When the Captain of this famous little schooner went on board the British admiral, he enquired the name of his vessel. He replied, "The Terror of France;" which was painted on her stern. How are you armed? We have four swivels, three muskets, and one cutlass, beside a broad axe. How many men have you? We have three souls and a boy.—And where does your vessel belong, Captain, when you are at home? Updike's Newtown. And where is that, Sir? Does not Admiral Holmes know where Updike's Newtown is? says Jonathan, with a look of surprize. I do not at this moment recollect, Sir. Why Updike's Newtown is half way betwixt Pautuxet and Connanicut. The British admiral did not choose to risk his reputation with this fearless waterfowl, by asking him any more geographical questions.

We have dwelt on this ludicrous anecdote for the sake of one serious remark. Capt. John Knox, of the 43d British regiment, whose Historical Journal, in 2 volumes quarto, is dedicated to General Lord Amherst, never once intimates that this courageous man was from New England, but leaves the reader to infer that he and his "three souls and a boy," were Englishmen. In this way have all the British writers treated us Americans, although we all know in this country, that Louisbourg was taken by New-England-men. Throughout the whole war of 1758, and 1759, the English strained their voices to magnify themselves, and debase our character.

In this anecdote we see the first glimmerings of the New England character, which defies all danger, in the pursuit of gain. Here we see the characteristic marks of the Yankee, full twenty years before that term was ever used. The greatest things were once in embryo. These incipient germs will one day grow up to a naval and commercial greatness, that will infallibly push into the back-ground the conquerors of Quebec; and the spirit, which impelled and directed that diminutive schooner in passing safely hundreds of heavy cannon, and showers of bombs, may one day become not only the terror of France, but of England also. Great effects flow from trifling causes. It was a woman's[H] love of finery that peopled New England.

It was, to be sure, an extraordinary sight, mixed with something of the ludicrous, to see three white Americans, and one Indian, with a disarmed British red coat under their feet, in the jolly-boat, not daring to raise his head, while about thirty boats, with above 250 seamen, and nearly as many marines, were rowing, and puffing and blowing, and firing and loading, and loading and firing at a small boat, containing three American seamen and one Indian, without any weapon or instrument, except the oars they rowed with! While the British marines were ruffling the water around the flying boat with their bullets, we, on board the prison ships, sensible of their danger, felt as much interest, and probably more apprehension, than the fugitives themselves.—It was an anxious period of hope, fear and animating pride, which sometimes petrified us into silence, and then caused us to rend the air with acclamations, and clapping of hands. The Indian was, however, the hero of the piece. We saw, and admired his energetic mind, his abhorrence of captivity, and his irresistible love of freedom. This fellow was not, probably, at all below some of the Grecian captains, who went to the siege of Troy; and he only wanted the advantages of education, and of modern discipline, to have become a distinguished commander. The inspiring love of liberty was all the theme, after the daring exploit of our countrymen; and it made us uneasy, and stimulated us to contemplate similar acts of hardihood. We had now become pretty nearly tired of cutting holes through the ship's bottom and sides; for it was always detected, and we were made to pay for repairing the damage out of our provisions. After seeing what four men could effect, our thoughts turned more upon a general insurrection, than upon the partial escapes of a few. We perceived, clearly enough, that our keepers dreaded our enterprizing spirit; and we could discover that they knew we despised them, and ridiculed them. Some of our saucy boys, studying arithmetic, with their slates and pencils in their hands, would say out loud, as if stating a sum, "if it took 350 British seamen and marines to catch four yankees, how many British sailors and marines would it take to catch ten thousand of us?"

We could perceive a general uneasiness throughout our ship; even our good friend, Mr. ——, the worthy Scotchman, said to me, about this time, "your countrymen are such a restless, daring set of beings, that it is not safe to befriend you, and I wish you were all safe and happy in your own country; and all of us at peace." A change of situation was foretold; but of what kind, we know not.—The next chapter will inform us all about it.



PART SECOND.



CHAPTER I.

