About four in the afternoon the great door was flung open again and
the chief jailer appeared, with four turnkeys and the soldiers of the
prison guard, all armed to the teeth with pistols, swords and
bayonets. Their object, it turned out, was to examine the four walls
and the floor very minutely, to see if the prisoners were making any
holes or planning any attempt to escape. They spent a full half an
hour in routing out the prisoners and searching high and low with
their lanterns, using great roughness and the most abominable talk.
Tristram watched their movements for some time, but at length curled
himself up in his corner, which had already been explored. He was
closing his eyes, and putting a finger in each ear to shut out the
riot, when a smart blow descended across his thighs.
One of the soldiers was belabouring him with the flat of a sword, as
a hint to stand up.
Tristram did so, and now observed that a dozen of the men with whom
he had marched during the two previous days were collected in a
little group by the door. He was taken by the arms and hustled
forward to join them. As he came close and could see their faces in
the dingy twilight, he saw also that, though big, strapping fellows,
the most of them were weeping, and shivering like conies in a trap.
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