A Journal of a Young Man of Massachusetts, 2nd ed.

I know of no examination after this, if such an interview may be called an examination; for, on the – of April, myself and a few others were set at liberty. We had made application the night before, and passed the night in sleepless anxiety. At 10 o'clock orders were sent down to collect our things. We dare not call our wretched baggage, by any other than the beggarly name of "duds." In consequence of this order, the turnkey conveyed us to the upper gate, where we remained a while fluttering between fear and hope. At length the sergeant of the guard came, and opened the gate, and conducted us to the guard room, where our fears began to dissipate and our hopes to brighten.—When the clerk entered, he must have seen anxiety in our countenances, and was disposed to sport with our feelings. He put on a grave and solemn phiz, mixed with a portion of the insolence of office, as if he were about to read our death-warrants, while we cast a look of misery at each other. At length, with apparent reluctance, he vouchsafed to hand to each of us, like a miser paying a debt, the dear delicious paper, the evidence of our liberty! on which was written, "by order of the transport board." This was enough, we devoured it with our eyes, clinched it fast in our fists, laughed, capered, jumped, screamed, and kicked up the dirt like so many mad men; and away we started for Princetown, looking back as we ran, every minute, to see if our cerœbrus, with his bloody jaws, was not at our heels. At every step we took from the hateful prison, our enlarged souls expanded our lately cramped bodies. At length we attained a rising ground; and O, how our hearts did swell within us at the sight of the ocean! that ocean that washed the shores of our dear America, as well as those of England! After taking breath, we talked in strains of rapture to each other. "This ground, said I, belongs to the British; but that ocean, and this air, and that sun, are as much ours as theirs; or as any other nations. They are blessings to that nation which knows best how to deserve and enjoy them. May the arm of bravery secure them all to us, and to our children forever!" Long and dismal as our captivity has been, we declared, with one voice, that should our government again arm and declare war, for "free trade and sailors' rights," we would, in a moment, try again the tug of war, with the hard hearted Britons; but with the fixed resolution of never being taken by them alive; or, at least, unwounded, or unmutilated. I see, I feel that the love of country is our "ruling passion;" and it is this that has and will give us the superiority in battle, by land and by sea, while the want of it will cause some folks to recoil before the American bayonet and bullets, as the British did at Chippewa, Erie, Plattsburg and New Orleans.

While the British prisoner retires from our places of confinement in good health, and with unwilling and reluctant step, we, half famished Americans, fly from theirs as from a pestilence, or a mine just ready to explode. If the British cannot alter these feelings in the two nations, her power will desert her, while that of America will increase.

After treading the air, instead of touching the ground, we found ourselves at the Devonshire arms, in Princetown, where the comely bar-maid appeared more than mortal. The sight of her rosy cheeks, shining hair, bright eyes, and pouting lips wafted our imaginations, in the twinkling of an eye, across the Atlantic to our own dear country of pretty girls. I struck the fist of my right hand into the palm of my left, and cried out—"O, for an horse with wings!" The girl stared with amazement, and concluded, I guess, that I was mad; for she looked as if she said to herself—"poor crazy lad! who ever saw a horse with wings?"

We called for some wine, and filling our glasses, drank to the power, glory, and honor, and everlasting happiness of our beloved country; and after that to all the pretty girls in America. During this, we now and then looked around us, to be certain all this was not a dream, and asked each other if they were sure there was no red coat watching our movements, or surly turnkey listening to our conversation? and whether what we saw were really the walls of an house, where ingress and egress were equally free? It is inconceivable how we are changed by habit. Situations and circumstances ennoble the mind, or debase it.

