He too had felt the cut, or part of it; for the overseer's wand did not discriminate.
The handle of the great oar swung towards Tristram.

Noting how his neighbour's hands were laid upon it, and copying his example, he began to tug with the rest, rising from his bench and falling back upon it at each stroke; and at the end of each stroke, where ordinarily a boat's oars rattle briskly against the tholepins, the time was marked with a loud clash of chains, and often enough with a sharp cry from some poor wretch who had been caught lagging and thwacked across the bare shoulders.

The fatigue after a time grew intolerably heavy.

While the sun smote down through the awning, the heat of their exercise seemed never to pass up through it, but beat back upon their faces in sickening waves, stopping their breath.
Of the world outside their den they could see nothing but a small patch of grey sea beyond the hole in which their oar worked.
The sweat poured off their chests and backs in streams, until their waist-bands clung to the flesh like soaked sponges.

Some began to moan and sob; others to entreat Heaven for a respite, as if God were directing their torture and taking delight in it; others again broke out into frightful imprecations, cursing their Maker and the hour of their birth.