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      American Prisoners of the Revolution, by Danske Dandridge
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<pre>

Project Gutenberg's American Prisoners of the Revolution, by Danske Dandridge

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Title: American Prisoners of the Revolution

Author: Danske Dandridge


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</pre>

    <div style="height: 8em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h1>
      AMERICAN PRISONERS OF THE REVOLUTION
    </h1>
    <h2>
      By Danske Dandridge
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Dedication
    </h2>
    <h3>
      TO THE MEMORY OF MY GRANDFATHER
    </h3>
    <h4>
      Lieutenant Daniel Bedinger, of Bedford, Virginia <br /> <br /> &ldquo;A BOY IN
      PRISON&rdquo; <br /> <br /> AS REPRESENTATIVE OF ALL THAT WAS BRAVEST AND MOST
      HONORABLE<br /> IN THE LIFE AND CHARACTER OF THE PATRIOTS OF 1776
    </h4>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      PREFACE
    </h2>
    <p>
      The writer of this book has been interested for many years in the subject
      of the sufferings of the American prisoners of the Revolution. Finding the
      information she sought widely scattered, she has, for her own use, and for
      that of all students of the subject, gathered all the facts she could
      obtain within the covers of this volume. There is little that is original
      in the compilation. The reader will find that extensive use has been made
      of such narratives as that Captain Dring has left us. The accounts could
      have been given in the compiler&rsquo;s own words, but they would only, thereby,
      have lost in strength. The original narratives are all out of print, very
      scarce and hard to obtain, and the writer feels justified in reprinting
      them in this collection, for the sake of the general reader interested in
      the subject, and not able to search for himself through the mass of
      original material, some of which she has only discovered after months of
      research. Her work has mainly consisted in abridging these records,
      collected from so many different sources.
    </p>
    <p>
      The writer desires to express her thanks to the courteous librarians of
      the Library of Congress and of the War and Navy Departments; to Dr.
      Langworthy for permission to publish his able and interesting paper on the
      subject of the prisons in New York, and to many others who have helped her
      in her task.
    </p>
    <p>
      DANSKE DANDRIDGE.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>December 6th, 1910.</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      <b>CONTENTS</b>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> DEDICATION </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> CHAPTER I. &mdash; INTRODUCTORY </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER II. &mdash; THE RIFLEMEN OF THE
      REVOLUTION </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER III. &mdash; NAMES OF SOME OF THE
      PRISONERS OF 1776 </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER IV. &mdash; THE PRISONS OF NEW YORK&mdash;JONATHAN
      GILLETT </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER V. &mdash; WILLIAM CUNNINGHAM, THE
      PROVOST MARSHAL </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER VI. &mdash; THE CASE OF JABEZ FITCH </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VII. &mdash; THE HOSPITAL DOCTOR&mdash;A
      TORY&rsquo;S ACCOUNT OF NEW YORK IN 1777&mdash;ETHAN ALLEN&rsquo;S </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VIII. &mdash; THE ACCOUNT OF ALEXANDER
      GRAYDON </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER IX. &mdash; A FOUL PAGE OF ENGLISH
      HISTORY </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER X. &mdash; A BOY IN PRISON </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER XI. &mdash; THE NEWSPAPERS OF THE
      REVOLUTION </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XII. &mdash; THE TRUMBULL PAPERS AND
      OTHER SOURCES OF INFORMATION </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XIII. &mdash; A JOURNAL KEPT IN THE
      PROVOST </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIV. &mdash; FURTHER TESTIMONY OF
      CRUELTIES ENDURED BY AMERICAN PRISONERS </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XV. &mdash; THE OLD SUGAR HOUSE&mdash;TRINTY
      CHURCHYARD </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XVI. &mdash; THE CASE OF JOHN BLATCHFORD
      </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVII. &mdash; BENJAMIN FRANKLIN AND
      OTHERS ON THE SUBJECT OF AMERICAN PRISONERS </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVIII. &mdash; THE ADVENTURES OF ANDREW
      SHERBURNE </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XIX. &mdash; MORE ABOUT THE ENGLISH
      PRISONS&mdash;MEMOIR OF ELI BICKFORD&mdash;CAPTAIN FANNING </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XX. &mdash; SOME SOUTHERN NAVAL PRISONERS
      </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XXI. &mdash; EXTRACTS FROM NEWSPAPERS&mdash;SOME
      OF THE PRISON SHIPS&mdash;CASE OF CAPTAIN </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXII. &mdash; THE JOURNAL OF DR. ELIAS
      CORNELIUS&mdash;BRITISH PRISONS IN THE SOUTH </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXIII. &mdash; A POET ON A PRISON SHIP
      </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIV. &mdash; &ldquo;THERE WAS A SHIP&rdquo; </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXV. &mdash; A DESCRIPTION OF THE JERSEY
      </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXVI. &mdash; THE EXPERIENCE OF EBENEZER
      FOX. &mdash; </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVII. &mdash; THE EXPERIENCE OF EBENEZER
      FOX (CONTINUED) </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVIII. &mdash; THE CASE OF CHRISTOPHER
      HAWKINS </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXIX. &mdash; TESTIMONY OF PRISONERS ON
      BOARD THE JERSEY </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXX. &mdash; RECOLLECTIONS OF ANDREW
      SHERBURNE </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXXI. &mdash; CAPTAIN ROSWELL PALMER </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXII. &mdash; THE NARRATIVE OF CAPTAIN
      ALEXANDER COFFIN </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXIII. &mdash; A WONDERFUL DELIVERANCE
      </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIV. &mdash; THE NARRATIVE OF CAPTAIN
      DRING </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXV. &mdash; THE NARRATIVE OF CAPTAIN
      DRING (CONTINUED) </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXVI. &mdash; THE INTERMENT OF THE DEAD
      </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVII. &mdash; DAME GRANT AND HER BOAT
      </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVIII. &mdash; THE SUPPLIES FOR THE
      PRISONERS </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXIX. &mdash; FOURTH OF JULY ON THE
      JERSEY </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XL. &mdash; AN ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XLI. &mdash; THE MEMORIAL TO GENERAL
      WASHINGTON </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XLII. &mdash; THE EXCHANGE </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER XLIII. &mdash; THE CARTEL&mdash;CAPTAIN
      DRING&rsquo;S NARRATIVE (CONTINUED) </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XLIV. &mdash; CORRESPONDENCE OF
      WASHINGTON AND OTHERS </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER XLV. &mdash; GENERAL WASHINGTON AND REAR
      ADMIRAL DIGBY&mdash;COMMISSARIES SPROAT AND </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER XLVI. &mdash; SOME OF THE PRISONERS ON
      BOARD THE JERSEY </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2H_CONC"> CONCLUSION </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2H_APPE"> APPENDIX A </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2H_LIST"> LIST OF 8000 MEN WHO WERE PRISONERS ON BOARD THE
      OLD JERSEY </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2H_APPE2"> APPENDIX B </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2H_APPE3"> APPENDIX C </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2H_BIBL"> BIBLIOGRAPHY </a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I. &mdash; INTRODUCTORY
    </h2>
    <p>
      It is with no desire to excite animosity against a people whose blood is
      in our veins that we publish this volume of facts about some of the
      Americans, seamen and soldiers, who were so unfortunate as to fall into
      the hands of the enemy during the period of the Revolution. We have
      concealed nothing of the truth, but we have set nothing down in malice, or
      with undue recrimination.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is for the sake of the martyrs of the prisons themselves that this work
      has been executed. It is because we, as a people, ought to know what was
      endured; what wretchedness, what relentless torture, even unto death, was
      nobly borne by the men who perished by thousands in British prisons and
      prison ships of the Revolution; it is because we are in danger of
      forgetting the sacrifice they made of their fresh young lives in the
      service of their country; because the story has never been adequately
      told, that we, however unfit we may feel ourselves for the task, have made
      an effort to give the people of America some account of the manner in
      which these young heroes, the flower of the land, in the prime of their
      vigorous manhood, met their terrible fate.
    </p>
    <p>
      Too long have they lain in the ditches where they were thrown, a cart-full
      at a time, like dead dogs, by their heartless murderers, unknown, unwept,
      unhonored, and unremembered. Who can tell us their names? What monument
      has been raised to their memories?
    </p>
    <p>
      It is true that a beautiful shaft has lately been erected to the martyrs
      of the Jersey prison ship, about whom we will have very much to say. But
      it is improbable that even the place of interment of the hundreds of
      prisoners who perished in the churches, sugar houses, and other places
      used as prisons in New York in the early years of the Revolution, can now
      be discovered. We know that they were, for the most part, dumped into
      ditches dug on the outskirts of the little city, the New York of 1776.
      These ditches were dug by American soldiers, as part of the entrenchments,
      during Washington&rsquo;s occupation of Manhattan in the spring of 1776. Little
      did these young men think that they were, in some cases, literally digging
      a grave for themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      More than a hundred and thirty years have passed since the victims of
      Cunningham&rsquo;s cruelty and rapacity were starved to death in churches
      consecrated to the praise and worship of a God of love. It is a tardy
      recognition that we are giving them, and one that is most imperfect, yet
      it is all that we can now do. The ditches where they were interred have
      long ago been filled up, built over, and intersected by streets. Who of
      the multitude that daily pass to and fro over the ground that should be
      sacred ever give a thought to the remains of the brave men beneath their
      feet, who perished that they might enjoy the blessings of liberty?
    </p>
    <p>
      Republics are ungrateful; they have short memories; but it is due to the
      martyrs of the Revolution that some attempt should be made to tell to the
      generations that succeed them who they were, what they did, and why they
      suffered so terribly and died so grimly, without weakening, and without
      betraying the cause of that country which was dearer to them than their
      lives.
    </p>
    <p>
      We have, for the most part, limited ourselves to the prisons and prison
      ships in the city and on the waters of New York. This is because such
      information as we have been able to obtain concerning the treatment of
      American prisoners by the British relates, almost entirely, to that
      locality.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is a terrible story that we are about to narrate, and we warn the lover
      of pleasant books to lay down our volume at the first page. We shall see
      Cunningham, that burly, red-faced ruffian, the Provost Marshal, wreaking
      his vengeance upon the defenceless prisoners in his keeping, for the
      assault made upon him at the outbreak of the war, when he and a companion
      who had made themselves obnoxious to the republicans were mobbed and
      beaten in the streets of New York. He was rescued by some friends of law
      and order, and locked up in one of the jails which was soon to be the
      theatre of his revenge. We shall narrate the sufferings of the American
      prisoners taken at the time of the battle of Long Island, and after the
      surrender of Fort Washington, which events occurred, the first in August,
      the second in November of the year 1776.