In consequence of various attempts to escape prison, and of the late daring enterprise at noon-day, the officers of this ignoble fleet of prison ships grew very uneasy.—They, doubtless, felt that there was neither honor nor pleasure, but much danger, in this sort of service. It was often said among them, that they felt perfectly safe when they had several thousand French prisoners under their charge. These lively people passed their time in little ingenious manufactures, and in gaming; and seemed to wait patiently until their day of liberation should come; but these Americans, said they, are the most restless, contriving set of men we ever saw; their amusement seems to be contriving how to escape, and to plague their keepers. They seem to take a pleasure in making us uneasy, and in exciting our apprehensions of their escape; and then they laugh and make themselves merry at our anxiety. One of the officers said, that the American prisoners "had systematized the art of tormenting." There is a sort of mischievous humor among our fellows, that is, at times, rather provoking, to officers habituated to prompt obedience, and to a distance, and deference bordering upon awe, which our countrymen never feel for any man.

It seems that the British government, or the admiralty department, were fully acquainted with this state of things, and with the difficult task which the miserable officers of this miserable Medway-fleet had to perform. The government did not seem to wish to exercise a greater degree of rigor over the American prisoners; because they knew, and all Europe knew, that the United States treated their prisoners with distinguished humanity; and yet they firmly believed that unless more rigor was exercised, the Americans would rise upon their keepers before the winter commenced.

The rumor is, that we are to be sent to Dartmoor prison. Some of our crew have lately received a letter from a prisoner in that depot of misery, for such he describes it. He tells us that it is situated in the most dreary and uncultivated spot in England; and that to the sterility of the soil are added the black coloring of superstition.

A Moor, a word not used in America, is used in England to denote a low, marshy piece of ground, or an elevated sterile spot, like our pine-barren's, divested of every thing like a pine tree. It denotes something between a beach and a meadow. It is a solemn-faced-truth in this country of our superstitious ancestors, that every extensive and dreary moor, in England, is haunted by troubled ghosts, witches, and walking dead men, visiting, in a sociable way, each other's graves. It is really surprising, to an intelligent American, and incredible, that stout, hearty, and otherwise bold Englishmen, dare not walk alone over the dreary spot, or moor, where the prison now stands, in a dark and cloudy night, without trembling with horror, at a nothing! The minds of Scotchmen, of all ranks, are more or less beclouded with this sort of superstition. They still believe in ghosts, witches, and a second sight! Free as we are from this superstition, we have rather more of it than the French. The English and American theatres still relish Macbeth and Hamlet. Beside the stories of witches flying about in the air, and dead men strolling over the moor, the letter contained an account of the origin of this new famous prison. It stated that this Dartmoor belonged to that beautiful gambler, the Dutchess of Devonshire;[I] who lost it in a game of hazard with the Prince of Wales; who, to enhance the value of it, (he being, as all the world knows, a very contriving, speculating, economical, close fisted, miserly genius) contrived to have erected there a species of a fortress, enclosing seven very large buildings, or prisons, for the reception of captured seamen; from which establishment its royal landlord received a very handsome annual rent; and this princely anecdote is as firmly believed as the stories of the witches, and the walking dead men. The only remark we would make upon it here, is, that Dartmoor has a dismal idea associated with it—and that was sufficient to make our people conceive of it as a place doleful as a coal-pit.

Not long after the receipt of this letter, one hundred and fifty of our countrymen were sent off, by water, to this Dartmoor Prison; but the measles appearing among them, they were stopped at the Nore, which is at the entrance of the Thames. They are every day drafting more, which are destined for the dismal prison house. We are all struck with horror at the idea of our removal from our ships in the river Medway, which runs through a beautiful country. It is "the untried scene," that fills us with dread, "for clouds and darkness rest upon it." Last year we were transported from inhospitable Nova Scotia, over the boisterous Atlantic; and suffered incredible hardships in a rough winter passage; and now we are to be launched again on the same tumultuous ocean, to go four hundred miles coast-wise, to the most dismal spot in England. Who will believe it? the men who exercised all their art and contrivance, and exerted all their muscular powers to cut through the double plankings and copper of a ship of the line, in hopes of escaping from her, now leave the same ship with regret! I have read of men who had been imprisoned, many years, in the Bastile, who, when liberated, sighed to return to their place of long confinement, and felt unhappy out of it! I thought it wondrous strange; but I now cease to be surprised. This prison ship, through long habit, and the dread of a worse place, is actually viewed with feelings of attachment. Of the hundred men who were sent hither last year, from Halifax, there are only about seventy of us remaining on board the Crown Prince. The next draft will lessen our numbers; and separate some of those who have been long associates in bondage. It is not merely the bodily inconvenience of being transported here and there, that we dread, so much as the exposure to insult, and sarcasm of our unfeeling enemies. We have been, and still dread to be again placed in rows, on board of a ship, or in a prison yard, to be stared at by the British vulgar, just as if we were Guinea negroes, exposed to the examination of some scoundrel negro merchants, commissioned to re-stock a plantation with black cattle, capable of thinking, talking, laughing and weeping. This is not all. We have been obliged often to endure speeches of this sort, most commonly uttered in the Scotch accent.—"My life on't that fellow is a renegado Englishman, or Irishman—an halter will be, I hope, his portion. D—n all such rebel-looking rascals." Whatever our feelings and resentments may be on account of impressment, inhuman treatment, and plundering our fobs and pockets, and of our clothing, we never speak of the British king and government in terms of gross indecency; whereas, we American prisoners of war, are often assailed with the bitterest sarcasms and curses of the President of the UNITED STATES, the CONGRESS, and some of our military commanders.

