With The Flag In The Channel

Every night poor Conyngham was put in irons, and his diary is but a record of hardships and suffering. Curious people came in day after day to gaze at the prisoner, and yet there was no prospect of his being brought to trial.

On the 23d of July we find an entry as follows:

“A sailor declared in Falmouth before different people that he could take his oath that I was with Captain Jones when he threatened to set White Haven on fire. This was told me by Sergeant Williams of the guard, and this day the irons on my hands were beat close to my wrists.”

On the 24th of the month Conyngham was moved from the castle to the celebrated Mill prison. For the first time the irons were taken off when he was placed aboard the vessel that was to convey him to Plymouth, where immediately he was transferred to Mill prison. For a few days he was confined in what was known as the “Black Hole,” an underground dungeon without either light or air. It was not until the 7th of August that he was brought out for a preliminary trial, and then he was committed again to the prison by the justices of the peace, on the charge of high treason.

All this time Conyngham was planning to escape. Not an opportunity went by that he did not seize upon to extend his plans. After his being remanded on the high-treason charge, strange to say, his treatment improved and he was allowed the liberty of the jail-yard, and found opportunity on one or two occasions to converse with some of his fellow prisoners. Many of them were Frenchmen, who had been taken in the actions with the French fleet. On one occasion a battle was fought within hearing of Plymouth, and the soldiers and inhabitants, fearing that the French were going to attempt to land, began to throw up earthworks and entrenchments along the water front. Among the prisoners that were brought in was a Frenchman who had served in the capacity of surgeon on one of the captured vessels. He was a man of education, and his clothes were of a better character and texture than those of the other prisoners, who were mostly common seamen. He spoke no English, however, and Conyngham had to talk with him in French. Now it happened that the prison doctor, who made his round of visits every day, was a short, slight man, something of the young captain’s general build and appearance. The clothes he wore were black, and he usually carried a book under his arm in which he kept a record of his patients and their condition. It suggested itself to Conyngham that it might be easy for the Frenchman so to disguise himself that he might be taken for the doctor, and by walking out boldly past the sentries in the evening gain the outside of the prison walls and conceal himself in the town.

“All you need,” Conyngham observed, speaking in French, “is a pair of huge horn spectacles, pull your hat well down over your eyes, and walk out of the door. I’ve studied the doctor’s gait – he walks like this – ”

Suiting the action to the word, Conyngham gave a very good imitation of the English doctor’s mincing step. The Frenchman laughed.

“My faith!” he exclaimed, “it is it to the life! I have observed him. But remember this, my friend; I speak no English and would be helpless; they would discover me at once.”

A day or so later the Frenchman and Conyngham met again in the jail-yard. The latter motioned his friend aside to where one of the stone buttresses hid them from the sight of the sentry who was watching the yard.

“Here,” said the captain; “with this wire I have made a pair of spectacles, and in the evening no one would notice that there is not glass inside the rims.”

As he spoke he placed the wire upon his nose, drew down his upper lip, and the Frenchman looked at him and laughed.

“My faith!” he said again, “it is the doctor to the life.” And then, as if an idea had suddenly dawned upon him, he touched Conyngham on the shoulder. “It is you who should try it,” he said. “You shall have my clothes. I can give them to you piece by piece, and as they have allowed me to keep some others I shall not miss them.”

At first Conyngham demurred, but the Frenchman was insistent, and so the next night and the next transfers were made unobserved in the jail-yard, and the captain secreted the clothing inside the mattress upon which he slept on the floor of his cell. From another prisoner a hat was obtained almost like the heavy three-cornered affair that the visiting doctor wore. A book was procured somewhat resembling the doctor’s.

Saturday evening was set for a trial of the plan. Conyngham was most anxious to get away. He had, by his trick of reading people’s lips, discovered that there was a plot on foot to convict him if possible of the charge that hung over his head. A man had been found who swore that he had known him in Ireland, and another who had positively identified him as his brother. If they could prove the contention that he was a British subject he would have short shrift of it, so it behooved him not to put off long the attempted escape.

