The chief of the caravan, that ferocious Ibn Hamis, who had interfered in the struggle between Dick Sand and his overseer, watched this whole troop, going backwards and forwards from the head to the foot of the long column.  If his agents and he troubled themselves but little about the sufferings of their captives, they must reckon more seriously either with the soldiers who claimed some additional rations, or with the “pagazis” who wanted to halt.  Thence discussions; often even an exchange of brutality.  The slaves suffered more from the overseers’ constant irritation.  Nothing was heard but threats from one side, and cries of grief from the other.  Those who marched in the last ranks treaded a soil that the first had stained with their blood.

Dick Sand’s companions, always carefully kept in front of the convoy, could have no communication with him.  They advanced in file, the neck held in the heavy fork, which did not permit a single head-movement.  The whips did not spare them any more than their sad companions in misfortune.

Bat, coupled with his father, marched before him, taxing his ingenuity not to shake the fork, choosing the best places to step on, because old Tom must pass after him.  From time to time, when the overseer was a little behind, he uttered various words of encouragement, some of which reached Tom.  He even tried to retard his march, if he felt that Tom was getting tired.  It was suffering, for this good son to be unable to turn his head towards his good father, whom he loved.  Doubtless, Tom had the satisfaction of seeing his son; however, he paid dear for it.  How many times great tears flowed from his eyes when the overseer’s whip fell upon Bat!  It was a worse punishment than if it had fallen on his own flesh.

Austin and Acteon marched a few steps behind, tied to each other, and brutally treated every moment.  Ah, how they envied Hercules’s fate!  Whatever were the dangers that threatened the latter in that savage country, he could at least use his strength and defend his life.

During the first moments of their captivity, old Tom had finally made known the whole truth to his companions.  They had learned from him, to their profound astonishment, that they were in Africa; that Negoro’s and Harris’s double treachery had first thrown them there, and then led them away, and that no pity was to be expected from their masters.

Nan was not better treated.  She made part of a group of women who occupied the middle of the convoy.  They had chained her with a young mother of two children, one at the breast, the other aged three years, who walked with difficulty.  Nan, moved with pity, had burdened herself with the little creature, and the poor slave had thanked her by a tear.  Nan then carried the infant, at the same time, sparing her the fatigue, to which she would have yielded, and the blows the overseer would have given her.  But it was a heavy burden for old Nan.  She felt that her strength would soon fail her, and then she thought of little Jack.  She pictured him to herself in his mother’s arms.  Sickness had wasted him very much, but he must be still heavy for Mrs. Weldon’s weakened arms.  Where was she?  What would become of her?  Would her old servant ever see her again?