But so closely they were pressed by the fear of losing their prize and being made prisoners, that it is to be feared as many of the living were thrown over for dead as of those who were dead in reality.
This, at any rate, came near to being Tristram's fate.

For when the keeper came to unchain the killed and wounded of his seat he was still without consciousness lying among the corpses, bathed in their blood and his own.
"A clean sweep of this bench," said the keeper.
He and his fellows, therefore, without further examination, did but unchain the slaves and then fling them over.

It was sufficient that the body neither spoke nor cried.
Tristram's comrades, it is true, were in no doubtful plight.
The hand of death had impressed them beyond chance of mistake.
They were thrown over limb by limb.
Tristram's was the only body that remained entire, and to all appearance he too was dead.

Now, he had been chained by the left leg, in which (as we have said) he was severely wounded.

The keeper, not knowing that the chain had been blown away, grasped this leg in his hand, felt for the ring and tried to wrench it open.
Fortunately he tugged so lustily and inflicted so sharp a pang in the wounded limb that Tristram opened his eyes and sobbed with the anguish of it.