I had a dog, poor Pompey! with me. Pompey would not leave me, he was as fond of me as if he had been a chriſtian. I had loſt one eye by the lightning, the other had been ſore, ſo that I could hardly call it a peep-hole. Somehow I fell down the hatchway, and bruiſed one of my legs; but I did not mind it, do ye ſee, till we arrived at Breſt and were thrown into a French Priſon.
There I was worſe off than ever; the room we were all ſtowed in, was full of vermin, and our food very bad; mouldy biſcuits, and ſalt fiſh. The priſon was choke full, and many a morning did we find ſome honest fellow with his chops fallen—he was not to be waked any more!—he was gone to the other country, do ye ſee.
Yet the French have not ſuch hard hearts as people ſay they have! Several women brought us broth and wine; and one gave me ſome rags to wrap round my leg, it was very painful, I could not clean it, nor had I any plaiſter. One day I was looking ſorrowfully at it, thinking for certain I ſhould
