Privateers and Privateering

by Edward Phillips Statham

It is certainly open to any one, in view of this omission, to question the accuracy of other statements; to hesitate before accepting the story of seventy-one men being confined in a space twenty feet by twelve and only six inches higher than an ordinary table; of eleven of them dying in shrieking delirium, denied medical attendance, and six out of eleven deaths being suppressed. The treatment of our American prisoners was undoubtedly sometimes unduly harsh, but it is impossible to accept this story as literally true.

Mr. Maclay's book and Mary Barney's memoirs are alike accessible to any one, and for this reason it is necessary that the other side should be heard—Joshua Barney having been a very prominent American privateersman.

While on the subject, it is as well to refer to the treatment of prisoners in Mill Prison, at Plymouth, of which Mr. Maclay has a good deal to say; and in support of his contention as to their being placed upon a different diet from other prisoners of war, he has two sentences in inverted commas (page 152), which are stated in a footnote to be quoted from the Annual Register of 1781, page 152; but no such passages occur there, nor in adjacent pages.

It is, however, perfectly true that a petition was presented, on June 20th, 1781, to the House of Lords, and discussed on July 2nd following, from these prisoners. The only complaint which was found to be substantiated was that the Americans were allowed half a pound less bread daily than the French and other nationalities. It would have been more accurate to put it that the French had half a pound more—for this was stated to be supplied, as being equal to the allowance to British prisoners in France. The question of increasing the allowance was put to the vote, and negatived; but it was shown that the American prisoners' diet was, as a whole, superior to that allowed to our own troops on board transports; and their health was stated to be excellent, which is borne out by the fact, as stated by Mr. Maclay, that they indulged in athletic games as a pastime. Men who are half naked and nearly starving do not indulge in such pastimes.

And now for the continued adventures of Joshua Barney, privateersman. Bold and resourceful, he determined to face the difficulties of escape, and the very unpleasant consequences of detection.

One day, playing at leap-frog, he pretended to have sprained his ankle, and for some time afterwards went about on crutches, maintaining the deception so skilfully as to throw the warders off their guard, and completely deceive all but a few of his intimate friends. He had already paved the way, by making friends with a soldier of the prison guard, who had served in the British army in America, and had there received some kindness, which he was willing to requite by civility to the Americans in Mill Prison.

On May 18th, 1781, this man was on sentry outside the inner gate—the prison being encircled by two high walls, with a space between—and Barney, hopping by on his crutches, whispered through the gate: "Today?" "Dinner," replied the sentry, with equal terseness, which meant one o'clock, when the warders dined. The friendly but disloyal soldier had provided Barney with the undress uniform of a British officer—which appears an unusual sort of thing for a private soldier to be able to lay hands upon without detection—and this Barney donned in his cell, putting on his greatcoat over it—his greatcoat, which, since he sprained his ankle, he had been wearing "for fear he should catch cold": Barney was a man of details.

Still upon crutches, he left his cell, and, at a prearranged signal, some of his friends proceeded to engage the several sentries in conversation, while one, a stalwart individual, stood close by the gate.

Throwing aside his crutches, Barney walked across the enclosure towards the gate, and, first exchanging a reassuring wink with the sentry, sprang with catlike agility upon the shoulders of his athletic accomplice, and in a moment was over the wall. Slipping off his greatcoat, and "tipping" the soldier to the extent of four guineas, he passed through the gate in the outer wall, which was usually left open for the convenience of the prison officials, but with an attendant on duty who, though we are not told that he had been "squared," obligingly turned his back as the escaping prisoner passed through.

So far, so good. And really Joshua Barney is to be congratulated upon the accommodating character of his custodians, which rendered it possible for him to cross the prison-yard at one o'clock on a May day and scale the wall, while the sentries conversed with his friends and the warders enjoyed their dinner, having previously been permitted to malinger with a sham sprained ankle. We are told that he had it bathed and bandaged for some time without being challenged and detected by the surgeon, though somebody in authority must have provided him with crutches. It appears somewhat absurd to insist upon the rigour of confinement in Mill Prison, in the face of this.