SOME HISTORICAL PAPERS.

PATRIOTS BEARING IRISH NAMES WHO WERE CONFINED ABOARD THE JERSEY PRISON SHIP.

BY THE HON. JOHN D. CRIMMINS, NEW YORK CITY.[[1]]

[1]. From Mr. Crimmins’ recent book, Irish-American Historical Miscellany. (New York, 1905.)

The horrors of the Jersey prison ship have often been told. The Jersey and other hulks, used by the British, were anchored near the Wallabout, Brooklyn, N. Y. Many thousands of prisoners perished on these ships by cruelty and disease. The conduct of their captors was inhumane and dastardly. It is not surprising, therefore, that the mortality was so great.

William Burke, a prisoner aboard the Jersey, at one time, has left a record in which he states that he was confined on the ship fourteen months, and that he saw, among other cruelties, many American prisoners put to death by the bayonet. This cruel treatment was never relaxed by the English or Scots, but sometimes the more humane Hessians evinced pity for the unfortunate sufferers. Burke says:

“During that period, among other cruelties which were committed, I have known many of the American prisoners put to death by the bayonet: in particular, I well recollect, that it was the custom on board the ship for but one prisoner at a time to be admitted on deck at night, besides the guards or sentinels. One night, while the prisoners were many of them assembled at the grate at the hatchway, for the purpose of obtaining fresh air, and waiting their turn to go on deck, one of the sentinels thrust his bayonet down among them, and in the morning twenty-five of them were found wounded, and stuck in the head, and dead of the wounds they had thus received. I further recollect that this was the case several mornings, when sometimes five, sometimes six, and sometimes eight or ten, were found dead by the same means.”

It is estimated that over eleven thousand prisoners perished, from all causes, aboard these ships during the Revolution. The dead would be carried ashore and carelessly buried in the sand, their bodies, in many cases, to be uncovered by returning tides. For many years after, the bones of these martyrs were visible along the shore.

About 1801, John Jackson sold to the United States, through Francis Childs, a middleman, forty acres of the Wallabout for $40,000. About this time large numbers of Irish refugees arrived and located in New York and Brooklyn. They bought some land of Jackson at, or near, the Wallabout, the settlement being named “Vinegar Hill.”

During the summer of 1805, a Mr. Aycrigg, shocked at the exposed remains of the prison-ship victims, made a contract with an Irishman residing at Wallabout, to “collect all the human bones as far as may be without digging,” and deliver the same to him. This was done, and these bones were a portion of those interred in the vault patriotically erected by Tammany.

Among the patriots imprisoned aboard the Jersey were a great many Irish. In 1888, the Society of Old Brooklynites published a pamphlet dealing with the Jersey, and giving the names of several thousand persons who had been confined therein, many of whom perished. A copy of this pamphlet is in the possession of the New York Historical Society. From that authoritative source we have compiled the following list of patriots, bearing Irish names, who were confined on the Jersey:

Many other Irish names could be added, but sufficient have been given to establish the fact that a large number of the sons of Erin were among those who suffered the rigors of the Jersey prison ship.

Capt. Thomas Dring, who was a prisoner aboard the Jersey, tells us in his Recollections many startling facts about that terrible ship. He says: “Silence was a stranger to our dark abode. There were continual noises during the night. The groans of the sick and dying; the curses poured out by the weary and exhausted upon our inhuman keepers; the restlessness caused by the suffocating heat and the confined and poisonous air, mingled with the wild and incoherent ravings of delirium, were the sounds which, every night, were raised around us in all directions.”

And another writer states that the lower hold, and the orlop deck, were such a terror that no man would venture down into them. Dysentery, smallpox and yellow fever broke out, and “while so many were sick with raging fever, there was a loud cry for water; but none could be had except on the upper deck, and but one was allowed to ascend at a time. The suffering then from the rage of thirst during the night, was very great. Nor was it at all times safe to attempt to go up. Provoked by the continual cry to be allowed to ascend, when there was already one on deck, the sentry would push them back with his bayonet.”

Stiles in his History of the City of Brooklyn, narrates a scene that took place on the Jersey, July 4, 1782. He says: “A very serious conflict with the guard occurred ... in consequence of the prisoners attempting to celebrate the day with such observances and amusements as their condition permitted. Upon going on deck in the morning, they displayed thirteen little national flags in a row upon the booms, which were immediately torn down and trampled under the feet of the guard, which on that day happened to consist of Scotchmen. Deigning no notice of this, the prisoners proceeded to amuse themselves with patriotic songs, speeches and cheers, all the while avoiding whatever could be construed into an intentional insult of the guard; which, however, at an unusually early hour in the afternoon, drove them below at the point of the bayonet, and closed the hatches. Between decks, the prisoners now continued their singing, etc., until about nine o’clock in the evening. An order to desist not having been promptly complied with, the hatches were suddenly removed and the guards descended among them, with lanterns and cutlasses in their hands. Then ensued a scene of terror. The helpless prisoners, retreating from the hatchways as far as their crowded condition would permit, were followed by the guards, who mercilessly hacked, cut, and wounded everyone within their reach; and then ascending again to the upper deck, fastened down the hatches upon the poor victims of their cruel rage, leaving them to languish through the long, sultry summer night, without water to cool their parched throats, and without lights by which they might have dressed their wounds. And to add to their torment, it was not until the middle of the next forenoon that the prisoners were allowed to go on deck and slake their thirst, or to receive their rations of food, which, that day, they were obliged to eat uncooked. Ten corpses were found below on the morning which succeeded that memorable fourth of July, and many others were badly wounded.”

