I have had occasion often to remark on the tyrannical conduct, and unfeeling behaviour of Captain Shortland, but he had for it the excuse of an enemy; but the neglect of Mr. Beasley, with his supercilious behaviour towards his countrymen here confined, admits of no excuse. He was bound to assist us and befriend us, and to listen to our reasonable complaints. When negro John wrote to his Royal Highness the Duke of Kent, son of king George the 3d, and brother of the Prince Regent, he received an answer in terms of kindness and reason; but Mr. Beasley, who was paid by our government for being our agent, and official friend, never condescended to answer our letters, and if they ever were noticed, it was in the style of reproof.—His conduct is here condemned by six thousand of his countrymen; and as many curses are daily uttered on him in this prison. It is almost treason in this our dismal Commonwealth, or rather common misery, to speak in his favour. If Shortland and Beasley were both drowning, and one only could be taken out by the prisoners of Dartmoor, I believe in my soul, that that one would be Shortland; for, as I said before, he has the excuse of an enemy.
The prisoners have been long determined to testify their feelings towards Mr. Beasley, before they left Dartmoor; and the time for it has arrived. The most ingenious of our countrymen are now making a figure resemblance, or effigy of this distinguished personage. One has contributed a coat, another pantaloons, another a shirt-bosom or frill, another a stuffed-out-cravat; and so they have made up a pretty genteel, haughty-looking-gentleman-agent, with heart and brains full equal, they think, to the person whom they wish to represent. They called this figure Mr. B——. They then brought him to trial. He was indicted for many crimes towards them, and towards the character of the United States. The jury declared him to be guilty of each and every charge; and he was sentenced by an unanimous decree of his judges, to be hanged by the neck until he was dead, and after that to be burnt. They proceeded with him to the place of execution, which was from the roof of prison No. 7, where a pole was rigged out, to which was attached an halter. After silence was proclaimed, the halter was fastened round the neck of the effigy; and then a solemn pause ensued; which apparent solemnity was befitting the character of men who were convinced of the necessity of the punishment of the guilty, while they felt for the sufferings and shame of a fellow mortal. After hanging the proper time, the hangman, who was a negro, cut him down; and then the rough allies took possession of him, and conducted him to a convenient spot in the yard, where they burnt him to ashes. This was not, like the plunder of the shop-keepers, the conduct of an infuriate mob; but it was begun and carried through by some of the steadiest men within the walls of Dartmoor prison.—They said they had no other way of testifying their contempt of a man, who they supposed had injured them all, and disgraced their country. Such was the fact; as to the justness of their charges, I have nothing to say. I hope Mr. B. can vindicate his conduct to the world; and I hope this publication may lead to a thing so much wished for. The accusations of the multitude are commonly well founded, but often too high coloured. If this gentleman has never been censured by our government, we may conclude that he has not been quite so faulty as has been represented.
During all this solemn farce, poor Shortland looked like a culprit under sentence of death. Some of the rogues had written, with chalk, on the walls, Be you also ready!—This commander's situation could not be an enviable one. He was, probably, as courageous a man as the ordinary run of British officers; but it was plainly discoverable that he was, half his time, in dread, and during the scene just described, in terror, which was perceivable amidst his affected smiles, and assumed gaiety. He told a gentleman, belonging to this depot, that he never saw, nor ever read, or heard of such a set of Devil-daring, God-provoking fellows, as these same Yankees. And he added, I had rather have the charge of five thousand Frenchmen, than FIVE HUNDRED of these sons of liberty; and yet, said he, I love the dogs better than I do the damn'd frog-eaters.
On the 30th of March we received the heart-cheering news of the total defeat of the British army before New-Orleans, with the death of its commander in chief, Sir Edward Pakenham, and Generals Gibs and Kean, with a great number of other officers, and about five thousand rank and file killed and wounded; and what appeared to be absolutely incredible, this unexampled slaughter of the enemy was achieved with the loss of less than twenty killed and wounded on our side. Instead of shouting and rejoicing, as in ordinary victories, we seemed mute with astonishment. Yes! when we saw the Englishmen walking with folded arms, looking down on the ground, we had not the heart to exult, especially as the war was now ended. I speak for myself—there was no event that tended so much to reconciliation and forgiveness as this immense slaughter of the English. We felt that this victory was too bloody not to stifle loud exultation.
We had heard of Generals Dearborn, Brown, Scott, Ripley, Gaines and Miller, but no one knew who General Andrew Jackson was; but we said that it was a New-England name, and we had no doubt but he was a full blooded yankee, there being many of that name in New-Hampshire, Massachusetts, Vermont, Rhode Island and Connecticut.—But I have since heard that he was a village lawyer in Tennessee, and a native of South Carolina.
The more particulars we hear of this extraordinary victory, the more we were astonished. We cannot be too grateful to Heaven for allowing us, a people of yesterday, to wind up the war with the great and terrible nation, the mistress of the ocean, in a manner and style that will inspire respect from the present and future race of men. Nothing now is thought of or talked of, but New-Orleans and Jackson, and Jackson and New-Orleans. We already perceive that we are treated with more respect, and our country spoken of in honorable terms. The language now is "we are all one and the same people. You have all English blood in your veins, and it is no wonder that you fight bravely!" Sometimes they have uttered the slang of "The Times," and cast reflections on the government, and on President Madison, but we have always resented it, nor do we ever allow any one to speak disrespectfully of our illustrious chief magistrate.
About the middle of the present month, (March) we received the news of the landing of Napoleon in France, while every one here supposed him snug at Elba. The news came to England, and passed through it like thunder and lightning, carrying with it astonishment and dismay. But as much as they dread, and of course hate Bonaparte, the British cannot but admire his fortune and his glory. There are a number of Frenchmen yet here; and it is impossible for man to shew more joy at this news from France. They collected together and shouted Vive l'Empereur! and the yankees joined them, with huzza for Bonaparte; and this we kept up incessantly, to plague the British. The English bear any thing from us with more patience, than our expressions of affection for the Emperor Napoleon. Now the fact is, we care no more for the French, than they do for us; and there is but little love between us; yet we pretend great respect and affection for that nation, and their chief, principally to torment overbearing surly John Bull, who thinks that we ought to love nobody but him, while he himself never does any thing to inspire that love.
About the 20th of this month, we received the heart cheering tidings of the Ratification of the Treaty of Peace, by the President of the United States. This long expected event threw us all into such a rapturous roar of joy, that we made old Dartmoor shake under us, with our shouts; and to testify our satisfaction we illuminated this depot of misery. Even Shortland affected joy, and was seen more than once, like Milton's Devil, to "grin horribly a ghastly smile."
As there can be now no longer a doubt of our being soon set at liberty, our attention is directed to the agent for prisoners for fixing the time, and arranging the means. Mr. Beasley had written that as soon as the Treaty was ratified, he would make every exertion for our speedy departure. He must be aware of our extreme impatience to leave this dreary spot, whose brown and grassless surface renders it a place more proper for convicts, than an assemblage of patriots.
We are all watching the countenance and conduct of our surly keeper, Shortland: and it is the general opinion that he is deeply chagrined at the idea of no longer domineering over us. It may be, also, that the peace may reduce him to half pay. I, myself, am of opinion, that he is dissatisfied at the idea of our escaping his fangs, with whole skins; and his dark and sullen countenance gathers every day additional blackness.