“I’ve thought about it,” the young chief admitted, “especially when I first came here. Everybody does, I suppose, but the thing is next to impossible. Trackless swamp all around—it would be sure death to face it without a boat or canoe. And even if a craft of some kind could be obtained, you would starve to death. About a month ago, two men escaped but they were caught and brought back.”
“Punished?”
“They were.”
“What happened to them?”
“Condemned to two hundred lashes apiece with an overseer’s wirewrapped whip. We slaves were forced to witness the—execution.”
“Execution!”
“That’s what it amounted to. Both of the poor chaps were, mercifully, dead before the first hundred lashes could be administered. Human flesh and blood couldn’t stand it. The whips these beasts use cut a man to ribbons. We all get a taste of it, no matter how hard we work. I have no shirt any more. You’ll see my back in the morning.”
For a long while the two lay there on the filthy earthen floor without speaking. Most of the weary souls had found a temporary relief from their troubles in slumber. Except for the sound of their uneven breathing the place was still as a tomb. Through the barred windows came the occasional sound of a splash where some denizen of the great swamp slipped from a gnarled root into water, and once the scream of a bird sent echoes reverberating through the night.
Bill came to a decision.
“I’m going to take the first chance that offers,” he whispered.