Hans knew no English, but Meek's objection was obvious. He laughed, and when the seamen returned with pails of water he said to them: 'The English swine won't eat out of his hands. Tell the quarter-master.'
They jeered at Meek, took up the empty pails and departed. When they came back for the water-pails, one of them carried a basin of porridge, a spoon, and a mug of water, which he handed to Meek with an oath. While Meek ate his supper the Germans stood around him, uttering flouts and jibes, which, being incomprehensible, did not spoil his appetite. When he had finished they left with the utensils, another man came to relieve Hans for the night, and the prisoners were left in the pen until it was almost dark. Then the sentry cracked his whip, the natives sprang to their feet and lined up, and Meek looked on in astonishment as they were marched into the tunnel, the entrance to which, when all had gone in, was closed by means of a stout wooden grating. He was left alone in the pen.
'I don't rightly know if this is what they call slavery,' he murmured, 'but it do seem so. I don't hold with it. What would Mr. Grinson say?'
The night was chilly, and Meek slept uneasily. Once he was awakened by a flash from a lantern, and saw another German staring at him curiously.
'Aha, John Bull!' said the man with a grin.
Meek turned over and went to sleep again.
When he awoke, cramped and stiff, in the morning, the natives were filing into the pen. Breakfast was a repetition of supper, and after the meal Hans appeared, and drove the men back to their work. Three of the new prisoners were sent into the tunnel to dig, the other three were made carriers. Meek was again left alone.
About ten o'clock Hahn came up, with two of his fellow officers, who stared at Meek, laughed, talked in their own language, and departed, leaving Hahn behind.
'Your, name is Meek, I zink so?' said the German.
'Ay, Ephraim Meek, that's my name.'