"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.
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