All who had power to move their legs were afterwards
turned out and treated to a pound and a half of the "King's bread"
and a drink of water before starting. Tristram was one of these.
The fever had relieved him of his companion, and this day he marched
with more comfort, albeit his wrists were bound together and a rope
of ten yards or more tied him by the waist to a couple of fettered
deserters in front.
The weather had lifted somewhat; but the roads were still heavy, and
their pace was regulated by the covered wagon, which seemed to loiter
malevolently, as if to get every possible jolt out of the rutted
highway. With every jolt came a scream from one or more of the sick
men inside. Some, however, were past screaming, and babbled
continuously in high delirium; and the ceaseless, monotonous talk of
these tortured Tristram's ears from Courtrai to Lille.
They reached Lille long after dark, and were driven through the
streets, between the bright windows of happier men, to the gloomy
tower of Saint Pierre, that at this time was set apart for
galley-slaves. On entering the prison they were marshalled in a long
corridor, where a couple of jailers searched them all over.
Nothing was found on Tristram but his packet of pepper-cress seed,
which the searchers obligingly returned.
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