Tristram sat up and rubbed his eyes.

He was one of at least three dozen poor wretches, hollow-eyed, lean of cheek, and shivering with famine, whom the sergeant proceeded to drive into a small crowd near the entrance, shouting an order which was repeated outside.
Six men appeared, each carrying a load of chains.

With these he fastened his prisoners together, two-and-two, by the wrist and ankle, and marched them out into the open air.
Outside the rain was descending sullenly, and in this downpour the captives waited for a mortal hour.

Then three men came along, bearing trays heaped up with thick hunks of brown bread.

A hunk was doled out to each of the gang, and Tristram ate his portion greedily, slaking his thirst afterwards by sucking at the sleeve of his cloak.
He had hardly done when the sergeant gave the word to march.
That day they tramped steadily till sunset, when they reached the town of Courtrai, and were halted on the outskirts.