The care of Lieutenant Robinson, of the Thames frigate, will set the conduct of the agents of tyranny in its proper light. This gentleman was taken in the latter end of October 1793, when _terror_ was the _order of the day_, and in the engagement, which led to the capture of the ship, lost one of his legs above the knee, and was severely wounded in the other. On his arrival at Brest he was sent on shore to an hospital, and attributes his being now alive to a good constitution only; for he was neglected by the surgeons, and obliged to eat food in the highest degree improper for a wounded man. He once applied to the chief commissary for permission to send a person to buy some eggs, vegetables, and other refreshments for him, and was brutally refused. Mr. Robinson found, however, in some nuns, who were compelled to attend here, tender and careful nurses. These poor women were subjected to the grossest insults, and the harshest treatment. They had accustomed themselves, from motives of religious commiseration towards the sick, to employ their leisure hours in praying by the couches of those who chose to hear them; but this pious and humane practice was interdicted to them, by an especial mandate from the representatives on mission here; and two of them, who were found guilty of transgressing the order, were dragged to prison, amidst reproaches, taunts, and execrations. Some months after, when his cure was advanced, though far from completed, Mr. Robinson, in a hope of changing for the better, requested to be removed to Pontenazan prison, about two miles from Brest, which was the general receptacle of the English. Thither he was conveyed in a cart, with several more sick prisoners, and thrust into an old rope-house, containing 700 people, who shortly after were increased to 1,400. This room contained no beds for the sick, and his stump was not healed. At first they were allowed to walk for air in the day-time in an inclosed court; but this indulgence did not last long, and thenceforth, on _no occasion whatever_, was a prisoner suffered to go out of the room. Nay the windows were forbidden to be opened, though it was the beginning of summer. However, upon this interdiction being communicated to the representatives at Brest, they ordered the windows to be kept closed on _one side only_. This rigorous crowded confinement soon induced putrid diseases, which swept off twenty and thirty persons a day, who were thrown without covering into a large hole, and quick-lime heaped on the bodies. The daily allowance of the prison was a pound and a quarter of black sandy bread, four ounces of salt pork, a pint of sour wine, and at night a soup, of horse-beans boiled in water. The pork they were obliged to eat always raw, for there was neither a kitchen, nor any fire allowed, by which it could be dressed; and the sentinels were strictly forbidden to permit the prisoners to send out and make purchases of fuel, or aught else that they might need.