A History of the City of Brooklyn and Kings County, Volume II.

by Stephen M. Ostrander

Some of the men were assigned to wash and scrub the decks. This of itself was a great blessing, as it gave them occupation and additional rations. During the night watches it was as dark as Egypt between decks, for no sort of light was allowed. Delirious men would wander about and stumble over their fellows. Sometimes the warning shout would be heard, that a madman was creeping in the darkness with a knife in his hand. At times a soldier would wake up to find that the brother at his side had become a corpse. The soldiers in charge of the prisoners were mostly Hessians, and were universally hated as mercenaries.

Yet no amount of cruelty could drive patriotism from the hearts of the captives. On the 4th of July, 1782, they determined to celebrate the anniversary in a fitting manner. On the morning of that day, they came on deck with thirteen national flags, fastened on brooms. The flags were seized, torn, and trampled under foot by the guards, who looked upon the act as an insult. Nothing daunted, the men determined to have their pleasure, and began to sing national melodies. The guards became enraged, considered themselves insulted, and drove the prisoners below at an early hour, at the point of the bayonet, and closed the hatches. The prisoners again commenced to sing. At nine o'clock in the evening an order was given requiring them to cease. This order not being instantly complied with, the animosity of the guards was aroused, and they descended with lanterns and lances. Terror and consternation at once reigned supreme. The retreating prisoners were sorely pressed by the guards, who unmercifully cut and slashed away, wounding every one within their reach, and inflicting in many instances deadly blows. They then returned to the deck, leaving the wounded to suffer, without the means to have their wounds properly dressed. In consequence of this explosion of patriotism, a new torture was devised. The men, as a punishment, were kept below on the following day until noon, and thus were prevented from the enjoyment of the sun and air for six long weary hours. During this time they were also deprived of rations and water. As a result of the night's diabolism ten dead bodies were brought on deck in the morning.

To show the heartlessness of the guards, an incident is narrated of a man who was supposed to be dead, and had been sewed up in his hammock and carried on deck preparatory to burial. He was observed to move, and the attention of the officer in charge was called to the fact that he was still living. "In with him," said the officer; "if he is not dead, he soon will be." The sailor took a knife, cut open the hammock, and discovered that the man was still alive. Doubtless many men who had swooned away were buried alive.

At the time of these occurrences, the government did not possess the ability to make exchanges. The captives on the prison ships were mostly privateersmen, and, not being in the regular Continental service, Congress was unwilling to restore healthy soldiers to the ranks of the enemy, thereby adding to their strength without a full and exact equivalent.

The Americans had entered into an agreement to exchange officer for officer and soldier for soldier. They had but few naval prisoners, and thus could make no exchange for the unfortunate ones on these ships. Our authorities were compelled to let their captives on the water go at large, for want of suitable places to keep them. Washington took a lively interest in the matter, and entered into a correspondence with Henry Clinton and Admiral Digby on the subject, threatening retaliation. He, however, threatened and expostulated in vain.

The American rebels were urged by the British officers to enter their service. Some did enlist, with the hope uppermost in their minds that they would be able to desert.

The prisoners were released at the close of the war. The old Jersey was destroyed, and its decaying timbers became buried in the mud.

The bones of the prison-ship martyrs lay for many years bleaching on the banks of Wallabout Bay, where they had been rudely buried by the British. The action of the tide upon the sandy banks gradually washed away the little earth which had been thrown over them, thereby causing the sacred relics to become exposed to view. The attention of Congress was frequently called to the necessity of providing a suitable resting place for these honored remains. The sight of these bones strewn upon the banks of the bay was enough to awaken the interest of the nation. At last the citizens of Brooklyn became aroused, and at a town meeting held in 1792, a resolution was passed requesting John Jackson, who had collected a large number of the bones on his farm, which then included the land now used by the Navy Yard, to allow the relics in his possession and under his control to be removed to the Reformed Dutch Church graveyard for burial, and a monument erected over them. General Jeremiah Johnson was the chairman of the committee. The application was refused, Jackson having other intentions as to their interment. Jackson was a blunt man, and a firm believer in the principles of Democracy as enunciated by Jefferson. He was one of the sachems of the Tammany Society or Columbian Order.

He had several hogsheads full of bones which he had collected upon the beach. To consummate his plan he offered to the Tammany Society a plot in his farm for land whereon a suitable monument might be erected.

Tammany accepted the trust, and in February, 1803, entered actively upon the work. The society at once proposed and caused to be presented to Congress a stirring and forcible memorial on the subject. Congress, however, came to no determination in the matter, and the matter remained quiescent until 1808. Between the time of the acceptance of the offer by Tammany and the action by Congress in 1808, Benjamin Aycrigg, a prominent and influential citizen, became greatly interested in the measure. In the summer of 1805, noticing the exposed condition of these remains on the beach of the bay, his patriotic heart was horrified by the sight; his soul was filled with indignation that steps had not been taken to have them decently interred. He, in the same year, made a contract with an Irishman living at the Wallabout to collect all the exposed bones. The remains thus collected formed a part of those subsequently placed in the vault erected on the Jackson lot by the Tammany Society.