    </p>
    <p>
      What we have been able to glean from many sources, none of which
      contradict each other in any important point, about the prisons and prison
      ships in New York, with a few narratives written by those who were
      imprisoned in other places, shall fill this volume. Perhaps others, far
      better fitted for the task, will make the necessary researches, in order
      to lay before the American people a statement of what took place in the
      British prisons at Halifax, Charleston, Philadelphia, the waters off the
      coast of Florida, and other places, during the eight years of the war. It
      is a solemn and affecting duty that we owe to the dead, and it is in no
      light spirit that we, for our part, begin our portion of the task.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II. &mdash; THE RIFLEMEN OF THE REVOLUTION
    </h2>
    <p>
      We will first endeavor to give the reader some idea of the men who were
      imprisoned in New York in the fall and winter of 1776, It was in the
      summer of that year that Congress ordered a regiment of riflemen to be
      raised in Maryland and Virginia. These, with the so-called &ldquo;Flying Camp&rdquo;
       of Pennsylvania, made the bulk of the soldiers taken prisoners at Fort
      Washington on the fatal 16th of November. Washington had already proved to
      his own satisfaction the value of such soldiers; not only by his
      experience with them in the French and Indian wars, but also during the
      siege of Boston in 1775-6.
    </p>
    <p>
      These hardy young riflemen were at first called by the British &ldquo;regulars,&rdquo;
       &ldquo;a rabble in calico petticoats,&rdquo; as a term of contempt. Their uniform
      consisted of tow linen or homespun hunting shirts, buckskin breeches,
      leggings and moccasins. They wore round felt hats, looped on one side and
      ornamented with a buck tail. They carried long rifles, shot pouches,
      tomahawks, and scalping knives.
    </p>
    <p>
      They soon proved themselves of great value for their superior
      marksmanship, and the British, who began by scoffing at them, ended by
      fearing and hating them as they feared and hated no other troops. The many
      accounts of the skill of these riflemen are interesting, and some of them
      shall be given here.
    </p>
    <p>
      One of the first companies that marched to the aid of Washington when he
      was at Cambridge in 1775 was that of Captain Michael Cresap, which was
      raised partly in Maryland and partly in the western part of Virginia. This
      gallant young officer died in New York in the fall of 1775, a year before
      the surrender of Fort Washington, yet his company may be taken as a fair
      sample of what the riflemen of the frontiers of our country were, and of
      what they could do. We will therefore give the words of an eyewitness of
      their performances. This account is taken from the <i>Pennsylvania Journal</i>
      of August 23rd, 1775.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On Friday evening last arrived at Lancaster, Pa., on their way to the
      American camp, Captain Cresap&rsquo;s Company of Riflemen, consisting of one
      hundred and thirty active, brave young fellows, many of whom have been in
      the late expedition under Lord Dunmore against the Indians. They bear in
      their bodies visible marks of their prowess, and show scars and wounds
      which would do honour to Homer&rsquo;s Iliad. They show you, to use the poet&rsquo;s
      words:
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  &ldquo;&lsquo;Where the gor&rsquo;d battle bled at ev&rsquo;ry vein!&rsquo; 
</pre>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One of these warriors in particular shows the cicatrices of four bullet
      holes through his body.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;These men have been bred in the woods to hardships and dangers since
      their infancy. They appear as if they were entirely unacquainted with, and
      had never felt the passion of fear. With their rifles in their hands, they
      assume a kind of omnipotence over their enemies. One cannot much wonder at
      this when we mention a fact which can be fully attested by several of the
      reputable persons who were eye-witnesses of it. Two brothers in the
      company took a piece of board five inches broad, and seven inches long,
      with a bit of white paper, the size of a dollar, nailed in the centre, and
      while one of them supported this board perpendicularly between his knees,
      the other at the distance of upwards of sixty yards, and without any kind
      of rest, shot eight bullets through it successively, and spared a
      brother&rsquo;s thigh!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Another of the company held a barrel stave perpendicularly in his hands,
      with one edge close to his side, while one of his comrades, at the same
      distance, and in the manner before mentioned, shot several bullets through
      it, without any apprehension of danger on either side.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The spectators appearing to be amazed at these feats, were told that
      there were upwards of fifty persons in the same company who could do the
      same thing; that there was not one who could not &lsquo;plug nineteen bullets
      out of twenty,&rsquo; as they termed it, within an inch of the head of a
      ten-penny nail.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In short, to evince the confidence they possessed in these kind of arms,
      some of them proposed to stand with apples on their heads, while others at
      the same distance undertook to shoot them off, but the people who saw the
      other experiments declined to be witnesses of this.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At night a great fire was kindled around a pole planted in the Court
      House Square, where the company with the Captain at their head, all naked
      to the waist and painted like savages (except the Captain, who was in an
      Indian shirt), indulged a vast concourse of people with a perfect
      exhibition of a war-dance and all the manoeuvres of Indians; holding
      council, going to war; circumventing their enemies by defiles; ambuscades;
      attacking; scalping, etc. It is said by those who are judges that no
      representation could possibly come nearer the original. The Captain&rsquo;s
      expertness and agility, in particular, in these experiments, astonished
      every beholder. This morning they will set out on their march for
      Cambridge.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      From the <i>Virginia Gazette</i> of July 22nd, 1775, we make the following
      extract: &ldquo;A correspondent informs us that one of the gentlemen appointed
      to command a company of riflemen to be raised in one of the frontier
      counties of Pennsylvania had so many applications from the people in his
      neighborhood, to be enrolled in the service, that a greater number
      presented themselves than his instructions permitted him to engage, and
      being unwilling to give offence to any he thought of the following
      expedient: He, with a piece of chalk, drew on a board the figure of a nose
      of the common size, which he placed at the distance of 150 yards,
      declaring that those who came nearest the mark should be enlisted. Sixty
      odd hit the object.&mdash;General Gage, take care of your nose!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      From the <i>Pennsylvania Journal</i>, July 25th, 1775: &ldquo;Captain Dowdle
      with his company of riflemen from Yorktown, Pa., arrived at Cambridge
      about one o&rsquo;clock today, and since has made proposals to General
      Washington to attack the transport stationed at Charles River. He will
      engage to take her with thirty men. The General thinks it best to decline
      at present, but at the same time commends the spirit of Captain Dowdle and
      his brave men, who, though they just came a very long march, offered to
      execute the plan immediately.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      In the third volume of American Archives, is an extract from a letter to a
      gentleman in Philadelphia, dated Frederick Town, Maryland, August 1st,
      1775, which speaks of the same company of riflemen whose wonderful
      marksmanship we have already noted. The writer says:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Notwithstanding the urgency of my business I have been detained here
      three days by a circumstance truly agreeable. I have had the happiness of
      seeing Captain Michael Cresap marching at the head of a formidable company
      of upwards of one hundred and thirty men from the mountains and backwoods;
      painted like Indians; armed with tomahawks and rifles; dressed in hunting
      shirts and moccasins; and, tho&rsquo; some of them had travelled hundreds of
      miles from the banks of the Ohio, they seemed to walk light and easy, and
      not with less spirit than at the first hour of their march.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was favored by being constantly in Captain Cresap&rsquo;s company, and
      watched the behavior of his men and the manner in which he treated them,
      for is seems that all who go out to war under him do not only pay the most
      willing obedience to him as their commander, but in every instance of
      distress look up to him as their friend and father. A great part of his
      time was spent in listening to and relieving their wants, without any
      apparent sense of fatigue and trouble. When complaints were before him he
      determined with kindness and spirit, and on every occasion condescended to
      please without losing dignity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yesterday, July 31st, the company were supplied with a small quantity of
      powder, from the magazine, which wanted airing, and was not in good order
      for rifles: in the evening, however, they were drawn out to show the
      gentlemen of the town their dexterity in shooting. A clap board with a
      mark the size of a dollar was put up; they began to fire offhand, and the
      bystanders were surprised. Few shots were made that were not close to, or
      into, the paper. When they had shot some time in this way, some lay on
      their backs, some on their breasts or sides, others ran twenty or thirty
      steps, and, firing as they ran, appeared to be equally certain of the
      mark. With this performance the company were more than satisfied, when a
      young man took up the board in his hand, and not by the end, but by the
      side, and, holding it up, his brother walked to the distance, and coolly
      shot into the white. Laying down his rifle he took the board, and holding
      it as it was held before, the second brother shot as the former had done.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By this exhibition I was more astonished than pleased, but will you
      believe me when I tell you that one of the men took the board, and placing
      it between his legs, stood with his back to a tree, while another drove
      the centre?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What would a regular army of considerable strength in the forests of
      America do with one thousand of these men, who want nothing to preserve
      their health but water from the spring; with a little parched corn (with
      what they can easily procure by hunting); and who, wrapped in their
      blankets in the dead of night, would choose the shade of a tree for their
      covering, and the earth for their bed?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The descriptions we have quoted apply to the rifle companies of 1775, but
      they are a good general description of the abilities of the riflemen
      raised in the succeeding years of the war, many indeed being the same men
      who first volunteered in 1775. In the possession of one of his descendants
      is a letter from one of these men written many years after the Revolution
      to the son of an old comrade in arms, giving an account of that comrade&rsquo;s
      experiences during a part of the war. The letter was written by Major
      Henry Bedinger of Berkeley County, Virginia, to a son of General Samuel
      Finley.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry Bedinger was descended from an old German family. His grandfather
      had emigrated to America from Alsace in 1737 to escape persecution for his
      religious beliefs. The highest rank that Bedinger attained in the War of
      the Revolution was that of captain. He was a Knight of the Order of the
      Cincinnati, and he was, after the war, a major of the militia of Berkeley
      County. The document in possession of one of his descendants is undated,
      and appears to have been a rough copy or draught of the original, which
      may now be in the keeping of some one of the descendants of General
      Finley. We will give it almost entire. Such family letters are, we need
      scarcely say, of great value to all who are interested in historical
      research, supplying, as they do, the necessary details which fill out and
      amplify the bare facts of history, giving us a living picture of the times
      and events that they describe.
