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

It may be tedious to our readers, especially if they be British, but we cannot yet leave the subject of the inhuman treatment of the American prisoners of war, while on their passage from Halifax to Chatham. The condition of the soldiers was the most deplorable. Some of these men were born in the interior, and had never seen the salt ocean; they enlisted in Boestler's regiment, and were taken by the British and Indians, somewhere between fort George and York, the capital of Upper Canada. They were pretty much stripped of their clothing, soon after they were taken, and their march to Montreal was conducted with very little regard to their feelings; but when sick, they were well attended to by the medical men of the enemy; their passage from Quebec to Halifax, down the river St. Lawrence, was barbarous. They suffered for victuals, clothes, and every other conveniency. The men say that they had more instances of real kindness from the Indians, than from the British. But on their passage across the Atlantic, their situation was horrible, as may be well supposed, when it is considered that these soldiers had never been at sea, and of course could not shift, and shirk about, as the sailors call it, as could the seamen; they were of course, sea sick; and were continually groping and tumbling about in the dark prison of a ship's hold. They suffered a double portion of misery compared with the sailors, to whom the rolling of the ship in a gale of wind, and the stench of bilge-water, were matters of no grievance; but were serious evils to these landsmen, who were constantly treading upon, or running against, and tumbling over each other. Many of them were weary of their lives; and some layed down dejected in despair, hoping never to rise again. Disheartened, and of course sick, these young men became negligent of their persons, not caring whether they ever added another day to their wretched existence; so that when they came on board the prison ship, they were loathsome objects of disgust. A mother could not have known her own son; nor a sister her brother, disguised and half consumed as they were, with a variety of wretchedness. They were half naked, and it was now the middle of winter, and within thirty miles of London, in the nineteenth century; an era famous for bible societies, for missionary and humane societies, and for all proud boastings of Christian and evangelical virtue; under the reign of a king and prince, renowned for their liberality and magnanimity towards French catholics; (but not Irish ones,) and towards Ferdinand the bigot, his holiness the Pope, and the venerable institution of the holy Inquisition. Alas! poor old John Bull! though art in thy dotage, with thy thousand ships in the great salt ocean; and thy half a dozen victorious ones in the Serpentine River, alias the splendid gutter, dug out in Hyde Park, for the amusement of British children six feet high! Can the world wonder that America, in her present age of chivalry, should knock over these doating old fellows, and make them the derision of the universe?

I can no otherwise account for this base treatment of the Americans, than by supposing that the British government had concluded in the summer and autumn of 1813, that America could not stand the tug of war with England; that Madison was unpopular; and that the federalists, or British faction in America, were prevailing, especially in New-England; and that, being sure of conquest, they should commence the subjugation of the United States by degrading its soldiery and seamen; as they have the brave Irish.—They may have been led into this error by our federal newspapers, which are generally vehicles of misinformation. The faction may impede, and embarrass for a time; but they never can long confine the nervous arm of the American Hercules.

Candor influences me to confess, that there were more attempts than one, to rise and take these men of war transports. I find that several experiments were made, but that they were always betrayed, by some Englishman, or Irishman, that had crept into American citizenship. I hope the time is not far off, when we shall reject from our service every man not known absolutely to have been born in the United States. Whenever these foreigners get drunk, they betray their partiality to their own country, and their dislike of ours. I hope our navy never will be disgraced or endangered by these renegadoes. Every man is more or less a villain, who fights against his own country. The Irish are so ill treated at home, that it is no wonder that they quit their native soil, for a land of more liberty and, plenty; and they are often faithful to the country that adopts them; but never trust an Englishman, and above all a Scotchman. It is a happy circumstance that America wants neither. She had rather have one English manufacturer than an hundred English sailors. We labor under the inconvenience of speaking the same language with the enemies of our rising greatness. I know by my own personal experience, that English books, published since our revolutionary war, have a pernicious tendency in anglifying the American character. I have been amused in listening to the wrangling conversation of an English, Irish and American sailor, when all three were half drunk; and this was very often the case during this month of January, as many of our men who had been in the British naval service, received payment from government; and this filled our abode with noise, riot, confusion, and sometimes fighting. The day was spent in gambling, and the night in drunkenness; for now all would attempt to forget their misery, and steep their senses in forgetfulness. The French officers among us, seldom indulged in drinking to excess. Our men said they kept sober in order to strip the boozy sailor of his money, by gambling.

