I opened my father's knapsack, and a pang of new misery seized me.

There lay nearly all his rations, which he had made pretense to eat as he gave me mine from time to time.

He had starved himself; since he failed of his mark, and learned our risk of famishing, all his own food he had kept for me, as well as his store of water.

And I had done nothing but grumble and groan, even while consuming every thing.

Compared with me, the hovering vultures might be considered angels.
When I found all this, I was a great deal too worn out to cry or sob.
Simply to break down may be the purest mercy that can fall on truly hopeless misery.