“Let Mr Herrick pass in, marines,” he said. “Keep a sharp eye on your prisoners.”
I gave him a look of thanks, and then felt disappointed again.
“Stop,” he said; “fetch up two more men and a lantern, Herrick.”
I gladly obeyed; and then the door was opened. After a look in through the grating, and followed closely by three of the marines with their rifles ready, we walked in to where the prisoners were squatted upon their heels all round close up against the bulkheads, bandaged terribly about the faces and necks, and with their fierce eyes glowering at us.
I had expected to find them lying about like wounded men, but, bad as several were, they all occupied this sitting position, and glared at us in a way that told us very plainly how unsafe it would be to trust our lives in their keeping even for a minute.
“Beg pardon, sir,” whispered the corporal of marines, who was carrying a lantern; “better be on the look-out.”
“Oh yes,” said Mr Reardon. “We shall not stay. I only wanted a look round. Look sharp, Mr Herrick, and see what you want of them.”
“Doctor was dressing that farthest chap’s head, sir,” whispered the corporal to me; “and as soon as he was about done, the fellow watched his chance and fixed his teeth in the dresser’s arm, and wouldn’t let go till—”
“Well? Till what?” said Mr Reardon, gazing fixedly at the brutal countenance of one of the men right before us.
“We had to persuade him to let go.”