The British have been long in the habit of treating the Americans contemptuously. It began as long ago as 1757, when Lord Loudoun, General Abercromby, Admiral Holborne, Admiral Boscawen, Lord Colville, Sir Jeffry Amherst, and General Wolfe, came over here to cut the wings and tail of the wild descendants of Englishmen, in order to make of them a kind of sea poy soldiery. It is a curious fact, that some of the Scotch highlanders were at that time shot by our Yankee sentinels, because they did not know enough of the English language to give Jonathan the counter-sign! So long ago did mutual contempt begin between the natives of Old England and New.

I have already mentioned that all my family, as well as myself, were what they called "Federalists," or fault-finders, and opposers of Madison's administration; and that I, and all the rest of us, dropt every trait of federalism in the British prisons, where, to call a man a Federalist, was resented as the deepest insult. I appeal to all my companions in misery, for the accuracy of this opinion. A man who is willing to expose his life to the balls and bayonets of his country's foes, to the enemies of his government, and to the independence and union of his nation, holds his country and the government of his choice, in higher estimation than his life. Such a man cannot hear the United States and their President spoken of in terms of contempt, without feeling the keenest anguish. This I have felt; and have remarked its effects in the countenances of my insulted comrades. Situated as we are, it would be great imprudence to resent what we are often obliged to hear. Captivity, under British prison-keepers, and British captains of transport-men-of-war, are the proper colleges for teaching the love of our republican government, and attachment to its administration; and they are proper places to make the rankest federalist abjure his errors, and cling to the constituted authorities of the country whose flag he adores, and for whose defence he exposes his life. It is inconceivable how closely we are here pressed together in the cause of our dear country; and in honor of its high officers. Were all the inhabitants of the United States as unanimous in their political sentiments, as we are, in the river Medway, they would all be ready to exclaim, each man to his neighbour,

Rouse, and revive your ancient glory, UNITE—and drive the world before you.

July 1st, 1813.—Our feelings are all alive at this joyous season, for we are now making preparations for celebrating the birth-day of our nation; and though in captivity, we are determined not to suffer the glorious Fourth of July to pass over without testifying our undivided attachment to our beloved country, and to the cause it is fighting for.—Each mess are making arrangements in, besure, a small and humble, but a hearty way, for the celebration; and it is a curious spectacle to see the pleasureable anticipations of the prisoners, in a feast of good things, all of which would not amount to so plentiful a repast, as that which the criminals in our State Prison, near Boston, enjoy almost every day, the plenty of good porter excepted. Application has been made to Capt. Hutchinson, for an additional allowance of beer and porter, which request he has granted, with his usual goodness. Every brain is at work to know how to spend what we have been accumulating for the Fourth of July, with the most pleasure, and the most propriety.

The FOURTH OF JULY, 1813, is past. We petitioned the commander to allow us to hoist the American flag, but he refused to gratify us. Application was then made to the Commodore, who gave permission that we might hoist our national colors, as high as the top of our railings; and the same permission was granted to all the other prison ships. We had obtained a drum and fife; and being all assembled on the forecastle, and such other parts of the ship as were accessible to us, prisoners, we in the morning struck up the animating tune of Yankee Doodle; and saluted the Nassau prison ship with three cheers, which was returned; the ships more distant caught the joyful sound, and echoed it back to its source. The fife and drum, the latter ornamented with the king's arms, played the whole forenoon, while the jovial prisoners drank, in English porter, SUCCESS TO THE AMERICAN CAUSE!