While the Frenchmen keep sober, the American and English sailor would indulge in their favorite grog. In this respect, I see no difference between English and American. Over the can of grog, the English tar forgets all his hardships and his slavery—yes, slavery; for where is there a greater slavery among white men, than that of impressed Englishmen on board of one of their own men of war? The American, over his grog, seems equally happy, and equally forgetful of his harsh treatment. The Englishman, when his skin, is full of grog, glows with idolatry for his country, and his favorite lass; and so does the American: The former sings the victories of Bembow, How, Jervase and Nelson; while the latter sing the same songs, only substituting the names of Preble, Hull, Decatur and Bainbridge, Perry and Macdonough. Our men parodied all the English national songs.—"Rule Britannia, rule the waves," was "Rule Columbia," &c. "God save great George, our King," was sung by our boys, "God save great Madison;" for every thing like federalism was banished from our hearts and ears; whatever we were before, we were all staunch Madisonians in a foreign land. The two great and ruling passions among the British sailors and the American sailors, seemed, precisely the same, viz. love of their country, and love of the fair sex. These two subjects alone entered into all their songs, and seemed to be the only dear objects of their souls, when half drunk. On these two strings hang all our nation's glory; while, to my surprize, I found, or thought I found, that the love of money was that string which vibrated oftenest in a Frenchman's heart; but I may be mistaken; all the nation may not be gamblers.—Remember, politicians, philosophers, admirals, and generals, that Love and Patriotism are the two, and I almost said, the only two passions of that class of men, who are destined to carry your flag in triumph abound the terraqueous globe, by skillfully controlling the powers of the winds, and of vapor.

One word more, before I quit this national trait. The English naval muse, which I presume must be a Mermaid, half woman and half fish, has, by her simple and half the time, nonsensical songs, done more for the British flag than all her gunnery, or naval discipline and tactics. This inspiration of the tenth muse, with libations of grog, have actually made the English believe they were invincible on the ocean, and, what is still more extraordinary, the French and Spaniards were made to believe it also. This belief constituted a magical circle, that secured their ships from destruction, until two American youths, Isaac Hull, from Connecticut, and Oliver H. Perry, from Rhode Island, broke this spell by the thunder of their cannon, and annihilated the delusion. Is not this business of national songs a subject of some importance? Love and Patriotism, daring amplification, with here and there a dash of the supernatural, are all that is requisite in forming this national band of naval music. We all know that "Yankee Doodle," is the favorite national tune of America, although it commenced with the British officers and Tories, in derision, in the year 1775. When that animating tune is struck up in our Theatres, it electrifies the pit and the upper galleries. When our soldiers are marching to that tune, they "tread the air." "With that tune," said general M–, the same gallant officer, who took nine pieces of cannon from the British, planted on an eminence, at the battle of Bridgewater—"with that tune these fellows would follow me into hell, and pull the devil by the nose." For want of native compositions, we had sung British songs until we had imbibed their spirit, and the feelings and sentiments imbibed in our youth, are apt to stick to us through life. It is high time we had new songs put in our mouths.

Unless we attend to the effects of these early impressions, it is almost incredible, the number of false notions that we imbibe, and carry to our graves. A considerable party in the United States have sung Nelson's victories, until those victories seemed to be their own. Even on the day of the celebration of the Peace, the following Ode was sung in the hall of the University of Cambridge—a captain and a lieutenant of the navy being among the invited guests. It was written by the son of the keeper of the States Prison, in Massachusetts.

ODE, &cColumbia and BritanniaHave ceased from Warfare wild;No more in battle's rage they meet,The parent and the child.Each gallant nation now lamentThe heroes who have died.But the brave, on the wave,Shall yet in friendship ride,To bear Britannia's ancient name,And swell Columbia's pride.The flag-staff of ColumbiaShall be her mountain Pine;Her Commerce on the foaming seaShall be her golden mine.Her wealth from every nation borne,Shall swell the ocean wide,And the brave, on the wave, &c. &c.To Britain's Faith and Prowess,Shall distant nations bow,The Cross upon her topmast head,The Lion at her prow.No haughty foe shall dare insult,No Infidel deride;For the brave, on the wave, &c. &c.For now the kindred nationsShall wage the fight no more;No more in dreadful thunder dashThe billows to the shore:Save when in firm alliance boundSome common foe defied;Then the brave, on the wave, &c. &c.

This captivity in a foreign land, has been to me a season of thoughtfulness. Sometimes I thought I was like a despised Jew, among the sons of the modern Babylon, which I might have sunk under, but for the first principles of a serious education; for I was born and educated in the state of Massachusetts, near an hundred miles from Boston. The subject of education has greatly occupied my mind, and I rejoiced that I was born in that part of the United States, where it is most attended to. It is an injury to our national character, that most of the books we read in early life, were written by Englishmen; as with their knowledge we imbibe their narrow prejudices. The present war, has, in a degree, corrected this evil; but time alone can effect all we wish.

A dispute arose between us and our commander, relative to the article of bread, which served to show Englishmen how tenacious we, Americans, are on what we consider to be our rights.

