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District of Massachusetts, to wit:

District Clerk's Office

(L. S.)Be it remembered, that on the sixth day of March, A. D. 1816, and in the fortieth year of the Independence of the United States of America, Rowe & Hooper, of the said District have deposited in this Office, the title of a book, the right whereof they claim as Proprietors, in the words following, to wit:

"A Journal of a Young Man of Massachusetts, late a Surgeon on board an American privateer, who was captured at sea by the British, in May, eighteen hundred and thirteen, and was confined first, at Melville Island, Halifax, then at Chatham, in England, and last at Dartmoor Prison. Interspersed with Observations, Anecdotes and Remarks, tending to illustrate the moral and political characters of three nations. To which is added, a correct Engraving of Dartmoor Prison, representing the Massacre of American prisoners. Written by himself." "Nothing extenuate, or set down aught in malice."… Shakespeare.

In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, entitled "An Act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of Maps, Charts and Books, to the Authors and Proprietors of such Copies, during the times therein mentioned;" and also to an Act entitled, "An Act supplementary to an Act, entitled an Act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of Maps, Charts and Books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies during the times therein mentioned; and extending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving and etching, historical, and other prints."

Wm. S. SHAW,

Clerk of the District of Massachusetts.

A JOURNAL OF A YOUNG MAN OF MASSACHUSETTS

In December 1812, I found a schooner fitting out of Salem as a privateer. She had only four carriage guns and ninety men. By the fifth of January, 1813, she was ready to sail and only wanted some young man to go as assistant surgeon of her. The offer was made to me, when without much reflection or consultation of friends, I stepped on board her in that capacity, with no other ideas than that of a pleasant cruise and making a fortune. With this in view we steered for the coast of Brazil, which we reached about the first of February.

Our first land-fall was not the most judicious, for we made the coast in the night, and in the morning found ourselves surrounded with breakers. Fortunately for us a Portuguese schooner was outside of us, and we hoisted out our boat and went on board her and received from her commander and officers directions for clearing ourselves from these dangerous breakers. We were then about sixty miles below Cape St. Roque. The captain of the Portuguese vessel kindly informed us where to get water, in a bay then before us. We had English colours flying, and all this time passed for a British vessel.

In a few hours we cast anchor in the bay, when our Captain went on shore and when he had discovered the watering place he returned on board, and sent his water casks to be filled; but the inhabitants collected around our men, and shewed, by their gestures and grimaces, a disposition to drive us away. It is probable that they only wanted to make us pay for the water; for it is the way of all the inhabitants of the sea shores every where to profit by the distresses of those who are cast upon them. But pretending not to understand them, we got what water was necessary.

The next day a Portuguese ship of war came into the bay, on which we thought it prudent to haul off, as we thought it not so easy to impose on a public ship as on a private one, with our English colours and uniform. In beating up to Pernambuco, we spoke with vessels every day, but they were all Portuguese. When near to St. Salvadore, we were in great danger of being captured by a British frigate, which we mistook for a large merchantman, until she came within half musket shot of us; but, luckily for us, it died away calm, when we out with our oars, which seamen call sweeps, and in spite of their round and grape shot, we got clear of her without any serious injury.

We would remark here, that sailors have a dialect of their own, and a phraseology by themselves. Instead of right side, and left side, they say starboard and larboard. To tie a rope fast, is to belay it. To lower down a sail, or to pull down a colour, is to dowse it; and so of many other things. These peculiar phrases have been adopted from the Dutch, and from the Danes: nations from whom the English learnt navigation. We may occasionally use some of these terms, when it cannot well be avoided.

Our captain was not an American, neither was he an Englishman. He was a little bit of a man, of a swarthy complexion, and did not weigh perhaps more than an hundred pounds by the scale. During the firing, our little man stood upon the taffrail, swung his sword, d—d the English, and praised his own men. He had been long enough in the United States to acquire property and information, and credit enough to command a schooner of four guns and ninety men. The crew considered him a brave man, and a good sailor, but not over generous in his disposition. Whether the following is a proof of it, I cannot determine.

