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

CHAPTER II

August 30th.—Drafts continue to be made from this ship to be sent off to Dartmoor Prison. There are but few of us remaining, and we are every day in expectation of removal. All go off with evident reluctance, from an apprehension that the change will be for the worse. It is the "untried scene," that fills us with anxiety. We are more disposed to bear our present ills, "than fly to others which we know not of."

Oh, how we envy the meanest looking wretch we see, crawling on the shore, gathering sticks to cook his fish. There the beggar enjoys the natural inheritance of man, sweet Liberty; if the unfeeling, the avaricious and morose, refuse his petition, he can sweeten the disappointment with the reflection, that he has liberty to walk where he pleases. He is not shut up, in the prime of life, and cut off from all intercourse with those he holds most dear; he is not lingering out his life and health under the morose countenance of an unfeeling jailor. He has not, like us, a home, where peace, plenty, and every good, await to welcome us. Who can express the anguish felt by some of us, wretched prisoners, here crowded together, like sheep, men who have broken no law of either country; but who have stood courageously forth in supporting the sacred cause of our country, and in defending "free trade and sailors' rights." Should this war continue some years longer, or should peace be restored, and another war with Britain commence, I will venture to predict that our enemies will take but few prisoners alive. My own mind is entirely made up on this head. I hope to stand ready to risk my life for the liberty and independence of our nation, and for the preservation of my own personal liberty; but unless wounded and maimed, I never will be again a prisoner to the British.

The American sailor has a beloved home; he was born and brought up in a house that had a "fire place" in it.—Many of them here, in captivity, have wives and children, most of them have parents, and brothers and sisters. These poor fellows partake, at times, the misery of their dear relatives, at three thousand miles distance. They recollect their aged mothers, and decrepid fathers, worn down with age, labor, and anxious thoughts for the welfare of their absent sons. Some have wives, and little children, weeping for their absent husbands, and suffering for the good and comfortable things of this life, having none to help them. In families, neighborhoods, and villages, men are supported by leaning on each other; or by supporting each other; and we have here endeavored to do so too; but now our numbers are thinning, some of our best, our steadiest, and most prudent men, have left us, and gone to Dartmoor Prison. I have felt very low spirited for some days past. It is true, our numbers are now so few, that we can run about, and beguile the tedious hours by a greater variety of exercise and amusement than heretofore; but then, our soberest men are gone, and left behind some of the most noisy and disorderly of our whole crew; and young as I am, I am little disposed to make a riot or noise, merely for noise sake.

A disturbance took place last night, which deprived all of us of sleep. It was owing to the unaccommodating disposition of our commander, Mr. Osmore. About thirty prisoners were selected, and called aft, with their hammocks all tied up, to be ready to go off early in the morning in a tender. The tender did not arrive as was expected; the sergeant was ordered to count us over in the evening to go to rest; whereupon the thirty drafted men went aft, and requested their hammocks to sleep in; Mr. Osmore replied, that, as they were to go off early in the morning, they would only detain the tender, if they had their hammocks to take down and pack up again, on which account he refused to let them have their usual accommodations for sleeping.—The men went below, very much dissatisfied at the churlish disposition of the commander; and as they despaired being able to sleep themselves, on bare boards, they all determined that Osmore should not himself sleep. They waited quietly till about ten o'clock, when the commander usually went to bed; and then they tore up the large oak benches, tied ropes to them, and run with them round the deck, drawing the benches after them like a sled, at the same time hollowing, screaming and yelling, and making every noise that their ingenuity or malice could devise. Sometimes they drove these oaken benches full butt against the aft bulk head, so as to make the ship tremble again with the noise, like cannon. They jarred down the crockery belonging to the marines, which was set up on the opposite side of the cock-pit, and frightened their wives out of their beds. The noise and jarring were so great, that it seemed as if they were breaking up the ship, for the sake of her iron work. Lieut. Osmore sent a marine down, to order them to be still and go to sleep. They replied, that they had no conveniences for sleeping, and that Osmore had acted like a villain, in depriving them unnecessarily of their hammocks, for which brutality, they were determined that he should not sleep more than they. After which they recommenced their riot and thundering noise, which brought Osmore out of his cabin, who called one of the committee to him, and told him to tell the men, that if they did not directly cease their noise, he would confine every man of them below, for three days. The committee man replied, that nothing could then be done, for that the mob had fairly capsized the government of the ship; and all that he could say, would only add to the riot and confusion. "Then," said he, "I'll be d—d if I do not fire upon them." Some of the mob answered, "fire, and be d—d." And the commander hesitated a moment, and returned to his cabin; for he saw the men were wrought up to the battle pitch, and rather wished him to fire, by way of excuse for their attack upon him, whom they most cordially despised.

