The Second War with England, Vol. 2 of 2

by Joel Tyler Headley

In the apartments above the Americans, were crowded nearly a thousand French prisoners, miserable outcasts, with scarcely any thing left of our common humanity but the form. Many of them were entirely naked, and slept on the stone floor, stretched out like so many swine. The moment clothing was given them they would gamble it away. These wretches formed a conspiracy to murder all the Americans. Arming themselves with whatever weapon they could lay hands on, they contrived one morning to get into the yard before the latter, and as the first group of Americans, a hundred and fifty in number, emerged into the open air, fell upon them with the ferocity of fiends. Passing between them and the prison, they blocked the entrance to prevent the others from coming to the rescue. A wild scene of confusion and tumult followed. The French succeeded in stabbing and knocking down and mangling nearly every American, and would doubtless have beaten the whole to death had not the guard, attracted by the cries for help and shrieks of murder, rushed in, and by a bayonet charge ended the fray. A great number of the Americans were more or less injured and twenty shockingly mangled.

The succeeding months passed drearily away, with nothing occurring to break the weary monotony of life, except at long intervals the arrival of a fresh squad of prisoners. This was an event in their existence, and replaced them once more in communication with the outward world. The new comers were lions for the time. Eager groups gathered around each one, impatiently asking after the news, and how the war got on. The triumphs of our navy made them forget, for awhile, the gloom of their dismal abode. Every action had to be described over and over again, losing nothing by Jack's embellishments—the narration ever and anon interrupted with huzzas and acclamations. They would lie for hours awake in their hammocks, listening to the recital of the marvellous sea-fights in which "free trade and sailors' rights" were gallantly maintained, and cheers would burst out of the darkness, ringing down through the tiers of cots that lined the walls.

During the autumn of 1813, a fresh arrival of prisoners brought the news of Perry's victory on Lake Erie, and the capture of the Boxer by the Enterprise. These were the occasion of great rejoicing, and while the more intelligent and respectable portion of the captives discussed the victories calmly, the hundreds of common seamen shook the prison walls with their uproarious mirth and unbounded exultation.

1813.

The sufferings of the prisoners were the greatest during this winter. They were allowed no fire and no light, although the windows were not glazed; and locked within the cold damp stone walls at the close of the short winter days, were compelled to spend the long winter evenings in darkness, whiling away the time in telling stories—keeping warm by huddling together, or creeping to their hammocks with but a single tattered blanket to protect them from the cold. To make their wretchedness complete, the winter set in with a severity not felt before for half a century, and which has had no parallel since. The mountain on which the prison stood was covered with snow to the depth of from two to four feet. The stream running through the prison yard, and the buckets of water in the prisoners' room were frozen solid. Most of the prisoners being protected only by rags, and destitute of shoes, they could not go out into the yard at all, for it was covered with snow, but lay crouched in their hammocks all day and all night. The strong were bowed in gloom and despair, and the weak perished in protracted agonies. To fill up the measure of their sufferings, the commanding officer issued an order compelling them to turn out at nine o'clock in the morning, and stand in the yard till the guard counted them. This took nearly an hour, during which time the poor fellows stood barefoot in the snow, benumbed by the cold and pierced by the bleak December blasts that swept the desolate mountain, and hurled the snow in clouds through the air. Unable to bear this dreadful exposure, the prisoners cut up their bedding and made garments and socks for their feet to protect them from the frost, and slept on the cold floor. Morning after morning, hardy men overcome by the cold, fell lifeless in presence of their keepers, and were carried to the hospital, where they were resuscitated, only to be sent back to shiver and suffer on the icy floor of their prison. The better class remonstrated against this useless cruelty, but without effect.

Dec.

At length, in the latter part of the month, the agent was removed, and Captain Shortland took his place, who immediately revoked the order requiring the prisoners to be counted—represented strongly to the board of transport the condition they were in, and used all the means in his power to alleviate their sufferings and ameliorate the horrors of their confinement. Still, no clothing was furnished, and the cold was intense. The camp distemper also broke out, and many were not sorry to take it, in order to get in the more comfortable quarters of the hospital.

Mr. Beasely was agent for American prisoners of war in England, to whom those at Dartmoor constantly appealed for help. Receiving no answers to their repeated appeals, they denounced him as unfeeling and indifferent to their distress. At last, enraged at the neglect of their own Government, as represented in Mr. Beasely, and maddened by suffering, they drew up a paper and sent it to him, in which they declared that unless relief was granted they would offer, en masse, their services to the British Government. To this no answer was received for about a month, when a letter arrived, announcing that the United States would allow them about three cents a day to buy soap and tobacco with. Slight as this relief was, it shed sunshine through that prison. True, it was not sufficient to purchase them clothing; it did more, however; it showed that they were recognized by their Government—they were no longer disowned, forgotten men, but stood once more in communication with the land of their birth, and acknowledged to be American citizens. The moral effect of this consciousness was wonderful, and notwithstanding their nakedness and forlorn appearance, the prisoners felt at once a new dignity. A committee was appointed to suppress gambling, and a petition got up to separate them from the blacks, who were irredeemably given over to thieving. Previous to this ninety-five had entered the British service; now every one spurned the thought. They never would desert the country that owned them as sons.

In the spring the rigorous restrictions laid on them were relaxed, and they were allowed the privilege of the French prisoners. Free access to the other prisoners and to the market were given, and they established a coffee-house in their prison, selling coffee at a penny a pint. From French officers they learned the news of the day. The world was thus again thrown open to them, and though the prospect of exchange grew dimmer and dimmer, they resigned themselves with more tranquillity to their contemplated long confinement. In the mean time money began to arrive from friends at home, on which, as a capital, the recipients set up as tobacconists, butter and potatoe merchants, etc. Imitating the French, they learned to be economical, and invent methods of increasing their revenue. The bones left from their beef were converted into beautifully wrought miniature ships. Others plaited straw for hats, made hair bracelets, list shoes, etc., turning that gloomy receptacle of despairing, reckless men, into a perfect hive of industry. Soon after, another letter from Mr. Beasely arrived, stating that six cents a week, in addition to the former sum, would in future be allowed, per man. This little sum diffused new pleasure around, and filled every heart with animation and hope. They could now purchase clothing and other little articles, necessary to render their appearance becoming American citizens.

Succeeding this came the news of Napoleon's downfall and termination of the continental war. The French prisoners were, of course, released, and the Americans purchased out their stock in trade, utensils, &c.