He allowed the crew but one gill of New England rum per day, which they thought an under dose for a Yankee. They contended for more, but he refused it. They expostulated, and he remained obstinate; when at length they one and all declared that they would not touch a rope unless he agreed to double the allowance to half a pint. The captain was a very abstemious man himself, and being very small in person, he did not consider that a man four times as big required twice as much rum to keep his sluggish frame in the same degree of good spirits. He held out against his crew for two days, during which time they never one of them so much as lifted a spun-yarn. The weather was, be sure, very mild and pleasant. I confess, however, that I was very uneasy, under the idea that we might all perish, from the obstinacy of the crew, on one side, and the firmness of the little man on the other. Our captain found that his government was democratical; and perceiving that the weather was about to change, he conceded to the large and fearful majority; and New England spirit carried the day against a temperate European commander.

This habit of rum drinking makes a striking difference between the military of ancient and modern days. If a Roman soldier, or a Carthagenian sailor, had his clothing, his meat, and his bread, and his vinegar, he was contented, and rarely was guilty of mutiny. But the modern soldier and sailor must, in addition to these, have his rum, or brandy, and his tobacco; deprive him of these two articles, which are neither food nor clothing, and he infallibly mutinies: that is, he runs the risk of the severest punishment, even that of death, rather than renounce these modern luxuries. I have observed among sailors, that they bear the deprivation of rum with more patience than the deprivation of tobacco. On granting the crew half a pint of rum a day, they gave three cheers, and went to work with the greatest cheerfulness and alacrity.

The Americans, I believe, drink more spirits than the same class of people in England. The labouring people, and sailors, cannot get it in Britain. A soldier whose regiment was quartered in Boston, just before the revolution, held up his bottle to one of the new comers, and exclaimed, "Here is a country for you, by J—s; I have been drunk once to-day, and have got enough left to be drunk again: and all for six coppers!" What they then called coppers, we now call cents, and the Londoners hap-pennies.

The next day we descried three sail steering for St. Salvadore. We gave chase to them; but when we came within gun shot of the stern most, she fired her stern chasers at us. We brought our four guns on one side, to attack, or to defend, as we should find ourselves circumstanced; but night coming on, we saw no more of them.

Our water becoming short, we determined to gain our former watering place; but not being able to reach it easily, we anchored off a little settlement, twenty miles distant from the place where we watered before. Here our captain put on a British uniform, and waited on the commandant of the place who, although he treated him with politeness, gave evident suspicions that he was not an English officer. To prevent the awkward consequences of a detection, our captain promised to send off a barrel of hams, and a keg of butter. Under the expectation of the fulfilment of this rather rash promise, our crafty commander returned to his vessel, and left the place very early next morning.

It was now the middle of March, and we had taken nothing; neither had we fired our cannon, excepting at a miserable sort of a half boat and half raft, called a catamaran: made of five light logs, with a triangular sail. From the men on this miserable vessel we got information of a good watering place, where we soon anchored. The commandant of this little settlement was of the colour of our North American Indians, and so were his family, but the rest were nearly as black as negroes. He lived in a house covered and worked in with long grass; he offered us snuff out of a box tipped with silver, but every thing else looked very rude and simple. While we were getting our water, the females hovered round us. They had long, black, and shining hair, and wore a long white cotton garment, like a shirt or shift. They seemed to admire our complexions. One of these women, more forward than the rest, opened the bosom of one of our fairest young men, to see if his body was as white as his face. She appeared to be highly amused with the discovery, and called her companions to come and view the phenomenon. He shewed a similar curiosity as it concerned her, but she shrunk from it with the apparent delicacy of polished life, before so many men. The colour of these merry girls was that of the inside of a new leather shoe.

