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The tug would soon land a dozen men on the shore, where
every crevice would be searched thoroughly. I should be
captured without a doubt, brought back to the Beehive
and deprived of my liberty.

I must, then, give up all idea of flight, unless I can see
some chance of success. But if a favourable opportunity
occurs, I shall certainly not let it escape.

While perambulating the rows of cells I was able to
study some of the inmates who have accepted this
monotonous existence in the depths of Backcup. As I
said before, their number may be put down as a hundred,
in accordance with the cells of the Beehive.

These people take no notice of me when I pass. On
close examination they appear to me to be recruited from
all parts. In them I can distinguish no common stock—
not even that bond which will be found between North
Americans, or Europeans, or Asiatics. The colour of
their skin varies—white, copper, and black, and it is the
black of the Australian rather than the African. Generally
speaking, they seem for the most part to belong to the
East Indian races; in fact, this type is even very
apparent in the greater number. I may add that Count
d’Artigas certainly belongs to that special race found in
the lower islands of the West Pacific; Serké comes from
the Levant, and Spade from Spain or Spanish America.

But if the inhabitants of Backcup are not connected by
the ties of race, they certainly are by those of instinct
and appetite. Such evil countenances, such fierce faces,
such fundamentally savage types! They are violent

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