Saturday afternoon at about five o’clock the prisoners were released in batches of ten or a dozen for exercise in the courtyard. When the door of Conyngham’s cell was opened he feigned indisposition, and asked only to be allowed to sit in the doorway where he could breathe the fresher air; but no sooner had the turnkey left than he quickly donned the Frenchman’s black small-clothes and the long coat, and putting on the spectacles and the big hat he stepped out into the corridor that opened into the yard. Imitating carefully the doctor’s step and holding the book under his arm, instead of turning to the left he went down the corridor to the right, at the end of which stood the first sentry at the entrance to the guard-room. It was dark in the corridor, and what light there was came from behind him. The sentry hardly looked at him; turning the key and pulling the bolt, he let him pass.

He was now in the room that was occupied by the soldiers whose special duty was to watch the prisoners and to patrol the outer walls, but the room, by luck, was empty except for a sergeant, who, with his coat off and his feet propped against the wall, sat snoring in a chair. At first Conyngham was uncertain which of the two doors, that led out of the apartment, to take. He chose the one to the right again, and opening it came into another room where at the farther end three soldiers were throwing dice. They paused in their game as he entered and looked up at him. At first it appeared as if the one who was holding the dice-box was about to address him, but one of his companions, with an oath, exclaimed, “It’s only the doctor; go on with the game, you blockhead!” and the men proceeded, rattling the dice and then tossing them on to the bench. Conyngham walked past them and opened the door that led out of the prison entrance, and here he had to go through a worse ordeal than ever, for he came into the daylight, and there within twenty feet of him stood the man on guard. He was in full regimentals, with his long red coat and white cross-belts, and propped against him at an attitude of attention was his loaded musket with the bayonet fixed. Conyngham pulled the hat a little farther over his eyes, and opening the imitation note-book he began muttering to himself the way he had seen the doctor do. Closer and closer he came to the sentry. In his imagination he could feel the man’s eyes looking through and through him, and he thought he could detect a shuffling of his feet as if he was stepping to intercept him.

He was past the sentry now, and thought he was over the worst of it when the latter spoke.

“Halt there! The countersign!” the man demanded; but as if deaf Conyngham walked on. “Halt there!” came the second hail.

It would never do to stop. Hastening his mincing steps and as if oblivious of everything but his note-book, the supposed doctor walked on. He even heard the sentry mutter, “Confound the old fool! I’d like to send a ball after him.” He never turned his head.

Now he was free of the shadows of the prison walls. Before him stretched a wide street running down to the town, and to the right was a meadow, upon which were some trees, with benches under them. As he concluded that it would be better not to trust his disguise any further until after dark, he walked over to one of the benches, and, still in the sight of the sentry, sat down and pretended to scribble something in the note-book. In a few minutes the sun had sunk below a bank of clouds in the west, and getting to his feet he walked toward a little lane, intending to follow it until he could turn into the main street some distance below. But here his good fortune deserted him. On the very first corner stood a man with a basket on his arm. It was a huckster who had been allowed the privilege of selling oranges and small cakes in the prison-yard. Maybe the sense of security had caused the captain to forget to imitate the doctor’s step. At all events, as he approached the man with the basket the latter turned and looked at him intently; then, after he had passed, the huckster walked quickly up the lane, and when he had reached the common started at a run for the prison gate.

“That Yankee pirate Conyngham is loose!” he cried. “I just met him yonder at the corner.”

“You’re mad, man!” returned the sentry. “That was the doctor; he just passed out.”

“It was not,” replied the orangeman hastily. “I know him well; it was Conyngham in disguise.”

The sentry was about to call back into the guard-room when an officer appeared. To him the excited orangeman repeated the news.

“We’ll see about this!” was the officer’s reply, and he despatched a messenger at once to Conyngham’s cell. The fellow returned on the run.

“It is true, captain!” he cried. “Conyngham is not in his cell or the yard, and the doctor is calling the sick list in the French division.”

