CHAPTER IV.
The establishment of prison-ships at Chatham is broken up, and the last of the prisoners were marched from Plymouth to this place, the 30th of November. They were marched from that place to this, in one day, half leg deep in mud. Some lost their shoes; others, to preserve them, took them off, and carried them in their hands. When they arrived here, they were indeed objects of pity; nevertheless they were immediately shut up in a cold, damp prison, without any bedding, or any of the ordinary conveniences, until they could be examined and described in the commander's books; after which they were permitted to mix with the rest of their countrymen. We found many of them, the day after their arrival, unable to walk, by reason of their too long protracted march, in a very bad road. A prudent drover would not have risked his cattle by driving them through such a road in a few hours. Such a thing never was done in America, with British prisoners.
I find all the prisoners here deeply exasperated against Captain Shortland, and too much prejudiced to hear any thing in his favor. I presume they have reason for it. As I have but just arrived, I have had but little opportunity of seeing and judging his conduct. Instead of his being a bad hearted man, I am disposed to believe that the fault is in his understanding and education. I suspect that he is a man of narrow views; that he has not sufficient information, or capacity, to form a right judgment of the peculiar cast and character of the people under his charge. He has never, perhaps, considered, that these descendants of Englishmen, the free inhabitants of the new world, have been born and brought up in, if we may speak so, Indian freedom; on which freedom has been superinduced an education purely democratic, in schools where degrading punishments are unknown; where if a schoolmaster exercised the severity common in English and German schools, they would tie the master's hands with his own bell-rope. He has never considered that our potent militia choose their own officers; and that the people choose all their officers and leaders from among themselves; and that there are very few men indeed, none, perhaps, in New-England, who would refuse to shake hands with a decent yeoman. It is probable that Captain Shortland has never once reflected that there are fewer grades of men between the lowest white man under his charge and the highest in America, than there are between him and the highest ranks in England. He has never considered the similarity between the ancient Roman republican, and the republican of the United States of America; nor why both republics deemed it abhorrent to inflict stripes on their citizens. Shortland had not sufficient sagacity to discover that playfulness, fun and frolic, formed a strong trait in the character of the American sailor and militia man, for they had hardly become, what is called in Europe, soldiers; drilling and discipline had not obliterated the free and easy carriage of a bold and fearless Yankee.
Sir Guy Carlton, afterwards Lord Dorchester, was Governor of Canada, during the revolutionary war, and proved himself a wise man. He penetrated the American character, and treated the American prisoners captured in Canada, accordingly; and by doing so, he came near breaking up our army; for our prisoners were softened and subdued by his kindness and humanity; he sent them home well clothed, and well fed, and most of them declared they never would fight against Sir Guy Carlton. He knew the American character thoroughly; and was convinced that harshness and severity would have no other effect than to excite revenge and hatred. On the other hand, our prisoners could have no very great respect for a captain, an officer, which they themselves created by their votes, at pleasure; add to this, that several of the prisoners had the title of captain in their own country. Had the commander of Dartmoor Prison been an old woman, the Americans would have respected her sex and years, and obeyed her commands; but they despised and hated Shortland, for his deficiency of head, heart, and education; from all which originated those sad events which have disgraced one nation, and exasperated the other forever. Shortland may be excused, when it is considered that England lost her colonies by not studying the American character; and the same inattention to the natural operations of the human heart, is now raising America gradually up to be the first naval power on the terraqueous globe. And thus much for contempt.
There was an order that all lights should be put out by eight o'clock at night, in every prison; and it was doubtless proper; but this order was carried into execution with a rigor bordering on barbarity. On the least glimpse of light discoverable in the prison, the guard would fire in amongst us; and several were shot. Several Frenchmen were wounded. This story was told—that a French captain of a privateer, the night after he first came, was undressing himself, by his hammock, when the sentry cried, "Out lights!" The Frenchman not understanding English, kept it burning; the sentry fired, and scattered his brains over the place; but this did not occur while I was there; but this I aver, that several were shot, and I wondered that many were not killed. I was shocked at the barbarity of the order.
About this time, the Derbyshire militia were relieved by a regiment of regulars, who had been in Spain. They were chiefly Irish; and treated us better than we were treated by the militia. They had infinitely more generosity and manliness, as well as more intelligence. They acted plays in the cock loft of No. 5. They have good music, and tolerable scenery; and charge six pence for admission, to defray the expense. This is a very pleasant way of making the British soldier forget his slavery; and the American prisoner his bondage. These generous hearted Irishmen would sometimes give us a song in honour of our naval victories. O, how we did long to be at liberty, when we heard songs in honour of the Constitution and of the United States![R]
Some men are about to be sent off to Dartmouth, to return to the United States; this has occasioned us to write letters to our friends and connexions; but Captain Shortland is very jealous on this head; he will not allow us to write to any of the neighbouring country people. The English dare not trust their own people, much more the American captives.
This is the latter part of the month of November; and the weather has been generally rainy, dark, dismal and foggy. Sometimes we could hardly see the sentinels on the walls. Sorrow and sadness within; gloom, fog, or drizzly rain without. If the commissioners at Ghent do not soon make peace, or establish an exchange, we shall be lost to our country, and to hope. The newspapers now and then enliven us with the prospect of peace. We are told that growing dissentions at Vienna will induce Great Britain to get rid of her transatlantic enemy, in order to combat those nearer home. Whenever we see in the newspapers an article captioned "News from Ghent," we devour it with our eyes; but instead of substance, generally find it empty wind. We are wearied out. I speak for myself; and I hear the same expression from others. Winter is commencing to add to our miseries. Poor clothing, miserable lodging, poor, and inadequate food, long dismal nights, darkness, foul air, bad smells, the groans of the sick, and distressed; the execrations and curses of the half distracted prisoner, the unfeeling conduct of our keepers and commander—all, all, all conspire to fill up the cup of our sorrow; but we hope that one drop will not be added after it is brim full; far then it will run over, and death will follow!
December. Nothing new, or strange, worth recording; every day, and every night brings the same sad picture, the same heart sinking impressions. Until now, I could not believe that misfortune and confinement, with a deprivation of the accustomed food, ease and liberty enjoyed in our own dear country, could have wrought such a change in the human person. The young have not only acquired wrinkles, but appear dried up, and contracted in body and mind. I can easily conceive that a few generations of the human species, passed in such misery and confinement, would produce a race of beings, very inferior to what we now are. The sailor, however, suffers less in appearance than we landsmen; for my short cruise in a privateer, does not entitle me to the name of a sailor. How often have I reflected on my rash adventure! To leave the house of plenty, surrounded with every thing comfortable, merely to change the scene, and see the watery world. To quit my paternal roof, half educated, to dress wounds, and cut off the limbs of those who might be mutilated, was about as mad a scheme as ever giddy youth engaged in. But repining will do no good. I must not despair, but make the best of my hard lot. If I have lost a portion of ordinary education, I have passed the severer school of misfortune; and should I live to return to America, I must strive to turn these hardships to the best advantage. He who has not met adversity, has not seen the most profitable part of human life.