Kat and I do a little patrolling through the houses. In very short time we have collected a dozen eggs and two pounds of fairly fresh butter. Suddenly there is a crash in the drawing-room, and an iron stove hurtles through the wall past us and on, a yard from us out through the wall behind. Two holes. It comes from the house opposite where a shell has just landed. “The swine,” grimaces Kat, and we continue our search. All at once we prick up our ears, hurry across, and suddenly stand petrified⁠—there running up and down in a little sty are two live sucking pigs. We rub our eyes and look once again to make certain. Yes, they are still there. We seize hold of them⁠—no doubt about it, two real young pigs.

This will make a grand feed. About twenty yards from our dugout there is a small house that was used as an officers’ billet. In the kitchen is an immense fireplace with two ranges, pots, pans, and kettles⁠—everything, even to a stack of small chopped wood in an outhouse⁠—a regular cook’s paradise.