From what I myself experienced, and saw in others, on the day we left our hateful prison, I do not wonder that sudden transitions from the depressing effects of imprisonment, sorrow, chagrin, impatience, or feelings bordering on despair, to that of liberty and joy, should so affect the vital organs, as to bring on a fatal spasm; or that the sudden exhilarations of the animal spirits, might produce phrenzy. We were animated anew with a moderate portion of generous liquor; but absolutely intoxicated with joy. We asked a thousand questions without waiting for an answer. In the midst of our rapture we had a message from Shortland, who seemed to be afraid that we should be so near him, and yet out of his power, that if we did not hasten our march on to Plymouth, he would have us brought back to prison. At the sound of his hateful name, and the idea of his person, we started off like so many wild Zebras. We, however, stepped a little out of the road to an eminence, to take another, and a last look of the Dartmoor depot of misery, when we saw waving over it, the American flag, like the colors sans tache, waving over the walls of Sodom and Gomorrha. We gave three cheers, and then resumed our road to Plymouth, where we soon after arrived.

While dining at the inn, an old man, in the next room, hearing we were Americans, came in and asked us if we knew his son who lived in America, and mentioned his name. "Yes," said one of my companions; "he is a mechanic; I think a carpenter—I know him very well, and he is a very clever fellow." The old man caught hold of him, and shook him by the hand as if he would shake his arm off. "Yes, yes, you are right, my son is a ship carpenter, and it almost broke my heart when he went off to seek his fortune in a far country." In the fulness of his heart, the poor old man offered to treat us with the best liquor the house afforded; but we all excused ourselves and declined his generosity. This would have been carrying the joke too far, for neither of us ever had any knowledge of his son. We felt happy; and we thought, if we thought at all, that we would make the old man happy also. The English and Americans are equally addicted to bantering, hoaxing, quizzing, humming, or by whatever ridiculous name we may denote this more than ridiculous folly. I never heard that the French, Germans, Spaniards, or Italians, were addicted to this unbenevolent wit, if cowardly imposition can merit that name.

As we strolled through Plymouth, we gazed at every thing we saw, as if we had just fallen into it from the moon. In staring about we lost our way, and accosted a grave looking, elderly man, who directed us. As we asked him several questions, he thought he had a right to ask one of us; when, to our surprise, he asked us if we had any gold to sell? We now perceived that we had taken for our director one of the sons of Abraham, whose home is no where; and that he took us to be either privateersmen or pick-pockets. Piqued at this, we thought we would be even with him, and we asked him if his name was not Shortland? He said no. We asked him if he had no relations of that name. He enquired if "dit Shortland vas Jew or Christian?" We told him he was neither one nor the other. "Den," said Moses, "he must be Turk; for dere be but three sort of peoples in the world;" and this set us a laughing at the expense of the despised Israelite, until we lost him in some of the dirty alleys of this noisy seaport.

I slept that night at the Exchange Coffee House. It was so long since I had been cut off from the decencies of life, that I could hardly be said to enjoy them. I could not, at first, reconcile myself to the civil attention of servants and waiters. At the hour of sleep, I was shown to such a bed as I used to sleep on in my father's house. But who would believe it, that my predominant misery during this night, was a feather bed and a pillow, rendered uneasy because it was soft as down! Yes, astonished reader! I felt about as uneasy in a feather bed, as Mr. Beasly, or any other fine London gentleman would, at laying on a plank, or the ballast of a transport. Such is the power of habit, and such the effect of custom.

The next morning before I left my bed, I pondered over the events and conduct of the preceding day, but not with satisfaction, or self approbation. The seventh chapter of Ecclesiastes came fresh to my mind. I said to myself, adversity and constraint are more favorable to wisdom, than liberty and prosperity; or to express it in better words—"sorrow is better than laughter, for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better;" and for this maxim of wisdom we are indebted to a Jew.

We remained a fortnight longer in Plymouth, and learnt by degrees to relish civility. We were kindly noticed by several good people who seemed to be rather partial to us, Americans, than otherwise. While there, I heard but very little uttered against America, or Americans. We were spoken to, and treated infinitely better than at Halifax. By the time of our embarkation, which was the 23d of April, 1815, we felt considerable attachment to the people about us. We arrived at New-York the 7th of June following, without any thing occurring in the passage worth committing to paper, unless it be to record the striking contrast in our feelings in our passage to and from England.