At twelve o'clock, an Oration, hastily prepared, and rather too inflammatory for about a tenth part of our audience, was delivered, by a prisoner of respectable talents; a man, who, having been impressed into the British service, had been promoted to the rank of boatswain of a frigate; and liberated from the service in consequence of his declaring it against his honor and conscience to fight against his countrymen, or aid in pulling down the colors of his nation. This man, very deliberately, mounted an elevation, and with great force, and with a characteristical freedom, pronounced an Address, which the prisoners listened to with profound silence, excepting the clapping of hands, and sometimes cheers, at the end of such sentences as warmed and overpowered their silence. At the close of the whole, the orator was greeted with three times, three cheers, throughout the ship, which reached even to the shores. The oratory of the boatswain seemed to electrify the officers and men set over us. The master and the surgeon appeared really pleased; even Osmer, our jailor, "grinn'd horribly a ghastly smile."

After the Oration, we returned below to our prepared dinners, at which our reverend orator asked a blessing, with more fervor than is commonly observed in our Cossack clergymen; and we fell to, with a zest and hilarity rarely to be found among a large collection of prisoners. If, like the captive Jews on the Euphrates, we had hung our harps upon the willows of the Medway, we took them down on this joyous occasion. We felt the spirit of freedom glow within us; and we anticipated the day when we should celebrate our anniversary in that dear land of liberty, which we longed to see, and panted after, as the thirsty hart pants after the water brooks.

The Fourth of July was celebrated in a very becoming manner on board the Nassau prison ship, by similar acts of rejoicing. I have obtained a copy of the Oration, delivered by a seaman, on that day. Among the audience, were several ladies and gentlemen from the neighbourhood.

AN ORATION,[J]

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 Pitt[K], 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 bothering[L] 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.



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,[M] 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 shirk[N] 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."

The sailors often tried to spirit up the soldiers, and to encourage them to cleanliness; but it was in vain, as most of them were depressed below the elasticity of their brave souls; yet amidst their distress, not a man of them would listen to proposals to enter the British service. Every one preferred death, and even wished for it. The Americans are a clean people in their persons, as well as in their houses. None of them are so poor as to live in cabins, like the Irish; or in cottages, like the Scotch; but they are brought up in houses having chimnies, glass windows, separate and convenient rooms, and good bedding; and to all these comfortable things we must add that the poorest of our countrymen eat meat once every day, and most of them twice. To young men so brought up and nourished, a British captivity on board their horrid transports, and even on board their prison-ships, is worse than death. If we, Americans, treat British prisoners as they treat ours, let it be sounded through the world to our disgrace. Should the war continue many years, I predict that few Americans will be taken alive by the English.

After these poor fellows had received money and clothing from our government, they became cheerful, clean, and many of them neat, and were no bad specimens of American soldiery. We are sorry to again remark, that there was observed something repulsive between the soldier and the sailor. The soldier thought himself better than the Jack tar, while the sailor, felt himself, on board ship, a better fellow than the soldier; one was a fish in the water; the other a lobster out of the water. The sailors always took the lead, because they were at home; while the dispirited landsman felt himself a stranger in an enemy's land, even among his countrymen. It would be well if all our sea and land commanders would exert themselves to break down the partition wall that is growing up between our sailors and soldiers; they should be constantly reminded that they are all children of one and the same great family, whereof the President of the United States is Father; that they have all been taught to read the same bible, and to obey the same great moral law of loving one another. I observed, with pain, that nothing vexed a sailor more, than to be called by a brother tar, a soldier-looking son of a ——. This term of contempt commonly led to blows. This mutual dislike bred difficulties in the government of ourselves, and sometimes defeated our best regulations; for it split us into parties; and then we behaved as bad as our superiors and richer brethren do on shore, neglecting the general interest to indulge our own private views, and spirit of revenge. I thought our ship often resembled our republic in miniature; for human nature is the same always, and only varies its aspect from situation and circumstances.

It is now the latter end of September; the weather pretty pleasant, but not equal to our fine Septembers and Octobers in New-England. We are, every hour, expecting orders to quit this river, to return to our own dear country.



CHAPTER III.

