The succeeding months passed drearily away, with nothing occurring to break the weary monotony of life, except at long intervals the arrival of a fresh squad of prisoners. This was an event in their existence, and replaced them once more in communication with the outward world. The new comers were lions for the time. Eager groups gathered around each one, impatiently asking after the news, and how the war got on. The triumphs of our navy made them forget, for awhile, the gloom of their dismal abode. Every action had to be described over and over again, losing nothing by Jack's embellishments--the narration ever and anon interrupted with huzzas and acclamations. They would lie for hours awake in their hammocks, listening to the recital of the marvellous sea-fights in which "free trade and sailors' rights" were gallantly maintained, and cheers would burst out of the darkness, ringing down through the tiers of cots that lined the walls. During the autumn of 1813, a fresh arrival of prisoners brought the news of Perry's victory on Lake Erie, and the capture of the Boxer by the Enterprise. These were the occasion of great rejoicing, and while the more intelligent and respectable portion of the captives discussed the victories calmly, the hundreds of common seamen shook the prison walls with their uproarious mirth and unbounded exultation. [Sidenote: 1813.] The sufferings of the prisoners were the greatest during this winter. They were allowed no fire and no light, although the windows were not glazed; and locked within the cold damp stone walls at the close of the short winter days, were compelled to spend the long winter evenings in darkness, whiling away the time in telling stories--keeping warm by huddling together, or creeping to their hammocks with but a single tattered blanket to protect them from the cold. To make their wretchedness complete, the winter set in with a severity not felt before for half a century, and which has had no parallel since. The mountain on which the prison stood was covered with snow to the depth of from two to four feet. The stream running through the prison yard, and the buckets of water in the prisoners' room were frozen solid. Most of the prisoners being protected only by rags, and destitute of shoes, they could not go out into the yard at all, for it was covered with snow, but lay crouched in their hammocks all day and all night. The strong were bowed in gloom and despair, and the weak perished in protracted agonies. To fill up the measure of their sufferings, the commanding officer issued an order compelling them to turn out at nine o'clock in the morning, and stand in the yard till the guard counted them. This took nearly an hour, during which time the poor fellows stood barefoot in the snow, benumbed by the cold and pierced by the bleak December blasts that swept the desolate mountain, and hurled the snow in clouds through the air. Unable to bear this dreadful exposure, the prisoners cut up