their jugs and baskets; and their
cheering beverage soon changed our sad countenances; and as we marched
on we cheered each other. Our march drew to the doors and windows the
enchanting sight of fair ladies; compared with our dirty selves, they
looked like angels peeping out of Heaven; and yet they were neither
handsomer, or neater than our sweethearts and sisters in our own dear
country.

After we left the street, we found the road extremely dusty, which
rendered it very unpleasant in walking close to each other. Before we
got half way to the prison, there was a very heavy shower of rain, so
that by the time we arrived there we looked as if we had been
wallowing in the mud. Our unfeeling conductors marched us nine miles
before they allowed us to rest; never once considering how unfit we
were, from our long confinement, for travelling. Where we were allowed
to stop, a butt of beer was placed in a cart for sale. Had British
prisoners been marching through New-England, a butt of beer, or good
cider would have been placed for them free of all expense; but Old
England is not New-England by a great deal, whatever Governor STRONG
may think of his adorable country of kings, bishops and missionary
societies.[P] Here a fresh escort of soldiers relieved those who
brought us from Plymouth. The commanding officer of this detachment
undertook to drive us from the beer-cart before all of us had a taste
of it; he rode in among us, and flourished his sword, with a view to
frighten us; but we refused to stir till we were ready, and some of
our company called him a damned lobster backed ----, for wishing to
drive us away before every one had his drink. The man was perplexed,
and knew not what to do. At last the booby did what he ought to have
done at first--forced the beer-seller to drive off his cart. But it is
the fate of British officers of higher rank than this one, to think
and act at _last_ of that which they ought to have thought, and acted
upon at _first_. They are no match for the yankees, in contrivance, or
in execution. This beer barrel is an epitome of all their conduct in
their war with America. What old woman put the idea into this
officer's head I know not; but it is a fact, as soon as the beer
barrel was driven off, we were all ready to march off too! And few
companies of vagabonds in England ever marched off to prison in better
spirits; we cheered one another, and laughed at our profound leader,
until we came in sight