A Journal of a Young Man of Massachusetts, 2nd ed.

AN ORATION, ¹⁰

Delivered by permission, on board the Nassau prison ship, at Chatham, England, by an American Seaman, prisoner of war.

MY FELLOW PRISONERS, AND BELOVED COUNTRYMEN,

We are assembled to commemorate that ever memorable Fourth of July, 1776, when our forefathers, inspired with the love of liberty, dared to divest themselves of the shackles of tyranny and oppression: yes, my friends, on that important day these stripes were hoisted on the standard of liberty, as a signal of unity, and of their determination to fight under them, until America was numbered among the nations of the globe, as one of them, a free and independent nation. Yes, my countrymen, she was determined to spare neither blood nor treasure, until she had accomplished the grand object of her intentions; an object, my friends, which she was prompted by Heaven to undertake, and inspired by all that honor, justice, and patriotism could infuse; her armies were then in the field, with a Washington at their head, whose upright conduct and valorous deeds you have often heard related, and the memory of whom should be held sacred in the breasts of every true-born American. Let his heart beat high at the name of Washington! Sacred as the archives of heaven! for he was a man of truth, honor, and integrity, and a soldier fostered by the gods, to be the saviour of his country.

The struggle was long and arduous; but our rallying word was—"Liberty or Death!" Torrents of blood were spilt; towns and villages were burnt, and nothing but havoc, devastation and destruction, was seen from one end of the continent to the other; and this was not all; but, to complete the horrid scene, an infernal horde of savage murderers was prompted by our enemy to butcher our helpless wives and children! Then did our fathers' patriotic hearts swell in their bosoms, and they were ten-fold more resolved to break the yoke of the tyrant.

I recite these things, my countrymen, that you may know how to prize your liberty, that precious gem for which your fathers fought, wading in rivers of blood, until it pleased the Almighty to crown their arms with success; and, glorious to relate, America was acknowledged free and independent, by all the powers of Europe. Happy period! then did our warriors exult in what they had so nobly achieved; then commerce revived, and the thirteen stripes were hoisted upon the tall masts of our ships, and displayed from pole to pole; emigrants flocked from many parts to taste our freedom, and other blessings heaven had bestowed upon us; our population increased to an incredible degree; our commerce flourished, and our country has been the seat of peace, plenty and happiness, for many years. At length the fatal blast reached our land! America was obliged to unsheath the sword in justification of her violated rights. Our ships were captured and condemned upon frivolous pretensions; our seamen were dragged from their lawful employment; they were torn from the bosom of their beloved country; sons from their fathers; husbands from their wives and children, to serve with reluctance for many years, under the severity of a martial law. The truth of this many of you can attest to, perhaps with inward pining and a bleeding heart!

My countrymen! I did not mount this rostrum to inveigh against the British; only the demagogues, the war faction I exclaim against. We all know, and that full well, that there are many honest, patriotic men in this country, who would raise their voices to succour us, and their arms too, could they do it with impunity. The sympathetic hearts of the good, feel for the oppressed in all climes. And now, my countrymen, it is more than probable, that the land of your nativity will be involved in war, and deluged in blood, for some time to come; yes, my friends, that happy country, which is the guardian of every thing you possess, that you esteem, near and dear, has again to struggle for her liberty. The British war faction are rushing upon us with their fleets and armies, thinking, perhaps, to crush us in a moment. Strange infatuation! They have forgotten Bunker's Hill! They have forgotten Saratoga, and Yorktown, when the immortal Washington, with his victorious army, chased them through the Jerseys, under the muzzles of their ship's cannon for protection! They have forgotten that the sons of America have as good blood in their veins, and possess as sound limbs and nerves as they; strange infatuation! I repeat it, if they presume to think that eight millions of free people will be very easily divested of their liberty; my word for it, they will not give up at the sight of their men-of-war, or their red coats; no, my friends, they will meet the lads who will play them the tune of yankee doodle, as well as they did at Lexington, or Bunker Hill. Besides, my countrymen, there is a plant in that country, (very little of which grows any where else) the infusion of which stimulates the true sons of America to deeds of valor. There is something so fostering in the very sound of its name, that it holds superiority wherever it grows; it is a sacred plant, my friends, its name is liberty, and may God grant that that plant may continue to grow in the United States of America, and never be rooted out so long as it shall please Him to continue the celestial orb to roll in yon azure expanse.