Whenever the contractor omitted to send us off soft bread, provided the weather did not forbid, the said contractor forfeited half a pound of bread to each man. The prisoners were not acquainted with this rule, until they were informed of it by the worthy captain Hutchinson; and they determined to enforce the regulation on the next act of delinquency of the contractor. This opportunity soon occurred. He omitted to send us off soft bread in fair weather; our commander, Mr. O. thereupon ordered us to be served with hard ship bread. This we declined accepting, and contended that the contractor was bound to send us off the soft bread, with an additional half pound, which he forfeited to us for his breach of punctuality. Now the contractor had again and again incurred this forfeiture, which went into Mr. O's pocket, instead of our stomachs, and this mal-practice we were resolved to correct. Our commander then swore from the teeth outwards, that if we refused his hard bread, we should have none; and we swore from the teeth, inwardly, that we would adhere to our first declaration, and maintain our rights. Finding us obstinate, he ordered us all to be driven into the pound by the marines, and the ladder drawn up. Some of the prisoners, rather imprudently, cast some reflections on Mr. O. and his family; in consequence of which, he ordered us all to be driven below, and the hatches closed upon us; and he represented to the commodore that the prisoners were in a state of mutiny. He was so alarmed that he sent the female part of his family on shore for safety, and requested a reinforcement of marines. At the same time we made a representation to the commodore, and stated our grievances, in our own way, and we demanded the extra half pound of soft bread, forfeited by the contractor. In all this business we were as fierce and as stubborn, and talked as big as a combination of collegians, to redress bad commons. We remained in this situation two days; one from each mess going on deck for a supply of water, was all the intercourse we had with our superiors. During all this time, we found we had got hold of the heaviest end of the timber. We found it very hard contending against increasing hunger, and should have been very glad of a few hard biscuit. Some began to grow slack in their resistance; and even the most obstinate allowed their ire to cool a little. To lay such an embargo on our own bowels was, be sure, a pretty tough piece of self-denial; for we found; in all our sufferings, that bread was, the staff of life. We were about taking the general opinion by a vote, whether it was best to eat hard biscuit, or starve? Just as we were about taking this important vote, in which, I suspect, we should have been unanimous, the commodore and Capt. Hutchinson came on board to inquire into the cause of the dispute; and this lucky, and well timed visit, saved our credit; and established the Yankee character for inflexibility, beyond all doubt or controversy. These two worthy gentlemen soon discovered that Mr. O. had made representations not altogether correct. They therefore ordered the hatches to be taken off, and proper bread to be served out, and so the dispute ended.

What added to our present satisfaction was, that Mr. my Lord Beasly was to allow us two pence half penny sterling per day, for coffee, tobacco, &c. We now, to use the sailor's own expressive phrase, looked up one or two points nearer the wind than ever.

That Mr. O. had been in the royal navy from his infancy, and now, at the age of forty five, ranks no higher than a lieutenant. He once commanded a sloop, and had the character of severity. He had an amiable wife and many children, who lived in the prison ship. Lieut. O. was not the wisest man in all England. He exercised his cunning, it was said, in making money out of his station; but he was under the immediate control of two honorable gentlemen, otherwise, it is probable, we should have felt more instances of his revenge than he dared, at all times, show.

CHAPTER VI

It is now the last day of February, 1814. The severity of an English winter, which is generally milder than the winters of New-England, is past; and we are as comfortable as can be expected on board a prison ship; we have a few cents a day to buy coffee, sugar or tobacco; add to these, we have the luxury of newspapers, which is a high gratification to the well known curiosity of a genuine Yankee, by which cant term we always mean a New-England man. We have been laughed at, by the British travellers, for our insatiable curiosity; but such should remember, that their great moralist, Johnson, tells us that curiosity is the thirst of the soul, and is a never-failing mark of a vigorous intellect. The Hottentot has no curiosity—the woolly African has no curiosity—the vacant minded Chinese has no curiosity—but the brightest sons of Old England and New, are remarkable for it; insomuch that they are often the dupes of it. How many thousand guineas a year are acquired by artful foreigners, in feeding this appetite of our relation, the renowned John Bull? and yet he is never satisfied; his mouth is open still, and so wide, very lately, that Bonaparte had like to have jumped into it, suit and all!!

We should have taken, perhaps, more satisfaction in the perusal of these newspapers, had they not been so excessively expensive. We took the Statesman, the Star, and Bell's Weekly Messenger; and some part of the time, the Whig. The expense of the Statesman was defrayed by the sale of green fish to the contractor. The Star was taken by the Frenchmen; the Whig and Bell's Weekly Messenger, by individuals. We paid twenty-eight shillings sterling per month, for the Statesman, which is twice the price of a newspaper in Boston, for a whole year. Besides it costs us sixteen shillings per month to get these papers conveyed on board. The reader will probably say, in the language of Dr. Franklin's allegory, that considering our destitute condition, "we paid dear for our whistle." These newspapers were smuggled, or pretended to be smuggled; our commander's pocket was not the lighter for New-England "quidnuncism." But every day afforded instances of meanness; scraping misery to the bone, for a few pence.

