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Once, in the suffocating heat of mid-July, I saw a prison where every narro was filled with hu a portion of the external air And from that day, for many, many weeks the dead-carts took the corpses to the outer ditches, passing steadily froht, they died around us in ship and prison, some from suffocation, some from starvation, others delivered by prison fevers which rotted them so slowly that I think even death shrank back reluctant to touch theht, these crowded thousands, crushed in putridto the filthy prison bars, that they aroused couild that once had claidalen in its sad sisterhood, and these aided them with food, year after year, until deliverance

They had no other food, no water except from polluted drains, no fire in winter, no barriers to the blackest cold that ever seared the city from the times that man remembers I say they had no other food and no fire to cook the offal flung to the pere sisterhood--yet they were thousands upon thousands, and ere few

It is best that I say no --it is best that I speak not of Captain Cunningham the Provost, nor of his deputy, O'Keefe, nor of Sproat and Loring There was butchers' work in ; there was massacre, and scalps taken from children too small to lisp their prayers for ham and those who served him were alone in their awful trade; cruelty unspeakable and frenzied vice are terhastly depths of an infaots on hell's own pollution

Long since, I think, we have clasped hands with England over Cherry Valley and Wyo her the loosened fury of her red allies and her Butlers and McDonalds The scar relory

How shall we take old England's wrinkled hand, stretched out above the spots that mark the prisons of New York?--above the twelve thousand unnaraves of those who died for lack of air and water aboard the Jersey? God knows; and yet all things are possible with Him--even this miracle which I shall never live to see