PRISON LIFE AT DARTMOOR.—REMINISCENCES OF PRIVATEERING.—ACHIEVEMENTS OF THE ROSSIE, HIGHFLIER, GOVERNOR TOMPKINS, AND OTHERS.—I AM SUMMONED TO THE CAPTAIN'S OFFICE.
Hardly were the birds out of their nests or down from their roosts in the morning, before we were roused and served with a scanty breakfast of tea, mush, and bread, with a piece of meat that was anything but tender or savory. Then we were drawn up in line, the officers I mean, and offered the choice of giving our paroles not to escape and marching under a light guard, or being placed under a strong guard and handcuffed if we declined the paroles.
"I'll take my chances of getting away," said Haines, "and won't give the beggars any promise."
I had the same impulse; but a brief reflection showed me that in irons and strongly guarded, there would be practically no chance at all of escaping. So I decided to give my parole; and before the time was up for a decision Haines followed my example, as did the other officers.
No such choice was given to the men. They were handcuffed together two and two, and the soldiers in charge of them carried loaded muskets with fixed bayonets; and to make the men understand that the powder and ball were ready for service, the guns were loaded in the presence of the column of prisoners as it stood on parade. There were about twenty officers and two hundred men comprising the prison convoy, and the guards were certainly not fewer than sixty. The guards marched with the prisoners, and there was a wagon following the convoy to pick up those who gave out from illness or any other cause.
The squad of officers got away half an hour in advance of the others, and as each man was under parole very little attention was paid to us by the guards. A dozen times during the day's walk I could have got away with the greatest ease; but, of course, I was hindered by the fact that I had given my word of honor not to escape; and had I violated it, and been re-captured, the punishment would have been—death.
It is a good day's walk from Plymouth to Princetown. The distance is certainly not less than fifteen miles, and it may be twenty, and the road is up-hill a good part of the way. Princetown is at the gates of Dartmoor prison; in fact, it has grown up since the prison was established, and is occupied almost entirely by people connected with the place in some way. The families of officers and guards live there, and so do the various contractors who supply food to the unfortunate inmates of the walled inclosure.
We were tired and foot-sore when we got to the prison and entered the fortress-like walls through a massive gateway. We were carefully searched to make sure that we had no weapons concealed about us, and any money found upon our persons was taken to the prison authorities and placed to our credit on the keeper's books. It was deemed unwise to allow money to remain in the hands of the prisoners, lest it might be used in bribing the guards. The precaution was a good one, as I know that if I had been in possession of money I should have tried to bribe my way out of Dartmoor before I had been there twenty-four hours.
Dartmoor Prison was built specially for the confinement of prisoners of war, of whom England had great numbers during her troubles with France, growing out of the French Revolution and the career of Napoleon Bonaparte. It was finished in 1806, and at one time contained no fewer than eleven thousand French prisoners. It is about one thousand five hundred feet above the level of the sea at Plymouth, and that is why the road from Plymouth to Princetown is so much up-hill. An average of one hundred feet to the mile or thereabouts is a pretty steep ascent.