Directly upon this, they collected all the tin and copper pans, pots and kettles, and every sonorous metallic substance they could lay their hands on. These they tied together, and hitched bunches of them here and there, upon the oaken planks; and then, what with screaming, yelling, like the Indian war-whoop, cheering, and the thundering noise of the planks, grating along the deck, together with the ringing and clattering of their metallic vessels, they made altogether such a hideous "rattle-come-twang," that it was enough to raise all Chatham. All this was transacted in utter darkness. The officers doubtless saw, that bloodshed and promiscuous death would be the consequence of firing among the rioters, and prudently left it to subside with the darkness of the night. These disorderly fellows would go round the decks twice, with all this thundering noise and clatter, and then be silent for about half an hour, or until they thought Mr. Osmore had got into a doze; and then they would recommence their horrible serenade. At length Osmore became so enraged, that he swore by his Maker, that he would order every marine in the ship to fire in among them; but on some of the committee observing to him that he would be as likely to kill the innocent as the guilty, and as they were then silent, he went off again to his cabin; but within a quarter of an hour they begain their shocking serenade, and continued it, at provoking intervals, all the night, so that none could sleep in the ship.

In the morning the tender came along side, and they all went on board of her. When they had all got in, and pushed off from the ship's side, and while Osmore was superintending their departure, they all cried out, baa! baa! baa! until they got out of hearing. The next day he betrayed a disposition to punish, in some way, those prisoners that remained; but it was remarked to him, that it was utterly impossible for any of them to stop the riot, or to keep their disturbers quiet, and that they, themselves, were equally incommoded with him and his family, he therefore prudently dropped the design. Although many of us disapproved of this behavior of the men, none of us could help laughing at the noise, and its ludicrous effects. It is a fact, that the officers and marines of the Crown Prince prison ship, were more afraid of the American prisoners, than they were of them. This last frolic absolutely cowed them. One of the officers said to me, next day, "Your countrymen do not seem to be a bloody minded set of men, like the Portuguese and Spaniards; but they have the most, d—d provoking impudence I ever saw, in any men; if they did not accompany it all with peals of laughter, and in the spirit of fun, I should put them down as a set of hell-hounds." I told him that I considered the last night's riot, not in the light of a mutiny, or a serious attempt to wound or scratch any man, but as a high frolic, without any real malice, and was an evidence of that boisterous liberty in which they had been bred up, and arising also from their high notions of right and wrong. To which the worthy Scotchman replied, "I hate a Frenchman, a Spaniard, and a Portuguese; but I never can hate an American; and yet the three former behave infinitely better; and give us far less trouble than your saucy fellows." Had British prisoners behaved in this manner, in the prison ships in the harbor of Boston, or Salem, would our officers have borne it with more patience?

As there were but few prisoners now remaining, and ample room to run and jump about for exercise, our men evidently recruited; and being in good spirits, the rose of health soon bloomed again on their manly cheeks. The soldiers, made prisoners in Canada, evidently gained strength, and acquired activity. If we compare their miserable, emaciated looks, on their arrival at Melville Prison, from their wretched voyage down the St. Lawrence, with their present appearance, the difference is striking. The wretched appearance of these new made soldiers, reflects no credit on the British. The savages of the forest never starve their prisoners. The war department of the United States having ordered these men a portion of their pay, they appropriated it chiefly to purchase comfortable clothing, which has been productive of great good, and has probably saved the lives of some of them; others squandered away their money in dissipation and gambling.

