was a scene of misery, such as nothing short of actual observation can
suggest to the mind. Some were noisy and obstreperous, endeavouring by a
false bravery to keep at bay the remembrance of their condition; while
others, incapable even of this effort, had the torment of their thoughts
aggravated by the perpetual noise and confusion that prevailed around
them. In the faces of those who assumed the most courage, you might
trace the furrows of anxious care and in the midst of their laboured
hilarity dreadful ideas would ever and anon intrude, convulsing their
features, and working every line into an expression of the keenest
agony. To these men the sun brought no return of joy. Day after day
rolled on, but their state was immutable. Existence was to them a scene
of invariable melancholy; every moment was a moment of anguish; yet did
they wish to prolong that moment, fearful that the coming period would
bring a severer fate. They thought of the past with insupportable
repentance, each man contented to give his right hand to have again the
choice of that peace and liberty, which he had unthinkingly bartered
away. We talk of instruments of torture; Englishmen take credit to
themselves for having banished the use of them from their happy shore!
Alas! he that has observed the secrets of a prison, well knows that
there is more torture in the lingering existence of a criminal, in the
silent intolerable minutes that he spends, than in the tangible misery
of whips and racks!

Such were our days. At sunset our jailors appeared, and ordered each man
to come away, and be locked into his dungeon. It was a bitter
aggravation of our fate, to be under the arbitrary control of these
fellows. They felt no man's sorrow; they were of all men least capable
of any sort of feeling. They had a barbarous and sullen pleasure in
issuing their detested mandates, and observing the mournful reluctance
with which they were obeyed. Whatever they directed, it was in vain to