"Very nearly. Now there are certain offices, such as sweeping, shaving prisoners, cooking and the like, that receive payment; and those who can execute mechanic arts here may daily earn sixpence. Why are not our humbler folk allowed to share these privileges? The French receive all these offices, though the Americans are quite as deft as they. There is also the vital matter of the market. The French traffic weekly with the country people and so add fresh food to their store; we are not permitted to do so--a cruel embargo. To sum up, I pray for more food, more clothes, more generosity. We are men against whom the authorities can find no real fault. Our cachot is always empty. I was the last that occupied it. Our guards will tell you that we are courteous, obedient, and patient. Then pray, Mr. Blazey, help us. You know not the awful battle we have to fight here--a battle worse ten thousand times than any between man and man. We endure such cold as you have never endured, sir; we eat such food as you have never eaten; we suffer from such prison evils in shape of loathsome diseases as you will never know. We are very sick and we daily die. How can starving men battle with the reigning horror of smallpox? How can----" But at the word "smallpox," Mr. Blazey's countenance assumed a pallor under its purple and he woke from indifference to extreme activity. His little eyes wandered wildly over the great sea of faces before him. Then he screamed to Lieutenant Mainwaring. "Is this truth that the man utters?" The young officer took pleasure in Mr. Blazey's terror, and oblivious of the prisoners or their welfare, made answer-- "True enough. The atmosphere you are breathing is pure poison. Half these men are infected." It was a lie, but the Agent believed it, and made an instant bolt for the entrance. "Then I should have been told. This is murder--deliberate, cold-blooded murder, and you shall smart for it! Let me out for the Lord's sake, before I've gulped any more of their filthy air!" They made way and opened the gates. Then, before he vanished, Mr. Blazey turned and bawled a word or two towards Stark. "I'll see what can be managed for ye. I'll do my best endeavours. But I've no power, and no funds neither. Besides, all exchange of prisoners is stopped for this year. So you'll do wisely to bide quiet, and trust in God and the Transport Board, not me."