Just as we were about embarking, the commandant told our captain that he had just received a message from the commandant of Gomora, to seize him and all his crew and send them to Pernambuco, but that he should not obey him. We now set sail for the United States, and had not been at sea long before we were chased by a frigate, but out sailed her.

On the 20th of May we made Gay Head, which is the shining remains of an extinguished volcano, on the west end of Martha's Vineyard. The next morning we discovered a ship and a brig standing for us. We tacked and stood for the ship until we found that she was a man of war, and then we wore round for the brig, she being nearest of our own size. We now, for the first time, hoisted American colours, when the brig gave us a broadside, and kept up a constant fire upon us; but we soon left her by our superior sailing and management. The frigate, for such she proved to be, was not so easily got rid of. She was to the windward of us when we first saw her; and she came within gun shot about noon. She firing her bow-chasers, and we our stern-chasers. At length she came almost within musket shot of us, when she fired repeated broadsides into our little schooner, so as to cut away almost all our rigging, when our brave little captain went down below, after telling the men "to fight it out;" but they prudently struck their colours. A boat soon came on board of us with a lieutenant and twelve marines, swearing most bravely at the d—d Yankees. The name Yankee is used with pride by an American sailor or soldier; but with derision by the British. But as our men had, according to custom, when a vessel surrenders, seized whatever casks of liquor they could come at, soon filled out a few horns of gin, and passed it round among the marines, which inspired them with good nature, and for a moment they seemed "all hale fellows well met." The boarding officer did not appear to be so intent in securing the vessel, as in searching every hole and corner for small articles to pocket. The Americans disdain this dishonourable practice. The officers and crews of our men of war have never soiled their characters by taking from their enemies the contents of their chests and pockets, as the commanders of the British frigates, whom we have captured, can testify. We were soon ordered on board of his Britannic Majesty's ship the Tenedos, captain Parker.

I had always entertained a respectable opinion of the British, especially of their national marine. I had read British history, and listened to British songs, and had heard from my childhood of the superior bravery and generosity of the British sailor, and had entertained a real respect for their character; and being of a family denominated federalists, I may be said to have entered the frigate Tenedos, captain Parker, with feelings and expectations very different from what I should have felt, had we been at war with the French, and had it been a frigate of that nation that had captured us. The French are a people marked by nature, as well as by customs and habits, a different nation from us. Their language is different, their religion is different, and so are their manners. All those things have conspired in making a wall of separation between us and that lively people. But it is not so with the English. Our language, religion, customs, habits, manners, institutions: and above all, books have united to make us feel as if we were but children of the same great family, only divided by the Atlantic ocean. All these things have a natural and habitual tendency to unite us; and nothing but the unfeeling and contemptuous treatment of us by the British military generally, could have separated us. With all these feelings and partialities about me, I went from our schooner over the side of the British frigate with different feelings from what I should, had I been going on board an enemy's ship of the French, Spanish, or Portuguese nation. But what was my change of feelings, on being driven with the rest all up in a corner like hogs, and then marched about the deck, for the strutting captain of the frigate to view and review us; like cattle in a market, before the drover or butcher.

When our baggage was brought on board, the master of arms took every portable article from us, not leaving us a jack-knife, pen-knife, or razor. We Americans never conduct so towards British prisoners. We always respect the private articles of the officer and sailor.

On the same day we were put on board the brig Curlew, lieutenant Head, a polite and humane gentleman, and much beloved by his own crew. He is, I am informed, son of an English baronet. He is a plain, honest man, with easy, elegant manners, and very unlike the sputtering commander of the Tenedos: a man who allowed us to be stripped of all our little pocket articles: not much to the honour of his commission, or credit of his nation. We were kept very close while on board the Curlew, because her crew was very weak, principally decrepid old men and boys; but then we were kindly spoken to, and respectfully and humanely treated by lieutenant Head, and his worthy surgeon. We can discover real gentlemen at sea as well as on shore.