An instant later a drum rolled and a scurrying squad of red-coated soldiers hastened at double-quick down the main street toward the town.

They found the supposed doctor conversing with a merchant, at the door of his shop, from whom he was asking directions and the time of the next coach going to London, for there Conyngham knew of friends who would help him, and the big city was the safest hiding-place, as shall be hereinafter proved. It was useless to offer resistance, and without a word he surrendered and was marched back to the prison gate.

That night, shorn of his good clothes and in double irons, he was placed once more in the “Black Hole.” He dreamed that some one had restored to him the lost commission, and that instead of being confined as a pirate and a man supposed to be guilty of high treason, he had been treated as an officer should be and accorded the privileges of his position; but he awoke cold and stiff, with the knowledge that his captors would now be harder upon him than ever, and, as he wrote in his own diary, it was “a dismal prospect” again.

CHAPTER XVII

FREEDOM

That Dr. Franklin had been much concerned in regard to the treatment accorded to Captain Conyngham by the British authorities is proved by the letters and correspondence that passed between him and Conyngham’s friends. Let us look at these letters for a moment and we shall see that these friends were not idle. Here are the authentic copies of a portion of the correspondence.

Jonathan Nesbit, the nephew of Mr. James Nesbit, of Philadelphia, was yet in Europe, living for the time at L’Orient, and in September he wrote to Dr. Franklin as follows:

“L’Orient, Sept. 22, 1779.

“Sir: By the brig Retaliation, Captain Kolloch, which left Philadelphia the 10th August, I have received letters informing me that Captain G. Conyngham, late commander of the cutter Revenge, had the misfortune to be taken last spring by the Galatea and sent into New York, from whence he had been sent to England with a design to have him tried for piracy. They pretend to say that he took the Harwich packet without having any commission, which your Excellency must know to be false – as I believe you were in Paris at the time that his commission and orders were delivered him. The commission under which he acted as captain of the Revenge is dated, I apprehend, after the taking of the Harwich packet. It is on this circumstance, no doubt, that the charge of piracy is founded. His first commission was taken from him in Dunkirk after he was put in jail and sent up to Paris, and I think was lodged in the hands of M. Comte de Vergennes. I have to request that your Excellency will do everything in your power to prevent the poor fellow from suffering. Considering the smallness of his vessel and the difficulty he labored under when he first left France, he has done a great deal for the service of his country. He has done so much harm to the enemy that he can expect no mercy at their hands, and if they can find any pretense whatever, they will certainly destroy him. Captain Kolloch informs me that he was sent home in irons. I should certainly have heard from him was he not already confined. I once more take the liberty to recommend the unhappy man’s case to your Excellency’s particular attention.

“I have the honor to be, with great respect,

“Jonathan Nesbit.”

Before this, however, Dr. Franklin had been informed of the condition of affairs, and he had written to secret friends of America in London and tried to get them to interfere in some way for the gallant captain, or at least to endeavor to mitigate the circumstances of his imprisonment. He replies to Mr. Nesbit in the following letter:

“To Mr. Nesbit“Passy, Sept. 20 1779.

“Sir: Captain Conyngham has not been neglected. As soon as I heard of his arrival in England, I wrote to a friend to furnish him with what money he might want, and to assure him that he had never acted without a commission. I have been made to understand in answer that there is no intention to prosecute him, and that he was accordingly removed from Pendennis Castle and put among the common prisoners at Plymouth, to take his turn for exchange. The Congress, hearing of the threats to sacrifice him, put three officers in close confinement to abide his fate, and acquainted Sir George Collier with their determination, who probably wrote to the British ministers. I thank you for informing me what became of his first commission.

“I suppose I can easily recover it, to produce on occasion. Probably the date of that taken with him, being posterior to his capture of the packet, made the enemy think they had an advantage against him. But when the English Government have encouraged our sailors, entrusted with our vessels, to betray that trust, run away with the vessels, and bring them into English ports, giving such lawful prizes, it was foolish imprudence in the English commodore to talk of hanging one of our captains for taking a prize without commission.

