But a vehicle loaded down with the rough visitors of the place could not be an unusual sight, for they were the kind of people who were disposed to make the night hideous, as well as the day.
Christy had struggled with all his might to shake off the ruffians who beset him, and two more had come out from their concealment when he thought he was making some progress in freeing himself from their grasp.
As soon as his wrists were ironed he realized that resistance was useless, and that it could only increase his discomfort.

It was a terrible calamity to have fallen into the power of a man so brutal and unscrupulous as Captain Flanger, bent upon revenging himself for the mutilation of his most prominent facial member.

He was certainly disfigured for life, though the wound made by the ball from the revolver had healed; but it was an ill-looking member, and he appeared to be conscious of his facial deformity all the time.
The men in the carriage said nothing, and Christy way unable to speak.
They seemed to be afraid of attracting the attention of the few passers-by in the streets, and of betraying the nature of the outrage in which they were engaged.

The streets in the more frequented parts of the town were crowded with men, as the victim had been able to see, and he hoped that they would come across some large collection of people.

In that case he decided to make a demonstration that would attract the attention of the police, if nothing more.
He had no idea of the location of Fort Montague, to which the man on the box had been ordered to drive them.