But Middlemas resolved not to be awanting to himself. This place must be visited by some officer, military or medical, to whom he would make an appeal, and alarm his fears at least, if he could not awaken his conscience. While he revolved these distracting thoughts, tormented at the same time by a burning thirst which he had no means of satisfying, he endeavoured to discover if, amongst those stretched upon the pallets nearest him, he could not discern some one likely to enter into conversation with him, and give him some information about the nature and customs of this horrid place. But the bed nearest him was occupied by two fellows, who, although to judge from their gaunt cheeks, hollow eyes, and ghastly looks, they were apparently recovering from the disease, and just rescued from the jaws of death, were deeply engaged in endeavouring to cheat each other of a few half-pence at a game of cribbage, mixing the terms of the game with oaths not loud but deep; each turn of luck being hailed by the winner as well as the loser with execrations, which seemed designed to blight both body and soul, now used as the language of triumph, and now as reproaches against fortune. Next to the gamblers was a pallet, occupied indeed by two bodies, but only one of which was living--the other sufferer had been recently relieved from his agony. “He is dead--he is dead!” said the wretched survivor. “Then do you die too, and be d--d,” answered one of the players, “and then there will be a pair of you, as Pugg says.” “I tell you he is growing stiff and cold,” said the poor wretch--“the dead is no bed-fellow for the living--For God's sake help to rid me of the corpse.” “Ay, and get the credit of having _done_ him--as may be the case with, yourself, friend--for he had some two or three hoggs about him”-- “You know you took the last rap from his breeches-pocket not an hour ago,” expostulated the poor convalescent--“But help me to take the body out of the bed, and I will not tell the _jigger-dubber_ that you have been beforehand with him.” “You tell the _jigger-dubber!_” answered the cribbage player. “Such another word, and I will twist your head round till your eyes look at the drummer's handwriting on your back. Hold your peace, and don't bother our game with your gammon, or I will make you as mute as your bedfellow.” The unhappy wretch, exhausted, sunk back beside his hideous companion, and the usual jargon of the game, interlarded with execrations, went on as before.