My sensations on first setting my foot once more on my native soil, were such as I have not power to describe. Tears gushed from my eyes, and had I not been ashamed, I should have kneeled down and kissed the earth of the United States. I believe similar sensations, more or less fervent, fill the bosom of every American, on returning to his own country from British captivity. It is hardly possible that I shall, so long as my faculties remain entire, forget the horrors of the British transports, and several scenes and sufferings at Dartmoor Prison: yet I hope to be able, before I quit this world of contention, to forgive the contempts, the contumely, the starvations and filthiness inflicted on me, and on my countrymen, by an unfeeling enemy, while we remained in his power as prisoners of war.

"Return we, from this gloomy view,To native scenes of fairer hue.Land of our sires! the Hero's home!Weary and sick, to thee we come;The heart fatigued with foreign woes,On thy fair bosom seeks repose.Columbia! hope of future times!Thou wonder of surrounding climes!Thou last and only resting placeOf Freedom's persecuted race!Hail to thy consecrated domes!Thy fruitful fields and peaceful homes.The hunter, thus, who long has toil'dO'er mountain rude, and forest wild,Turns from the dark and cheerless way,Where howls the savage beast of prey,To where yon curls of smoke aspire,Where briskly burns his crackling fire;Towards his cot delighted moves,Cheer'd by the voice of those he loves,And welcom'd by domestic smiles,Sings cheerly, and forgets his toils."

POSTSCRIPT

Some, to whom I had shown my Journal in manuscript, have thought that I had, now and then, expressed my feelings too unguardedly against some of the subjects of Great Britain, and some of my own countrymen. In consequence of this friendly remark, I have struck out a few passages, but have not been able to comply with all the wishes of my connexions. But, after all, had a political cant phrase or two been omitted, some good people would have been gratified, and the publication not the worse for it. I have severely suffered, felt keenly, and expressed myself honestly, and without malice. I may not have made due allowance for the conduct of certain officers and agents. I may not have entered, as far as I ought, into their situations; and there might have been reasons and excuses, that my chafed feelings prevented me from attending to. If so, the cool and candid reader, both here, and on the other side the Atlantic, will make that allowance which I could hardly make myself. I must, nevertheless, maintain, that I have expressed the feelings of the moment, and cannot now honestly alter my language; for whenever my soul calls up many occurrences in my captivity, my tongue and my pen will be found the faithful organs of my feelings.

I have endeavored to give due credit to the humane conduct of several sailors, soldiers, and private subjects of the enemy. But, if, at this period of peace, when it may be supposed that resentment was cooled down, I try to obliterate the impressions made by cruelty and by contempt, and find I cannot, then must the reader take it as a trait of the imperfect character of a young man, on whose mind adversity has not had its best effect.

If an animosity actually exists between the English and Americans, do you mend the matter by denying the fact? This animosity has been avowed to exist, within a few months past, in the parliament of England. The following article is extracted from a London paper.—In a debate, (Feb. 14th, 1816) a member said, "the spirit of animosity in America, would justify an increase of the naval force in the West Indies." This called up Lord Castlereagh, who said—"As to America, if it is said great prejudices exist there against us, it must be recollected that great prejudices exist here against her. It was," he said, "his most ardent wish to discountenance this feeling on both sides, and to promote between the two nations feeling of reciprocal amity and regard."

What has occasioned this avowed animosity in us towards the British? Our merchants, generally, feel not this animosity; neither is it to be found, in a great degree, amongst our legislators. How came we by it? Our sailors and our soldiers, who have been in British prisons, and on board British men of war, and transports, have brought with them this animosity home to their families and their friends. They tell them their own stories, in their own artless, and sometimes exaggerated way; and these are reported with, probably, high coloring; whereas, I have made it a point of honor, a matter of conscience, and a rule of justice, to adhere to truth; and am contented that the British reader should say all that fairness admits, to soften down the coloring of some of the pictures of British barbarity, provided he does not attempt to impeach my veracity.

Beside individual animosity, there may possibly be a lurking national one, thinly covered over with the fashionable mantle of courtesy. The conflicting interests of the two nations may endanger peace.—The source of national aggrandizement in both nations, is commerce; and the high road to them the ocean. We and the British are travelling the same way, in keen pursuit of the same object; and it is scarcely probable, that we shall be preserved in a state of peace, by abstract love of justice.

