Tristram sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was one of at least
three dozen poor wretches, hollow-eyed, lean of cheek, and shivering
with famine, whom the sergeant proceeded to drive into a small crowd
near the entrance, shouting an order which was repeated outside.
Six men appeared, each carrying a load of chains. With these he
fastened his prisoners together, two-and-two, by the wrist and ankle,
and marched them out into the open air.
Outside the rain was descending sullenly, and in this downpour the
captives waited for a mortal hour. Then three men came along,
bearing trays heaped up with thick hunks of brown bread. A hunk was
doled out to each of the gang, and Tristram ate his portion greedily,
slaking his thirst afterwards by sucking at the sleeve of his cloak.
He had hardly done when the sergeant gave the word to march.
That day they tramped steadily till sunset, when they reached the
town of Courtrai, and were halted on the outskirts. Here they
remained for half an hour in the road while the sergeant sought for
quarters. Tristram's comrade--that is to say, the man who was
attached to him by the wrist and ankle--was sulky and extremely
dejected. As for Tristram, his very soul shuddered as he looked back
upon the journey.
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