We were landed in Halifax, the principal British port of North America, and the capital of Nova Scotia, on the 29th of May, 1813. We were soon surrounded by soldiers, and being joined by a number of our countrymen, recently captured, we were attempted to be marshalled and paraded in military order, so as to make as grand a show as possible, while marching through the streets to prison. The first thing they did was to make us stand in platoons, and then the commanding officer stationed a soldier on the flanks of each platoon to keep us regular, and to march and wheel according to rule. The word was then given to march, when we all ran up together just as we were when the strutting captain Parker reviewed us on the deck of the Tenedos. We were then commanded to halt. As we have no such word of command on board of an American privateer, some crowded on, while a few stopped. The young officer tried again, and made us stand all in a row. Some of the crew told their comrades that when the captain sung out "halt," he meant "avast," and that then they should all stop. When we were all in order again, the scarlet-coated young gentleman, with a golden swab on his left shoulder, gave a second time the word of command, "march;" by which word we all understood he meant, "to heave a head," when we got into the like confusion again, when he cried out in a swearing passion, "halt," on which some stopped short, and some walked on, when the whole squad burst out a laughing. I know not what would have been the consequence of his ridiculous passion had not a navy officer, standing by, observed to him, that they were not soldiers but sailors, who knew nothing about military marching, or military words of command, when the young man told us to march on in our own way; upon which our sailors stuck their fists in their pockets, and scrabbled and reeled on as sailors always do; for a sailor does not know how to walk like a landsman. On which account I have been informed, since my return from captivity, that all our seamen, that were sent from Boston to Sackett's harbour, on Lake Ontario, were transported in coaches with four horses, chartered for the express purpose; and that it was common, for many weeks together, to see a dozen of the large stage coaches, setting out from Boston in a morning, full of sailors going up to the lakes, to man the fleets of commodores Perry, Chauncey and M'Donough. The former of these commanders told the writer, that he never allowed a sailor destined for his squadron to walk a single day. These merry fellows used to ride through the country with their colors, and streamers and music, and heaving the lead amidst the acclamations of the country people, who delight in a sailor and in a ship. While these things were thus conducted in New-England, the people of Old England were simple enough to believe that the war with England was unpopular. They judged of us by our party newspapers.

The soldiers marched us about two miles, when we came to the spot, where we were to take boat for Melville Island, the place of our imprisonment. When we arrived at the gates of the prison, hammocks and blankets were served out to us, as our names were called over. We were then ordered into the prison yard. And here I must remark, that I shall never forget the first impression, which the sight of my wretched looking countrymen made on my feelings. Here we were, at once, surrounded by a ragged set of quidnuncs, eagerly inquiring What news? where we were taken? and how? and what success we had met with before we were taken? and every possible question, for American curiosity to put to a promiscuous set of new comers.

After satisfying these brave fellows, who felt an uncommon interest in the events of the war, and the news of the day, I had time to notice the various occupations of these poor fellows. Some were washing their own clothes; others mending them. Others were intent on ridding their shirts and other clothing from lice, which, to the disgrace of the British government, are allowed to infest our prisoners. It may, in part, be owing to the nastiness and negligence of the prisoners themselves, but the great fault and the disgrace, remain with the British. Whoever could say that criminals, confined in our state prisons, were infested with vermin?—Were our prison ships in Boston or Salem ever known to be lousy? Shame on, you Britons!

The buildings on Melville Island are constructed of wood. Beside the prison, there is a cooking house, barracks for soldiers, and a store-house; a house for the officers, and another for the surgeon. There are a couple of cannon pointing towards the prison; and a telegraph, for the purpose of giving intelligence to the fort, which overlooks this island and the town of Halifax. These buildings are painted red, and have upon the whole, a neat appearance. The prison itself is two hundred feet in length, and fifty in breadth. It is two stories high; the upper one is for officers, and for the infirmary and dispensary; while the lower part is divided into two prisons, one for the French, the other for Americans. The prison yard is little more than an acre—the whole island being little more than five acres. It is connected on the south side with the main land by a bridge. The parade, so called, is between the turnkey's house and the barracks. From all which it may be gathered that Melville Island is a very humble garrison, and a very dreary spot for the officer who commands there.

