Mafile foamed at the mouth and sometimes he groaned. But he pulled. He dared not stop. His eyes became bloodshot all over, and he had bitten his lower lip to pieces. Simon was as hoarse as a crow.

‘ “Comrade—” he begins.

‘ “There are no comrades here. I am your patron.”

‘ “Patron, then,” he says, “in the name of humanity let us rest.”

‘I let them. There was a little rainwater washing about the bottom of the boat. I permitted them to snatch some of it in the hollow of their palms. But as I said “En route” I caught them exchanging significant glances. They thought I would have to go to sleep sometime! Aha! But I did not want to go to sleep. I was more awake than ever. It is they who went to sleep as they pulled, tumbling off the thwarts head over heels suddenly, one after another. I let them lie. All the stars were out. It was a quiet world. The sun rose. Another day. Allez! En route!^*

‘They pulled badly. Their eyes rolled about and their tongues hung out. In the middle of the forenoon Mafile croaks out: “Let us make a rush at him, Simon. I would just as soon be shot down as to die of thirst, hunger, and fatigue at the oar.”

‘But while he spoke he pulled. And Simon kept on pulling too. It made me smile. Ah! They loved their life, these two, in this evil world of theirs, just as I used to love my life, too, before they spoiled it for me with their phrases. I let them go on to the point of exhaustion, and only then I pointed at the sails of a ship on the horizon.

‘Aha! You should have seen them revive and buckle to their work! For I kept them at it to pull right across that ship’s path. They were changed. The sort of pity I had felt for them left me. They looked more like themselves every minute. They looked at me with the glances I had known so well. They were happy. They smiled.

‘ “Well,” says Simon, “the energy of that youngster has saved our lives. If he hadn’t made us, we could never have pulled so far out into the track of ships. Comrade, I forgive you. I admire you.”

‘And Mafile growls from forward: “We owe you a famous debt of gratitude, comrade. You are cut out for a chief.”

‘Comrade! Monsieur! Ah, what a good word! And they, such men as these two, had made it accursed. I looked at them. I remembered their lies, their promises, their menaces, and all my days of misery. Why could they not have left me alone after I came out of prison? I looked at them and thought that while they lived I could never be free. Never. Neither I nor others like me with warm hearts and weak heads. For I know I have not a strong head, monsieur. A black rage came upon me—the rage of extreme intoxication,—but not against injustice or society. Oh no!

‘ “I must be free!” I cried, furiously.

‘ “Vive la liberté!” yells that ruffian Mafile. “Mort aux bourgeois^* who send us to Cayenne! They shall soon know that we are free.”

‘The sky, the sea, the whole horizon, seemed to turn red to me, blood red all round the boat. My temples were beating so loud that I wondered they did not hear. How is it that they did not? How is it they did not understand?

‘I heard Simon ask, “Have we not pulled far enough out now?”