The doors were opened, and they stood on the threshold.
"Right face!" All wheeled to the right.
"March!" was the next order.
At that word they marched down the stairs, in the order that they came out of their cells, deposited the ration pan and quart, in which they had carried their supper to their rooms the night before, on the ration table, to be taken into the kitchen and washed, ready to receive their breakfast, which was passed out in them when they came in from work at seven.
The other divisions were called out in the same way, and followed in their order.
Unrefreshed, sleepy, and without energy, they moved along to their two hours of labor before breakfast. And such a breakfast to look forward to when it came. Rye coffee and mush, varied with brown bread once a week, and this purposely stinted to the least possible amount which one could subsist on and work.
I noticed that most of them took only their coffee, and worked upon that when it was brown bread morning till the noon meal came.
Many a one looked into her quart, as she passed me, and sighed out, "God help us!"
"May He help you! He only can—I cannot," was my response; but not always made audibly.
He only knew how I longed to do so. I often said to myself, as the days passed on, I would not starve a dumb dog as those poor human things are starved. I would not work a dumb animal as those poor human things are worked! Nor would the Master feed his horse as they were fed; nor would he stall him as those prisoners were lodged.