The view from the prison exhibits a range of dreary hills. On the northern side are a few scattered dwellings, and some attempts at cultivation; on the southern nothing appears but immense piles of rocks, with bushes, scattered here and there in their hollows and crevices; if their summer appearance conveys the idea of barrenness, their winter appearance must be dreadful in this region of almost everlasting frost and snow. This unfruitful country is rightly named New Scotland.—Barren and unfruitful as old Scotland is, our Nova Scotia is worse. If Churchill were alive, what might he not say of this rude and unfinished part of creation, that glories in the name of "New Scotland?" The picture would here be complete if it were set off with here and there a meagre and dried up highlander, without shoes, stockings or breeches, with a ragged plaid, a little blue flat bonnet, sitting on a bleak rock playing a bag-pipe, and singing the glories of a country that never was conquered! To finish the picture, you have only to imagine a dozen more ragged, raw-boned Scotchmen, sitting on the bare rocks around the piper, knitting stockings to send to England and America, where they can afford to wear them. Such is Scotia, old and new, whose sons are remarkable for their inveterate hatred of the Americans, as we shall see in the course of this narrative.

As to the inside of the prison at Melville Island, if the American reader expects to hear it represented as a place resembling the large prisons for criminals in the United States, such as those at Boston, Charlestown, New York, or Philadelphia, he will be sadly disappointed. Some of these prisons are as clean and nearly as comfortable, as some of the monasteries and convents in Europe. Our new prisons in the United States reflect great honor on the nation. They speak loudly that we are a considerate and humane people; whereas the prison at Halifax, erected solely for the safe keeping of prisoners of war, resembles an horse stable, with stalls or stanchions, for separating the cattle from each other. It is to a contrivance of this sort that they attach the cords that support those canvass bags, or cradles, called hammocks. Four tier of these hanging-nests were made to swing one above another, between these stalls or stanchions. To those unused to these lofty sleeping-births, they were rather unpleasant situations for repose. But use makes every thing easy.

The first time I was shut up for the night, in this prison, it distressed me too much to close my eyes. Its closeness and smell were, in a degree, disagreeable, but this was trifling to what I experienced afterwards, in another place. The general hum and confused noise from almost every hammock, was at first, very distressing. Some would be lamenting their hard fate at being shut up like negro slaves in a Guinea ship, or like fowls in a hen coop, for no crime, but for fighting the battles of their country. Some were cursing and execrating their oppressors; others, late at night, were relating their adventures to a new prisoner; others lamenting their aberrations from rectitude, and disobedience of parents, and head strong wilfulness, that drove them to sea, contrary to their parents' wish, while others of the younger class, were sobbing out their lamentations at the thoughts of what their mothers and sisters suffered, after knowing of their imprisonment. Not unfrequently the whole night was spent in this way, and when, about day break, the weary prisoner fell into a dose, he was waked from his slumber by the grinding noise of the locks, and the unbarring of the doors, with the cry of "turn out—all out," when each man took down his hammock and lashed it up, and slung it on his back, and was ready to answer to the roll call of the turnkey. If any, through natural heaviness, or indisposition, was dilatory, he was sure to feel the bayonet of the brutal soldier, who appeared to us to have a natural antipathy to a sailor, and from what I observed, I believe that in general little or no love is lost between them.

This prison is swept out twice a week, by the prisoners.—The task is performed by the respective messes in turns.—When the prison is washed, the prisoners are kept out until it is perfectly dry. This, in the wet seasons, and in the severity of winter, is sometimes very distressing and dangerous to health; for there is no retiring place for shelter; it is like a stable, where the cattle are either under cover, or exposed to the weather, be it ever so inclement.