I have been disposed to allow that the conduct of our countrymen, while on board the prison ships, and at Dartmoor, was, at times, provoking to the British officers set over them; but never malignant, much less, bloody. It could be always traced to a spirit of fun and frolic, which our people indulge in beyond all others in the world; and this ought to be considered as one of the luxuriant shoots of our tree of liberty; for it is too harsh to call it an excrescence. It shows the strength, depth and extent of its roots, and the richness of the soil.

This Journal has not been published to increase the animosity now subsisting between the American and British people. So far from it, the writer pleases himself with the idea that this publication may remedy the evils complained of, or mitigate them; and cut off the source of deep complaint against the English, for their treatment of prisoners, should war rage again between the two nations. If the present race of Britons have not become indifferent to a sense of national character, their government will take measures to wipe off this stain from her garments. Let the nations of Europe inquire how the Americans treat their prisoners of war. If we treat them with barbarity, publish our disgrace to the wide world, and speak of us accordingly. But let them, at the same time, inquire how the English treated those of us who have had the great misfortune of falling into their hands; and let them be spoken of accordingly. My serious opinion is, that this little book will aid the great cause of humanity.

Although I, with some thousands of my countrymen, were inclosed in a large prison during the greater part of the war, it fared with us as with those people who seldom go out of their houses, who hear more news than those who are abroad in the world. It was, however, pretty much all of one sort; for we seldom saw any other American newspapers, than those of the fault finding, or opposition party. These were generally filled with abuse of the President, and of the government generally, and with praises of the English, which, in our situation, produced a strong sensation; as our support, our protection, our pride, our honor, were identified in the person of the President, and his administration. The efforts of the federal party in Massachusetts to embarrass and tie the hands of our government, and disgrace its brave officers, created in us all, a hatred of the very name of federalism. I record the fact, and appeal to all the prisoners who have now returned home, to confirm my assertion; and I declare I have erased not a little on this head, out of courtesy to a large and sanguine party; who have erred, and strayed from the right way, by not knowing the true character of the English.

I feel no animosity, or disrespect to any gentleman of the federal, or fault finding party; but they must excuse me for remarking, that their conduct, and their sentiments, as they appeared in messages, proclamations, speeches and resolves; and their combinations for withholding loans of money from government, with their denunciations of a war, waged professedly, and as we knew, really, for "Sailors' Rights," made an impression on our minds so decidedly against the federalists, that the very term federalism, was with us all, without one single exception, a term of deep reproach. Let him who doubts it, ask any prisoner who made a part of the six thousand confined in England during the two years of our late bitter war with the English, and he will be satisfied that I have "nothing extenuated, or set down aught in malice."

I hope and pray for union among ourselves; and that all party names and distinctions may be lost in that of AMERICANS.

"Henceforth, let Whig and Tory cease,And turn all party rage to peace;Rouse, and revive your ancient glory,UNITE, and drive the world before you!"

1

Bivouacked is laying, sleeping, eating, and drinking on the ground with their arms, without tents, or any covering, and is only voluntarily resorted to, when the greatest danger is apprehended.

2

By what I have just seen in the newspapers, I have reason for believing that Nova Scotia is like to be blessed with this gentleman for a governor.

3

The Emperor Maurice being, says Montaigne, advised by dreams and several prognostics, that one Phoeas, an obscure soldier, should kill him, questioned his son-in-law, Philip, who this Phoeas was, and what was his nature, qualities, and manners; and as soon as Philip, amongst other things, had told him that he was "cowardly and timorous," the Emperor immediately thence concluded that he was cruel and a murderer. What is it, says Montaigne, that makes tyrants so bloody? 'Tis the solicitude for their own safety, and their faint hearts can furnish them with no other means of securing themselves, than in exterminating those who may hurt them. See his Essay entitled, Cowardice the Mother of Cruelty.—Vol. 2d, chap. xxvii.

