They had a
sufficiency of food, too, served hot, and prepared with
rough-and-ready skill, under the superintendence of Hyde.
He had struck up a great friendship with a Frenchman, one of the
Voltigeurs, in a neighbouring camp, who, in return for occasional nips
of sound brandy, brought straight from the _Burlington Castle_, freely
imparted the whole of his culinary knowledge to the quartermaster of
the Royal Picts.
"He is a first-class cook," said Hyde to his friend McKay, "and was
trained, he tells me, in one of the best kitchens in Paris. He could
make soup, I believe, out of an old shoe."
"I can't think how you get the materials for the men's meals. That
stew yesterday was never made out of the ration-biscuit and salt pork.
There was fresh meat in it. Where did you get it?"
Old Hyde winked gravely.
"If I were to tell you it would get about, and the men would not touch
it."
"You can trust me. Out with it."
"There's lots of fresh meat to be got in the camp by those who know
where to look for it. Anatole"--this was his French friend--"put me up
to it."
"I don't understand, Hyde. What do you mean?"
"I mean that her Majesty's Royal Picts have been feeding upon
horseflesh. And very excellent meat, too, full of nourishment when it
is not too thin. That is my chief difficulty with what I get.
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