REMARKS
In presenting to the world the record of a transaction, probably the most barbarous which the history of modern warfare can furnish, we cannot refrain from remarks.—Whatever our feelings may be, upon a subject so amply calculated to excite the indignation and abhorrence of every friend to humanity, and every one who has respect for the laws of civilized and mitigated warfare, we will, nevertheless, refrain, so far as the circumstances of outraged humanity will permit, from the violence of invective, and wholly from unwarranted crimination. Those, into whose hands these documents may fall, will, however, preserve them as a monument erected to the memory of their slaughtered countrymen, and a memento of the unfeeling cruelty of our late enemy.
Though we are far from believing that there are not persons of noble and humane minds in the English nation, yet, a uniformity of conduct, on the part of the Government and its agents, has taught us to believe that they, at least, are blood thirsty and cruel.
The incarceration of Americans in the Jersey Prison Ship at New-York, and Mill Prison, in England, in the Revolutionary war, raised in the minds of the sainted heroes of those times, the most exalted feelings of indignation and abhorrence. The history of those prisoners, where hundreds were compelled to wear out an existence, rendered miserable by the cruelty of an enemy, professing a reverence for the sublime principles of Christianity, is already familiarized to the minds of the American people. If the feelings of Americans were then indignant, what should they be, on beholding those cruelties renewed with more than ten fold severity? The conduct of Thomas George Shortland, the agent at Dartmoor Prison, is such as should "damn him to everlasting fame."
Upon what principles the conduct of this man, precedent to the ever memorable 6th of April, 1815, can be justified, we cannot determine. The indiscriminate confinement of both officers and men in the same prisons, and those the most unfit, decayed, and loathsome of any which the Government could furnish, was an infraction of the established laws of civilized nations for the treatment of prisoners of war. It was equally abhorrent to the principles of humanity, and only sanctioned by British governmental agents, and those petty Nations of Savages, whose known usages of warfare have hitherto kept them beyond the pale of national law. The history of modern European wars can furnish no parallel to this part of the history of Dartmoor. But when we arrive at the slaughter of prisoners on the 6th of April, the climax of barbarity is complete, and the mind is sated with the contemplation of principles as shocking to humanity as the consequences are degrading to the character of the English nation.
An eminent writer upon national law, has formerly extolled the "English and French for their treatment given to prisoners of war," and at the same time mentions the case of Charles I. King of Naples, who, having defeated and taken prisoner Conrade, his competitor, caused him, together with his fellow-prisoner, Frederick of Austria, to be beheaded at Naples. Upon this case our author has the following pertinent remarks:—"This barbarity raised an universal horror, and Peter the third, King of Arragon, reproached Charles with it, as a detestable crime, till then unheard of among Christian princes. However, the case was of a dangerous rival contending with him for the throne. But, supposing the claims of his rival were unjust, Charles might have kept him in prison until he had renounced them, and given security for his future behavior." If this act of Charles raised an "universal horror," what should be the excitement produced by the cold blooded massacre of a number of unarmed and unoffending prisoners of war in confinement? Humanity shudders at the thought, and language furnishes no appropriate epithet with which to brand the infamous perpetrator of so foul, so hitherto unheard of a crime. Did that writer now live, he would no longer extol the humanity of the English nation, but in common with the friends of humanity, he would join in the "universal horror" which British cruelty has excited.
The complexion of this transaction is rendered still more dark and barbarous, and its criminality most shockingly enhanced, by the circumstances under which many of those unfortunate men became prisoners, and finally were offered up as victims to gratify the cruel and insatiate feeling of the British agent. They were American Citizens, who had been impressed into the service and bondage of Great Britain, in time of peace. They had served that government from a necessity, arising from the assumed principle of a right to search neutral vessels for British seamen, and the practice of taking Americans and compelling them to service. We cannot, however, too much applaud the magnanimity of those men, in refusing to fight against and slaughter their countrymen; nor can we too much detest the conduct of Great Britain, in confining them as prisoners of war.
