“But how was it that I didn’t see you outside?” she inquired.
“Because it was late when I was brought up. I was one of the last to be packed in,” he laughed.
“‘Packed in.’ Yes, that is what it is. We are lucky to be near the grating; but how will the poor creatures in the middle of the crowd stand it?”
“They will not be required to do so long. This is only a temporary arrangement. I am given to understand that to-morrow morning we, the newly arrived, will be sent to Belle Isle. This will relieve the others.”
While Justin and Britomarte talked together in this low tone, Babel, or rather Bedlam, was all around them. The groans rose to howls, complaints to threats, and prayers to shrieks.
One voice from the midst of the crowd arose above all the rest:
“Water, boys—for the Lord’s sake, water! Here’s a man fainting. The spout is in the left hand corner near the front grating. Draw the water and pass it on here, will you?”
There was a muffled shuffling among the men nearest the water spout, and then another voice replied:
“The cup is chained to the spout. We can’t pass it.”
Groans and curses answered this.