    </p>
    <p>
      PART OF A LETTER FROM MAJOR HENRY BEDINGER TO A SON OF GENERAL SAMUEL
    </p>
    <p>
      FINLEY
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Some time in 1774 the late Gen&rsquo;l Sam&rsquo;l Finley Came to Martinsburg,
      Berkeley County, Virginia, and engaged with the late Col&rsquo;o John Morrow to
      assist his brother, Charles Morrow, in the business of a retail store.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Finley continued in that employment until the spring of 1775, when
      Congress called on the State of Virginia for two Complete Independent
      Volunteer Companies of Riflemen of l00 Men each, to assist Gen&rsquo;l
      Washington in the Siege of Boston &amp; to serve one year. Captains Hugh
      Stephenson of Berkeley, &amp; Daniel Morgan of Frederick were selected to
      raise and command those companies, they being the first Regular troops
      required to be raised in the State of Virginia for Continental service.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Captain Hugh Stephenson&rsquo;s rendezvous was Shepherd&rsquo;s Town (not
      Martinsburg) and Captain Morgan&rsquo;s was Winchester. Great exertions were
      made by each Captain to complete his company first, that merit might be
      claimed on that account. Volunteers presented themselves in every
      direction in the Vicinity of these Towns, none were received but young men
      of Character, and of sufficient property to Clothe themselves completely,
      find their own arms, and accoutrements, that is, an approved Rifle,
      handsome shot pouch, and powder horn, blanket, knapsack, with such decent
      clothing as should be prescribed, but which was at first ordered to be
      only a Hunting shirt and pantaloons, fringed on every edge and in Various
      ways.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our Company was raised in less than a week. Morgan had equal success.&mdash;It
      was never decided which Company was first filled&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;These Companies being thus unexpectedly called for it was a difficult
      task to obtain rifles of the quality required &amp; we were detained at
      Shepherds Town nearly six weeks before we could obtain such. Your Father
      and some of his Bosom Companions were among the first enrolled. My
      Brother, G. M. B., and myself, with many of our Companions, soon joined to
      the amount of 100&mdash;no more could be received. The Committee of Safety
      had appointed Wm Henshaw as 1st Lieut., George Scott 2nd, and Thomas Hite
      as 3rd Lieut to this Company, this latter however, declined accepting, and
      Abraham Shepherd succeeded as 3d Lieut&mdash;all the rest Stood on an
      equal footing as <i>Volunteers</i>&mdash;We remained at Shepherds Town
      untill the 16th July before we could be Completely armed, notwithstanding
      the utmost exertions. In the mean time your Father obtained from the
      gunsmith a remarkable neat light rifle, the stock inlaid and ornamented
      with silver, which he held, untill Compelled, as were all of us&mdash;to
      ground our arms and surrender to the enemy on the evening of the 16th day
      of November 1776.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In our Company were many young men of Considerable fortune, &amp; who
      generally entered from patriotic motives ... Our time of service being
      about to expire Captain Hugh Stephenson was commissioned a Colonel; Moses
      Rawlings a Lieutenant Colonel, and Otho Williams Major, to raise a Rifle
      Regiment for three years: four companies to be raised in Virginia and four
      in Maryland.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Henshaw and Scott chose to return home. Abraham Shepherd was commissioned
      Captain, Sam&rsquo;l Finley First Lieutenant, William Kelly Second Lieutenant,
      and myself 3rd Lieutenant. The Commissions of the Field Officers were
      dated the 8th July, 1776, &amp; those of our Company the 9th of the same
      month. Shepherd, Finley and myself were dispatched to Berkeley to recruit
      and refill the old Company, which we performed in about five weeks. Col&rsquo;o
      Stephenson also returned to Virginia to facilitate the raising the
      additional Companies. While actively employed in August, 1776, he was
      taken sick, and in four days died. The command of the Regiment devolved on
      Lieutenant Colonel Moses Rawlings, a Very worthy and brave officer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our Company being filled we Marched early in September to our Rendezvous
      at Bergen. So soon as the Regiment was formed it was ordered up the North
      River to the English Neighborhood, &amp; in a short time ordered to cross
      the River and assist in the defence of Fort Washington, where were about
      three thousand men under the command of Col&rsquo;o Magaw, on New York Island.
      The enemy in the mean time possessed New York, and had followed General
      Washington to the White Plains, from whence, after several partial
      actions, he returned, and approached us by the way of King&rsquo;s bridge, with
      a force of from 8 to 12000 Men. Several frigates ran up the Hudson from
      New York to cut off our intercourse with Fort Lee, a fort on the opposite
      bank of the North River: and by regular approaches invested us on all
      sides.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On the 15th November, 1776, the British General Pattison appeared with a
      flag near our Guards, demanding a surrender of Fort Washington and the
      Garrison. Col&rsquo;o Magaw replied he should defend it to the last extremity.
      Pattison declared all was ready to storm the lines and fort, we of course
      prepared for the Pending contest.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At break of day the next morning, the enemy commenced a tremendous
      Cannonade on every side, while their troops advanced. Our Regt. tho weak,
      was most advantageously posted by Rawlings and Williams, on a Small Ridge,
      about half a mile above Fort Washington. The Ridge ran from the North
      River, in which lay three frigates, towards the East River. A deep Valley
      divided us from the enemy, their frigates enfiladed, &amp; their Cannon on
      the heights behind the advancing troops played incessantly on our party
      (consisting of Rawling&rsquo;s Regiment, say 250 men, and one other company from
      Maryland, and four companies of Pennsylvania Flying Camp, also for the
      present commanded by Rawlings and Williams).
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Artillery were endeavoring to clear the hill while their troops
      crossing the Valley were ascending it, but without much effect. A few of
      our men were killed with Cannon and Grape Shott. Not a Shott was fired on
      our side untill the Enemy had nearly gained the Sumit. Though at least
      five times our numbers our rifles brought down so many that they gave way
      several times, but by their overwhelming numbers they at last succeeded in
      possessing the summit. Here, however, was great carnage, each making every
      effort to possess and hold so advantageous a position. This obstinacy
      continued for more than an hour, when the enemy brought up some field
      pieces, as well as reinforcements. Finding all resistance useless, our
      Regiment gradually gave way, tho&rsquo; not before Col&rsquo;o Rawlings, Major
      Williams, Peter Hanson, Nin Tannehill, and myself were wounded. Lt.
      Harrison [Footnote: Lieutenant Battaille Harrison of Berkeley County, Va.]
      was the only officer of our Regiment Killed. Hanson and Tannehill were
      mortally wounded. The latter died the same night in the Fort, &amp; Hanson
      died in New York a short time after. Capt. A. Shepherd, Lieut. Daniel
      Cresap and myself, with fifty men, were detailed the day before the action
      and placed in the van to receive the enemy as they came up the hill.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Regiment was paraded in line about fifty yards in our rear, ready to
      support us. Your Father of course on that day, and in the whole of the
      action commanded Shepherd&rsquo;s Company, which performed its duty admirably.
      About two o&rsquo;clock P. M. the Enemy obtained complete possession of the
      hill, and former battle-ground. Our troops retreated gradually from
      redoubt to redoubt, contesting every inch of ground, still making dreadful
      Havoc in the ranks of the enemy. We laboured too under disadvantages, the
      wind blew the smoke full in our faces. About two o&rsquo;clock A. Shepherd,
      being the senior Captain, took command of the Regiment, [Footnote: After
      Rawlings and Williams were disabled.] and by the advice of Col&rsquo;o Rawlings
      &amp; Major Williams, gradually retreated from redoubt to redoubt, to
      &amp; into the fort with the surviving part of the Regiment. Col&rsquo;o
      Rawlings, Major Williams, and Lt Hanson and myself quitted the field
      together, and retreated to the fort. I was slightly wounded, tho my right
      hand was rendered entirely useless. Your Father continued with the
      regiment until all had arrived in the fort. It was admitted by all the
      surviving officers that he had conducted himself with great gallantry and
      the utmost propriety.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;While we were thus engaged the enemy succeeded much better in every other
      quarter, &amp; with little comparative loss. All were driven into the fort
      and the enemy began by sundown to break ground within 100 yards of the
      fort.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Finding our situation desperate Col&rsquo;o Magaw dispatched a flag to Gen.
      Howe who Commanded in person, proposing to surrender on certain
      conditions, which not being agreed to, other terms were proposed and
      accepted. The garrison, consisting of 2673 privates, &amp; 210 officers,
      marched out, grounded arms, and were guarded to the White House that same
      night, but instead of being treated as agreed on, and allowed to retain
      baggage, clothes, and Side Arms, every valuable article was torn away from
      both officers and soldiers: every sword, pistol, every good hat was
      seized, even in presence of Brittish officers, &amp; the prisoners were
      considered and treated as <i>Rebels</i>, to the king and country. On the
      third day after our surrender we were guarded to New York, fourteen miles
      from Fort Washington, where in the evening we received some barrels of raw
      pork and musty spoiled biscuit, being the first Morsel of provision we had
      seen for more than three days. The officers were then separated from the
      soldiers, had articles of parole presented to us which we signed, placed
      into deserted houses without Clothing, provisions, or fire. No officer was
      permitted to have a servant, but we acted in rotation, carried our Cole
      and Provisions about half a mile on our backs, Cooked as well as we could,
      and tried to keep from Starving.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our poor Soldiers fared most wretchedly different. They were crowded into
      sugar houses and Jails without blankets or covering; had Very little given
      to them to eat, and that little of the Very worst quality. So that in two
      months and four days about 1900 of the Fort Washington troops had died.
      The survivors were sent out and receipted for by General Washington, and
      we the officers were sent to Long Island on parole, and billetted, two in
      a house, on the families residing in the little townships of Flatbush, New
      Utrecht, Newlots, and Gravesend, who were compelled to board and lodge us
      at the rate of two dollars per week, a small compensation indeed in the
      exhausted state of that section of country. The people were kind, being
      mostly conquered Whigs, but sometimes hard run to provide sustenance for
      their own families, with the addition, generally, of two men who must have
      a share of what could be obtained. These people could not have furnished
      us but for the advantage of the fisheries, and access at all times to the
      water. Fish, oysters, clams, Eels, and wild fowl could always be obtained
      in their season.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We were thus fixed on the inhabitants, but without money, or clothing.
      Sometimes a companion would receive a few hard dollars from a friend
      through a flag of truce, which was often shared by others to purchase a
      pair of shoes or a shirt.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;While in New York Major Williams received from a friend about forty
      silver dollars. He was still down with his wound, but requested Captain
      Shepherd, your Father and myself to come to his room, and there lent each
      of us ten Dollars, which enabled each of us to purchase a pair shoes, a
      shirt, and some other small matters: this liberality however, gave some
      offence. Major Williams was a Marylander, and to assist a Virginian, in
      preference to a Marylander, was a Crime almost unpardonable. It however
      passed off, as it so happened there were some refugees in New York from
      Maryland who had generosity enough to relieve the pressing wants of a few
      of their former acquaintances.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We thus lived in want and perfect idleness for years: tho sometimes if
      Books could be obtained we made out to read: if paper, pen, and ink could
      be had we wrote. Also to prevent becoming too feeble we exercised our
      bodies by playing fives, throwing long bullets, wrestling, running,
      jumping, and other athletick exercises, in all of which your Father fully
      participated. Being all nearly on the same footing as to Clothing and
      pocket money (that is we seldom had any of the latter) we lived on an
      equality.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the fall of 1777 the Brittish Commander was informed a plan was
      forming by a party of Americans to pass over to Long Island and sweep us
      off, release us from captivity. There were then on the Island about three
      hundred American officers prisoners. We were of course ordered off
      immediately, and placed on board of two large transports in the North
      River, as prison ships, where we remained but about 18 days, but it being
      Very Cold, and we Confined between decks, the Steam and breath of 150 men
      soon gave us Coughs, then fevers, and had we not been removed back to our
      billets I believe One half would have died in six weeks. This is all the
      imprisonment your&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The rest of this valuable letter has been, most unfortunately lost, or
      possibly it was never completed.
