With a beating heart, he entered a boat, and proceeded to the barracks at Brooklyn, upon Long Island, then occupied by American prisoners of war. On reaching the gate, he was permitted, by the sentinel, to enter, and one of the prisoners offered to conduct him to his father’s room. He led him through a long passage, and young Joinly noticed, as he passed, a considerable number of the prisoners. It is impossible to describe the wasted and haggard aspect of these miserable wretches. They were ragged, and filthy, and emaciated. They not only seemed to be deprived of the comforts of life, but degraded by a feeling of utter desolation and abandonment.
On reaching his father’s apartments, Joinly was informed that he had gone to visit some patients, at one of the prison-ships, which was moored in the river near at hand. As he passed by the apartments of the prisoners, he noticed a large room, in which there were several persons lying upon beds of straw. These were sick, and several of them were approaching their end. Yet their companions around them seemed to take little heed of their sufferings or their condition. Some were walking about, some were talking, and others were disputing. Rough words and strong oaths were frequently uttered.
In a corner of this dismal room, there was one group that riveted the attention of the youth. Two persons were sitting upon the floor, for there were no chairs nor seats in the room. Between them lay the cold, lifeless form of one of their companions. Yet these persons, made familiar with death, were shuffling a pack of greasy cards over the dead body, which they used as their table. Shocked at the scene, and suffocated with the offensive atmosphere, our youthful friend hurried away from the apartments, and went in pursuit of his father.
As he passed along, his mind was busy in reflecting upon the scenes he had witnessed. “I once thought,” said he, mentally, “that I should like to be a soldier, but I am getting to look upon his vocation with horror. It seems that war not only takes away the lives of men in battle, but degrades and brutifies them in the prison-house. And my poor father, too! It is in such scenes as these, the mere sight of which makes my head giddy and my heart sick, that my father has toiled and suffered for the last three years.” With reflections like these; the youth proceeded, in a boat, to the prison-ship.
This was the hulk of a large ship of war, which, being unfit for service, was dismantled, anchored in the East river, and converted into a prison. He mounted the side of the enormous vessel, and stood upon the deck. Standing, sitting, or lying around, were a large number of prisoners, bearing even deeper marks of misery than those we have before described. On making inquiries for his father, the young man was told that he was below.
He descended, accordingly, into the bowels of the ship, though the revolting atmosphere nearly stifled him. He was conducted to a remote part of the vessel, and pointed to a person sitting by the side of a sick man, upon a couch of straw. Although the back of the individual was toward him, and the room dark, he immediately recognised the well-known form of his father. The latter, however, was bent over the sick man, and seemed intently occupied in conversing with him.
Partly restrained from his emotions at once more seeing his father, and in such circumstances, and partly from an unwillingness to break in upon such a scene, young Joinly paused. His father, unconscious of the presence of his son, continued to address the sick man. “My poor friend,” said he, in tones of the utmost kindness, “set your heart at rest upon that point. I induced you to join the fatal expedition which resulted in your captivity and mine. I assure you, if I am ever delivered from this confinement, and am restored to my home, your wife and children shall never want for the comforts of life.
“Let not fears for them disturb these last moments of existence. You will, at least, leave the inheritance of a good name to your children,—the reputation of one who died in the service of his country. In the possession of such an inheritance, they can never suffer from poverty or neglect. This fearful war must soon end, and it will result in the independence of our country. Let it lighten our hearts, and cheer even this prison-house, and shed consolation upon our dying moments, that we have been permitted to participate in that suffering which has made a nation free.”
“My dear colonel,” said the poor man, in a faint voice, “I thank you a thousand times. I should now die in peace, were it not for one painful thought.”
“And what is that?” said Colonel Joinly.