"

The little dinner-party at the Frontenac discussed this episode. "Almost
too good to be true, colonel," I objected. "You're sure it _is_ true?
Bring out your Hirondelle. He ought to be home wounded, with a war cross
on his breast, by now."

The colonel smiled and shook his head. "It is that which I ca