Ah! Britons! Britons! had your counsellors been just, and had they listened with attention, and followed the advice of the immortal William Pitt¹¹, Britain and America might have been one until the present hour; and they, united, in time might have given laws to the inhabitants of this terrestrial ball.

Many of you, my friends, have voluntarily embraced this loathsome prison rather than betray your country; for by the laws of your country, to aid or give any assistance to an enemy, is treason, is punishable with death. I hope, therefore, that your country will reward you abundantly for your toil. And one and all, let us embrace the icy arms of death, rather than cherish the least symptoms of an inclination to betray our country. Some have done it, who have pretended to be Americans, so far as to shield themselves under the name.—Whether they were real Americans or not, it is hard for me to say; but if they were, they have put their hand to the plough, and not only looked back, but have gone back. I have not the least doubt but they will meet their reward; that is, they will be spurned at by those very people that laid the bait for them. Such characters will forever be condemned, and held in detestation by both parties. Therefore all you who feel the tide of true American blood flow through your hearts, I hope never will attempt to flee from the allegiance of your country. It is cowardice, it is felony; and for all those who have done it, we may pray that the departed spirits of their fathers, who so nobly fought, bled, and fell in the conflict to gain them their liberty, will haunt them in their midnight slumbers, and that they may feel the horrors of conscience and the dread of a gallows! Also, that they may have no rest, but like the dove that Noah sent out of the ark, be restless until they return to the allegiance of their country.—And now, my countrymen, let us join in unison to correct our own morals; let us be vigilant over ourselves while in this situation. And although it is not in our power to assist our countrymen in the present conflict, yet if we are good the power of Heaven will fight for us; for the good must merit God's peculiar care. The powers of Heaven fought for us; they assisted us to gain our liberty, it is evident from the very circumstance, that in our struggle with Great Britain for our liberty, we had no navy, or none of any consequence, yet Great Britain lost more line of battle ships in that war than she did with France, although France is a great naval power. And we should be thankful to God for all the blessings he hath bestowed upon us from time to time, and in particular for the blessings of that unity which we are recently informed prevails among our countrymen in America; united they stand, nor will the powers of hell be able to overthrow them. And now let us appeal to the God of Sabaoth, that is, to the God of armies—let us appeal to Him who holds the balance, and weighs the events of battles and of realms, and by his decision we must abide. And may He grant us health, peace and unity in this our disagreeable situation; and let us all join in concord to praise the Ruler and Governor of the universe. Amen. Amen.

Among the songs sung on this occasion, were several composed by seafaring people, in our own country. The following drew tears from the eyes of our generous hearted sailors. It pathetically describes what many of them had experienced, the impressment of an American sailor boy, by a British man of war, the tearing up of his legal protection, and of his sinking under a broken heart. It was written by Mr. John De Wolfe, of Rhode Island.

The Impressment of an American Sailor Boy

A SONG,

Sung on board the British prison ship Crown Prince, the Fourth of July, 1813, by a number of the American prisoners

 
The youthful Sailor mounts the bark,
And bids each weeping friend adieu;
Fair blows the gale, the canvass swells;
Slow sinks the uplands from his view.
 
 
Three mornings, from his ocean bed,
Resplendent beams the God of day;
The fourth, high looming in the mist,
A war-ship's floating banners play.
 
 
Her yawl is launch'd; light o'er the deep,
Too kind, she wafts a ruffian band;
Her blue track lengthens to the bark,
And soon on deck the miscreants stand.
 
 
Around they throw the baleful glance;
Suspense holds mute the anxious crew—
Who is their prey?—poor sailor boy!
The baleful glance is fix'd on you.
 
 
Nay, why that useless scrip unfold?
They damn the "lying yankee scrawl,"
Torn from thine hand, it strews the wave,—
They force thee, trembling, to the yawl.
 