A becoming degree of tranquillity prevailed on board this prison ship, during my residence in it. On the 15th of September, we were all sent on board the Bahama prison ship, which lay farther up the reach. Here we found about three hundred of our countrymen, who received us with kindness, and many marks of satisfaction. I could, at once, perceive that their situation had been less pleasant than ours, in the Crown Prince. Little attention had been paid to cleanliness, and gambling had been carried to as great excess as their means would admit of. They seemed to lack either the power, or the resolution of adhering to and carrying into effect, good and wholesome regulations. I never saw a set of more ragged, dirty men in my life; and yet they were disposed to sell their last rag to get money to game with.—Their misfortune was, they had too few men of sense and respectability among them. They had no good committee men; not enough to bear down the current of vice and folly. We dread the contagion of bad example. Some of our men soon resorted to their detestable gambling tables; and pursued their old vices with astonishing avidity. We seriously expostulated with our companions, on their returning to the pernicious practice of gambling, after they had had the virtue of refraining on board the Crown Prince; and our advice induced nearly all of them to renounce the destructive practice. I had read, but never saw convincing evidence before, of gaming being a passion, that rages in proportion to the degrees of misery, until it becomes a species of insanity.

We, new comers, introduced certain measures that had a tendency to harmonize our sailors and soldiers. The disorders on board the Bahama arise, principally, from having on board a number of these two classes of men. Our sailors view a soldier as belonging to an order of men below them; and it must be confessed that our first crop of recruits, that were huddled together soon after the declaration of war, in some measure justified this notion. They were, many of them, idle, intemperate men, void of character and good constitutions. The high flying federal clergy, among other nonsense, told their flocks that the war would demoralize the people; whereas it had the contrary effect, as it regarded the towns an hundred miles from the sea coast. It absolutely picked all the rags, dirt, and vice, from our towns and villages, and transported them into Canada, where they were either captured, killed, or died with sickness, so that our towns and villages on the Atlantic, were cleared of idlers and drunkards, and experienced the benefit of their removal. The second crop of recruits, in 1814, were of a different cast. The high bounty, and the love of country, induced the embargoed sailor to turn soldier; to these were added young mechanics, and the sons of farmers. These were men of good habits, and of calculation. They looked forward to their bounty of land, with a determination of settling on their farms at the close of the war. These were moral men, and they raised the character of the soldier, and of their country. These were the men who conquered at Chippewa, Bridgewater, Erie, and Plattsburg. Of such men was composed that potent army of well disciplined militia, who reposed within twenty miles of the sea shores of New-England, during 1814 and 1815—especially of Massachusetts and Connecticut; and who, had the British attempted a landing, would have met them, with the bayonet, at the water's edge, and crimsoned its tide.

Our captivated sailors knew nothing of this fine army; they only knew the first recruits; and it is no wonder they viewed them as their inferiors, as they really were. Even the officers were, generally speaking, much inferior to those who closed the war. The American sailor appears to be a careless, unthinking, swearing fellow; but he is generally much better than he appears. He is generally marked with honor, generosity, and honesty. A ship's crew soon assimilates, and they are all brother tars, embarked together in the same bottom, and in the same pursuit of interest, curiosity or fame; while the rigid discipline of an army does not admit of this association and assimilation. A sailor, therefore, greets a sailor, as his brother; but has not yet learned to greet a soldier as his brother; nor has the American soldier ever felt the fraternal attachment to the sailor. It should be the policy of our rulers, and military commanders, to assimilate the American soldier and sailor; and there is little doubt but that they will amalgamate in time. In France, the soldier looks down upon the sailor; in England, and in America, the sailor looks down on the soldier. We must learn them to march arm in arm.

Confinement, dirtiness, and deprivations, have an evil operation on the mind. I have observed some who had a little refinement of manners, at the commencement of their captivity, and regarded the situation and feelings of others near them, with complacency, but have lost it all, and sunk into a state of misanthropy. We, Americans, exercise too little ceremony at best, but some of our prisoners lost all deference and respect for their countrymen, and became mere hogs, the stronger pushing the weaker aside, to get the most swill.

