He felt the need of food very sorely.
In the next place, he could think of no immediate means of getting anything to eat.

He had no gun or pistol--nothing more than his simple jack-knife.

The prospect of procuring anything substantial with that was not flattering enough to make him feel hopeful.
And again, now that he had freed himself of captivity, how was he to make his way back to New Boston, where friends were awaiting him, with little hope of his return?
He had traversed many miles since the preceding night, and had gone through a country that was totally unknown to him.

To attempt to retrace his footsteps without the aid of a horse was like attempting that which was impossible.
While in the act of fleeing, he thought not of these.

He was unconscious of hunger, and forgot that he was so many miles from home; but now both conditions were forced upon him with anything but a pleasant vividness.
But all of Fred's ingenuity was unequal to the task of suggesting a way whereby his want could be supplied.