 
Sick was thine heart, as from the deck,
The hand of friendship wav'd farewell;
Mad was thy brain, as, far behind,
In the grey mist, thy vessel fell.
 
 
One hope, yet, to thy bosom clung,
The captain mercy might impart;
Vain was that hope, which bade thee look,
For mercy in a Pirate's heart.
 
 
What woes can man on man inflict,
When malice joins with uncheck'd pow'r;
Such woes, unpitied and unknown,
For many a month, the sailor bore!
 
 
Oft gem'd his eye the bursting tear,
As mem'ry lingered on past joy;
As oft they flung the cruel jeer,
And damn'd the "chicken liver'd boy."
 
 
When sick at heart, with "hope deferr'd,"
Kind sleep his wasting form embrac'd,
Some ready minion ply'd the lash,
And the lov'd dream of freedom chas'd.
 
 
Fast to an end his miseries drew;
The deadly hectic flush'd his cheek;
On his pale brow the cold dew hung,
He sigh'd, and sunk upon the deck!
 
 
The sailor's woes drew forth no sigh;
No hand would close the sailor's eye;
Remorseless, his pale corse they gave,
Unshrouded, to the friendly wave.
 
 
And, as he sunk beneath the tide,
A hellish shout arose;
Exultingly the demons cried,
"So fare all Albion's rebel foes!"
 

The power of music and of song, on such occasions, has been witnessed in all ages of the world, especially in the youthful, or chivalric period of a nation's existence, which is the present time, in the history of the United States. We all have felt and witnessed the animating effects of the simple national tune of Yankee Doodle. Our New England boys cannot stand still when it is played. To that tune our regiments march with an energy that no other music inspires. At its sound, the sentinel on his post slaps his musket, and marches his limits with a smartness, that shows that his brave heart pulsates to the warlike drum. Such a people, thus animated and united, is absolutely invincible, by all the powers of Europe combined.

Time, situation, and circumstances, will give us national songs. Many ages passed away, before England was animated by a national hymn. The Americans have parodied this hymn, substituting, "God save great Washington!" &c.

Our orator, considering where he was, and that he had an hundred British hearers, used pretty harsh language. He apostrophised the English thus: "Haughty nation! with one hand thou art deluding and dividing thy victims in New England, and with the other, thou bearest the weapon of vengeance; and while employing the ruthful savage, with his tomahawk and scalping knife, thou art boasting of thy humanity, thy magnanimity, and thy religion! Bloody villains! detestable associates! linked together by fear, and leagued with savages by necessity, to murder a Christian people, for the alledged crime of fighting over again the battle of independence. Beware, bloody nations of Britons and savage Indians, of the recoiling vengeance of a brave people. For shame—talk no more of your Christianity, of your bible and missionary societies, when your only aim is to direct the scalping knife, and give force to the arm of the savage. No longer express the smile of pleasure, on hearing a stupid Governor proclaim you to be 'The Bulwark of our Religion!' You have filled India with blood and ashes; you have murdered the Irish for contending for liberty of conscience; you continue the scourge of war in Spain; you pay Russia, Sweden, Germany, and Holland, the price of blood; and to crown all, decorate your colors, and your seats of legislation, with scalps, torn from Americans, male and female; and you are sowing discord, and diffusing a jacobinical spirit through a protestant country, which you cannot conquer by force. But," continued the orator, waving his sinewy arm, and hard and heavy hand, "the time is not far distant, when your guilty nation will be duly appreciated, and justly punished;" and saying this, he drove his iron fist into the palm of his left hand, and stamped with his foot on the capstan, where he stood, while his admiring countrymen rewarded the herculean orator with three cheers.

There is no disguising it—these Englishmen not only respect us, but fear us. They perceive a mighty difference between us, and the cringing, gambling Frenchmen. If they are tolerably well informed, and think at all, they must conclude that we Yankees, are filled with, and keep up that bold and daring spirit of liberty, which made England what she is; and the loss of which is now perceived by their surrendered ships, and beaten armies in America. All these things will hereafter be detailed by some future Gibbon, in the History of the Decline and Fall of the British Empire.