 
"Jove fix'd it certain, that the very day
Made man a slave, took half his worth away."
 

—Homer.

All our industrious men were well behaved; and all our idle men were hoggish. Some of our countrymen worked very neatly in bone, out of which material they built ships,¹³ and carved images, and snuff boxes, and tobacco boxes, and watch cases. Some covered boxes, in a very neat manner, with straw. The men thus employed, formed a strong contrast to those who did nothing; or who followed up gambling. Our ship afforded striking instances of the pernicious effects of idleness; and of the beneficial effects of industry. We, on board the Crown Prince, instructed the boys; but in this ship, there has been no attention paid to them; and they are, upon the whole, as vicious in their conduct, and as profane in their language, as any boys I ever saw. Frenchmen are bad companions for American boys. They can teach them more than they ever thought of in their own country.

In January last, three hundred and sixty American prisoners were sent on board this ship. Great mortality prevailed among the Danish prisoners, prior to the arrival of our countrymen, on board the Bahama. The Danes occupied her main deck, while we occupied the lower one.—When our poor fellows were tumbled from out of one ship into this, they had not sufficient clothes to cover their shivering limbs, in this coldest month of the year. They were, indeed, objects of compassion, emaciated, pale, shuddering, low spirited, and their constitutions sadly broken down.—Their morbid systems were not strong enough to resist any impression, especially the contagion of the jail fever, under which the Danes were dying by dozens. Out of three hundred and sixty one Americans, who came last on board, eighty-four were, in the course of three months, buried in the surrounding marshes, the burying place of the prison ships. I may possibly forgive, but I never can forget the unfeeling conduct of the British, on this occasion. Why send men on board a crowded prison ship, which they knew was infected with a mortal contagion? Their government must have known the inevitable consequences of putting three hundred debilitated men on board an infected ship, where there were not enough well to attend on the sick.—If we, Americans, ever treated British prisoners in our hands, in this cruel manner, the facts have never reached my ears. Here was an opportunity for redeeming the blasted reputation of the British, for the horrors of their old Jersey prison ship, in the revolutionary war. But they supposed that our affairs were so low; and their own so glorious, that there was no room for retaliation. The surrounding marshes were already unhealthy, without adding the poison of human bodies, which were every hour put into them.—Several persons, now prisoners here, and I rank myself among that number, had a high idea of British humanity, prior to our captivity; but we have been compelled to change our opinions of the character of the people from whom we descended. The commander of the Bahama, Mr. W. is a passionate and very hot tempered man, but is, upon the whole, an humane one. We have more to praise than to blame in his conduct towards us. He is not ill disposed to the Americans, generally, and wishes for a lasting peace between the two contending nations. His mate is the reverse of all this, especially when he is overcharged with liquor.

As characteristic of some of our imprudent countrymen, I insert the following anecdote. The Bellecean, (or Bellauxcean) prison ship, lay next to us. She was filled with Norwegians, and were detained in England, while Norway adhered to a king of their own choice. The commander of her was a nettlesome, fractious, foolish old fellow, who was continually overlooking us, and hailing our commander, to inform him if any one smuggled a bottle of rum from the market boats. His Norwegians gave him no trouble; they were a peaceable, subservient people, with no fun in their constitutions, nor any jovial cast in their composition.—They were very different from the British or American sailor, who will never be baulked of his fun, if the devil stands at the door. This imprudent, meddling old commander, of the Bellauxcean, was forever informing the officer of the deck of every little pickadillo of the American prisoners; and he, of course, got the hearty ill will of all the Americans in the ship Bahama. He once saw a marine connive at the passing a couple of bottles of liquor through the lower ports, and he hailed the commander, and informed him of it; and the marine was immediately punished for it. This roused the Americans to revenge; for the British soldier, or marine, is so much of a slave, that revenge never dare enter his head. Retaliation belongs alone to the free and daring American. He alone enjoys the lex talionis, and glories in carrying it into execution.

