War is a monster, of which the portrait cannot be drawn in miniature. The shocks which the roaring of its cannon occasions in Europe, are felt in the interior of India; and its visits to the kingdoms of Asia are more terrible to the inhabitants than the irruptions of the lions and tigers which roam through their forests, or couch in their jungles. Its inhumanities and massacres extend from the cottage to the throne, and involve in one common destruction the despot and the slave. Of the desolations which it occasions, enough is known to excite the abhorrence and execration of mankind; but that innumerable instances of its barbarities lie concealed in impenetrable obscurity, we may reasonably infer from the mournful cases that are accidentally brought to light. The death of the victim seals up, in perpetual silence, the history of his sufferings; and even those tales of horror that are rescued from oblivion, can do little more than extort the sigh of commiseration, and urge humanity to shed her tears. The biography of James Scurry is an instance of this description. It merits preservation by its simplicity, and cannot fail to recompense the reader by the interesting facts which it records. It is one of those tales which presents its claims alike to justice and compassion; and the writer of these paragraphs feels much gratification in having made this effort to transmit the memorial of his sufferings to posterity.
THE END
London:
H. FISHER, 38, NEWGATE-STREET.
Footnotes:
[1]. There is something extraordinary, and which I never could hear accounted for, in this engagement, viz. After the cannons’ roar ceased, La Fin, French frigate of 40 guns, got alongside the Isis of 53 guns; where she remained entangled with our ship: the French frigate considered herself taken, and her men were ready with their bags to be prisoners; but so it was, after lying alongside an hour or two, she was disentangled, and got back to her own fleet.
[2]. In this fort I have seen whole families, or their carcases rather, lying in different spots; some eight, some ten, according to their number. The few miserable survivors would plunge at one of our carrion bones, though thrown into the middle of excrement.—May my eyes never see the like again!
[3]. This opiate is made either into liquid or solid, with sugar, from the boang tree, the produce of which they smoke with tobacco; it causes the most astonishing sensations. In the course of a few years we were in the habit of smoking it freely, to drown our troubles; and we well knew its effects.
[4]. One, whose name was James Murrell, died; and the other, from the great quantity of blood he lost, never had any colour in his face afterwards; his name was Alsop.