Great Britain -- Social conditions -- 19th century -- Fiction
The triumph was premature. Carter's cries were choked for a moment by
his astonishment. But the next, finding a fresh torture added to the
first, he howled louder than ever. Then the governor seized the salt,
powdered a good handful, and avoiding his teeth crammed it suddenly into
the poor creature's mouth. He spat it furiously out, and the brine fell
like sea-spray upon all the operators, especially on Hawes, who swore at
the biped, and called him a beast, and promised him a long spell of the
cross for his nastiness. After Hawes, Fry must take his turn; and so now
these three creatures, to whom Heaven had given reason, combined their
strength and their sacred reason to torture and degrade one of
those whom the French call “betes du bon Dieu”--a
heaven-afflicted--heaven-pitied brother.
They respected neither the hapless wight nor his owner. Whenever he
opened his mouth with the instinct that makes animals proclaim their
hurts and appeal for pity on the chance of a heart being within hearing,
then did these show their sense of his appeal thus: One of the party
crammed the stinging salt down his throat; the others watched him, and
kept clear of the brine that he spat vehemently out, and a loud report
of laughter followed instantly each wild grimace and convulsion of fear
and torture. Thus they employed their reason, and flouted as well as
tortured him who had less.
“Haw! haw! haw! haw! haw!”
No lightning came down from heaven upon these merry souls. The idiot's
spittle did not burn them when it fell on them. ALL THE WORSE FOR THEM!
They left Carter for hours in the pillory, and soon a violent thirst was
added to his sufferings. Prolonged pain brings on cruel thirst, and many
a poor fellow suffered horribly from it during the last hours of
his pillory. But in this case the salt he had swallowed made it more
vehement. Most men go through life and never know thirst. It is a
frightful torture, as any novice would have learned who had seen Carter
at six in the evening of this cruel day. The poor wretch's throat was
so parched he could hardly breathe. His eyes were all bloodshot and his
livid tongue lolled stringless and powerless out of his gasping mouth.
He would have given diamonds for drops of water.
The earnest man going his rounds of duty saw his pitiable state and
forbade relief till the number of hours he had appointed for his
punishment should be completed. Discipline before all!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account