This practice assumed as a right in the first moments of our existence as an independent and commercial nation, has "grown with our growth," and the evil thereof has increased in proportion as our commercial rivalship has become more alarming to the pride and injustice of Great Britain. It is a practice which cannot be traced to any principle of justification; and yet we have seen the legislators of Massachusetts, clothed with a garb of official sanctity, send to the world a report, amounting almost to a denial, that such a practice was in existence! We pretend not to judge of their motives: but we remark, how soon they are confounded by the report of Shortland and Magrath. By that instrument it appears, that of thirty-eight who were killed or wounded, twelve were of the number of Impressed Americans, who had given themselves up as prisoners of war, upon the commencement of hostilities. If this be the correct proportion of their prisoners, who have been impressed from American vessels, and as it is an official document of British authority, we cannot believe the ratio to be less, we see the advocates of British magnanimity confounded and put to shame, by the testimony of those same British agents, whose justification they have so eagerly, though unsuccessfully attempted. It might, indeed, have been supposed, that after having so frequently been treated with the same contempt, they might have learned sufficient caution, at least, to stay their measures until the pleasure of their transatlantic friends should be known. But their overweening anxiety has only tended to plunge them in deeper embarrassments, and should teach them, that more prudence and less zeal in the cause of a national enemy, might secure them a safer retreat in the moments when those whose friendship they had so anxiously sought, had deserted, and condemned them.
By the report of the Legislature of Massachusetts upon the subject of impressments, it would appear that no more than sixteen had been impressed from this Commonwealth. What must be our conclusion upon a comparison of this report, with that of Messrs. Shortland and Magrath? It is irresistable, either that the former did not report the full number of impressments, or that the latter have aggravated their guilt and condemnation, by swelling the number to a degree beyond what the facts would justify, from some cause, unknown to their American advocates, and in favor of the facts and principles, for which the American government have uniformly contended. A few of those assumed as facts, by the present dominant party in New-England, may aid us in this enquiry, and perhaps conduct us to a correct conclusion. They have repeatedly told us, that New-England, and more particularly Massachusetts, has ever been the nursery of our seamen. That this section had furnished more than the whole remaining part of the United States. Admitting the correctness of the report of Shortland and Magrath, we are wholly unable to reconcile the report of our Legislature with those which they assume as facts, and upon which the principles of their report were, in part, predicated. It exhibits to our view a disposition to fritter away the enormities of the British Government, and a determination to justify them in every act of barbarity, however unjustifiable in its circumstances, or however shocking in its operation.
The report of Messrs. King and Larpent may here claim a portion of our attention. Unpleasant as the task may be, to reflect, even indirectly upon the conduct of one of our countrymen, acting in the high and solemn capacity to which Mr. King was called, we cannot, however, without doing violence to our own feelings, and criminating numbers of our countrymen, perhaps equally entitled to credibility with Mr. King himself, afford our credence to his singular report; especially when we see it contradicted unconditionally, by the unfortunate witnesses of the unhappy and barbarous transaction.
Even Mr. King himself, in his letter to Mr. Adams, furnishes a tardy acknowledgment, that he had not completed the duties to which he had been called. "Considering it of much importance (he says) that the report, whatever it might be, should go forth under our joint signatures, I have forborne to press some of the points which it involves as far as otherwise I might have done." And why did Mr. King forbear to press every point involved in the report? Was it from a disposition to perform his whole duty to his country; or, rather, from a too common admiration of British principles and British characters.
The numerous affidavits accompanying the report made by the committee of the prisoners, together with the reply to the report of Messrs. King and Larpent, afford the most positive testimony in contradiction to many of its prominent features. We can form no other opinion respecting this report, than either that Mr. King was overreached by his colleague, or that he was pre-determined to fritter down the abuses which the British Government and its agents had lavished upon their American prisoners. Why either Messrs. King or Larpent should decline the examination of all the witnesses offered by the prisoners, is wholly inexplicable, unless we attribute to them a mutual and fixed determination to justify the conduct of Shortland and his accomplices, at the expense of criminating hundreds of Americans, who were no less entitled to credibility than either of themselves. Hereafter "let no such men be trusted."
