None of these poor creatures looked up as we rode along by; they showed no consciousness of our presence.
And they made no sound but one; that was the dull and awful clank of their chains from end to end of the long file, as forty-three burdened feet rose and fell in unison.

The file moved in a cloud of its own making.
All these faces were gray with a coating of dust.

One has seen the like of this coating upon furniture in unoccupied houses, and has written his idle thought in it with his finger.

I was reminded of this when I noticed the faces of some of those women, young mothers carrying babes that were near to death and freedom, how a something in their hearts was written in the dust upon their faces, plain to see, and lord, how plain to read! for it was the track of tears.

One of these young mothers was but a girl, and it hurt me to the heart to read that writing, and reflect that it was come up out of the breast of such a child, a breast that ought not to know trouble yet, but only the gladness of the morning of life; and no doubt-- She reeled just then, giddy with fatigue, and down came the lash and flicked a flake of skin from her naked shoulder.