“Come, now, are you hungry?” he queried once more.

“If ye please, massa,” began the little one who was spokesman,—­’little folks always are gas-bags,’ Jim was fond of saying from his six feet of height,—­“if ye please, massa, we’s had nothin’ to eat but berries an’ roots an’ sich like truck for long while.”

“Well, why by the devil haven’t you had something else then? what’ve you been doing with yourselves for ‘long while’? what d’ye mean, coming here starved to death, making a fellow sick to look at you?  Hold your gab, and eat up that pork,” pushing over his tin plate, “‘n’ that bread,” sending it after, “‘n’ that hard tack,—­’tain’t very good, but it’s better’n roots, I reckon, or berries either,—­’n’ gobble up that coffee, double-quick, mind; and don’t you open your heads to talk till the grub’s gone, slick and clean.  Ugh!” he said to the Captain,—­“sight o’ them fellows just took my appetite away; couldn’t eat to save my soul; lucky they came to devour the rations; pity to throw them away.”  The Captain smiled,—­he knew Jim.  “Poor cusses!” he added presently, “eat like cannibals, don’t they? hope they enjoy it.  Had enough?” seeing they had devoured everything put before them.

“Thankee, massa.  Yes, massa.  Bery kind, massa.  Had quite ’nuff.”

“Well, now, you, sir!” looking at the little one,—­“by the way, what’s your name?”

“’Bijah, if ye please, massa.”

“’Bijah?  Abijah, hey? well, I don’t please; however, it’s none of my name.  Well, ’Bijah, how came you two to be looking like a couple of animated skeletons? that’s the next question.”

“Yes, massa.”

“I say, how came you to be starved?  Hai’n’t they nothing but roots and berries up your way?  Mass’ George Wingate must have a jolly time, feasting, in that case.  Come, what’s your story?  Out with the whole pack of lies at once.”

“I hope massa thinks we wouldn’t tell nuffin but de truf,” said Jim, who had not before spoken save to say, “Thankee,”—­“cause if he don’t bleeve us, ain’t no use in talkin’.”

“You shut up!  I ain’t conversing with you, rawbones!  Speak when you’re spoken to!  Come, ’Bijah, fire away.”

“Bery good, massa.  Ye see I’se Mass’ George Wingate’s boy.  Mass’ George he lives in de back country, good long way from de coast,—­over a hundred miles, Jim calklates,—­an’ Jim’s smart at calklating; well, Mass’ George he’s not berry good to his people; never was, an’ he’s been wuss’n ever since the Linkum sojers cum round his way, ’cause it’s made feed scurce ye see, an’ a lot of de boys dey tuck to runnin’ away,—­so what wid one ting an’ anoder, his temper got spiled, an’ he was mighty hard on us all de time.