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.