“It’s no use rigging up a jack-in-the-box for him it seems. Give him freedom, freedom full and free!”

He threw the eagle from the rampart into the plain. It was a cold gloomy day in late autumn, the wind was whistling over the bare plain and rustling in the yellow, withered, tussocky grass of the steppes. The eagle went off in a straight line, fluttering his injured wing, as though in haste to get away from us anywhere. With curiosity the convicts watched his head flitting through the grass.

“Look at him!” said one dreamily. “He doesn’t look round!” added another. “He hasn’t looked round once, lads, he just runs off!”

“Did you expect him to come back to say thank you?” observed a third.

“Ah, to be sure it’s freedom. It’s freedom he sniffs.”

“You can’t see him now, mates.⁠ ⁠…”