Here it seemed as if a halt was to be made for resting, and after satisfying their own thirst, leave was given to the unhappy prisoners to assuage theirs, and then a certain amount of the food found in the various huts was served round.
“Better than nothing, Mas’ Don,” said Jem, attacking his portion with the same avidity as was displayed by his fellow-prisoners. “’Tarn’t good, but it’ll fill up.”
“Look, Jem!” whispered Don; “isn’t that Tomati?”
Jem ceased eating, and stared in the direction indicated by Don.
“Why, ’tis,” he whispered. “Don’t take no notice, lad, or they’ll stop us, but let’s keep on edging along till we get to him. Will you go first, or follow me?”
“I’ll follow you,” whispered Don; and Jem began at once by changing his position a little as he went on eating. Then a little more, Don following, till they had placed a group of the miserable, apathetic-looking women between them and the warriors.
These women looked at them sadly, but made no effort to speak, only sat watching them as they crept on and on till they were close upon the recumbent figure which they had taken to be the tattooed Englishman.
“Why, if this is so easy, Mas’ Don,” said Jem, “why couldn’t we get right among the trees and make for the woods?”
“Hush! Some one may understand English, and then our chance would be gone. Go on.”
Another half-dozen yards placed them close beside the figure they had sought to reach, and as he lay beside him, Don touched the poor fellow on the breast.