    </p>
    <p>
      We have given a great deal of it because of its graphic description of the
      men who were captured at Fort Washington, and of the battle itself. Major
      Bedinger was a dignified, well-to-do, country gentleman; honored and
      respected by all who knew him, and of unimpeachable veracity.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III. &mdash; NAMES OF SOME OF THE PRISONERS OF 1776
    </h2>
    <p>
      As we have seen, the officers fared well in comparison with the wretched
      privates. Paroled and allowed the freedom of the city, they had far better
      opportunities to obtain the necessities of life. &ldquo;Our poor soldiers fared
      most wretchedly different,&rdquo; says Major Bedinger.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before we begin, however, to speak of the treatment they received, we must
      make some attempt to tell the reader who they were. We wish it were
      possible to give the name of every private who died, or rather who was
      murdered, in the prisons of New York at this time. But that, we fear, is
      now an impossibility. As this account is designed as a memorial to those
      martyred privates, we have made many efforts to obtain their names. But if
      the muster rolls of the different companies who formed the Rifle Regiment,
      the Pennsylvania Flying Camp, and the other troops captured by the British
      in the summer and fall of 1776 are in existence, we have not been able to
      find them.
    </p>
    <p>
      The records of the Revolution kept in the War Department in England have
      been searched in vain by American historians. It is said that the Provost
      Marshal, William Cunningham, destroyed his books, in order to leave no
      written record of his crimes. The names of 8,000 prisoners, mostly seamen,
      who were confined on the prison ship Jersey, alone, have been obtained by
      the Society of Old Brooklynites, from the British Archives, and, by the
      kind permission of this Society, we re-publish them in the Appendix to
      this volume.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here and there, also, we have obtained a name of one of the brave young
      riflemen who died in torment a hundred times worse, because so much less
      swift, than that endured on a memorable occasion in India, when British
      soldiers were placed, during a single night, into one of their own &ldquo;Black
      Holes.&rdquo; But the names of almost all of these our tortured countrymen are
      forgotten as completely as their places of interment are neglected.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the hands of the writer, however, at this time [Footnote: This muster
      roll was lent to the writer by Henry Bedinger Davenport, Esq, a descendant
      of Major Bedinger] is the pay-roll of one of these companies of riflemen,&mdash;that
      of Captain Abraham Shepherd of Shepherdstown, Virginia. It is in the
      handwriting of Henry Bedinger, one of the lieutenants of the company.
    </p>
    <p>
      We propose to take this list, or pay roll, as a sample, and to follow, as
      well as we can, at this late day, the misfortunes of the men named
      therein. For this purpose we will first give the list of names, and
      afterwards attempt to indicate how many of the men died in confinement,
      and how many lived to be exchanged.
    </p>
    <p>
      MUSTER ROLL
    </p>
    <p>
      The paper in question, falling to pieces with age, and almost illegible in
      places, is headed, &ldquo;An ABSTRACT of the Pay due the Officers and Privates
      of the Company of Riflemen belonging to Captain Abraham Shepherd, being
      part of a Battalion raised by Colonel Hugh Stevenson, deceased, and
      afterwards commanded by Lieut Colonel Moses Rawlings, in the Continental
      Service from July 1st, 1776, to October 1st, 1778.&rdquo; The paper gives the
      dates of enlistment; those who were killed; those who died; those who
      deserted; those who were discharged; drafted; made prisoners; &ldquo;dates until
      when pay is charged;&rdquo; &ldquo;pay per month;&rdquo; &ldquo;amount in Dollars,&rdquo; and &ldquo;amount in
      lawful Money, Pounds, Shillings and pence.&rdquo; From this account much
      information can be gleaned concerning the members of the company, but we
      will, for the present, content ourselves with giving the muster roll of
      the company.
    </p>
    <p>
      MUSTER ROLL OF CAPTAIN ABRAHAM SHEPHERD&rsquo;S COMPANY OF RIFLEMEN RAISED IN
      JULY, 1776
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Abraham Shepherd. First Lieutenant, Samuel Finley. Second
      Lieutenant, William Kelly. Third Lieutenant, Henry Bedinger. First
      Sergeant, John Crawford. Second Sergeant, John Kerney. Third Sergeant,
      Robert Howard. Fourth Sergeant, Dennis Bush. First Corporal, John Seaburn.
      Second Corporal, Evert Hoglant. Third Corporal, Thomas Knox. Fourth
      Corporal, Jonathan Gibbons. Drummer, Stephen Vardine. Fifer, Thomas Cook.
      Armourer, James Roberts.
    </p>
    <p>
      Privates, William Anderson, Jacob Wine, Richard Neal, Peter Hill, William
      Waller, Adam Sheetz, James Hamilton, George Taylor, Adam Rider, Patrick
      Vaughan, Peter Hanes, John Malcher, Peter Snyder, Daniel Bedinger, John
      Barger, William Hickman, Thomas Pollock, Bryan Timmons, Thomas Mitchell,
      Conrad Rush, David Harman, James Aitken, William Wilson, John Wilson,
      Moses McComesky, Thomas Beatty, John Gray, Valentine Fritz, Zechariah
      Bull, William Moredock, Charles Collins, Samuel Davis, Conrad Cabbage,
      John Cummins, Gabriel Stevens, Michael Wolf, John Lewis, William Donnelly,
      David Gilmore, John Cassody, Samuel Blount, Peter Good, George Helm,
      William Bogle (or Boyle), John Nixon, Anthony Blackhead, Christian
      Peninger, Charles Jones, William Case, Casper Myre, George Brown, Benjamin
      McKnight, Anthony Larkin, William Seaman, Charles Snowden, John Boulden,
      John Blake, Nicholas Russell, Benjamin Hughes, James Brown, James Fox,
      William Hicks, Patrick Connell, John Holmes, John McSwaine, James
      Griffith, Patrick Murphy, James Aitken.
    </p>
    <p>
      Besides the names of this company we can give a few privates of the
      Pennsylvania Flying Camp who are mentioned by Saffel. He adds that, as far
      as is known, all of these perished in prison, after inscribing their names
      high up upon the walls.
    </p>
    <p>
      SOME PRIVATES OF THE PENNSYLVANIA FLYING CAMP WHO PERISHED IN PRISON IN
      1776-7
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Charles Fleming, John Wright, James McKinney, Ebenezer Stille, Jacob
      Leinhart, Abraham Van Gordon, Peter D&rsquo;Aubert, William Carbury, John
      McDowell, Wm. McKague, Henry Parker, James Burns, Henry Yepler, Baltus
      Weigh, Charles Beason, Leonard Huber, John McCarroll, Jacob Guiger, John
      May, Daniel Adams, George McCormick, Jacob Kettle, Jacob Miller, George
      Mason, James Kearney, David Sutor, Adam Bridel, Christian Mull, Daniel
      McKnight, Cornelius Westbrook, Luke Murphy, Joseph Conklin, Adam Dennis,
      Edward Ogden, Wm. Scoonover, James Rosencrants.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The names of the officers who were prisoners in New York after the battle
      of Long Island and the surrender of Fort Washington, can easily be
      obtained. But it is not with these, at present, that we have to do. We
      have already seen how much better was their treatment than that accorded
      to the hapless privates. It is chiefly to commemmorate the sufferings of
      the private soldier and seaman in the British prisons that this account
      has been written.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV. &mdash; THE PRISONS OF NEW YORK&mdash;JONATHAN GILLETT
    </h2>
    <p>
      We will now endeavor to describe the principal places of confinement used
      by the British in New York during the early years of the war. Lossing, in
      his Field Book of the Revolution, thus speaks of these dens of misery: &ldquo;At
      the fight around Fort Washington,&rdquo; he says, &ldquo;only one hundred Americans
      were killed, while the British loss was one thousand, chiefly Hessians,
      But the British took a most cruel revenge. Out of over 2600 prisoners
      taken on that day, in two months &amp; four days 1900 were killed in the
      infamous sugar houses and other prisons in the city.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Association of intense horror are linked with the records of the prisons
      and prison ships of New York. Thousands of captives perished miserably of
      hunger, cold, infection, and in some cases, actual poison.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All the prisoners taken in the battle near Brooklyn in August, 1776 and
      at Fort Washington in November of the same year, were confined in New
      York, nearly 4000 in all. The New Jail and the New Bridewell were the only
      prisons. The former is the present Hall of Records. Three sugar houses,
      some dissenting churches, Columbia College, and the Hospital were all used
      as prisons. The great fire in September; the scarcity of provisions; and
      the cruel conduct of the Provost Marshal all combined to produce intense
      sufferings among the men, most of whom entered into captivity, strong,
      healthy, young, able-bodied, the flower of the American youth of the day.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Van Cortlandt&rsquo;s Sugar House was a famous (or infamous) prison. It stood
      on the northwest corner of Trinity church-yard.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Rhinelander&rsquo;s Sugar House was on the corner of William and Duane Streets.
      Perhaps the worst of all the New York prisons was the third Sugar House,
      which occupied the space on Liberty Street where two buildings, numbers 34
      and 36, now stand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The North Dutch Church on William Street contained 800 prisoners, and
      there were perhaps as many in the Middle Dutch Church. The Friends&rsquo; 
      Meeting House on Liberty and several other buildings erected for the
      worship of a God of love were used as prisons.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The New Jail was made a Provost Prison, and here officers and men of note
      were confined. At one time they were so crowded into this building, that
      when they lay down upon the floor to sleep all in the row were obliged to
      turn over at the same time at the call, &lsquo;Turn over! Left! Right!&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The sufferings of these brave men were largely due to the criminal
      indifference of Loring, Sproat, Lennox, and other Commissaries of the
      prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Many of the captives were hanged in the gloom of night without trial and
      without a semblance of justice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Liberty Street Sugar House was a tall, narrow building five stories in
      height, and with dismal underground dungeons. In this gloomy abode jail
      fever was ever present. In the hot weather of July, 1777, companies of
      twenty at a time would be sent out for half an hour&rsquo;s outing, in the court
      yard. Inside groups of six stood for ten minutes at a time at the windows
      for a breath of air.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There were no seats; the filthy straw bedding was never changed. Every
      day at least a dozen corpses were dragged out and pitched like dead dogs
      into the ditches and morasses beyond the city. Escapes, deaths, and
      exchange at last thinned the ranks. Hundreds left names and records on the
      walls.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In 1778 the hulks of decaying ships were moored in the Wallabout. These
      prison ships were intended for sailors and seaman taken on the ocean,
      mostly the crews of privateersmen, but some soldiers were also sent to
      languish in their holds.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The first vessels used were transports in which cattle and other stores
      had been brought over by the British in 1776. These lay in Gravesend Bay
      and there many of the prisoners taken in battle near Brooklyn in August,
      1776, were confined, until the British took possession of New York, when
      they were moved to that city. In 1778 the hulks of ships were moored in
      the Wallabout, a sheltered bay on the Long Island shore, where the Navy
      Yard now is.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The sufferings of the prisoners can be better understood by giving
      individual instances, and wherever this is possible it shall be done. We
      will commence by an abstract of
    </p>
    <p>
      THE CASE OF JONATHAN GILLETT OF WEST HARFORD
    </p>
    <p>
      This man with seven others was captured on Long Island on the 27th of
      August, 1776, before they could take to their boats. He was at first
      confined in a prison ship, but a Masonic brother named John Archer
      procured him the liberty of the city on parole. His rank, we believe, was
      that of a lieutenant. He was a prisoner two years, then was allowed to go
      home to die. He exhibited every symptom of poison as well as starvation.