Fish and potatoes constituted the diet of the following day. What does our "dare devils" do, but reserve all their potatoes to serve as cold shot to fire at the fractious commander of their next neighbor, the Bellauxcean. Accordingly when they observed the old man stubbing backwards and forwards his quarter deck, and stopping now and then to peak over to our ship to see if we smuggled a bottle of liquor, they gave him a volley of potatoes, which was kept up until the veteran commander hailed our captain and told him that if the Americans did not cease their insult he would order his marines to fire upon them; but his threatenings produced no other effect than that of increasing the shower of potatoes; so that this brave British tar was compelled to seek shelter in his cabin; and then the potatoe-battery ceased its fire. When all was quiet, the old gentleman seized the opportunity of pushing on board of us. When he came on our quarter deck, rage stopped all power of utterance, he foamed and stamped like a mad man. At length, he asked Mr. Wilson how he could permit a body of prisoners under his command and control, to insult one of his majesty's officers in his own ship? To which Mr. Wilson replied, that he should use his influence to prevent a repetition of the insult, and restore harmony; and that he was sorry that his men should get into any difficulty with those of another ship; and he recommended moderation, but the old commander swore and raved terribly; when our worthy protector reminded him that he was not on his own quarter deck. The coolness of Mr. Wilson still further enraged our exasperated neighbor, and he left the ship execrating every one on board, and swearing that he would make complaint to the commodore.

When the prisoners saw how their own commander viewed the interference of another, they collected all the potatoes they could find, and I am sorry to add, pieces of coal, and as soon as he left the side of the Bahama, they pelted him till he fairly skulked under cover in his own prison ship. He directly drew his marines up in battle array, on his quarter deck, when the captain of the Bahama seeing his folly, and knowing his disposition, exerted himself to make every American go below, and enjoined upon them a cessation of potatoes. We gained, however, more by this short war, than most of the nations of the world, for it entirely removed the cause for which we took up potatoes against one of his Britannic majesty's officers, within ten leagues of the capital of his empire. I overheard captain Wilson say to the second in command, "these Americans are the sauciest dogs I ever saw; but damn me if I can help liking them, nor can I ever hate men who are so much like ourselves—they are John Bull all over."

In a course of kind and flattering treatment, our countrymen were orderly and easily governed; but when they conceived themselves ill treated you might as well attempt to govern so many East India tygers. The British officers in this river discovered this, and dreaded their combined anger; and yet the Americans are seldom or ever known to carry their vengeance to blood and murder, like the Spaniard, Italian and Portuguese.

A Swedish frigate has just arrived in the reach, to take away those good boys, the Norwegians. King Bernadotte sent them two and six pence a piece, to secure their affections, and provide them with some needed articles for their passage to Norway. A cartel is hourly expected from London, to take home some of their soldiers. The Leyden, an old Dutch 64, is preparing, at the Nore, to take us away.

We are induced to believe that our emancipation is nigh. We are every day expecting, that we, too, shall be sent home; but this hope, instead of inspiring us with joy and gladness, has generated sourness and discontent. It seems that the government of the United States give a preference to those who had enlisted in the public service over such as were in privateers. We have felt this difference all along. Again, the government are disposed to liberate the soldiers before the sailors, because their sufferings are greater than those of sailors, from their former mode of life and occupations. They were farmers, or mechanics, or any thing but seamen; and this makes their residence on ship-board very irksome; whereas, the sailor is at home on the deck or hold of the ship. Most of these soldiers were from the state of Pennsylvania and New York, and many from the western parts of the union. These men could not bear confinement like sailors; neither could they bear a short allowance of food; nor could they shirk¹⁴ for themselves like a Jack tar. A sailor could endure with a degree of patience, restraints and deprivations that were death to landsmen. Many of these youthful soldiers had not long left their native habitations, and parental care, when they were captured; their morals and manners were purer than those of sailors. Such young men suffered not only in their health, but in their feelings; and many sunk under their accumulated miseries; for nourished by indulgence, in the midst of abundance, many of them died for want of sufficient food. These miserable beings were, as they ought to be, the first objects of the solicitude of government.

