Henceforward they were
to be kept from year's beginning to year's end within the wall. The
prisoners built it themselves of mud-bricks dried in the sun. Feversham
took his share in the work, and Trench, as soon almost as he could
stand, was joined with him.
"Here's our last hope gone," he said; and though Feversham did not
openly agree, in spite of himself his heart began to consent.
They piled the bricks one upon the other and mortised them. Each day the
wall rose a foot. With their own hands they closed themselves in. Twelve
feet high the wall stood when they had finished it--twelve feet high,
and smooth and strong. There was never a projection from its surface on
which a foot could rest; it could not be broken through in a night.
Trench and Feversham contemplated it in despair. The very palm trees of
Khartum were now hidden from their eyes. A square of bright blue by day,
a square of dark blue by night, jewelled with points of silver and
flashing gold, limited their world. Trench covered his face with his
hands.
"I daren't look at it," he said in a broken voice. "We have been
building our own coffin, Feversham, that's the truth of it." And then he
cast up his arms and cried aloud: "Will they never come up the Nile, the
gunboats and the soldiers? Have they forgotten us in England? Good God!
have they forgotten us?"
"Hush!" replied Feversham.
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