    </p>
    <p>
      When he was dying he said to his son, Jonathan Gillett, Junior, &ldquo;Should
      you enlist and be taken prisoner as I was, inquire for Mr. John Archer, a
      man with whom I boarded. He will assist you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      In course of time his son enlisted, was taken prisoner, and confined in
      the Old Sugar House on Liberty Street. Here he was nearly starved to
      death. The prisoners ate mice, rats, and insects. He one day found in the
      prison yard the dry parings of a turnip which seemed to him a delicious
      banquet. It is recorded that Jonathan Gillett, Jr., was finally freed from
      captivity through the efforts of the same gentleman, Mr. John Archer, who
      had aided his father.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1852 Jacob Barker offered to present survivors who had been confined in
      the Old Sugar House with canes made from the lumber used in its
      construction. Four of these survivors were found. Their names were William
      Clark, Samuel Moulton, Levi Hanford, and Jonathan Gillett, Jr. The
      latter&rsquo;s father during his confinement wrote a letter to his friends which
      has been preserved, and is as follows:
    </p>
    <p>
      My Friends,
    </p>
    <p>
      No doubt my misfortunes have reached your ears. Sad as it is, it is true
      as sad. I was made prisoner the 27th day of August past by a people called
      heshens, and by a party called Yagers the most Inhuman of all Mortals. I
      can&rsquo;t give Room to picture them here but thus much&mdash;I at first
      Resolved not to be taken, but by the Impertunity of the Seven taken with
      me, and being surrounded on all sides I unhapily surendered; would to God
      I never had&mdash;then I should never (have) known there unmerciful
      cruelties; they first disarmed me, then plundered me of all I had, watch,
      Buckles, money, and sum Clothing, after which they abused me by bruising
      my flesh with the butts of there (guns). They knocked me down; I got up
      and they (kept on) beating me almost all the way to there (camp) where I
      got shot of them&mdash;the next thing was I was allmost starved to death
      by them. I was keept here 8 days and then sent on board a ship, where I
      continued 39 days and by (them was treated) much worse than when on shore&mdash;after
      I was set on (shore) at New York (I was) confined (under) a strong guard
      till the 20th day of November, after which I have had my liberty to walk
      part over the City between sun and sun, notwithstanding there generous
      allowance of food I must inevitably have perished with hunger had not sum
      friends in this (city) Relieved my extreme necessity, but I cant expect
      they can always do it&mdash;what I shall do next I know not, being naked
      for clothes and void of money, and winter present, and provisions very
      skerce; fresh meat one shilling per pound, Butter three shillings per
      pound, Cheese two shillings, Turnips and potatoes at a shilling a half
      peck, milk 15 Coppers per quart, bread equally as dear; and the General
      says he cant find us fuel thro&rsquo; the winter, tho&rsquo; at present we receive sum
      cole. [Footnote: I have made no changes in this letter except to fill up
      some blanks and to add a few marks of punctuation.]
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was after put on board siezed violently with the disentarry&mdash;it
      followed me hard upwards of six weeks&mdash;after that a slow fever, but
      now am vastly better * * * my sincere love to you and my children. May God
      keep and preserve you at all times from sin, sickness, and death * * * I
      will Endeavor to faintly lead you into the poor cituation the soldiers are
      in, espechally those taken at Long Island where I was; in fact these cases
      are deplorable and they are Real objects of pitty&mdash;they are still
      confined and in houses where there is no fire&mdash;poor mortals, with
      little or no clothes&mdash;perishing with hunger, offering eight dollars
      in paper for one in silver to Relieve there distressing hunger; occasioned
      for want of food&mdash;there natures are broke and gone, some almost loose
      there voices and some there hearing&mdash;they are crouded into churches
      &amp; there guarded night and day. I cant paint the horable appearance
      they make&mdash;it is shocking to human nature to behold them. Could I
      draw the curtain from before you; there expose to your view a lean Jawd
      mortal, hunger laid his skinny hand (upon him) and whet to keenest Edge
      his stomach cravings, sorounded with tattred garments, Rotten Rags, close
      beset with unwelcome vermin. Could I do this, I say, possable I might in
      some (small) manner fix your idea with what appearance sum hundreds of
      these poor creatures make in houses where once people attempted to Implore
      God&rsquo;s Blessings, &amp;c, but I must say no more of there calamities. God
      be merciful to them&mdash;I cant afford them no Relief. If I had money I
      soon would do it, but I have none for myself.&mdash;I wrote to you by Mr.
      Wells to see if some one would help me to hard money under my present
      necessity I write no more, if I had the General would not allow it to go
      out, &amp; if ever you write to me write very short or else I will never
      see it&mdash;what the heshens robbed me of that day amounted to the value
      of seventy two dollars at least. * * * I will give you as near an exact
      account of how many prisoners the enemy have taken as I can. They took on
      Long Island of the Huntingon Regiment 64, and of officers 40, of other
      Regiments about 60. On Moulogin Island 14, Stratton Island (Staten) 7, at
      Fort Washington 2200 officers and men. On the Jersey side about 28
      officers and men. In all 3135 and how many killed I do not know. Many died
      of there wounds. Of those that went out with me of sickness occasioned by
      hunger eight and more lie at the point of death.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Roger Filer hath lost one of his legs and part of a Thigh, it was his
      left. John Moody died here a prisoner.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So now to conclude my little Ragged History * * * I as you know did ever
      impress on your mind to look to God, for so still I continue to do the
      same&mdash;think less of me but more of your Creator, * * * So in this I
      wish you well and bid you farewell and subscribe myself your nearest
      friend and well wisher for Ever
    </p>
    <p>
      John&rsquo;a Gillett
    </p>
    <p>
      New York, Dec. 2nd, 1776. To Eliza Gillett at West Harford
    </p>
    <p>
      The figures given in this pathetic letter may be inaccurate, but the
      description of the sufferings of the prisoners is unexaggerated. Of all
      the places of torment provided for these poor men the churches seem to
      have been the worst, and they were probably the scenes of the most brutal
      cruelty that was inflicted upon these unfortunate beings by the wicked and
      heartless men, in whose power they found themselves. Whether it was
      because the knowledge that they were thus desecrating buildings dedicated
      to the worship of God and instruction in the Christian duties of mercy and
      charity, had a peculiarly hardening effect upon the jailers and guards
      employed by the British, or whether it was merely because of their
      unfitness for human habitation, the men confined in these buildings
      perished fast and miserably. We cannot assert that no prisoners shut up in
      the churches in New York lived to tell the awful tale of their sufferings,
      but we do assert that in all our researches we have never yet happened
      upon any record of a single instance of a survivor living to reach his
      home. All the information we have gained on this subject we shall lay
      before the reader, and then he may form his own opinion of the justice of
      these remarks.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V. &mdash; WILLIAM CUNNINGHAM, THE PROVOST MARSHAL
    </h2>
    <p>
      We will condense all that we have to say of this man, whose cruelty and
      wickedness are almost inconceivable, into one chapter, and have done with
      the dreadful subject. As far as we have been able to learn, the facts
      about his life are the following.
    </p>
    <p>
      William Cunningham was an Irishman, born in Dublin Barracks in 1738. His
      father was a trumpeter in the Blue Dragoons. When he was sixteen he became
      an assistant to the riding-master of the troop. In 1761 he was made a
      sergeant of dragoons, but peace having been proclaimed the following year,
      the company to which he belonged was disbanded. He afterwards commenced
      the business of a scaw-banker, which means that he went about the country
      enticing mechanics and rustics to ship to America, on promise of having
      their fortunes made in that country; and then by artful practices,
      produced their indentures as servants, in consequence of which on their
      arrival in America they were sold, or at least obliged to serve a term of
      years to pay for their passage. This business, no doubt, proved a fit
      apprenticeship for the career of villainy before him.
    </p>
    <p>
      About the year 1774 he appears to have embarked from Newry in the ship
      Needham for New York, with some indentured servants he had kidnapped in
      Ireland. He is said to have treated these poor creatures so cruelly on the
      passage that they were set free by the authorities in New York upon their
      arrival.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Cunningham first appeared in New York he offered himself as a
      horse-breaker, and insinuated himself into the favor of the British
      officers by blatant toryism. He soon became obnoxious to the Whigs of that
      city, was mobbed, and fled to the Asia man-of-war for protection. From
      thence he went to Boston, where General Gage appointed him Provost
      Marshal. When the British took possession of New York he followed them to
      that city, burning with desire to be revenged upon the Whigs.
    </p>
    <p>
      He is said to have compassed the death of thousands of prisoners by
      selling their provisions, exchanging good for spoiled food, and even by
      poisoning them. Many also fell victims to his murderous violence. About
      two hundred and fifty of these poor creatures were taken out of their
      places of confinement at midnight and hung, without trial, simply to
      gratify his bloodthirsty instincts. Private execution was conducted in the
      following manner. A guard was first dispatched from the Provost, about
      midnight, to the upper barracks, to order the people on the line of march
      to shut their window shutters and put out their lights, forbidding them at
      the same time to presume to look out of their windows on pain of death.
      After this the prisoners were gagged, and conducted to the gallows just
      behind the upper barracks and hung without ceremony there. Afterwards they
      were buried by his assistant, who was a mulatto.
    </p>
    <p>
      This practice is said to have been stopped by the women along the line of
      march from the Provost to the barracks. They appealed to General Howe to
      prevent further executions, as the noise made by the sufferers praying for
      mercy, and appealing to Heaven for justice was dreadful to their ears.
    </p>
    <p>
      It would seem from this account that, although the wretched men were
      gagged as they were conveyed along the streets, their ferocious murderer
      could not deny himself the pleasure of hearing their shrieks of agony at
      the gallows.
    </p>
    <p>
      Watson, in his &ldquo;Annals of New York,&rdquo; says that Cunningham glutted his
      vengence by hanging five or six of his prisoners every night, until the
      women who lived in the neighborhood petitioned Howe to have the practice
      discontinued.