The prisoners were seen here and there, collected in squads, chewing together the cud of discontent, and grumbling at the imagined partiality and injustice of their rulers. These discontents and bickerings too often damped the joy of their prospect of liberation from captivity. The poor privateers' men had most reason for complaining, as they found themselves neglected by one side, and despised by the other.

The sufferings of soldiers, many of whom were militia, who were taken on the frontiers of Canada, are not to be withheld from the public. They were first stripped by the savages in the British service, and then driven before them, half naked to the city of Quebec; from thence they were sent, in ill-provided transports, to Halifax, suffering all the way, the torments of hunger and thirst. When they arrived at Melville prison, they were shocking objects to the prisoners they found there; emaciated, weak, dirty, sickly, and but half clothed, they excited in us all, commisseration for their great misery; and indignation, contempt and revenge, towards the nation who could allow such barbarity. The cruel deception practised on their embarkation for England, instead of going home; their various miseries on ship-board, where as landsmen, they underwent infinitely more than the sailors; for many of them never had seen the salt ocean; and their close confinement in the hold of a ship, gave them the idea of a floating hell. The captivity of the sailors was sufficiently distressing; but it was nothing to that of the wretched landsmen, who considered a ship at all times, a kind of dungeon. The transporting our soldiers to England, and their sufferings during their passage, and while confined in that country, has engendered a hatred against the British nation, that ages will not obliterate, and time scarcely diminish. We, Americans, can never be justly accused of want of humanity to the English prisoner.

If the young American wishes to see instances of British barbarity, let him peruse the journal of the campaigns under Armherst, Wolfe, Abercromby and others; there he will find that the British soldiers under these commanders, committed barbarities in the French villages, for which they deserved to be hanged. They even boasted of scalping the French. Every body of ordinary information in New England, knows that Louisbourg could not have been taken, without the powerful aid of the New England troops; yet in the historical journal by Knox, sanctioned by general Armherst, there is only the following gentlemanlike notice of our countrymen. The author, captain Knox, says that the transport he was in, was in miss-stays, and was in danger of being dashed to pieces on a ledge of rocks, when the master instantly fell on his knees, crying out—"what shall we do? I vow, I fear we shall all be lost; let us go to prayers; what can we do, dear Jonathan? Jonathan went forward muttering to himself—Do? I vow Ebenezar, I don't know what we shall do any more than thyself!" When fortunately one of our soldiers (who was a thorough bred seaman, and had served several years on board a ship of war, and afterwards in a privateer,) hearing and seeing the helpless state of mind which our poor New Englandmen were under, and our sloop drawing towards the shore, called out, "why, d—n your eyes and limbs, down with her sails, and let her drive a—e foremost, what the devil signifies your praying and canting now?" Ebenezar quickly taking the hint, called to Jonathan to lower the sails, saying he believed that young man's advice was very good, but wished he had not delivered it so profanely!!—and the soldier took the helm and saved the sloop. If captain John Knox should be living, the old gentleman would blush should he read this extract.

I have frequently thought that the over-rated and highly boasted British bravery and humanity, would find their graves in America. The treatment these soldiers experienced has stigmatised the English character, and deservedly so. It is not in the power of words, and scarcely in the power of the painter's pencil, to convey an idea of their wretchedness. They were covered with rags, dirt, and vermin. They were, to us, objects of pity, but to all others, objects of disgust; even we, their brothers, recoiled, at times, on approaching them. Was there any design in this? Did our enemies wish to impress their countrymen with an abhorrence of a yankee? How else can we account for a treatment which our people never experienced when prisoners of the Indians? No—the savages never starve their prisoners, nor deprive them the use of water. Dispirited, and every way disheartened, our poor fellows had, generally speaking, the aspect of a cowardly, low spirited race of men, and much inferior to the British. We here saw how wretched circumstances, in a short time, debases a brave and high spirited man. When people from the shore visited our ship, and saw our miserable soldiers, we do not wonder that they despised them. We sometimes had the mortification of hearing remarks in the Scotch accent, to this effect: "So, these are samples of the brave yankees that took the Guerriere and Java; it proves to a demonstration, that the American frigates were manned with British deserters."