The place of the elders was now taken by the boys and children of the
village, who crowded round the cage, prodding the prisoners with sticks;
and, putting their hands through the bars, pulled their ears and hair.
This amusement, however, was brought to an abrupt conclusion by
Fothergill suddenly seizing the wrist of a big boy and pulling his arm
through the cage until his face was against the bars. Then he proceeded
to beat him with his own stick until the guard, coming to his rescue,
poked Fothergill until he released his hold.
The punishment of their comrade excited neither anger nor resentment
among the other boys, who yelled with delight at his discomfiture; but
it made them more careful in approaching the cage, and though they
continued to poke the prisoners with sticks they did not venture again
to thrust a hand through the bars. At sunset the guards again came
round, lifted the cage, and carried it into a shed. A platter of dirty
rice and a jug of water were put into the cage; two of the men lighted
their long pipes and sat down on guard beside it, and, the doors being
closed, the captives were left in peace.
"If this sort of thing is to go on, as I suppose it is," Fothergill
said, "the sooner they cut off our heads the better."
"It is very bad, Jack. I am sore all over with those prods from their
sharp sticks."
"I don't care for the pain, Percy, so much as the humiliation of the
thing. To be stared at and poked by these curs as if we were wild
beasts, when with half a dozen of our men we could send a hundred of
them scampering, I feel as if I could choke with rage."
"You had better try and eat some of this rice, Jack. It is not very
nice, but I daresay we shall get no more until to-morrow night, and we
must keep up our strength if we can. At any rate, the water is not bad,
that's a comfort."
"No thanks to them," Jack growled. "If there had been any bad water in
the neighbourhood they would have given it to us."
For three weeks the sufferings of the prisoners continued. Their
captors avoided towns, where the authorities would probably at once have
taken the prisoners out of their hands.
No one would have recognized the two captives as the midshipmen of the
_Perseus_. Their clothes were in rags--torn to pieces by the thrusts of
the sharp-pointed bamboos, to which they had daily been subjected. The
bad food, the cramped position, and the misery which they suffered had
worn both lads to skeletons. Their hair was matted with filth; their
faces begrimed with dirt.
Percy was so weak that he felt he could not stand. Fothergill, being
three years older, was less exhausted; but he knew that he, too, could
not support his sufferings for many days longer. Their bodies were
covered with sores, and try as they would they were able to catch only a
few minutes' sleep at a time, so much did the bamboo bars hurt their
wasted limbs.
They seldom exchanged a word during the daytime, suffering in silence
the persecutions to which they were exposed; but at night they talked
about their homes and friends in England, and their comrades on board
ship, seldom saying a word as to their present position. They were now
in a hilly country, but had not the least idea of the direction in which
it lay from Canton or its distance from the coast.