October 2d, 1814.—We were now ordered to pick up our duds and get all ready to embark in certain gun-brigs that had anchored along side of us; and an hundred of us were soon put on board, and the tide favouring, we gently drifted down the river Medway. It rained, and not being permitted to go below, and being thinly clad, we were wet to the skin. When the rain ceased, our commander went below, and returned, in a short time, gaily equipped in his full uniform, cockade and dirk. He mounted the poop, where he strutted about, sometimes viewing himself, and now and then eyeing us, as if to see if we, too, admired him. He was about five feet high, with broad shoulders, and portly belly. We concluded that he would afford us some fun; but we were mistaken; for, with the body of Dr. Slop, he bore a round, ruddy, open and smiling countenance, expressive of good nature and urbanity. The crew said, that although he was no seaman, he was a man, and a better fellow never eat the king's bread; that they were happy under his command; and the only dread they had was, that he, or they should be transferred to another ship. Does not this prove that seamen can be better governed by kindness and good humor than by the boatswain's cat? We would ask two of our own naval commanders, B. and C. whether they had not better try the experiment? We should be very sorry if the infant navy of our young country, should have the character of too much severity of discipline. To say that it is requisite is a libel on our national character. Slavish minds alone require the lash.

On board this brig were two London mechanics, recently pressed in the streets of the capital of the English nation—a nation that has long boasted of its liberty and humanity. These cocknies wore long coats, drab-coloured velvet breeches, and grey stockings. They were constantly followed by the boatswain's mate; who often impressed his lessons, and excited their activity with a rope's end which he carried in his hat. The poor fellows were extremely anxious to avoid such repeated hard arguments; and they kept at as great a distance from their tyrant as possible, who seemed to delight in beating them. It appeared to me to be far out-doing in cruelty, the Algerines. They looked melancholy, and at times, very sad. May America never become the greatest of naval powers, if to attain it, she must allow a brutal sailor to treat a citizen, kidnapped from his family in the streets of our cities, worse than we use a dog. I again repeat it, for the thousandth time, the English are a hard hearted, cruel and barbarous race; and, on this account alone, I have often been ashamed, that we, Americans, descended mostly from them. When a man is ill used, it invites others to insult him. One of our prisoners, who had been treated with a drink of grog, took out his knife, and, as the cockney's face was turned the other way, cut off one skirt of his long coat. This excited peals of laughter. When the poor Londoner saw that this was done by a roguish American, at the instigation of his own countrymen, the tear stood in his eye. Even our jolly, big bellied captain, enjoyed the joke, and ordered the boatswain's mate to cut off the other skirt, who, after viewing him amidst shouts of laughter, damned him for a land lubber, and said, now he had lost his ring-tail, he looked like a gentleman sailor.

Although our good natured captain laughed at this joke, I confess I could not; all the horrors of impressment rushed on my mind. This mechanic may have left a wife and children, suffering and starving, from having her husband and their father kidnapped, like a negro on the coast of Guinea, and held in worse than negro slavery. But this is Old England, the residence of liberty and equal laws; and the bulwark of our holy religion! The crimes of nations are punished in this world; and we may venture to predict, that the impressment of seamen, and cruel military punishments, will operate the downfal of this splendid imposter, whose proper emblem is a bloated figure, seated on a throne, made of dead mens' bones, with a crown on its head, a sword in one hand, and a cup filled with the tears of widows and orphans in the other.

Mr. Peel, a member of the British parliament, delivered an unfeeling speech relative to Ireland, in which he speaks of their untameable ferocity, and systematic guilt, supported by perjury, related this most affecting anecdote, which was to shew the feeling of abhorrence entertained against those who gave evidence against those who were tried for resisting a government they detested.—A man who was condemned to death was offered a pardon, on the condition that he would give evidence, which they knew he could give, after having actually given a part of his testimony, retracted it in open court; his wife, who was strongly attached to her husband, having prayed him on her knees, with tears, that he would be hanged rather than give evidence. The house burst out into a loud and general LAUGH!!!

Here was an heroic woman who leaves the wife of Brutus and of Poelus far behind her. If this extraordinary and shockingly affecting scene had taken place in the Congress of the United States of America, would it have excited LAUGHTER, or deep commisseration? Greater men than members of parliament, can laugh at misery. See what Junius says of king George the 3d and Chancellor York.