The treatment of the prisoners appears to have proceeded from the same principles of inhumanity, which have given rise to the hostile operations of the British Commanders upon our maritime and inland frontiers, during the continuance of the late contest. Such principles belong only to Savages or their allies. The outrages at the river Raisin, Hampton, Havre de Grace, Washington, and those attempted at New-Orleans, it was thought, might have filled the measure of British barbarities. But to the prisons of Dartmoor was transferred the scene of its completion. Americans, armed in defence of their soil, their Constitution, and natural rights, were too invincible to the "veteran" conquerors of the East. Prisoners of war in confinement, and without arms, were selected as the objects upon which they might glut their malice.
We have heard much from a certain class of our politicians of the burning of Newark and St. David's; but little have they said of the destruction of Buffalo, of Washington City, or the massacre of our unfortunate countrymen at Dartmoor; and that little has been directed to the justification of the perpetrators. The conflagration of our Capitol, with the appendages of art and taste, and even the slaughter of our countrymen, could not excite in those minds one feeling of indignation; whilst the unauthorized destruction of a few houses, within the territorial limits of our enemy, not only excited their warmest sympathies for the enemy, but their foulest denunciations of our own Government.
We might here attempt a comparison of the treatment of each Government to their prisoners. But the contrast is so evident, that we shall commit it to our readers without remark.
Where is the American, whose feelings do not become indignant, after a full and dispassionate view of all the circumstances connected with this savage transaction. Though we may again be told, that Great Britain is the 'Bulwark of our Religion;' yet it may be hoped, that few, indeed, will be found to worship in a temple stained with the blood of their countrymen, or consign their consciences to the keeping of the upholders of the temple of Juggernaut, or the restorers of Papal power.
Though our policy as an Independent Republic is pacific, yet should our rights again be assailed, and future wars ensue, WE WILL REMEMBER DARTMOOR!
We here subjoin a letter from the Right Honorable Lord Castlereagh to our Commissioners at Ghent, with their answer, together with the reply of our Secretary of State to the British charge des affairs at Washington:
Lord Castlereagh to Messrs. Clay and Gallatin
Foreign Office, May 22, 1815.
Gentlemen—I lost no time in laying before the Prince Regent the report made by Mr. Larpent and Mr. King, respectfully appointed on the part of his majesty's government, and that of the United States of America, to enquire into the circumstances of the late unfortunate occurrence at Dartmoor Prison.
His Royal Highness has commanded me to express, through you, to the government of America, how deeply he laments the consequences of this unhappy affair.
If any thing can tend to relieve the distress which his Royal Highness feels on this occasion, it is the consideration, that the conduct of the soldiers was not actuated from any spirit of animosity towards the prisoners, and that the inactivity of the officers may be attributed rather to the inexperience of militia forces, than to any want of zeal or inclination to afford that liberal protection which is ever due to prisoners of war.
But as his Royal Highness has observed, at the same time, with sincere regret, that although the firing of the troops upon the prisoners may have been justified at its commencement, by the turbulent conduct of the latter, yet that the extent of the calamity must be ascribed to a want of steadiness in the troops, and of exertion in the officers, calling for the most severe animadversion. His Royal Highness has been pleased to direct the commander in chief to address to the commanding officer of the Somerset militia, his disapprobation of the conduct of the troops, which it is trusted will make a due impression on the minds of the officers and men who were engaged in this unfortunate transaction.
As an additional proof of the sentiments which animate the Prince Regent on this occasion, I am further commanded to express his Royal Highness' desire to make a compensation to the widows and families of the sufferers; and I have to request that you, gentlemen, would make this known to your government, inviting them, at the same time, to co-operate with his majesty's charge d'affairs in the United States, in investigating the respective claims, for the purpose of fulfilling his Royal Highness' benevolent intentions upon this painful occasion.
I request that you will accept the assurance of the distinguished consideration with which I have the honor to be, &c.
