“They had better not strike me,” Dimchurch said; “the man that did it would never live to strike another.”
“That might be,” Will said, “but it would be a small satisfaction to you if you were to be flogged to death afterwards.”
“No, I suppose not, sir; but flesh and blood can’t stand such a thing as being struck by one of these yellow hounds.”
At twelve o’clock the gang returned, and the men drank eagerly from a fountain in the courtyard of the prison.
“Take as little as you can,” Will said; “if you drink much it will do you harm. You can drink often if you like, provided that you only take a sip at a time.”
“It is easy to say, Mr. Gilmore, but it is not so easy to do. I feel as if I could drink till I burst.”
“I dare say you do; I feel the same myself; but I am sure that to take a lot of water just now would do us harm instead of good.”
Their abstinence so far benefited them that they felt their work in the afternoon less than they had done in the morning, though the heat was, if anything, greater.
That evening they examined their prison. It consisted of one great hall supported by rows of pillars. Here the whole of the prisoners were confined. It was lighted by windows five-and-twenty feet from the ground. There was no guard inside, but fifty men, some of whom were always on sentry, slept outside the hall. It was clear to them, therefore, that no escape could be made after they were once locked up, and that if they were to get away at all they must make the attempt when they were employed outside.
On the third day one of the sailors from the Tartar, who [pg 220]had disregarded Will’s advice to drink sparingly, fell down dead after drinking till he could drink no more. Scarcely a day passed without one or more of the captives succumbing; some of them went mad and were at once despatched by their guards.