Hunger was the great grievance of which they complained; and if their stories were true—­and we afterward had strong proofs that they were—­there was a wanton disregard of common humanity, and an abuse of power the most reprehensible.  The allowance per day was a loaf of bad bread, weighing about nine ounces, and a pint of thin, repulsive soup, so nauseous that only the most necessitated appetite could be forced to receive it, merely to sustain animal life.  This was served in a dirty-looking tin pan, without even a spoon to serve it.  One man told us that he had subsisted on bread and water for nearly five weeks-that he had lain down to sleep in the afternoon and dreamed that he was devouring some wholesome nourishment to stay the cravings of his appetite, and awoke to grieve that it was but a dream.  In this manner his appetite was doubly aggravated, yet he could get nothing to appease its wants until the next morning.  To add to this cruelty, we found two men in close confinement, the most emaciated and abject specimens of humanity we have ever beheld.  We asked ourselves, “Lord God! was it to be that humanity should descend so low?” The first was a forlorn, dejected-looking creature, with a downcast countenance, containing little of the human to mark his features.  His face was covered with hair, and so completely matted with dirt and made fiendish by the tufts of coarse hair that hung over his forehead, that a thrill of horror invaded our feelings.  He had no shoes on his feet; and a pair of ragged pantaloons, and the shreds of a striped shirt without sleeves, secured around the waist with a string, made his only clothing.  In truth, he had scarce enough on to cover his nakedness, and that so filthy and swarming with vermin, that he kept his shoulders and hands busily employed; while his skin was so incrusted with dirt as to leave no trace of its original complexion.  In this manner he was kept closely confined, and was more like a wild beast who saw none but his keepers when they came to throw him his feed.  Whether he was kept in this manner for his dark deeds or to cover the shame of those who speculated upon his misery, we leave to the judgment of the reader.

We asked this poor mortal what he had done to merit such a punishment?  He held his head down, and motioned his fevered lips.  “Speak out!” said we, “perhaps we can get you out.”  “I had no shoes, and I took a pair of boots from the gentleman I worked with,” said he in a low, murmuring tone,

“Gracious, man!” said we, “a pair of boots! and is that all you are here for?”

“Yes, sir! he lives on the wharf, is very wealthy, and is a good man:  ’t wasn’t his fault, because he tried to get me out if I’d pay for the boots, but they wouldn’t let him.”

“And how long have you been thus confined?” said we.

“Better than five months-but it’s because there a’n’t room up stairs.  They’ve been promising me some clothes for a long time, but they don’t come,” he continued.