The United States is the region of all regions of the earth for newspapers. There are more newspapers printed in the United States, than in all the rest of the world besides. We do not mean a greater number of copies of the same title, but a greater number of different titles; insomuch, that invention is nearly exhausted to afford them new names. In England, newspapers pay a very high tax; in America, they are perfectly free, and their transport by the mails is nearly so; and this is because our government, that is to say, the people, consider newspapers one of the necessaries of a Yankee's life. In the definition of a New-England man, you should always insert that he is "a go to meeting animal, and a newspaper reading animal!" The sums which we poor prisoners paid for one English newspaper a year, would have paid the annual board of a man in the interior of our own plentiful country. I am firmly of opinion, however, that Boston has and will have reason to curse her federal newspapers. They, like, the "Courier" and "Times," of London have spread false principles, and scattered error amongst a people too violently prejudiced to read both sides of the question.

I thought that, at this time, we were as happy, or as free from misery, as at any time since our captivity. The pleasant season was advancing, the days growing longer, and the nights shorter, and our condition seemed improving, when a dreadful calamity broke out upon us; I mean the Small pox. There are no people on the face of the earth, who have such a dread of this distemper as the people of New-England. Their laws and their municipal regulations prove this. No person can remain in his own house with this disorder; but certain municipal officers take charge of him, and convey him to the small pox hospital, provided by the laws for the reception of such patients. If the disorder has progressed so far as to render it, in the opinion of physicians, dangerous to life to remove him, then the street, where he lives, is fenced up, and a guard placed so that no one can pass, and a red flag is hoisted on the house. These formidable precautions may have added to the dread of this loathsome disease.

When this alarming distemper first appeared in the ship, the surgeon had all the prisoners mustered, to inquire of them who had had the small pox, and who the kine pock; or, as they call it in England, the cow pock. He vaccinated a number. But there were several instances of persons who said they were inoculated with the kine pock in America, who took the small pox the natural way at this time. I do not consider this as, in any degree diminishing the value of this important discovery and practice. Very few practitioners understand this business; and a great number of people in the United States have inoculated themselves, without knowing at what period to take the matter; and without knowing the true pustule from the spurious. Many of our prisoners absolutely refused to be vaccinated, although they believed in its efficacy of guarding them from small pox. I was greatly surprised at this, until I found that they felt no disposition to preserve their lives any longer. It seemed that their misery had so far lessened their attachment to life, that they were indifferent as to any method of preserving it. I was surprized to find this in some who I had considered as among the most cheerful. I was shocked to find among these a weight of woe I little expected. Several of them told me that life was a burthen; that pride of character kept them from whining, and forced a smile on their countenance, while their being penned up, like so many dirty hogs, had chilled their souls, and sunk them, at times, into despondency. Some said, that nothing but the hope of revenge kept them alive.

There are two extremes of the mind producing a disregard for life. The one is, the fever or delirium of battle, augmented and kept up by the cannon's roar, the sight of blood, and military music; here a man, being all soul, thinks nothing of his body. The other case is, where his body is debilitated, his spirit half extinguished, and his soul desponding, and his body paralized. Here existence is a burden, and the attachment to life next to nothing. It is here that death appears to open the gate of the prison. I found, to my surprize, that several of our countrymen were in this desponding state.

Some refused to be vaccinated, from a persuasion that the kine pock was no security against the small pox. When I endeavoured to convince several of them of their error, one asked me if a weak man could drive away a strong one; or a small evil drive away a great one? A man need not despair in making a certain class of people believe any thing but truth.

It is surprizing that when our countryman, Dr. Waterhouse, first introduced this new inoculation into America, in the year 1800, what an opposition the practice met with; and nothing but the most persevering and unwearied exertions, and public experiments, could overcome the reluctance, in numbers, to receive this great blessing. The same perversity of judgement was observable among individuals in this prison ship.

As the spring advanced, the men, contrary to my expectation, became more desponding, and the Typhus fever, or rather the jail fever, appeared among them. From four to six are taken down with it every day. We have about nine hundred men on board this ship; eight hundred of us wretched prisoners, and one hundred Englishmen. We are more crowded than is consistent with health or comfort. Our hammocks are slung one above another. It is warm and offensive in the middle of our habitation; and those who have hammocks near the ports, are unwilling to have them open in the night. All this impedes the needful circulation of fresh air. It is a little singular, that it is the robust and hearty that are seized with this fever, before those who are weak in body, and, apparently, desponding in mind.