Some one has said that “the darkest night always has an end,” but before the sun rose again it did verily seem to me as if that time of darkness would never pass, yet the day broke with not a cloud in the sky, and, looking out from where we had thrown ourselves down, it was difficult to believe that our peaceful valley was overrun by those who would murder and burn through fiendish love of cruelty. When I would have hunted around among the leaves to find something with which to fill my mouth, for the day had so far come that we could see surrounding objects distinctly, Master Bartlett said, with more of authority in his tones than I had ever heard him use: “Now then, lad, nothing of that kind. I have seen many a good man use himself up by chewing whatsoever he might find in the woods. Better suck your thumbs a few hours longer, and then we’ll sit down to corn bread and smoked meat with all the keener appetite.” “The sooner we begin the quicker will we come to the end,” Giles cried, with a feeble attempt at a laugh. “Suppose you lead the way, Master Bartlett, while Jonathan and I watch out to see if you wander from a straight course.” And thus we started, thinking it was only a question of endurance before we would come to our destination, and little heeding the possible dangers in our path. We stumbled on like those who are drunken, because of the weakness which beset us. More than once did Giles call a halt that we might decide whether or no Master Bartlett was not making a détour to the right or left instead of keeping straight on toward where the river would be found. But never once did we say to each other that our ideas of the country, because of the darkness when we fled so hastily, might be wrong, until the moment came when we found ourselves climbing higher and higher. Then there could no longer be any question but that, instead of going toward the river, we had turned our backs upon it, and were come to the mountains. CHAPTER VIII. WICKED FOLLY It is beyond the power of words to describe the sensations which I experienced on learning that, instead of having advanced toward where it would be possible to obtain food, we had been going directly away from it. What with the excitement of the battle and the flight, the fatigue of swimming and walking, and, above all, the wearing strain of anxiety as to the fate of our friends, I was no longer in a condition to fight against fate after receiving this last blow. “It is better to die here in peace than struggle farther with the good chance of finally being tortured at the stake!” I exclaimed, throwing myself on the ground, and Giles March flung himself headlong beside me, as if it was no longer within his power to speak.