He has taken to eating his meagre ration at a distance from Wilson and myself. He is first charged in the sun's court, and we, prisoners in the dock. Today our molasses ended. Piggot was partial to its sweetness. We three are touched with scurvy.
Joints swell painfully.
This night we cross a treeless plain. Dry grass is at the horses' chests. It shifts in ripples and the snaking patterns of water. Yet we are on a fretful, jarring path and the horses constantly fall in ruts and holes they have no chance of seeing. Wilson has been dislodged twice, swearing mightily on his way down.