“I have the honor to be, with great esteem, sir,

“B. Franklin.”

Rumors, and then certain assurance, soon came to Paris that a wholesale escape of American prisoners had taken place from Mill prison, and on November 23d Franklin was rejoiced to receive the following letter, dated November 18th, at Amsterdam:

“Sir: I have the pleasure to inform you that on the 3d inst., I, with about fifty of our unfortunate countrymen, broke out of Mill prison. I brought three officers with me. I came by the way of London, it being the safest. At London we met with our good friend Mr. Digges, who did everything in his power to serve one and all his countrymen that chance to fall in his way. Happy we to have such a man among the set of tyrants they have in that country! The treatment I have received is unparalleled. Iron, dungeons, hunger, the hangman’s cart, I have experienced. I shall set off from here the 19th for Dunkirk. There I shall be glad to hear from you. I shall always be ready to serve my country, and happy should I be to be able to come alongside some of those petty tyrants. I find something of the effects of my confinement. In a short time will be able to retaliate. I should at this time go out with Captain Jones or in the squadron, could I have heard from you. I should be glad to go for the Continent if a good opportunity served. In this I shall take your advice, and act accordingly.

“The cash Mr. Digges supplied me with, and some necessaries I got at Plymouth. The friend we have at Plymouth is obliged to act with the greatest caution. Mr. Redmond Conyngham, in Ireland, has ordered me some little supply through the hands of David Hartley, of London – a mortal enemy of America, by all accounts.

“From your most obedient and very humble servant,

“G. Conyngham.”

One more letter – Franklin’s answer to this one just quoted – and we have done with the correspondence.

“Passy, Nov. 22, 1779.

“Sir: It gave me great pleasure to hear of your escape out of prison, which I first learned from six of the men who broke out with you and came to France in a boat. I was then anxious lest you should be retaken, and I am very glad indeed to hear of your safe arrival at Amsterdam. I think it will be best for you to stay awhile at Dunkirk till we see what becomes of the little squadron from Holland, for which it is said the English are lying in wait with superior force. The Congress resented exceedingly the inhuman treatment you met with, and it ordered three English officers to be confined in the same manner, to abide your fate.

“There are some Frenchmen returned to Dunkirk who were put by you into one of your first prizes, which was afterward carried into England. I wish you would adjust their claims of wages, prize-money, etc., and put them in a way of getting what may be due to them.

“I write to Mr. Coffyn by this post, to supply you with necessaries. You will be as frugal as possible, money being scarce with me, and the calls upon me abundant.

“With great esteem, I have the honor, etc.,

“B. Franklin.”

Now let us return to Conyngham and follow him through the excitement of the escape that he refers to so casually.

The English officers in charge of the prison not only visited revenge upon Conyngham’s head for the clever ruse that had almost been successful, but they made most of the other American prisoners suffer also. Below ground, under the center of the western wing of Mill prison, were the “Black Holes,” or dungeons, and in the largest one of these Conyngham, with three officers of American privateers and fifty men – captured seamen – were confined. Four times a day and twice during the night was the damp and dismal apartment inspected, and yet no sooner had they all been placed inside and the heavy door locked behind them than Conyngham proposed that a meeting should be held and that they should appoint a leader who was to rule and govern them. At once the proposition was made to him, that as senior officer he should at once take the responsibility himself. At first modestly he refused, but the rest of the prisoners would hear of nothing but his acceptance, and so, wisely, the first thing he did was to appoint a committee that examined into each man’s pedigree and position in order to be assured that there were no spies among them. No suspicious persons were developed by the inquiry, and that very evening Conyngham detailed the plans for the attempted escape. Upon searching the apartment the first thing he discovered was a loose flat stone in the flooring. Upon being removed the ground was found to be soft and sandy underneath – so much so that it could be almost scooped out with the hand. Digging began that very night under Conyngham’s direction, a watchful person being placed at the door to listen to the approaching footsteps of the patrol.

