Chapter Three.
The Bagnio—Our Hero sees something of Misery, and is sold as a Slave.
There are some things in this world so unbelievable that even when we know them to be true we still remain in a state of semi-scepticism.
When our unfortunate midshipman awoke next morning, raised himself on his elbow, and felt that all his bones and muscles were stiff and pained from lying on a stone floor, it was some time before he could make out where he was, or recall the events of the last few days. The first thing that revived his sluggish memory was the scuttling away, in anxious haste, of a scorpion that had sought and found comfortable quarters during the night under the lee of his right leg. Starting up, he crushed the reptile with his foot.
“You will get used to that,” said a quietly sarcastic voice with a slightly foreign accent, close to him.
The speaker was a middle-aged man with grey hair, hollow cheeks, and deep sunken eyes.
“They trouble us a little at first,” he continued, “but, as I have said, we get used to them. It is long since I cared for scorpions.”
“Have you, then, been long here?” asked Foster.
“Yes. Twelve years.”