To Henry Clay, Esq. and Albert Gallatin, Esq.
Copy of a letter from Messrs. Clay and Gallatin, to Lord Castlereagh
Hanover Street, Hanover Square, March 24, 1815.
My Lord—We have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your lordship's official note of the 22d inst.
Having, as we have already informed your lordship, no powers on the subject to which it refers, we will lose no time in transmitting it to our government.—We will also place in the possession of the American minister, near his Britannic majesty's government, whose arrival here we daily expect, a copy of your lordship's note, together with a statement of what had previously passed respecting the unfortunate event at Dartmoor.
We embrace the opportunity of tendering, &c.
The Right Honorable Viscount Castlereagh, Secretary of State for the Foreign Department, &c. &c.
The Secretary of State to Anthony St. John Baker, Esq. his Britannic majesty's charge d'affairs
Washington, Department of State, December 11, 1815.
Sir—I have the honor to receive your letter of the 3d of August, communicating a proposition of your government to make provision for the widows and families of the sufferers in the much to be lamented occurrence at Dartmoor.
It is painful to touch on this unfortunate event, from the deep distress it has caused to the whole American people. This repugnance is increased by the consideration that our governments, though penetrated with regret, do not agree in sentiment, respecting the conduct of the parties engaged in it.
Whilst the President declines accepting the provision contemplated by his royal highness, the Prince Regent, he nevertheless does full justice to the motives which dictated it. I have the honor to be, &c.
Anthony St. John Baker, Esq. his Britannic majesty's charge d'affairs.
From all which it appears that nothing further can now be done relative to this shocking transaction. The government and the people of America have similar feelings. His Royal Highness the Prince Regent of England offers to give money by way of compensating the widows and families of the slain, as was offered in the affair of the Chesapeake; but the President very properly refused the price of blood. There is now no constituted earthly tribunal before which this deed can be tried and punished, it is therefore left, like some other atrocities from the same quarter, with the feelings of Christian people. They have already tried it, and brought in their verdict.—But, "vengeance is mine, and I will repay saith the Lord;"—and to Him we leave it.
The night following the shocking massacre was spent in deep disquietude. As we knew not what had actually occasioned this, in some degree, deliberate slaughter, so we were filled with anxiety as to its final termination.—The horrors of Paris, under Robespiere, rose to view, and deprived us of sleep; or if wearied nature got a moment's relief, many waked up screaming with the impression, that they were under the hands of a murderer dressed in red.
The gates of our prison were closed up in the morning, and each one seemed describing to his neighbor what he had seen and heard; and every one execrating the villain who had occasioned the massacre. In the course of the day, a British colonel, whom we had never before seen, appeared at the inner gate, attended by the detestable Shortland, who was pale and haggard like ordinary murderers. The colonel asked us, generally, What was the cause of this unhappy state of things? We related some particulars as well as we could; but all united in accusing captain Thomas Shortland of deliberate murder. On Shortland's denying some of the accusations, the colonel turned round to him, and said, in a very serious tone, "Sir, you have no right to speak at this time." Upon which I thought the valiant captain would have fainted. He, doubtless, thought of a halter. The colonel went to the other yards, and received, as we were informed, statements not materially differing from what he first heard. The colonel's manner left an agreeable impression on our minds. He appeared to be seriously grieved, and desirous to find out the truth.