There is another Irish anecdote worth relating.—During the troubles in Ireland a Boy 16 years old was seized by the military, who demanded of him to whom he belonged. He refused to tell. They tied him up to the halberts, and he endured a severe whipping without confessing whom he served. At length his sister, who was about 18, unable to endure the sight of his torture any longer, run to the officer and told him that he was in the service of Mr. —— a suspected man. The brave boy damned his sister for a blabbing b— for now said he the cause of Ireland is betrayed and ruined. Here are traits of Spartan virtues, that a modern British house of commons are past comprehending. A stronger proof of debasement cannot well be imagined in the Senate of England.

We passed by Sheerness, and, in our passage to the Nore, came near several hulks filled with convicts. We soon came along side the Leyden, an old Dutch 64, fitted up with births, eight feet by six, so as to contain six persons; but they were nearly all filled by prisoners who came before us, so that we were obliged to shirk wherever we could.

We found the captain of the Leyden very much such a man as the commander of the Malabar. Our allowance of food was as short as he could make it, and our liquor ungenerous. He said we were a damn set of rebel yankees that lived too well, which made us saucy. The first lieutenant was a kind and humane gentleman, but his captain was the reverse. He would hear no complaints, and threatened to put the bearer of them in irons.

The countenance, and whole form of this man was indicative of malice; his very step was that of an abrupt and angry tyrant. His gloomy visage was that of an hardened jailor; and he bore towards us the same sort of affection which we experienced from the refugees in Nova Scotia.—He caused a marine to be most severely flogged for selling one of the prisoners a little tobacco, which he saved out of his own allowance. The crew were forbidden to speak with any of us; but, when they could with safety, they described him to be the most odious of tyrants, and the most malicious of men. They said he never appeared pleased only when his men were suffering the agonies of the boatswain's lashes. In this he resembled the demons among the damned.

Upon calling over our names, and parading ourselves before captain Davie, we could discover, in a second, the harsh temper of the man. We at length weighed anchor, passed a fleet of men of war, and in a few days arrived in Plymouth harbor. The captain went immediately on shore and left the command to his worthy and humane lieutenant. The next day a great many boats came off to us filled with Cyprian dames. They were, generally, healthy, rosy looking lasses. Their number increased every hour, until there were as many on board of us as there were men. In short, every man who paid the waterman half a crown had a wife; so that the ship, belonging to the bulwark of our religion, exhibited such a scene as is described by the navigators, who have visited the South-Sea Islands. We read, with surprise and pity, the conduct of the female sex, when European ships visit the islands in the Pacific ocean;[O] and we are unwilling to give credit to all we read, because we, Americans, never fail to annex the idea of modesty to that of a woman; for female licentiousness is very rarely witnessed in the new world. This has rendered the accounts of navigators, in a degree, incredible; but we see the same thing in the ports of England—a land of Christians—renowned for its bishops and their church, and for moral writings and sermons, and for their bible societies, and religious institutions, and for their numerous moral essays, and chaste poetical writings. Yes, Christian reader! in this religious island, whereof George the 3d is king, and Charlotte the queen, the young females crowd the prison ships, and take for husbands the ragged American prisoners, provided they can get a few shillings by it! What are we to think of the state of society in England, when two or three sisters leave the house of their parents, and pass a week on board of a newly arrived ship? What can be the sentiments of the daughters? What the feelings of their mothers, their fathers, and their brothers? In the South Sea Islands, young females know not what modesty means; neither that nor chastity is a virtue in those regions.[O] But it is not quite so in England; there this lewd conduct is a mark of debasement, depravity and vice. The sea-ports of England, and the streets of her capital, and, indeed, of all her large cities are filled with handsome women, who offer themselves as wives to men they never saw before, for a few shillings; and yet this is the country of which our reverend doctors, from the pulpit, assure us, contains more religion and morality than any other of the same number of inhabitants; nay, more, our governor has proclaimed it to the world over, as being the very "bulwark of the religion we profess." If cruelty to prisoners, cruelty to their own soldiers, if kidnapping their mechanics, by press gangs, if shocking barbarity be exercised towards prisoners, and if open, shameless lewdness, mark and disgrace their sea-ports, their capital, and all their large cities, are the modest and correct people, inhabiting the towns and villages of the United States, to be affronted by being told publicly, that they have less religion, less morality than the people of England? How long shall we continue to be abused by folly and presumption? We, Americans, are yet a modest, clean, and moral people; as much so as the Swiss in Europe; and we feel ourselves offended, and disgusted when our blind guides tell us to follow the example of the English in their manners, and sexual conduct. Could I allow myself to particularise the conduct of the fair sex, who crowd on board every recently arrived ship, and who swarm on the shores, my readers would confess that few scenes of the kind could exceed it. The freedom of the American press will give to posterity a just picture of British morals, in the reigns of George the 3d and 4th.

