“They seem to think we are wild beasts,” laughed Silvers. He bowed politely, but the ladies turned and rode away.
It will be unnecessary to go into the details of the weary march that followed the tramp along the river trail. For four days the prisoners were kept on the road. Montreal was passed, with only a faraway glimpse of its large cathedral and its seminary, and then the course was almost straight for Quebec.
So far the prisoners had been treated fairly well, but now came a change in the command; and they were given food that was hardly fit to eat.
“We can’t stand this very long,” was Henry’s comment, as he threw away a moldy crust that it was impossible to swallow. “I’d choke on such stuff.”
The officer in charge of them saw the crust thrown away, and came up shaking his fist at them.
“Zat ees ze best you vill git,” he cried. “Of you no eat zat, you starve!”
“All right, we’ll starve then,” replied Henry recklessly.
“Bah! you think you are ze brave boy, eh? Ze English za be all grand cowards!” And the Frenchman went off in disgust.
“He’s a cheerful dog,” muttered Silvers.
The next day the fare was even worse, and both of the prisoners were on the point of open rebellion. At night the French officer brought in an aged Englishman to talk to them. The Englishman was a Canadian settler.