Who of the multitude that daily pass to and fro over the
ground that should be sacred ever give a thought to the remains of the
brave men beneath their feet, who perished that they might enjoy the
blessings of liberty?
Republics are ungrateful; they have short memories; but it is due to
the martyrs of the Revolution that some attempt should be made to tell
to the generations that succeed them who they were, what they did, and
why they suffered so terribly and died so grimly, without weakening,
and without betraying the cause of that country which was dearer to
them than their lives.
We have, for the most part, limited ourselves to the prisons and
prison ships in the city and on the waters of New York. This is
because such information as we have been able to obtain concerning the
treatment of American prisoners by the British relates, almost
entirely, to that locality.
It is a terrible story that we are about to narrate, and we warn the
lover of pleasant books to lay down our volume at the first page. We
shall see Cunningham, that burly, red-faced ruffian, the Provost
Marshal, wreaking his vengeance upon the defenceless prisoners in his
keeping, for the assault made upon him at the outbreak of the war,
when he and a companion who had made themselves obnoxious to the
republicans were mobbed and beaten in the streets of New York.
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