“Six months!” said I.  “Splendid advice!  How many of us will be alive or at liberty six months from now?  Not I, at any rate!”

“How d’you suppose they discipline the chain-gang?” Fred asked, ignoring my growing hopelessness.

“With the lash,” said I.  “I’ve seen!”

“That’s by day,” said Fred.  “They’ve better ways at night.  One plan is no supper or breakfast; but the champion scheme is the doctor’s.  On complaint by the askaris that a man on the chain has shirked his work, or answered back, or been obstreperous, the doctor serves him out a handful of strong pills and sees him swallow them.  They don’t unchain them at night.  D’you get the idea?”

“Not yet.”

“Every time the man has to go outside he must wake the whole gang and take them with him!  They’re weary after working twelve hours at a stretch.  After the second or third time up they begin to object pretty strenuously.  After the third or fourth time he’s so unpopular that he’d almost rather die than wake them.  Imagine the result, and what he suffers!”

Despondency began to have hold of me, and I no longer wished to live.  The doctor’s momentary daily visits increased my loathing for the crew who tyrannized there in the name of Progress, and I could see no way of retaliating.  I became seized with a sort of delirious conviction that if only I could die and be out of the way my friends would be far better able to contrive without me.  There is no convalescence in a mood of that sort, and each morning found me nearer death than the last.  Then malaria developed, to give me the finishing touch, and although strangely enough I grew less instead of more delirious, Fred and Will at last made no secret of their belief that I was doomed.

I myself was as sure of death as they were of dinner, and had better appetite for my fate than they for the meal, when one morning the doctor came earlier than usual.  He had Schubert with him, and they both peered through the tent door.  I was alone, for Fred and Will were in the other tent.  The doctor stepped inside and examined me closely, drawing up the mosquito net to see my face.  I did not trouble to speak to him, or even to open my eyes after the first glimpse.  He spoke to Schubert in German, let the net fall again, and went away.  Schubert spat and rubbed his hands, and swung along after him.

Then I heard Will and Fred arguing.

“Don’t be a fool!” That was Fred’s voice.

“I tell you I’ll tell him!”

“Fine thing to tell a poor devil that’s dying!  Let him die in peace!”

“No.  He has guts, for I’ve seen him use ’em.  I shall tell him.  You wait here!”

But they both came in, and sat one on either side of my bed.

“Did you hear what that doctor person said to the sergeant-major?” asked Will.

“I don’t talk his beastly language,” I answered.

“He said you’ll be dead by this evening!  He told Schubert to go and get the chain-gang and have them dig your grave at noon instead of laying off for dinner.  He added they’ll have you buried and out of the way by four or five o’clock.  Then Schubert asked him—­”