An especially affecting incident is told regarding one prisoner, who died on the ship: “Two young men, brothers, belonging to a rifle corps, were made prisoners and sent on board the Jersey. The elder took the fever and, in a few days, became delirious. One night (his end was fast approaching) he became calm and sensible, and lamenting his hard fate and the absence of his mother, begged for a little water. His brother, with tears, entreated the guard to give him some, but in vain. The sick youth was soon in his last struggles, when his brother offered the guard a guinea for an inch of candle, only that he might see him die. Even this was denied. ‘Now,’ said he, drying up his tears, ‘if it please God that I ever regain my liberty, I’ll be a most bitter enemy!’ He regained his liberty, rejoined the army, and when the war ended he had eight large and one hundred and twenty-seven small notches on his rifle stock.”

The Pennsylvania Packet, September 4, 1781, published a letter from the Jersey, which said: “We bury six, seven, eight, nine, ten, and eleven men in a day; we have two hundred more sick and falling sick every day.” This will illustrate the terrible mortality aboard the ship.

In his Recollections of Brooklyn and New York in 1776, Johnson says of the prisoners dying on the Jersey: “It was no uncommon thing to see five or six dead bodies brought on shore in a single morning, when a small excavation would be dug at the foot of the hill, the bodies be thrown in and a man with a shovel would cover them by shovelling sand down the hill upon them. Many were buried in a ravine of the hill; some on the farm. The whole shore, from Rennie’s Point to Mr. Remsen’s dooryard was a place of graves; as were also the slope of the hill near the house ...; the shore from Mr. Ramsen’s barn along the mill pond, to Rapelje’s, and the sandy island between the floodgates and the mill-dam, while a few were buried on the shore on the east side of the Wallabout. Thus did Death reign here, from 1776 until the peace. The whole Wallabout was a sickly place during the war. The atmosphere seemed to be charged with foul air from the prison ships, and with the effluvia of the dead bodies washed out of their graves by the tides. We believe that more than half of the dead buried on the outer side of the mill-pond, were washed out by the waves at high tide, during northeasterly winds. The bones of the dead lay exposed along the beach, drying and bleaching in the sun, and whitening the shore, till reached by the power of a succeeding storm; as the agitated waters receded, the bones receded with them into the deep.... We have, ourselves, examined many of the skulls lying on the shore. From the teeth, they appeared to be the remains of men in the prime of life.”

“The Jersey at length,” declares Stiles, “became so crowded, and the increase of disease among the prisoners so rapid, that even the hospital ships were inadequate for their reception. In this emergency, bunks were erected on the larboard side of the upper deck of the Jersey for the accommodation of the sick between decks. The horrors of the old hulk were now increased a hundred-fold. Foul air, confinement, darkness, hunger, thirst, the slow poison of the malarious locality in which the ship was anchored, the torments of vermin, the suffocating heat alternating with cold and, above all, the almost total absence of hope, performed their deadly work unchecked. ‘The whole ship, from her keel to the taffrail, was equally affected, and contained pestilence sufficient to desolate a world—disease and death were wrought into her very timbers.’”

“There was, indeed,” Stiles remarks, “one condition upon which these hapless sufferers might have escaped the torture of this slow but certain death, and that was enlistment into the British service. This chance was daily offered them by the recruiting officers who visited the ship, but their persuasions and offers were almost invariably treated with contempt, and that, too, by men who fully expected to die where they were. In spite of their untold physical sufferings, which might well have shaken the resolution of the strongest; in spite of the insinuations of the British that they were neglected by their government—insinuations which seemed to be corroborated by the very facts of their condition; in defiance of threats of even harsher treatment, and regardless of promises of food and clothing—objects most tempting to men in their condition; but few, comparatively, sought relief from their woes by the betrayal of their honor. And these few went forth into liberty followed by the execrations and undisguised contempt of the suffering heroes whom they left behind. It was this calm, unfaltering, unconquerable spirit of patriotism—defying torture, starvation, loathsome disease, and the prospect of a neglected and forgotten grave—which sanctifies to every American heart the scene of their suffering in the Wallabout, and which will render the sad story of the ‘prison ships’ one of ever-increasing interest to all future generations.”

The corner-stone of a vault for the reception of so many of the bones of the martyred dead as could be collected, was laid in April, 1808, by Tammany. The event was made the occasion of a great demonstration. There was a big military and civic parade, artillery salutes and other features. Major Aycrigg was marshal of the day and an eloquent oration was delivered by Joseph D. Fay of Tammany. On May 26, 1808, the vault being completed, the bones were removed thereto, the event being signalized by another great demonstration. There were thirteen coffins filled with bones of the dead, and 104 veterans of the Revolution acted as pall-bearers. Stiles informs us that “The procession, after passing through various streets, reached the East River, where, at different places, boats had been provided for crossing to Brooklyn. Thirteen large open boats transported the thirteen tribes of the Tammany Society, each containing one tribe, one coffin, and the pall-bearers.” The scene was most inspiring. “At Brooklyn ferry the procession formed again ... and arrived at the tomb of the martyrs amidst a vast and mighty assemblage. A stage had been here erected for the orator, trimmed with black crape. The coffins were placed in front, and the pall-bearers took their seats beneath the eye of the orator. There was an invocation by Rev. Ralph Williston, and the orator of the day was Dr. Benjamin DeWitt. The coffins were huge in size and each bore the name of one of the thirteen original states.”