“Yes, I suppose so, Jem. Not hungry; but I feel as if I have had no food. I am too miserable to be hungry.”
“So am I sometimes when my shoulder burns; at other times I feel as if I could eat wood.”
They sat in silence as the moon rose higher, and the long lines of paddles in the different boats looked more weird and strange, while in the distance a mountain top that stood above the long black line of trees flashed in the moonlight as if emitting silver fire.
“Wonder where they’ll take us?” said Jem, at last.
“To their pah, I suppose,” replied Don, dreamily.
“I s’pose they’ll give us something to eat when we get there, eh?”
“I suppose so, Jem. I don’t know, and I feel too miserable even to try and think.”
“Ah,” said Jem; “that’s how those poor women and the wounded prisoners feel, Mas’ Don; but they’re only copper-coloured blacks, and we’re whites. We can’t afford to feel as they do. Look here, my lad, how soon do you think you’ll be strong enough to try and escape?”
“I don’t know, Jem.”
“I say to-morrow.”