Gervaise, with the men of his room, proceeded down to the port, and at once took their seats on the benches of the galley, one foot being chained to a ring in the deck, the other to that of a companion at the oar.  The slaves were more cheerful now.  As there was no work to do at present, they were allowed to talk, and an occasional laugh was heard, for the sun and brightness of the day cheered them.  Many, after years of captivity, had grown altogether reckless, and it was among these that there was most talking; the younger men seemed, for the most part, silent and moody.

“You will get accustomed to it,” the man next to Gervaise said cheeringly.  “When I first came here, it seemed to me that I could not support the life for a month —­ that the fate was too dreadful to be borne, and that death would be most welcome; but, like the rest, I became accustomed to it in time.  After all, the work is no harder than one would do at home.  There is no stint of food, and it is no worse than one would have, were one labouring in the fields.  Were it not for the loss of those we love, it would be nothing; and in time one gets over even that.  I have long ago told myself that if they are not dead, at least they are dead to me.  They have their livings to get, and cannot be always mourning, and I have tried to forget them, as they must have forgotten me.”

“Do you work hard?” Gervaise asked.

“No.  We who are in the galleys are regarded by the others with envy.  Sometimes —­ often, indeed —­ we have naught to do all day.  We bask in the sun, we talk, we sleep, we forget that we are slaves.  But, generally, we go out for an hour or two’s exercise; that is well enough, and keeps us strong and in health.  Only when we are away on voyages is the work hard.  Sometimes we row from morning to night; but it is only when they are in chase of another craft that we have really to exert ourselves greatly.  Then it is terrible.  We may be doing our best, our very best, and yet to the impatient knights it seems that we might do more.  Then they shout to the overseer, and he lays his whip on our backs without mercy.  Then we row until sometimes we drop, senseless, off the benches.  But this, you understand, is not very often; and though the work on a cruise is long, it is not beyond our strength.  Besides, when we are away in the galley there is always hope.  The galley may meet with four or five of our ships, and be captured, or a storm may arise and dash her upon the shore; and though many would lose their lives, some might escape, and each man, in thinking of it, believes that he will be one of the fortunate ones.