“On coming aboard the ship-of-the-line, these officers were stowed away in the lower hold, next to the keel, under five decks, and many feet below the water-line. Here, in a twelve-by-twenty-foot room, with upcurving floor, and only three feet high, the seventy-one men were kept for fifty-three days, like so much merchandise—without light or good air—unable to stand upright, with no means to get away.
“Their food was of the poorest quality, and was supplied in such insufficient quantities, that, whenever one of the prisoners died, the survivors concealed the fact, in order that the dead man’s allowance might be added to theirs. The water which they were served to drink was atrocious.
“From the time the Yarmouth left New York till she reached Plymouth, in a most tempestuous winter passage, these men were kept in this loathsome dungeon. Eleven died in delirium; their wild ravings and piercing shrieks appalling their comrades, and giving them a foretaste of what they, themselves, might expect. Not even a surgeon was permitted to visit them.
“Arriving at Plymouth, the pale, emaciated men were ordered to come on deck. Not one obeyed, for they were unable to stand upright. Consequently they were hoisted up, the ceremony being grimly suggestive of the manner in which they had been treated,—like merchandise. And what were they to do, now that they had been placed on deck?
“The light of the sun, which they had scarcely seen for fifty-three days, fell upon their weak, dilated pupils with blinding force; their limbs were unable to uphold them, their frames wasted by disease and want. Seeking for support, they fell in a helpless mass, one upon the other, waiting and almost hoping for the blow that was to fall upon them next. Captain Silas Talbot was one of these unfortunate prisoners.
“To send them ashore in this condition was ‘impracticable,’ so the British officers said, and we readily discover that this ‘impracticable’ served the purpose of diverting the indignation of the land’s folk, which sure would be aroused, if they knew that such brutality had been practiced under the cross of St. George (the cross upon the British flag).
“Waiting, then, until the captives could, at least, endure the light of day, and could walk without leaning on one another, or clutching at every object for support, the officers had them removed to the old Mill Prison.”
This story has been denied, for the reason that the log of the Yarmouth shows that she was forty-four and not fifty-three days at sea, and the captain writes:
“We had the prisoners ‘watched’ (divided into port and starboard watch) and set them to the pumps. I found it necessary so to employ them, the ship’s company, from their weak and sickly state, being unequal to that duty, and, on that account to order them whole allowance of provisions.”
It would have been impossible for men to be in the condition which the first historian describes if they had to man the pumps. It would have been impossible for them to have done an hour’s work. Therefore, I, myself, believe the second story. Don’t you?