His reiterated negative rendered the men furious; the soft voice of the Creole became harsh with anger, and with menaces and blasphemies they all threw themselves upon him, and the cruel hunt of the man round and round the dungeon began, the cudgels falling on his body, beat his head or his legs indifferently, pursuing him into corners, following him as with a desperate bound he reached the opposite wall, opening the way with his bent head, his back resounding like an empty box beneath the blows.

Now and then the desperation of pain inflamed the victim, the lamb turned into a wild beast, and before falling to the ground, cowering like a child before superior numbers, he would throw himself on the executioners, tearing them, and trying to bite them.

Gabriel kept a button from the lieutenant's uniform which had remained in his fingers after one of these revolts of his weakness.
Afterwards, his tormentors, wearied by the inutility of their violence, left him forgotten in the dungeon.

A loaf of bread and some bits of dry salt cod were his only food.

Thirst, an infernal thirst, racked his bowels, contracted his throat, and burnt his mouth.