Suddenly, and futilely as I thought while I spoke, I asked: "Gunga
Dass, what is the good of the boat if I can't get out _anyhow_?" I
recollect that even in my deepest trouble I had been speculating
vaguely on the waste of ammunition in guarding an already well
protected foreshore.

Gunga Dass laughed again and made answer: "They have the boat
only in daytime. It is for the reason that _there is a way_. I hope
we shall have the pleasure of your company for much longer time.
It is a pleasant spot when you have been here some years and eaten
roast crow long enough."

I staggered, numbed and helpless, toward the fetid burrow allotted
to me, and fell asleep. An hour or so later I was awakened by a
piercing scream--the shrill, high-pitched scream of a horse in pain.
Those who have once heard that will never forget the sound. I
found some little difficulty in scrambling out of the burrow. When
I was in the open, I saw Pornic, my poor old Pornic, lying dead on
the sandy soil. How they had killed him I cannot guess. Gunga
Dass explained that horse was better than crow, and "greatest
good of greatest number is political maxim. We are now Republic,
Mister Jukes, and you are entitled to a fair share of the beast. If
you like, we will pass a vote of thanks. Shall I propose?"

Yes, we were a Republic indeed! A Republic of wild beasts
penned at the bottom of a pit, to eat and fight and sleep till we
died. I attempted no protest of any kind, but sat down and stared at
the hideous sight in front of me. In less time almost than it takes
me to write this, Pornic's body was divided, in some unclear way