“Who’s going to run?” grumbled Humpy. “Man can’t run with things like these on his legs.”
“I have seen men run pretty fast in fetters,” said the overseer quietly; “but they did not run far. Come here.”
Humpy shuffled along two or three steps, trailing his irons behind him, and the overseer shouted at him:
“Pick up the links by the middle ring, sir, and move smartly.”
He cracked his whip, and a thrill ran through Nic.
Humpy did as he was told, and walked more quickly to where the overseer stood; but before he reached him the herculean black who stood by his basket, which looked like a coarsely-made imitation of the kind used by a carpenter for his tools, clapped a hand upon the prisoner’s shoulder and stopped him short, making Humpy turn upon him savagely.
“Ah!” roared the overseer, as if he were speaking to one of the dogs.
Humpy was overawed, and he stood still, while the black bent down, took a ball of oakum out of the basket, cut off about a foot, passed the piece through the centre ring of the irons, and deftly tied it to the prisoner’s waist-belt. Then, as Nic and Pete watched, the action going on fascinating them, the black made a sign to one of his companions, who dropped upon his knees by the basket, took out a hammer, and handed it to the first black. Then the kneeling man lifted out a small block of iron, which looked like a pyramid with the top flattened, clapped it on the floor, and the first black began to manipulate Humpy as a blacksmith would a horse he was about to shoe, dragging him to the little anvil with one hand, using the hammer-handle to poke him into position with the other.
“Going to take off his irons,” thought Pete, and the same idea flashed across Nic’s mind.
He was mistaken.