It was in the quadrangle of the fort at the back of the batteries
which command the road-stead of Valparaiso. The officer who had
identified him had gone on without listening to his protestations. His
doom was sealed; his hands were tied very tightly together behind his
back; his body was sore all over from the many blows with sticks and
butts of muskets which had hurried him along on the painful road from
the place of his capture to the gate of the fort. This was the only
kind of systematic attention the prisoners had received from their
escort during a four days' journey across a scantily watered tract of
country. At the crossings of rare streams they were permitted to
quench their thirst by lapping hurriedly like dogs. In the evening a
few scraps of meat were thrown amongst them as they dropped down dead-
beat upon the stony ground of the halting-place.

As he stood in the courtyard of the castle in the early morning, after
having been driven hard all night, Gaspar Ruiz's throat was parched,
and his tongue felt very large and dry in his mouth.

And Gaspar Ruiz, besides being very thirsty, was stirred by a feeling
of sluggish anger, which he could not very well express, as though the
vigour of his spirit were by no means equal to the strength of his
body.

The other prisoners in the batch of the condemned hung their heads,
looking obstinately on the ground. But Gaspar Ruiz kept on repeating:
"What should I desert for to the Royalists? Why should I desert? Tell
me, Estaban!"

He addressed himself to the sergeant, who happened to belong to the