    </p>
    <p>
      A pamphlet called &ldquo;The Old Martyrs&rsquo; Prison,&rdquo; says of Cunningham: &ldquo;His
      hatred of the Americans found vent in torture by searing irons and secret
      scourges to those who fell under the ban of his displeasure. The prisoners
      were crowded together so closely that many fell ill from partial
      asphyxiation, and starved to death for want of the food which he sold to
      enrich himself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They were given muddy and impure water to drink, and that not in
      sufficient quantities to sustain life. Their allowance was, nominally, two
      pounds of hard tack and two of pork <i>per week</i>, and this was often
      uncooked, while either the pork, or the biscuit, or both, were usually
      spoiled and most unwholesome.
    </p>
    <p>
      Cunningham&rsquo;s quarters were in the Provost Prison, and on the right hand of
      the main door of entry. On the left of the hall was the guard room. Within
      the first barricade was the apartment of his assistant, Sergeant O&rsquo;Keefe.
      Two sentinels guarded the entrance day and night; two more were stationed
      at the first and second barricades, which were grated, barred, and
      chained.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When a prisoner was led into the hall the whole guard was paraded, and he
      was delivered over to Captain Cunningham or his deputy, and questioned as
      to his name, age, size, rank, etc., all of which was entered in a record
      book. These records appear to have been discreetly destroyed by the
      British authorities.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At the bristling of arms, unbolting of locks and bars, clanking of
      enormous iron chains in a vestibule dark as Erebus, the unfortunate
      captive might well sink under this infernal sight and parade of tyrannical
      power, as he crossed the threshold of that door which probably closed on
      him for life.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The north east chamber, turning to the left on the second floor, was
      appropriated to officers of superior rank, and was called Congress Hall. *
      * * In the day time the packs and blankets used by the prisoners to cover
      them were suspended around the walls, and every precaution was taken to
      keep the rooms clean and well ventilated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In this gloomy abode were incarcerated at different periods many American
      officers and citizens of distinction, awaiting with sickening hope the
      protracted period of their liberation. Could these dumb walls speak what
      scenes of anguish might they not disclose!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Cunningham and his deputy were enabled to fare sumptuously by dint of
      curtailing the prisoners&rsquo; rations, selling good for bad provisions, etc.,
      in order to provide for the drunken orgies that usually terminated his
      dinners. Cunningham would order the rebel prisoners to turn out and parade
      for the amusement of his guests, pointing them out with such
      characterizations as &lsquo;This is the d&mdash;&mdash;d rebel, Ethan Allen.
      This is a rebel judge, etc.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Cunningham destroyed Nathan Hale&rsquo;s last letters containing messages to his
      loved ones, in order, as he said, that &ldquo;the rebels should not know that
      they had a man in their army who could die with such firmness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      From Elias Boudinot&rsquo;s &ldquo;Journal of Events&rdquo; during the Revolution we extract
      the following account of his interview with Cunningham in New York. &ldquo;In
      the spring of 1777 General Washington wrote me a letter requesting me to
      accept of a Commission as Commissary General of Prisoners in the Army of
      America. I waited on him and politely declined the task, urging the wants
      of the Prisoners and having nothing to supply them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Washington, however, urged him not to refuse, saying that if no one in
      whom he could trust would accept the office, the lot of the prisoners
      would be doubly hard. At last Boudinot consented to fill the position as
      best he could, and Washington declared that he should be supplied with
      funds by the Secret Committee of Congress. &ldquo;I own,&rdquo; he says, &ldquo;that after I
      had entered on my department, the applications of the Prisoners were so
      numerous, and their distress so urgent, that I exerted every nerve to
      obtain supplies, but in vain&mdash;Excepting £600 I had received from the
      Secret Committee in Bills of exchange, at my first entrance into the
      Office&mdash;I could not by any means get a farthing more, except in
      Continental Money, which was of no avail in New York. I applied to the
      General describing my delicate Situation and the continual application of
      the Officers, painting their extreme distress and urging the assurance
      they had received that on my appointment I was to be furnished with
      adequate means for their full relief. The General appeared greatly
      distressed and assured me that it was out of his power to afford me any
      supplies. I proposed draining Clothing from the public stores, but to this
      he objected as not having anything like a sufficient supply for the Army.
      He urged my considering and adopting the best means in my power to satisfy
      the necessities of the Prisoners, and he would confirm them. I told him I
      knew of no means in my Power but to take what Monies I had of my own, and
      to borrow from my friends in New York, to accomplish the desirable
      purpose. He greatly encouraged me to the attempt, promising me that if I
      finally met with any loss, he would divide it with me. On this I began to
      afford them some supplies of Provisions over and above what the Enemy
      afforded them, which was very small and very indifferent.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The complaints of the very cruel treatment our Prisoners met with in the
      Enemy&rsquo;s lines rose to such a Heighth that in the Fall of this Year, 1777
      the General wrote to General Howe or Clinton reciting their complaints and
      proposing to send an Officer into New York to examine into the truth of
      them. This was agreed to, and a regular pass-port returned accordingly.
      The General ordered me on this service. I accordingly went over on the 3rd
      of Feb. 1778, in my own Sloop.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Commandant at this time was General Robertson, by whom Boudinot was
      very well treated, and allowed, in company with a British officer, to
      visit the prisons. He continues: &ldquo;Accordingly I went to the Provost with
      the Officer, where we found near thirty Officers from Colonels downwards,
      in close confinement in the Gaol in New York. After some conversation with
      the late Ethan Allen, I told him my errand, on which he was very free in
      his abuse of the British. *** We then proceeded upstairs to the Room of
      their Confinement. I had the Officers drawn up in a Ring and informed them
      of my mission, that I was determined to hear nothing in secret. That I
      therefore hoped they would each of them in their turn report to me
      faithfully and candidly the Treatment they severally had received,&mdash;that
      my design was to obtain them the proper redress, but if they kept back
      anything from an improper fear of their keepers, they would have
      themselves only to blame for their want of immediate redress. That for the
      purpose of their deliverance the British officer attended. That the
      British General should be also well informed of the Facts. On this, after
      some little hesitation from a dread of their keeper, the Provost Martial,
      one of them began and informed us that * * * some had been confined in the
      Dungeon for a night to await the leisure of the General to examine them
      and forgot for months; for being Committee men, &amp;c, &amp;c. That they
      had received the most cruel Treatment from the Provost Martial, being
      locked up in the Dungeon on the most trifling pretences, such as asking
      for more water to drink on a hot day than usual&mdash;for sitting up a
      little longer in the Evening than orders allowed&mdash;for writing a
      letter to the General making their Complaints of ill-usage and throwing
      (it) out of the Windows. That some of them were kept ten, twelve, and
      fourteen weeks in the Dungeon on these trifling Pretenses. A Captain
      Vandyke had been confined eighteen months for being concerned in setting
      fire to the City, When, on my calling for the Provost Books, it appeared
      that he had been made Prisoner and closely confined in the Provost four
      days before the fire happened. A Major Paine had been confined eleven
      months for killing a Captain Campbell in the Engagement when he was taken
      Prisoner, when on examination it appeared that the Captain had been killed
      in another part of the Action. The charge was that Major Paine when taken
      had no commission, though acknowledged by us as a Major.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Most of the cases examined into turned out wholly false or too trifling
      to be regarded. It also appeared by the Declaration of some of the
      Gentlemen that their water would be sometimes, as the Caprice of the
      Provost Martial led him, brought up to them in the tubs they used in their
      Rooms, and when the weather was so hot that they must drink or perish. On
      hearing a number of these instances of Cruelty, I asked who was the Author
      of them&mdash;they answered the provost keeper&mdash;I desired the Officer
      to call him up that we might have him face to face. He accordingly came
      in, and on being informed of what had passed, he was asked if the
      complaints were true. He, with great Insolence answered that every word
      was true&mdash;on which the British Officer, abusing him very much, asked
      him how he dared to treat Gentlemen in that cruel Manner. He, insolently
      putting his hands to his side, swore that he was as absolute there as
      General Howe was at the head of his Army. I observed to the Officer that
      now there could be no dispute about Facts, as the fellow had acknowledged
      every word to be true. I stated all the Facts in substance and waited
      again on General Robertson, who hoped I was quite satisfied with the
      falsity of the reports I had heard. I then stated to him the Facts and
      assured him that they turned out worse than anything we had heard. On his
      hesitating as to the truth of this assertion&mdash;I observed to him the
      propriety of having an Officer with me, to whom I now appealed for the
      truth of the Facts. He being present confirmed them&mdash;on which the
      General expressed great dissatisfaction, and promised that the Author of
      them should be punished. I insisted that the Officers should be discharged
      from his Power on Parole on Long Island, as other Officers were&mdash;To
      this after receiving from me a copy of the Facts I had taken down, he
      assented, &amp; all were discharged except seven, who were detained some
      time before I could obtain their release. I forgot to mention that one
      Officer, Lieutenant&mdash;was taken Prisoner and brought in with a wound
      through the leg. He was sent to the Provost to be examined, next night he
      was put into the Dungeon and remained there ten weeks, totally forgotten
      by the General, and never had his wound dressed except as he washed it
      with a little Rum and Water given to him by the Centinels, through the&mdash;hole
      out of their own rations. Captain&mdash;and a Captain Chatham were
      confined with them and their allowance was four pounds hard spoiled
      Biscuit, and two pounds Pork per week, which they were obliged to eat raw.
      While they were thus confined for the slightest Complaints, the Provost
      Martial would come down and beat them unmercifully with a Rattan, and
      Knock them down with his fist. After this I visited two Hospitals of our
      Sick Prisoners, and the Sugar House:&mdash;in the two first were 211
      Prisoners, and in the last about 190. They acknowledged that for about two
      months past they fared pretty well, being allowed two pounds of good Beef
      and a proportion of flour or Bread per week, by Mr. Lewis, My Agent, over
      and above the allowance received from the British, which was professed to
      be two thirds allowance; but before they had suffered much from the small
      allowance they had received, and and that their Bread was very bad, being
      mostly biscuit, but that the British soldiers made the same complaint as
      to the bread. From every account I received I found that their treatment
      had been greatly changed for the better within a few months past, except
      at the Provost. They all agreed that previous to the capture of General
      Burgoyne, and for some time after, Their treatment had been cruel beyond
      measure. That the Prisoners in the French church, amounting on an average
      to three or four hundred, could not all lay down at once, that from the
      15th October to the first January they never received a single stick of
      wood, and that for the most part they eat their Pork Raw, when the Pews
      and Door, and Wood on Facings failed them for fuel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But as to my own personal knowledge I found General Robertson very ready
      to agree to every measure for alleviating the miseries of War and very
      candidly admitted many faults committed by the inferior Officers, and even
      the mistakes of the General himself, by hearkening to the representations
      of those around him. He showed me a letter from General Howe who was in
      Philadelphia, giving orders that we should not be at liberty to purchase
      blankets within their lines, and containing a copy of an order I had
      issued that they should not purchase provisions within ours, by way of
      retaliation, but he represented it as if my order was first. I stated the
      facts to General Robertson, who assured me that General Howe had been
      imposed upon, and requested me to state the facts by way of letter, when
      he immediately wrote to General Howe, urging the propriety of reversing
      his orders, which afterwards he did in a very hypocritical manner as will
      appear hereafter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It does not seem that Cunningham was very seriously punished. It is
      probable that he was sent away from New York to Philadelphia, then in the
      hands of General Howe. Cunningham was Provost Marshal in that city during
      the British occupancy, where his cruelties were, if possible, more
      astrocious than ever before.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dr. Albigense Waldo was a surgeon in the American army at Valley Forge,
      and he declares in his Journal concerning the prisoners in Philadelphia
      that &ldquo;the British did not knock the prisoners in the head, or burn them
      with torches, or flay them alive, or dismember them as savages do, but
      they starved them slowly in a large and prosperous city. One of these
      unhappy men, driven to the last extreme of hunger, is said to have gnawed
      his own fingers to the first joint from the hand, before he expired.
