Whatever we might be at other times, when the east wind blew in from the sea we were, every man of us, _ames perdues_ in very truth, and I marvel sometimes that any of us saw the winter through.
The prison was a huge enclosure surrounded by a high wooden stockade.
Inside this was another stockade, and between the two armed guards paced day and night.

In the inner ring were a number of long wooden houses in which we lived, if that could be called living which for most was but a weary dragging on of existence bare of hope and love, and sorely trying at times to one's faith in one's fellows and almost in God Himself.

For the misery and suffering enclosed within that sharp-toothed circle of unbarked posts were enough to crush a man's spirit and sicken his heart.
In the summer pestilential fevers and agues crept out of the marshes and wasted us.

In the winter the east winds wrung our bones and our hearts.

And summer and winter alike, the Government contractors, or those employed by them, waxed fat on their contracts, which, if honestly carried out, would have kept us in reasonable content.
How some among my fellow-prisoners managed to keep up their hearts, and to maintain even fairly cheerful faces, was a source of constant amazement to me.