We closed the day, on this memorable Fourth of July, pretty much as we began it; we struck our flag at sun-set, and saluted the other ships with three hearty cheers.—Throughout the whole, the prisoners, even to the boys, behaved with becoming decorum; and the whole was concluded without any disagreeable accident, or any thing like a quarrel; and in saying this, we desire to acknowledge the extraordinary good behaviour of all the British officers and men on board the Crown Prince.

Excepting the apprehensions of being sent off to Dartmoor prison, of which we entertained horrid ideas, we were tolerably happy. After the measles ceased, we were all very healthy; and there exists a good understanding between the prisoners and our commander, Osmore; which they say, is owing to the influence of his amiable wife.—This worthy woman has discovered that we are not a gang of vagabonds, but that many of the American prisoners are not only men of solid understanding, and correct principles, but men whose minds have been improved by good education. The manner and style in which we celebrated our national independence, have created a respect for us. The officers extend a better course of treatment towards us; and this has occasioned our treating them with more respect. Politeness generates politeness, and insult, insult.—They find that coaxing and fair words is the only way to manage Americans.

There is a set of busy-idlers amongst us, a sort of newsmongers, fault-finders, and predictors, who are continually bothering¹² us with unsubstantial rumors. The newspapers we take, are enough to confound any man; but these creatures are worse than the London news-writers. Sometimes we are told that Baltimore is burnt; and then that New York is taken; and we have been positively assured that old New England has declared for the British; and that the governor of Massachusetts and his council had dined on board a British man of war in Boston harbor; and that President Madison had been hanged in effigy in Boston, Newburyport and Portsmouth. At other times we were told positively, and circumstantially, that three frigates sent their boats into Marblehead, and after driving out all the women and children, set fire to the town, and reduced the whole to ashes; and this was for some time credited. We have a number of fine Marblehead men here in captivity, all staunch friends of their country's cause. I well remember since that period, that it was told us, that peace between America and England was concluded; and that one of its conditions was giving up the fisheries on the banks of Newfoundland. This alarmed the Marblehead men more than the report of burning their town; they raved and swore like mad men. "If that be the case," said they, "I am damned—Marblehead is forever damned—and we are all damned; and damnation seize the peace-makers, who have consented to this condition." On this subject they worked themselves into a fever; and were very unhappy all the time the story was believed. Such like stories were told to as, oft times, so circumstantially, that we all believed them. When discovered to be false, they were called galley news, or galley packets. These mischievous characters are continually sporting with our feelings; and secretly laughing at the uneasiness they occasion. There is one man who has got the name of lying Bob; who is remarkable for the fertility of his invention; there is so much apparent correctness in all he advances, that we too often believe his sly quizzing rodomontades. He mentions and describes the man who informed him, states little particulars, and relates circumstances, so closely connected with acknowledged facets, that the most cautious and incredulous are often taken in by him. He is a constitutional liar; and the fellow has such a plausible mode of lying, and wears throughout such a fixed and solemn phiz, that his news has been circulated by us all, with all our wise reasons, and explanations, and conjectures, that although we are sometimes angry enough to knock his brains out, we cannot help laughing at the hoax. To the name of lying Bob, we have added that of "Printer to Prince Belzebub's Royal Gazette."

This little community of ours, crowded within the planks of a single ship, is but the prototype of the great communities on the land. Here we see working, all those passions, hopes, fears, emulations, envies, and even contentions for distinction, which, like the winds and tides of the ocean, keep the human mind healthy, vigorous, and progressing to general benefit. Amidst it all, we could discover "the ruling passion," the love of country, and a firm belief that our countrymen understood rational liberty better, and could defend it longer, than any nation now in existence.

