The March Of Conquest Through Wild Provinces,

Some Dying Men Are The Most Tyrannical; And Certainly, Since They Will Shortly Trouble Us So Little For Evermore, The Poor Fellows Ought To Be Indulged.

There's Magic In The Water That Draws All Men Away Form The Land, That Leads Them Over Hills, Down Creeks And Streams And Rivers To The Sea.

How Feeble Is All Language To Describe The Horrors We Inflict Upon These Wretches, Whom We Mason Up In The Cells Of Our Prisons, And Condemn To Perpetual Solitude In The Very Heart Of Our Population.

The March Of Conquest Through Wild Provinces, May Be The March Of Mind; But Not The March Of Love.

At Sea A Fellow Comes Out. Salt Water Is Like Wine, In That Respect.