Hahn pointed to a man carrying a well-loaded tray into the officers' shed below.
'Blenty of food. Beer--English beer. A pint of 'alf-an'-'alf, eh? Zere is zome for you--ven you get coal. I am not hard, no. You say you vill dig, and I loose you--you shall haf a glass beer before you dig; zat is not hard? You say yes?'
Meek moved his tongue over his dry lips.
'Not for German pirates!' he muttered huskily.
'Pirates, you dog!' cried Hahn with a fierce scowl, and seemed to be about to argue the point, but changed his mind. Cursing Meek as an English fool, he went away.
During the greater part of the day Meek was partly shaded from the sun by the cliff towering behind him; but in the afternoon the rays beat upon his head, and his agony increased. With all his strength of will he resisted the faintness that threatened to overpower him. He felt that he must not give way before these black men, who passed up and down hour after hour until his bloodshot eyes were dazzled.
The time came for work to cease. Again the natives were herded into the pen, and the seamen brought them their food. The Germans jeered at the helpless prisoner as they passed him; one of them dangled a pail of water under his eyes. Then exhausted nature could endure no more. Meek's head lolled forward. Hans rushed up, looked at him, and called down to the beach that the Englishman had fainted.
'Fling a pail of water over him!' shouted Hahn. 'I am coming.'
THE GERMAN FLUNG A PAIL OF WATER OVER THE UNCONSCIOUS MEEK.