s of the day cheered them. Many, after years
of captivity, had grown altogether reckless, and it was among these
that there was most talking; the younger men seemed, for the most part,
silent and moody.

"You will get accustomed to it," the man next to Gervaise said
cheeringly. "When I first came here, it seemed to me that I could not
support the life for a month--that the fate was too dreadful to be
borne, and that death would be most welcome; but, like the rest, I
became accustomed to it in time. After all, the work is no harder than
one would do at home. There is no stint of food, and it is no worse than
one would have, were one labouring in the fields. Were it not for the
loss of those we love, it would be nothing; and in time one gets over
even that. I have long ago told myself that if they are not dead, at
least they are dead to me. They have their livings to get, and cannot
be always mourning, and I have tried to forget them, as they must have
forgotten me."

"Do you work hard?" Gervaise asked.

"No. We who are in the galleys are regarded by the others with envy.
Sometimes--often, indeed--we have naught to do all day. We bask in the
sun, we talk, we sleep, we forget that we are slaves. But, generally, we
go out for an hour or two's exercise; that is well enough, and keeps us
strong and in health. Only when we are away on voyages is the work hard.
Sometimes we row from morning to night; but it is only when they are in
chase of another craft that we have really to exert ourselves greatly.
Then it is terrible. We may be doing our best, our very best, and yet to
the impatient knights it seems that we might do more. Then they shout to
the overseer, and he lays his whip on our backs without mercy. Then we
row until sometimes we drop, senseless, off the benches. But this, you
understand, is not very often; and though the work on a cruise is long,
it is not beyond our strength. Besides, when we are away in the galley
there is always hope. The galley may meet with four or five of our
ships, and be captured, or a storm may arise and dash her upon the
shore; and though many would lose their lives, some might escape,
and each man, in thinking of it, believes that he will be one of the
fortunate ones.

"Take my advice: always look cheerful if you can; always put your hand
on the oar when the order is given, and row as if you were glad to be at
work again; and always make a show, as if you were working your
hardest. Never