The next day major general Brown came up from Plymouth in the forenoon, and made some trifling enquiries in the afternoon. Soon after came admiral Rowley, and a captain in the navy, whose name I do not remember. They went into the military walk over the gates, when the space below was soon filled with prisoners. The admiral did not impress us quite so agreeably as the colonel, who seemed to speak and look his own good feelings; while the former appeared to have got his lesson, and have come prepared to question us like an attorney, rather than like a frank and open seaman. The admiral informed the prisoners that he was appointed by the commander in chief at Plymouth, to inquire, whether the prisoners had any cause for complaint against the British government, as to their provisions?—There ensued a short silence, until our countryman, Mr. Colton, a man who was neither intimidated by rank, nor disconcerted by parade, answered him and said, that "the affair of provisions was not the occasion of their present distress and anxiety, but that it was the horrid massacre of their unoffending and unresisting countrymen, whose blood cried from the ground, like the blood of Abel, for justice. We have nothing now to say about our provisions; that is but a secondary concern. Our cry is for due vengeance on the murderer, Shortland, to expiate the horrors of the 6th of April. We all complain of his haughty, unfeeling and tyrannical conduct at all times, and on all occasions."—"That we have nothing to do with," said the admiral, and then repeated the former question, relative to the British government and the provisions; to which Mr. Colton replied in a still more exasperated tone of accusation against the murderer and the murder. "Then you do not," said the admiral, "complain of the British government for detaining you here?" "By no means," said our spokesman, "the prisoners, one and all, ascribe our undue attention here, to a neglect of duty in our own agent, Mr. Beasly." "Then I hope," said the admiral, "that you will all remain tranquil. I lament as much as you, the unfortunate occurrence that has taken place." Upon this Mr. Colton mentioned particularly the murder of the boy who was shut up in No. 4, after the prisoners were all driven in through the doors, and averred that he was killed by the direct order of a British officer, who came to the door with some of the guard. "That is the lobster-backed villain," exclaimed a young man, "that stands behind you, sir! who, I heard deliberately order his men to fire on the prisoners, after they had all got into the building. I saw him, and heard him give the orders, and had like to have been bayoneted myself by his soldiers."—The admiral looked round on the officer, who reddened almost to a purple, and sneaked away, and was seen no more; and thus was ended what was probably called Admiral R's examination into the causes of the massacre!
I know of no examination after this, if such an interview may be called an examination; for, on the – of April, myself and a few others were set at liberty. We had made application the night before, and passed the night in sleepless anxiety. At 10 o'clock orders were sent down to collect our things. We dare not call our wretched baggage, by any other than the beggarly name of "duds." In consequence of this order, the turnkey conveyed us to the upper gate, where we remained a while fluttering between fear and hope. At length the sergeant of the guard came, and opened the gate, and conducted us to the guard room, where our fears began to dissipate and our hopes to brighten.—When the clerk entered, he must have seen anxiety in our countenances, and was disposed to sport with our feelings. He put on a grave and solemn phiz, mixed with a portion of the insolence of office, as if he were about to read our death-warrants, while we cast a look of misery at each other. At length, with apparent reluctance, he vouchsafed to hand to each of us, like a miser paying a debt, the dear delicious paper, the evidence of our liberty! on which was written, "by order of the transport board." This was enough, we devoured it with our eyes, clinched it fast in our fists, laughed, capered, jumped, screamed, and kicked up the dirt like so many mad men; and away we started for Princetown, looking back as we ran, every minute, to see if our cerœbrus, with his bloody jaws, was not at our heels. At every step we took from the hateful prison, our enlarged souls expanded our lately cramped bodies. At length we attained a rising ground; and O, how our hearts did swell within us at the sight of the ocean! that ocean that washed the shores of our dear America, as well as those of England! After taking breath, we talked in strains of rapture to each other. "This ground, said I, belongs to the British; but that ocean, and this air, and that sun, are as much ours as theirs; or as any other nations. They are blessings to that nation which knows best how to deserve and enjoy them. May the arm of bravery secure them all to us, and to our children forever!" Long and dismal as our captivity has been, we declared, with one voice, that should our government again arm and declare war, for "free trade and sailors' rights," we would, in a moment, try again the tug of war, with the hard hearted Britons; but with the fixed resolution of never being taken by them alive; or, at least, unwounded, or unmutilated. I see, I feel that the love of country is our "ruling passion;" and it is this that has and will give us the superiority in battle, by land and by sea, while the want of it will cause some folks to recoil before the American bayonet and bullets, as the British did at Chippewa, Erie, Plattsburg and New Orleans.
While the British prisoner retires from our places of confinement in good health, and with unwilling and reluctant step, we, half famished Americans, fly from theirs as from a pestilence, or a mine just ready to explode. If the British cannot alter these feelings in the two nations, her power will desert her, while that of America will increase.