4

Fire places gave rank among the Romans. It was a privilege to be a Roman soldier, and in the best days of Rome no man was allowed to be in the ranks of their army, who had not a fire place in his house. In the reign prior to Queen Elizabeth, there were scarcely any beds, or brick fire places in the houses of the common people of London.

5

What Mr. Adams has written on this subject, has put impressment, or man-stealing, beyond all future controversy. His masterly pamphlet was a warlike trumpet in the ears of our nation.

6

If any man wishes to see the true character of the English, let him read the 8th chapter of Hume's History of England, especially where it treats of severities and barbarities toward the virtuous Mr. Prym.

7

Our youngest readers need not be told, that by John Bull, we mean the English nation personified. See Dean Swift's admirable history of John Bull, his wife, and his mother, and his mangy sister Peg.

8

Queen Elizabeth.

9

The letter writer, we suspect, had not studied, carefully, the laws and customs of England, where all landed property belongs to the king; who allows the eldest male of a family to possess it during his good behaviour.

10

This Oration was first printed in England.

11

The celebrated Earl of Chatham.

12

An Irish word, meaning: a distraction of attention by reason of words striking our intellect through both ears confusedly.

13

Some of these were so exquisitely wrought, as not to disgrace the first cabinets in the world.

14

Shirk—Shift, turn, twist, accommodate, and make the best of a disagreeable situation. It also means contrivance, cunning and evasion.

15

See the Journals of English Navigators generally; and Captain Porter's Journal of his cruise in the U. S. frigate Essex.

16

See the Journals of English Navigators generally; and Captain Porter's Journal of his cruise in the U. S. frigate Essex.

17

The Yankees first taught the British soldiery to brew spruce beer at the siege of Louisbourg. The reader may find directions for making it in general orders issued by General Amherst in Sept. 1758. See Captain John Knox's Historical Journal, Vol. I, page 184, where it says that one gallon of this beer costs, molasses and all, less than a penny sterling a gallon.

18

Lest some might suspect that I have recorded this rough treatment of the sick by an individual, as casting unjustly a reflection on many, I shall here subjoin a passage from a Journal of a tour and residence in Great Britain during the years 1810 and 1811 by a French Traveller—a very popular work in England and much commended by the Reviews there. The reader will perceive that he is much severer than we are. I have been carried, says the Traveller, to one of the Hospitals of this great town, supported by voluntary contributions. I shall relate what I saw. The physician seated at a table in a large hall on the ground floor, with a register before him ordered the doors to be opened; a crowd of miserable objects, women, pushed in, and ranged themselves along the wall; he looked into his book, and called them to him successively.—Such a one! The poor wretch leaving her wall, crowded to the table. "How is your catarrh?"—"Please your honour, no offence, I hope, it is the Asthma. I have no rest night and day, and"—Ah, so it is the Asthma; it is somebody else that has the Catarrh. Well you have been ordered to take, &c.—"Yes, Sir, but I grow worse and worse, and"—That is nothing, you must go on with it. "But Sir, indeed, I cannot." Enough, enough, good woman, I cannot listen to you any more; many patients to get through this morning—never do to hear them talk—go and take your draught.—The Catarrh woman made way for a long train of victims of corruption, cases of fever, dropsy, scrofula, and some disorders peculiar to women, detailed without any ceremony before young students. This melancholy review of human infirmities was suddenly interrupted by the unexpected entrance of a surgeon, followed by several young men, carrying a piece of bloody flesh on a dish. "A curious case," they exclaimed, placing the dish on the table; "an ossification of the lungs!—Such a one, who died yesterday—just opened. This is the state of his lungs.—See these white needles, like fish bones, shooting through here and there; most curious indeed."—Then they handled, and cut open, and held up between the eye and the light, these almost palpitating remains of an human creature who breathed yesterday. The symptoms of his disorder, and the circumstances of his death, were freely talked over, and accurately described in the hearing of the consumptive patients, who felt, I dare say, the bony needles pricking their own lungs at every breath they drew, and seemed to hear their own sentence of death pronounced.