While laying in Plymouth harbor, we received the news of the capture of the City of Washington; and the burning of its public buildings with the library. The burning of the public buildings and the library of books at Washington has been execrated by all the civilized world. The British are famous, or rather infamous for this barbarous mode of warfare. We find this passage in Captain John Knox's historical Journal of the Campaigns in North America in 1758—"Brigadier Wolfe has been also successful at Gaspe, and the N. N. E. parts of this province, (Nova Scotia) he has burned, among other settlements a most valuable one called Mount St. Louis: the intendant of the place offered 150,000 livres to ransom that town and its environs, which were nobly rejected: all their magazines of corn, dried fish, barrelled eels, and other provisions which they had for themselves, and other provisions for Quebec market, were all destroyed. Wherever he went with his troops desolation followed."—And this, reader, was the glorious General Wolfe, whom his barbarous nation, and our own fools have extolled to the skies in marble monuments, and his sons. Cockburn was nothing compared with this immortal plunderer and burner of villages and destroyer of the provisions laid up for the men, women and children of the French settlements in Arcadia. General Wolfe perpetrated this savage deed in the latter end of November, 1758, when the wretched inhabitants had a long and dreary winter before them. But Wolfe and Ross were punished, by the just avenger.

"Capt. M'Curdie was killed by the falling of a tree on the 30th, and Lieut. Hazen commands at present, who returned last night from a scout up this river: he went to St. Ann's and burnt 147 dwelling houses, 2 mass-houses, besides all their barns, stables, out-houses, granaries, &c. He returned down the river about —— where he found a house in a thick forest, with a number of cattle, horses and hogs; these he destroyed. There was fire in the chimney; the people were gone off into the woods; he pursued, killed and scalped six men, brought in four, with two women and three children; he returned to the house, set it on fire, threw the cattle into the flames, and arrived safe with his prisoners."—from page 230 of Captain Knox's Historical Journal of Campaigns in North America from 1756 to 1760. This work in two 4to. vol. is dedicated by permission to Lieutenant General Sir Jeffrey Amherst, and printed in London by Dodsley, 1769. It has for its motto ne quid falsi, dicere audeat, ne quid veri non audeat.

Every body around us believed that America was conquered, and the war over. After we had read the account in the newspaper, the Lieutenant came down among us, and talked with us on the event; and asked us if we did not think that America would now submit and make peace on such terms as Great Britain should propose? We all told him with one voice, no! no! and that the possession of the whole sea-coast could not produce that effect. We explained to him the situation of Washington; and described the half built city; and soon convinced him that the capture of Washington, was by no means an event of half the importance of the capture of Albany, or New-York, or Baltimore. We all agreed that it would make a great sound in England, and throughout Europe, but that it was, in fact, of little consequence to the UNITED STATES. Why should a republican weep at the burning of a palace?

About a week after we entered Plymouth harbor, two hundred of us were drafted to be sent to Dartmoor Prison, instead of being sent, as we expected, to America.

We were conveyed in boats, and saw, as we passed, a number of men of war on the stocks; and, among others, the Lord Vincent, pierced for 120 guns. One of our prisoners told the lieutenant that he was in that battle with Lord St. Vincent, and of course helped him gain the victory, and here he was now sailing by a most noble ship, (built in honour of that famous admiral) on his way to a doleful prison! This man had been pressed on board a British man of war, and was given up as such; but instead of being sent home as he ought, he was detained a prisoner of war, and yet this unfortunate man exposed his life in fighting for the British off Cape St. Vincents, as much as the noble Lord himself. Such is the difference of rewards in this chequered world!

My mind was too much oppressed with the melancholy prospect of Dartmoor prison, to notice particularly the gallant show of ships; and the beautiful scenery which the dock and bay of Plymouth afforded. When we landed a short distance from the dock, we were received by a file of soldiers, or rather two files, between which we marched on to prison. This was the first time we touched the soil of England with our feet, after laying under its shores nearly a year. It excited singular and pleasant sensations to be once more permitted to walk on the earth, although surrounded by soldiers and going to prison. The old women collected about us with their cakes and ale, and as we all had a little money we soon emptied their jugs and baskets; and their cheering beverage soon changed our sad countenances; and as we marched on we cheered each other. Our march drew to the doors and windows the enchanting sight of fair ladies; compared with our dirty selves, they looked like angels peeping out of Heaven; and yet they were neither handsomer, or neater than our sweethearts and sisters in our own dear country.

