increasing foulness of air, and to distinguish words of conversation
from the groups about me. There was but little profanity but some
rough horse-play, and a marked effort to pretend indifference. I could
make out gray-beards and mere boys mingling together, and occasionally
a man in some semblance of uniform. A few bore wounds, and the clothes
of several were in rags; all alike exhibited marks of suffering and
hardship. The butcher from Harwich, and the white-faced lad who had
marched beside me down the wharf, were not to be seen from where I
sat, although beyond doubt they were somewhere in the crowd. The hatch
was not lowered, and gazing up through the square opening, I obtained
glimpse of two soldiers on guard, the sunlight glinting on their guns.
Almost immediately there was the sound of tramping feet on the deck
above, and the creaking of blocks. Then a sudden movement of the hull
told all we were under way. This was recognized by a roar of voices.




CHAPTER II

THE PRISON SHIP


The greater portion of that voyage I would blot entirely from memory
if possible. I cannot hope to describe it in any detail---the foul
smells, the discomfort, the ceaseless horror of food, the close
companionship of men turned into mere animals by suffering and
distress, the wearisome days, the black, sleepless nights, the
poisonous air, and the brutality of guards. I can never forget these
things, for they have scarred my soul, yet surely I need not dwell