This man gave me accounts of the most horrid scenes that he had witnessed. At one period, he said that it was certain death for a man to refuse to volunteer.
Our second day of imprisonment passed dully enough, and indeed it would have been much worse, but for the converse we held with Captain Crawford and Mr. Rowley, whose principal theme was the lightness of their rations. Their allowance of corn-bread, for instance, was a bit about one and a half inches square twice a day. My wounds were exceedingly painful, but I was obliged to suffer on without obtaining any relief. Before I lay down for the night, however, I comforted myself with joining my comrade in singing those beautiful lines—
“From every stormy wind that blows,
And every swelling tide of woe,
There is a calm, a safe retreat;
’Tis found beneath the mercy-seat.”
God’s blessing made us happy, and we could exclaim with faith, “These chains will not always hold us here.” How insignificant were our sufferings when compared to those which had been endured by the followers of Christ in ancient times! Again, while on our wretched couches, we sang:
“My days are gliding swiftly by,
And I, a pilgrim stranger,
Would not detain them as they fly—