Many people are beguiled with an idea, that sailors have no serious thoughts of religion; because they use swearing, and, too often, a profane phraseology, without any meaning. But seamen generally have as serious ideas of religion, as landsmen; and are, in my opinion, full as good. Hypocrisy is not among their vices. They never pretend to more religion than their conduct proclaims. You see and hear the worst of them; and that cannot always be said of our brethren on shore. We have had a methodist preacher exhorting us twice a week, until lately; but he has discontinued his visits; for he found the hearts of some of our fellows as hard as their faces, and he relinquished the hope of their conversion to methodism. There was, at one time, on board our ship, a little, ugly French surgeon's mate, who had lived several years in London, and in the southern part of America. He could speak, and read the English language equally well with his own. He ridiculed all religion, and talked in such an irreverent style of the bible, of Jesus Christ, and of the Virgin Mary, that our sailors would not associate with him, nor, at times, eat with him. On one occasion, his profanity was so shocking, that he ran some risk of being thrown overboard. He was a witty, comical fellow, and they would listen and laugh at his drollery; but they finally stopped his mouth from uttering things, for which he would be severely punished in England and in America; and skinned, or fried, or slowly roasted, in Spain.

Generally speaking, in the religious notions of our sailors, there is mixed a portion of that superstition which we, our forefathers, and foremothers brought with them from England, Scotland and Ireland. They believe, for example, in spirits, or ghosts, and that they haunt houses and ships; and that they have sometimes appeared with horrid visage, and menacing countenances, at the bed-side of a cruel captain; and above all, to the false hearted Tar, who cruelly deserted his too credulous Poll, who drowned herself in despair. The common sailor often tells such stories, and sings them in ballads, both which are generally ended with the good moral sentiment of the punishment of cruelty and treachery; and the reward of the kind hearted and humane.

It may appear singular that men whose conduct generally is so opposite to the prescribed rules of the Priest, should have so firm an opinion of another life, after their bodies are eaten up by sharks, or blown to atoms; but it is really the case with the British and American sailors; for they have the strongest belief in the existence of spirits; and all their stories and traditions tend to confirm this superstition. How often have I known them huddled together in the night, telling stories of feats of danger and desperation! a ghost or spirit is generally brought into the history. Nothing suits these daring set of men better than a solemn narrative of a supernatural achievement, and a supernatural escape; but to be charming, it must have a tinge of the horrible. Shakespeare would have recognized some of these men as his kindred, and they him as a relation. Good luck and ill luck, lucky days and unlucky days, as well as lucky ships, attach themselves strongly to a sailor's mind. A remarkable instance of this we have in our ill-fated frigate Chesapeake. Ever since the British ship, Leopard, fired into this American frigate, in a period of profound peace, and caused her to strike her colors, and which led to her being boarded; and her men to be mustered by compulsion, and some of her crew taken and carried forcibly on board the Leopard, one of which was afterwards hanged; after this deep wound on our country's honor, this frigate was ever after viewed as unlucky, and shunned accordingly.

In confirmation of this nautical curse, she met with a series of disasters during the war, which were not attributed to ill management, but to ill luck. Thus, one time she was coming up the harbor of Boston, from a cruise, where she lost spar after spar, and topmast after topmast; and when in full sight or the town, and not much wind, over board went her fore-top-mast, and several men were drowned in their fall from the rigging. This was not attributed to lack of judgment, but to ill luck. When this ill-omened ship lay in Boston harbor, previous to her last and fatal cruise, she could not get men; and that from the impression on the minds of sailors, that she was an unlucky ship. This operated to her final misfortune; for her crew was made up of every thing that offered. Her captain was a stranger to his crew, and to his officers; his first lieutenant lay at the point of death when she sailed; her motley crew mutinied, on account of their pay, before they weighed anchor; her brave, I had like to have said rash commander, sailed out in a great hurry; her cables were not quite stowed away, nor other things arranged in their places, when she bore down on the cool and orderly Shannon; and to crown all, her intrepid commander, a man six feet two inches, went into action within half pistol shot, in full uniform, as if he defied the power of the British musketry. I have conversed with some of her officers and men in my captivity, and think that I am warranted in saying, that there was much more high-toned bravery exhibited on that day, than good conduct.—The sailors, however, think differently; they all attribute it to that unavoidable fatality which forever adheres, like pitch, to an unlucky ship. O, my country!

 
"It was that fatal and perfidious bark,
Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark,
That sunk so low that sacred head of thine!"
 

Milton's Lycidas.