After treading the air, instead of touching the ground, we found ourselves at the Devonshire arms, in Princetown, where the comely bar-maid appeared more than mortal. The sight of her rosy cheeks, shining hair, bright eyes, and pouting lips wafted our imaginations, in the twinkling of an eye, across the Atlantic to our own dear country of pretty girls. I struck the fist of my right hand into the palm of my left, and cried out—"O, for an horse with wings!" The girl stared with amazement, and concluded, I guess, that I was mad; for she looked as if she said to herself—"poor crazy lad! who ever saw a horse with wings?"
We called for some wine, and filling our glasses, drank to the power, glory, and honor, and everlasting happiness of our beloved country; and after that to all the pretty girls in America. During this, we now and then looked around us, to be certain all this was not a dream, and asked each other if they were sure there was no red coat watching our movements, or surly turnkey listening to our conversation? and whether what we saw were really the walls of an house, where ingress and egress were equally free? It is inconceivable how we are changed by habit. Situations and circumstances ennoble the mind, or debase it.
From what I myself experienced, and saw in others, on the day we left our hateful prison, I do not wonder that sudden transitions from the depressing effects of imprisonment, sorrow, chagrin, impatience, or feelings bordering on despair, to that of liberty and joy, should so affect the vital organs, as to bring on a fatal spasm; or that the sudden exhilarations of the animal spirits, might produce phrenzy. We were animated anew with a moderate portion of generous liquor; but absolutely intoxicated with joy. We asked a thousand questions without waiting for an answer. In the midst of our rapture we had a message from Shortland, who seemed to be afraid that we should be so near him, and yet out of his power, that if we did not hasten our march on to Plymouth, he would have us brought back to prison. At the sound of his hateful name, and the idea of his person, we started off like so many wild Zebras. We, however, stepped a little out of the road to an eminence, to take another, and a last look of the Dartmoor depot of misery, when we saw waving over it, the American flag, like the colors sans tache, waving over the walls of Sodom and Gomorrha. We gave three cheers, and then resumed our road to Plymouth, where we soon after arrived.
While dining at the inn, an old man, in the next room, hearing we were Americans, came in and asked us if we knew his son who lived in America, and mentioned his name. "Yes," said one of my companions; "he is a mechanic; I think a carpenter—I know him very well, and he is a very clever fellow." The old man caught hold of him, and shook him by the hand as if he would shake his arm off. "Yes, yes, you are right, my son is a ship carpenter, and it almost broke my heart when he went off to seek his fortune in a far country." In the fulness of his heart, the poor old man offered to treat us with the best liquor the house afforded; but we all excused ourselves and declined his generosity. This would have been carrying the joke too far, for neither of us ever had any knowledge of his son. We felt happy; and we thought, if we thought at all, that we would make the old man happy also. The English and Americans are equally addicted to bantering, hoaxing, quizzing, humming, or by whatever ridiculous name we may denote this more than ridiculous folly. I never heard that the French, Germans, Spaniards, or Italians, were addicted to this unbenevolent wit, if cowardly imposition can merit that name.
As we strolled through Plymouth, we gazed at every thing we saw, as if we had just fallen into it from the moon. In staring about we lost our way, and accosted a grave looking, elderly man, who directed us. As we asked him several questions, he thought he had a right to ask one of us; when, to our surprise, he asked us if we had any gold to sell? We now perceived that we had taken for our director one of the sons of Abraham, whose home is no where; and that he took us to be either privateersmen or pick-pockets. Piqued at this, we thought we would be even with him, and we asked him if his name was not Shortland? He said no. We asked him if he had no relations of that name. He enquired if "dit Shortland vas Jew or Christian?" We told him he was neither one nor the other. "Den," said Moses, "he must be Turk; for dere be but three sort of peoples in the world;" and this set us a laughing at the expense of the despised Israelite, until we lost him in some of the dirty alleys of this noisy seaport.
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