      Others ate the mortar and stone which they chipped from the prison walls,
      while some were found with bits of wood and clay in their mouths, which in
      their death agonies they had sucked to find nourishment.&rdquo; [Footnote: This
      account is quoted by Mr. Bolton in a recent book called &ldquo;The Private
      Soldier under Washington,&rdquo; a valuable contribution to American history.]
    </p>
    <p>
      Boudinot has something to say about these wretched sufferers in the City
      of Brotherly Love during the months of January and February, 1778.
      &ldquo;Various Reports having reached us with regard to the Extreme Sufferings
      of our Prisoners in Philadelphia, I was directed by the Commander-in-Chief
      to make particular inquiry into the truth. After some time I obtained full
      Information of their Sufferings. It was proved by some Militia of good
      Character that on being taken they were put under the care of the
      General&rsquo;s Guard, and kept four or five days without the least food. That
      on the fifth day they were taken into the Provost, where a small quantity
      of Raw Pork was given to them. One of their number seized and devoured it
      with so much eagerness that he dropped down dead:&mdash;that the Provost
      Martial used to sell their provisions and leave them to starve, as he did
      their Allowance of Wood. I received information from a British Officer who
      confided in my integrity, that he happened in the Provost just at the time
      the Provost Martial was locking up the Prisoners. He had ordered them from
      the Yard into the House. Some of them being ill with the Dysentery could
      scarcely walk, and for not coming faster he would beat them with his
      Rattan. One being delayed longer than the rest. On his coming up
      Cunningham gave him a blow with one of the large Keys of the Goal which
      killed him on the Spot. The Officer, exceedingly affected with the sight,
      went next day and lodged a formal Complaint of the Murder with General
      Howe&rsquo;s Aid. After waiting some days, and not discovering any measures
      taken for the tryal of Cunningham, he again went to head quarters and
      requested to see the General, but was refused. He repeated his Complaint
      to his Aid, and told him if this passed unpunished it would become
      disreputable to wear a British uniform. No notice being taken the Officer
      determined to furnish me privately with the means of proof of the Facts,
      so that General Washington might remonstrate to General Howe on the
      subject:&mdash;I reported them with the other testimony I had collected to
      General Washington. He accordingly wrote in pretty strong Terms to General
      Howe and fixed a day, when if he did not receive a satisfactory answer, he
      would retaliate on the prisoners in his Custody. On the day he received an
      answer from General Howe, acknowledging that, on Examination he found that
      Cunningham had sold the Prisoners&rsquo; rations publicly in the Market. That he
      had therefor removed him from the Charge of the Prisoners and appointed
      Mr. Henry H. Ferguson in his place. This gave us great pleasure as we knew
      Mr. Ferguson to be a Gentleman of Character and great Humanity, and the
      issue justified our expectations. But to our great surprise Mr. Cunningham
      was only removed from the Charge of the Prisons in Philadelphia, and sent
      to that of New York. Soon after this great complaints being made of our
      Prisoners being likely to perish for want of Cloathing and Blankets,
      having been mostly stripped and robbed of their Cloaths when taken,
      application was made for permission to purchase (with the provisions which
      the British wanted,) Blankets and cloathing, which should be used only by
      the Prisoners while in Confinement. This was agreed to, as we were
      informed by our own Agent as well as by the British Commissioner.
      Provisions were accordingly attempted to be sent in, when General Howe
      pretending to ignorance in the business, forbid the provisions to be
      admitted, or the Blankets to be purchased. On this I gave notice to the
      British Commissary that after a certain day they must provide food for
      their prisoners south west of New Jersey, and to be sent in from their
      lines, as they should no longer be allowed to purchase provisions with us.
      The line drawn arose from our being at liberty to purchase in New York.
      This made a great noise, when General Howe on receiving General
      Robertson&rsquo;s letter from New York before mentioned, urging the propriety of
      the measures, issued an order that every Person in Philadelphia, who had a
      Blanket to sell or to spare should bring them into the King&rsquo;s Stores. When
      this was done he then gave my Agent permission to purchase Blankets and
      Cloathing, in the City of Philadelphia. On my Agent attempting it he found
      every Blanket in the City purchased by the Agents for the Army, so that
      not a Blanket could be had. My Agent knowing the necessities of our
      Prisoners, immediately employed persons in every part of the city and
      before General Howe could discover his own omission, purchased up every
      piece of flannel he could meet with, and made it up into a kind of
      Blanket, which answered our purpose.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Wherever General Howe and Cunningham were together, either in New York or
      in Philadelphia, the most atrocious cruelties were inflicted upon the
      American prisoners in their power, and yet some have endeavoured to excuse
      General Howe, on what grounds it is difficult to determine. It has been
      said that Cunningham <i>acted on higher authority than any in America</i>,
      and that Howe in vain endeavored to mitigate the sufferings of the
      prisoners. This, however, is not easy of belief. Howe must at least have
      wilfully blinded himself to the wicked and murderous violence of his
      subordinate. It was his duty to know how the prisoners at his mercy fared,
      and not to employ murderers to destroy them by the thousands as they were
      destroyed in the prisons of New York and Philadelphia.
    </p>
    <p>
      Oliver Bunce, in His &ldquo;Romance of the Revolution,&rdquo; thus speaks of the
      inhumanity of Cunningham.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But of all atrocities those committed in the prisons and prison ships of
      New York are the most execrable, and indeed there is nothing in history to
      excel the barbarities there inflicted. Twelve thousand suffered death by
      their inhuman, cruel, savage, and barbarous usage on board the filthy and
      malignant prison ships&mdash;adding those who died and were poisoned in
      the infected prisons in the city a much larger number would be necessary
      to include all those who suffered by command of British Generals in New
      York. The scenes enacted in these prisons almost exceed belief. * * *
      Cunningham, the like of whom, for unpitying, relentless cruelty, the world
      has not produced, * * * thirsted for blood, and took an eager delight in
      murder.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He remained in New York until November, 1783, when he embarked on board a
      British man-of-war and America was no longer cursed with his presence. He
      is said to have been hung for the crime of forgery on the tenth of August,
      1791. The newspapers of the day contained the accounts of his death, and
      his dying confession. These accounts have, however, been discredited by
      historians who have in vain sought the English records for the date of his
      death. It is said that no man of the name of Cunningham was hung in
      England in the year 1791. It is not possible to find any official British
      record of his transactions while Provost Marshal, and there seems a
      mystery about the disappearance of his books kept while in charge of the
      Provost, quite as great as the mystery which envelopes his death. But
      whether or no he confessed his many crimes; whether or no he received in
      this world a portion of the punishment he deserved, it is certain that the
      crimes were committed, and duly recorded in the judgment book of God,
      before whose awful bar he has been called to account for every one of
      them.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI. &mdash; THE CASE OF JABEZ FITCH
    </h2>
    <p>
      In presenting our gleanings from the books, papers, letters, pamphlets,
      and other documents that have been written on the subject of our prisoners
      during the Revolution, we will endeavor to follow some chronological
      order, so that we may carry the story on month by month and year by year
      until that last day of the British possession of New York when Sergeant
      O&rsquo;Keefe threw down upon the pavement of the Provost the keys of that
      prison, and made his escape on board a British man-of-war.
    </p>
    <p>
      One of the prisoners taken on Long Island in the summer of 1776 was
      Captain Jabez Fitch, who was captured on the 27th of August, of that year.
      While a prisoner he contracted a scorbutic affection which rendered
      miserable thirty years of his life.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the 29th of August he was taken to the transport Pacific. It was a very
      rainy day. The officers, of whom there were about twenty-five, were in one
      boat, and the men &ldquo;being between three and four hundred in several other
      Boats, and had their hands tied behind them. In this Situation we were
      carried by several Ships, where there appeared great numbers of Women on
      Deck, who were very liberal of their Curses and Execrations: they were
      also not a little Noisy in their Insults, but clap&rsquo;d their hands and used
      other peculiar gestures in so Extraordinary a Manner yet they were in some
      Danger of leaping overboard in this surprising Extacy.&rdquo; On arriving at the
      Pacific, a very large transport ship, they were told that all officers and
      men together were to be shut down below deck. The master of the ship was a
      brute named Dunn. At sundown all were driven down the hatches, with curses
      and execrations. &ldquo;Both ye lower Decks were very full of Durt,&rdquo; and the
      rains had leaked in and made a dreadful sloppy mess of the floor, so that
      the mud was half over their shoes. At the same time they were so crowded
      that only half their number could lie down at a time.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Some time in the Evening a number of the Infernal Savages came down with
      a lanthorn and loaded two small pieces or Cannon with Grape shot, which
      were pointed through two Ports in such a manner as to Rake ye deck where
      our people lay, telling us at ye same time with many Curses yt in Case of
      any Disturbance or the least noise in ye Night, they were to be Imediately
      fired on ye Damned Rebels.&rdquo; When allowed to come on deck &ldquo;we were insulted
      by those Blackguard Villians in the most vulgar manner....We were allowed
      no water that was fit for a Beast to Drink, although they had plenty of
      good Water on board, which was used plentifully by the Seamen, etc.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lieutenant Dowdswell, with a party of Marines sent on board for our
      Guard; this Mr. Dowdswell treated us with considerable humanity, and
      appeared to be a Gentleman, nor were the Marines in General so Insolent as
      the Ships Crew....On the 31st the Commissary of Prisoners came on Board
      and took down the names, etc, of the prisoners....he told us Colonel Clark
      and many other Officers were confined at Flatbush. On Sunday, September
      1st, we were removed to the ship Lord Rochford, commanded by one Lambert.
