“Sleep! Sleep! If you don’t, I’ll—” The superintendent did not finish the sentence.
“Sleep—that’s easy to say,” thought the prisoner.
“How can the defender of man’s freedom sleep—if he is buried alive and has no hope?”
The mind of the haiduk was a volcano; the cell was narrow, the chains heavy. The rattle of chains was the hideous song of autocracy, which since the beginning of time has echoed from prison walls.
The superintendent went away. The prisoner stood still for a moment, pondered the words, then began to move about again. He tried to walk softly along the wall, carefully, little step by little step. And the chains rang and rang disturbing the night.
“How long has the good-for-nothing been here?” inquired the helper.
“Three days ago they caught him in Toprag-Gale. He must be a bad lot who can not sleep. No one knows who he is nor whence he came.”
“Will he ascend—it?”
“What? You mean the gallows? Of course—if they sentence him!”
They were silent. It was not a suitable subject for conversation. Therefore they thought about it a good deal and said nothing. The silence was broken by a sudden crash of the chains.
“Just wait till daylight, you dog of a giaour!” murmured the superintendent. “Wait!”
The helper got up, said good night and went out.
Daylight came and the hour when the prisoners are given their breakfast.
