Our friends, however, had seen enough, and did not care to witness what followed.
If they had gone inside the harbour gates, they might have seen three or four very long sharp-bowed vessels moored to the quay or lying at anchor a little way out.
Neither mast nor sail had these vessels, but from each side projected a dozen or more of gigantic oars larger than those used by Thames bargemen.
Had they gone down to the harbour they would presently have seen chained up, two of them to each oar, but with their feet so far at liberty that they could move backwards and forwards three paces.
Then they would have heard the word of command given, and would have seen the poor slaves tugging away at the oars till the huge craft was sweeping rapidly out to sea, while the galley-master walking up and down between the two rows of oarsmen, gave blows of his whip on the right hand or the left when he saw a man flagging, or an oar that did not swing in unison with the rest.
Such was the fate to which the career of crime had brought the son of the once respected shipowner Murray.
Slavery from morn till night, beneath a broiling sun, or exposed to cold, rain, and hail, the coarsest of black bread and lentil pottage, formed his scanty meal; his associates the lowest type of humanity.
And even over and above such a hard lot there fell upon his heart the craven fear some day that Lenoir, who was chained to the next oar, would break loose and kill him.
Many would have preferred death to such slavery, but Herbert Murray feared to die.
"Hollo, Englishman, faster!" the galley-master would shout. And then his whip or cane would sharply visit poor Murray's shoulders.