“To be sure, he is a free, fierce bird, you can’t get him used to prison,” others agreed.

“He’s not like us, it seems,” added someone.

“That’s a silly thing to say. He’s a bird and we are men, aren’t we?”

“The eagle is the king of the forests, brothers,” began Skuratov, but this time they did not listen to him.

One day after dinner when the drum had just sounded for us to go to work, they took the eagle, holding his beak, for he began fighting savagely, and carried him out of the prison. We got to the rampart. The twelve men of the party were eagerly curious to see where the eagle would go. Strange to say, they all seemed pleased as though they, too, had won a share of freedom.

“See, the cur, one does something for his good, and he keeps biting one,” said the convict who was carrying him, looking at the fierce bird almost with affection.

“Let him go, Mikitka!”