After we left the street, we found the road extremely dusty, which rendered it very unpleasant in walking close to each other. Before we got half way to the prison, there was a very heavy shower of rain, so that by the time we arrived there we looked as if we had been wallowing in the mud. Our unfeeling conductors marched us nine miles before they allowed us to rest; never once considering how unfit we were, from our long confinement, for travelling. Where we were allowed to stop, a butt of beer was placed in a cart for sale. Had British prisoners been marching through New-England, a butt of beer, or good cider would have been placed for them free of all expense; but Old England is not New-England by a great deal, whatever Governor STRONG may think of his adorable country of kings, bishops and missionary societies.[P] Here a fresh escort of soldiers relieved those who brought us from Plymouth. The commanding officer of this detachment undertook to drive us from the beer-cart before all of us had a taste of it; he rode in among us, and flourished his sword, with a view to frighten us; but we refused to stir till we were ready, and some of our company called him a damned lobster backed ——, for wishing to drive us away before every one had his drink. The man was perplexed, and knew not what to do. At last the booby did what he ought to have done at first—forced the beer-seller to drive off his cart. But it is the fate of British officers of higher rank than this one, to think and act at last of that which they ought to have thought, and acted upon at first. They are no match for the yankees, in contrivance, or in execution. This beer barrel is an epitome of all their conduct in their war with America. What old woman put the idea into this officer's head I know not; but it is a fact, as soon as the beer barrel was driven off, we were all ready to march off too! And few companies of vagabonds in England ever marched off to prison in better spirits; we cheered one another, and laughed at our profound leader, until we came in sight of the black, bleak, and barren moor, without a solitary bush or blade of grass. Some of our prisoners swore that we had marched the whole length of England, and got into Scotland. We all agreed that it was not credible that such a hideous, barren spot could be any where found in England.

Our old men-of-wars-men suffered the most. Many of these had not set their feet on the earth for seven years, and they had lost in a measure, the natural operation of their feet and legs. These naval veterans loitered behind, attended by a guard. In ascending a hill we were some distance from the main body, and by turning a corner the rear was concealed from the van. Two young men took advantage of this, and jumped over a wall, and lay snug under it; but being observed, the guard fired, which alarmed those in front, when some soldiers pursued them, and seeing the impossibility of escaping, the young men jumped over the wall again, and mixed in with their companions without their being able to identify their persons. Our driver was extremely perplexed and alarmed at our daring attempts.

On crawling up the long and ragged hill, we became wearied, and refused to walk so fast as did the guard. No prudent officer would have driven men on as we were driven. We should have rested every two or three miles.—The sun was sinking below the horizon when we gained the top of the hill which commanded a view of Dartmoor prison. We passed through a small collection of houses called Princetown, where were two inns. The weather was disagreeable after the shower, and we saw the dark-hued prisons, whose sombre and doleful aspect chilled our blood. Yonder, cried one of our companions, is the residence of four thousand five hundred men, and in a few minutes we shall add to the number of its wretches. Others said, in that place will be sacrificed the aspiring feelings of youth, and the anxious expectations of relatives. There, said I, shall we bury all the designs of early emulation. I never felt disheartened before. I shed tears when I thought of home, and of my wretched situation, and I cursed the barbarity of a people among whom we were driven more like hogs than fellow men and Christians. I had weathered adverse gales with fortitude; and never flinched amidst severities. "A taught bowstring," was always my motto; but here I gave way for a moment, to despair, and wished the string to snap asunder and end my misery; for I had not even the consolation of a criminal going to execution to brace up the cord of life and inspire hope beyond the grave. The idea of lingering out a wretched existence in a doleful prison, dying by piece-meals, my flesh wasting by hunger, my frame exhausting by thirst, and my spirits broken down by a tyrant, and by jostling with misfortunes, I could not avoid. If death, instead of knocking at my prison door, would enter it at once, I would thank the goal deliverer. I am now comforted with the conviction, that nothing but an early religious education could have preserved me at this, and some other times of my misery, from destroying myself.