THE IMMORTAL SIX HUNDRED
ancestors of this fellow Hallowell were Massachusetts Tories, doing all they could to defeat the cause of the American Colonies, and possibly spies for the English crown. And yet the fate of war compelled us to listen to the impudence of this doughty hero—unable to resent his insults. How brave he was, backed as he was by the bayonets of his nigger soldiers. One of his smart jokes was to come into our prison pen and say, in his arrogant drawl, "Gentlemen, to-morrow I will have some barrels placed in the streets of your inclosure into which you can throw your bones. Of course, I mean your meat bones." This was cruel; it was cowardly to make such jests of our starving condition. He could see daily how the treatment was breaking down and killing our men; he reveled in our terrible condition. Most of the prisoners were suffering with acute dysentery. From this terrible complaint not one escaped; but none of our men complained; none murmured against our government.
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