Conyngham had well gauged the distance and direction that the tunnel should take to bring him out at the edge of the common outside of the prison walls. The earth as it was dug up was concealed under the mattresses, and from thence transferred to the pockets of the prisoners, who carried it out handful by handful when they were in the corridor, the privileges of the jail-yard being now denied them. During the day and when the men were not working, for they had arranged the labor and divided the time into watches of half an hour each, the stone that concealed the opening was itself hidden by one of the straw pallets.

The guards continued to be unsuspicious, and one night, late in October, the two men who were at work in the farthest end of the tunnel came quickly back announcing that they were so close to the surface that the earth was beginning to break and crumble. It was very fortunate that they had found beneath the first layer of soft sand a stratum of hard clay mixed with gravel, which required no prop or support to prevent its caving. Work now for a time was suspended, Conyngham concluding to wait for the moonlight nights, and yet to choose one when the light would not be too brilliant. The hour settled upon was when the shadow of the prison would lie heavy upon the spot where the breaking out would take place.

No better night could one imagine than that of the first Monday of November, when every one was warned to make ready for escape. Conyngham himself led the way and dug, lying on his back with the earth falling all about him, until at last he could feel the free air as his hand broke through the upper crust. In three minutes more a hole was made sufficiently large to admit of his thrusting forth his head and shoulders.

It was dangerous indeed, for should a sentry happen by any chance to be in the vicinity, not only might the discovery lead at once to the detection of the plot, but also to death by a musket-ball. No one was in sight! The deep black shadows lay heavy under the high wall, and above it towered the great roof of the prison. Beyond them rose the square watch-tower against the gray misty moonlit sky. All at once he heard a voice behind him. It was evident that if he did not take care, the very eagerness of the men to make their way out would prove their own undoing, for they had already begun jostling and shoving one another, despite the stringent orders he had given. With great difficulty he forced his way back through the hole, and there in a few earnest words impressed upon them the necessity for caution and patience. Order restored and the muttering stopped, he drew himself by sheer strength out of the hole and rose to his knees on the ground outside. One after another the men were pulled forth. All went well until the last man’s turn came. I say “man,” but in reality he was a huge overgrown boy, whose weeks of imprisonment had not appeared to have reduced his bulk, for he stuck fast in the hole and apparently could not be moved either one way or the other. If the position had not been so full of danger it might have been found amusing, but every minute’s delay increased the prospect of discovery, so they struggled to relieve the fat boy from his predicament. Three men had hold of one of his arms, when suddenly he gave a sharp cry. He once had been hurt or wounded, and in their endeavors to release him they had broken the large bone of his forearm. However, after his first outcry the poor fellow said nothing, and by dint of digging and more careful hauling they succeeded in releasing him.

By common consent they were to divide into small parties and make their way to London or the vicinity, where from their various hiding-places they were to inform a certain Mr. Digges of their arrival. It would be six hours and more before their escape would be discovered.

One by one, keeping close to the cover of the walls, they each made the shelter of a small clump of bushes, from which they reached a wood about a half mile distant, where a meeting was held to determine on their future course of action. It was a very short one, for Conyngham dominated it and impressed upon them the necessity for haste. Soon all were on the highroad, which they followed for about five miles and then broke up in small parties as had been arranged for. Strange to say, only fourteen of them, so far as could be ascertained, were ever recaptured. The fat boy escaped!

Conyngham and one of the officers were the first to reach London, where they immediately repaired to the house of Mr. Digges, who provided them with food, money, and clothing, and despite the great risk began to make preparations to assist the other men as they should arrive.

Conyngham, while walking the streets of London, had the pleasure of seeing displayed, in the window of a print-shop, a most extravagant print alleged to be his portrait, “representing him a man of gigantic stature, very broad in the shoulders, the whole person indicating great strength, with a ferocious countenance. Under the arm was a sword at least six feet long, and beneath the whole was the legend, ‘The Yankee Pirate, Conyngham, the arch-rebel. An Admirable likeness.’”