But was he alive or dead?
This wretch who had gone half way to the watery grave, had his skull cloven by a sword stroke. The wound was dreadful, as stated: it had severed the left whisker and left the cheekbone bare; the temporal artery had been cut, so that the skull and body were flooded with gore. On the wounded side the unfortunate man was unrecognizable.
The lantern-bearer swung the light round to the other side.
"Oh, citizens," he cried, "it is he, the man I seek: Farmer Billet."
"The deuce it is—he seems to have his billet for the other world—ha, ha, ha!" said one of the men. "He is pretty badly hammered."
"Did you not say he heaved a sigh?"
"I think so, anyhow."
"Then do me a kindness," and he fumbled in his pocket for a silver coin.
"What is it?" asked the porter full of willingness on seeing the money.
"Run to the river and bring me some water."