known, yet divided they were, until some escaped and others died or were given up.
Since Larry had been captured he had passed through half a dozen different hands. It must be said he had been treated fairly well, better, perhaps, than many of my readers may suppose. To be sure, his clothing was in rags and his shoes were almost minus their soles, but in these respects he was no worse off than those who kept him captive. Then, too, the food given him was very plain, but the rebels ate the same, and to complain, therefore, would have been worse than useless.
Larry had missed Barton Brownell, for the pair had been fairly friendly, as we know. With the transferal to new quarters the young sailor had struck up an acquaintanceship with Dan Leroy, one of the Yorktown's men, also a prisoner. A number of the sailors from the Yorktown—in fact, a boatload, had been captured, but Leroy had become separated from his messmates at the very start.
"Yes, it is monotonous, lad," said Leroy, who was resting at Larry's feet. "But, as I've said a hundred times afore, we can't help ourselves, consequently, make the best on it. Ain't that sound argyment, lad?"
