The new overseer seemed to take a delight in
bullying him. Many a night, when he returned to the shed, his back was
raw where the lash had cut a livid streak through his thin dhoti. His
companions suffered in common with him, Fuzl Khan more than any. For days
at a time the man was incapacitated from work by the treatment meted out
to him. Desmond felt that if the Gujarati had indeed purchased his life
by betraying his comrades, he had made a dear bargain.
One night, when his eight companions were all asleep, and nothing could
be heard but the regular calls of the sentries, the beating of tom toms
in the town, and the howls of jackals prowling in the outskirts, Desmond
gently woke the Babu.
"My friend, listen," he whispered, "I have something to say to you."
Surendra Nath turned over in his charpoy.
"Speak soft, I pray," he said.
"My head is on fire," continued Desmond. "I cannot sleep. I have been
thinking. What is life worth to us? Can anything be worse than our
present lot? Do you ever think of escape?"
"What good, sir? I have said so before. We are fettered; what can we do?
There is but one thing that all men in our plight desire; that is death."
"Nonsense! I do not desire death. This life is hateful, but while we live
there is something to hope for, and I for one am not content to endure
lifelong misery. I mean to escape."
"It is easy to say, but the doing--that is impossible."
"How can we tell that unless we try? The men who tried to escape did not
think it impossible.
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