When we arrived here in May, 1813, there were about nine hundred prisoners; but many died by the severity of the winter; for the quantity of fuel allowed by the British government was insufficient to convey warmth through the prison. The men were cruelly harrassed by the barbarous custom of mustering and parading them in the severest cold, and even in snow storms. The agent, Miller, might have alleviated the sufferings of our people, had he been so disposed, without relaxation of duty. But he, as well as the turnkey, named Grant, seemed to take delight in tormenting the Americans. This man would often keep the prisoners out for many hours, in the severest weather, when the mercury was ten and fifteen degrees below zero, under a pretext that the prison had been washed, and was not sufficiently dry for their reception: when in fact every drop of water used was in a moment ice. People in the southern states, and the inhabitants of England and Ireland, can form no adequate idea of the frightful climate of Nova Scotia. The description of the sufferings of our poor fellows the past winter, was enough to make one's heart ach, and to rouse our indignation against the agents in this business.

Our people are sensible to kind treatment, and are ready to acknowledge humane and considerate conduct towards themselves, or towards their companions; but they are resentful in proportion as they are grateful. They speak very generally of the conduct of Miller, the agent, and Grant, the turnkey, with disgust and resentment. A complaint was made to him of the badness of the beef served out to the prisoners, upon which he collected the prisoners, and mounting the stair-case, began a most passionate harrangue, declaring that the beef was good enough, and a d—d deal better than they had in their own country: and if they did not eat it they should have none. He then went on as follows "Hundreds of you, d—d scoundrels, have been to me begging and pleading that I would interpose my influence that you might be the first to be exchanged, to return home to your families, who were starving in your absence; and now you have the impudence to tell me to my face, that the king's beef is not good enough for your dainty stomachs. Why some of that there beef is good enough for me to eat. You are a set of mean rascals, you beg of an enemy the favours which your own government won't grant you. You complain of ill treatment, when you never fared better in your lives. Had you been in a French prison, and fed on horse beef, you would have some grounds of complaint; but here in his Britannic Majesty's royal prison, you have every thing that is right and proper for persons taken fighting against his crown and dignity. There is a surgeon here for you if you are sick, and physic for you to take if you are sick, and a hospital to go to into the bargain; and if you die, there are boards enough (pointing to a pile of lumber in the yard) for to make you coffins, and an hundred and fifty acres of land to bury you in; and if you are not satisfied with all this, you may die and be d—d." Having finished this eloquent harrangue, orator Miller descended from his rostrum, and strutted out of the prison yard, accompanied with hisses from some of the prisoners.

On a re-examination, however, of the "king's beef," some pieces were found too much tainted for a dog to eat, and the prisoners threw it over the pickets. After this the supply of wholesome meat was such as it ought to be; full good enough for Mr. Miller himself to eat; and some of the very best pieces good enough for Mr. Grant, the turnkey.

In all this business of provision for prisoners of war, one thing ought to be taken into consideration, which may be offered as an extenuation of crime alledged against the British agents for prisoners; and that is, that the American soldier and sailor live infinitely better in America, than the same class of people do in Great Britain and Ireland. Generally speaking, an American eats three times the quantity of animal food that fall to the share of the same class of people in England, Holland, Germany, Denmark, or Sweden. He sleeps more comfortably, and lives in greater plenty of fish, flesh, vegetables, cider, and spirituous liquors. Add to this, his freedom is in a manner unbounded. He speaks his mind to any man. If he thinks he is wronged, he seeks redress with confidence; if he is insulted, he resents it; and if you should venture to strike him, he never will rest quiet under the dishonour; yet you seldom or ever hear of quarrels ending in murder. The dagger and pistol are weapons in a manner unknown. The fist, a la mode de John Bull, is commonly the ultimatum of a Yankee's revenge.