      This ship was much crowded. Most of the Officers were lodged on the
      quarter deck. Some nights we were considerably wet with rain.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Lord Rochford lay off New Utrecht. On the third of September the
      officers that had been confined at Flatbush were brought on board the snow
      called the Mentor. &ldquo;On the fifth,&rdquo; says Fitch, in his written account, of
      which this is an abstract, &ldquo;we were removed on board this Snow, which was
      our prison for a long time. * * * We were about 90 in number, and ye Field
      Officers had Liberty of ye Cabbin, etc. * * * This Snow was commanded by
      one Davis, a very worthless, low-lived fellow. * * * When we first met on
      board the Mentor we spent a considerable time in Relating to each other ye
      particular Circumstances of our first being Taken, and also ye various
      Treatment with which we met on yt occasion, nor was this a disagreeable
      Entertainment in our Melancholy Situation. * * * Many of the officers and
      men were almost Destitute of Clothes, several having neither Britches,
      Stockings or Shoes, many of them when first taken were stripped entirely
      naked. Corporal Raymond of the 17th Regiment after being taken and
      Stripped was shamefully insulted and Abused by Gen&rsquo;l Dehightler, seized by
      ye Hair of his head, thrown on the ground, etc. Some present, who had some
      small degree of humanity in their Composition, were so good as to favor
      them (the prisoners) with some old durty worn Garments, just sufficient to
      cover their nakedness, and in this Situation (they) were made Objects of
      Ridicule for ye Diversion of those Foreign Butchers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One Sam Talman (an Indian fellow belonging to the 17th Regiment) was
      Stripped and set up as a mark for them to Shoot at for Diversion or
      Practice, by which he Received two severe wounds, in the neck and arm * *
      * afterwards they destroyed him with many hundreds others by starvation in
      the prisons of New York.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On October first orders came to land the prisoners in New York. This was
      not done until the seventh. On Monday about four o&rsquo;clock Mr. Loring
      conducted us to a very large house on the West side of Broadway in the
      corner south of Warren Street near Bridewell, where we were assigned a
      small yard back of the house, and a Stoop in ye Front for our Walk. We
      were also Indulged with Liberty to pass and Repass to an adjacent pump in
      Ye Street.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Although paroled the officers were closely confined in this place for six
      weeks. Their provisions, he says: &ldquo;were insufficient to preserve ye
      Connection between Soul and Body, yet ye Charitable People of this City
      were so good as to afford us very considerable Relief on this account, but
      it was ye poor and those who were in low circumstances only who were
      thoughtful of our Necessities, and provisions were now grown scarce and
      Excessive dear. * * * Their unparalleled generosity was undoubtedly ye
      happy means of saving many Lives, notwithstanding such great numbers
      perished with hunger.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Here we found a number of Officers made prisoners since we were, Colonel
      Selden, Colonel Moulton, etc. They were first confined in Ye City Hall.
      Colonel Selden died the Fryday after we arrived. He was Buried in the New
      Brick Churchyard, and most of the Officers were allowed to attend his
      Funeral. Dr. Thatcher of the British army attended him, a man of great
      humanity.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Captain Fitch declares that there were two thousand wounded British and
      Hessians in the hospitals in New York after the battle of Fort Washington,
      which is a much larger estimate than we have found in other accounts. He
      says that the day of the battle was Saturday, November 16th, and that the
      prisoners were not brought to New York until the Monday following. They
      were then confined in the Bridewell, as the City Jail was then called, and
      in several churches. Some of them were soon afterwards sent on board a
      prison ship, which was probably the Whitby. &ldquo;A number of the officers were
      sent to our place of confinement; Colonel Rawlings, Colonel Hobby, Major
      (Otho) Williams, etc. Rawlings and Williams were wounded, others were also
      wounded, among them Lieutenant Hanson (a young Gent&rsquo;n from Va.) who was
      Shot through ye Shoulder with a Musq&rsquo;t Ball of which wound he Died ye end
      of Dec&rsquo;r.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Many of ye charitable Inhabitants were denied admittance when they came
      to Visit us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      On the twentieth of November most of the officers were set at liberty on
      parole. &ldquo;Ye first Objects of our attention were ye poor men who had been
      unhappily Captivated with us. They had been landed about ye same time yt
      we were, and confined in several Churches and other large Buildings and
      although we had often Received Intelligence from them with ye most
      Deplorable Representation of their Miserable Situation, yet when we came
      to visit them we found their sufferings vastly superior to what we had
      been able to conceive. Nor are words sufficient to convey an Adequate Idea
      of their Unparalled Calamity. Well might ye Prophet say, &lsquo;They yt be slain
      with ye sword are better than they yt be slain with hunger, for these pine
      away, etc.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Their appearance in general Rather Resembled dead Corpses than living
      men. Indeed great numbers had already arrived at their long home, and ye
      Remainder appeared far advanced on ye same Journey: their accommodations
      were in all respects vastly Inferior to what a New England Farmer would
      have provided for his Cattle, and although ye Commissary pretended to
      furnish them with two thirds of ye allowance of ye King&rsquo;s Troops, yet they
      were cheated out of one half of that. They were many times entirely
      neglected from Day to Day, and received no Provision at all; they were
      also frequently Imposed upon in Regard to ye Quality as well as Quantity
      of their provision. Especially in the Necessary article of Bread of which
      they often received such Rotten and mouldy stuff, as was entirely unfit
      for use.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;* * * A large number of ye most feeble were Removed down to ye Quaker
      Meeting House on Queen Street, where many hundreds of them perished in a
      much more miserable Situation than ye dumb Beasts, while those whose
      particular business it was to provide them relief, paid very little or no
      attention to their unparalleled sufferings. This house I understand was
      under ye Superintendence of one Dr. Dibuke * * * who had been at least
      once convicted of stealing (in Europe) and had fled to this country for
      protection: It was said he often made application of his Cane among ye
      Sick instead of other medicines. * * * I have often been in danger of
      being stabbed for attempting to speak to a prisoner in ye yard. * * *
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;About the 24th December a large number of prisoners were embarked on a
      ship to be sent to New England. What privates of the 17th Regiment
      remained living were Included in this number, but about one half had
      already perished in Prison. I was afterwards informed that the Winds being
      unfavourable and their accommodations and provisions on board ye Ship
      being very similar to what they had been provided with before, a large
      proportion of them perished before they could reach New England, so that
      it is to be feared very few of them lived to see their native homes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Soon after there was large numbers of the prisoners sent off by land both
      to the Southward and Eastward so yt when ye Officers were Removed over
      into Long Island in the latter part of January there remained but very few
      of the privates in that City except those released by Death which number
      was supposed to be about 1800.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;General Robertson, so famous for Politeness and Humanity was commanding
      Officer at New York during the aforesaid treatment of the prisoners.
      Governor Scheene was said to have visited the prisoners at the Churches
      and manifested great dissatisfaction at their ill Usage, yet I was never
      able to learn that ye poor Sufferers Rec&rsquo;d any Advantage thereby.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Captain Jabez Fitch was a prisoner eighteen months. After the Revolution
      he lived in Vermont, where he died in 1812.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII. &mdash; THE HOSPITAL DOCTOR&mdash;A TORY&rsquo;S ACCOUNT OF NEW
      YORK IN 1777&mdash;ETHAN ALLEN&rsquo;S
    </h2>
    <p>
      ACCOUNT OF THE PRISONERS
    </p>
    <p>
      The doctor spoken of by Jabez Fitch as Dr. Dibuke is perhaps the notorious
      character described by Mr. Elias Boudinot in the Journal from which we
      have already quoted. On page 35 of this book he gives us the following:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;AN ACCOUNT OF THE FRENCHMAN WHO POISONED. AMERICAN PRISONERS IN NEW YORK,
      AND WAS REWARDED FOR SO DOING BY GENERAL, HOWE
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When the British Army took possession of New York they found a Frenchman
      in Goal, under Condemnation for Burglery and Robbery. He was liberated. He
      was a very loos, ignorant man. Had been a Servant. This fellow was set
      over our Prisoners in the Hospital, as a Surgeon, though he knew not the
      least principle of the Art. Dr. McHenry, a Physician of note in the
      American Army, and then a Prisoner, finding the extreme ignorance of this
      man, and that he was really murdering our people, remonstrated to the
      British Director of the Hospital, and refused visiting our sick Prisoners
      if this man was not dismissed. A British Officer, convinced that he had
      killed several of our People, lodged a complaint against him, when he was
      ordered to be tryed by a Court Martial, but the morning before the Court
      were to set, this Officer was ordered off to St Johns, and the Criminal
      was discharged for want of Evidence. During this man having the Charge of
      our Prisoners in the Hospital, two of our Men deserted from the Hospital
      and came into our Army when they were ordered to me for Examination. They
      Joined in this story. That they were sick in the Hospital under the care
      of the above Frenchman. That he came and examined them, and gave to each
      of them a dose of Physick to be taken immediately. A Young Woman, their
      Nurse, made them some private signs not to take the Physick immediately.
      After the Doctor was gone, she told them she suspected the Powder was
      poison. That she had several times heard this Frenchman say that he would
      have ten Rebels dead in such a Room and five dead in such a Room the next
      morning, and it always so happened. They asked her what they should do:
      She told them their only chance was to get off, sick as they were, that
      she would help them out and they must shift for themselves. They
      accordingly got off safe, and brought the Physick with them. This was
      given to a Surgeon&rsquo;s Mate, who afterwards reported that he gave it to a
      Dog, and that he died in a very short time. I afterwards saw an account in
      a London Paper of this same Frenchman being taken up in England for some
      Crime and condemned to dye. At his Execution he acknowledged the fact of
      his having murdered a great number of Rebels in the Hospitals at New York
      by poyson. That on his reporting to General Howe the number of the
      Prisoners dead, he raised his pay. He further confessed that he poisoned
      the wells used by the American Flying Camp, which caused such an uncommon
      Mortality among them in the year 1776.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Jabez Fitch seems to have been mistaken in thinking that General Robertson
      instead of Lord Howe was commanding in New York at this time.
    </p>
    <p>
      We will now give the account written by a Tory gentleman, who lived in New
      York during a part of the Revolution, of Loring, the Commissary of
      Prisons, appointed by General Howe in 1776. Judge Thomas Jones was a noted
      loyalist of the day. Finding it inconvenient to remain in this country
      after the war, he removed to England, where he died in 1792, having first
      completed his &ldquo;History of New York during the Revolution.&rdquo; He gives a much
      larger number of prisoners in that city in the year 1776 than do any of
      the other authorities. We will, however, give his statements just as they
      were written.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Upon the close of the campaign in 1776 there were not less than 10,000
      prisoners (Sailors included) within the British lines in New York. A
      Commissary of Prisoners was therefore appointed, and one Joshua Loring, a
      Bostonian, was commissioned to the office with a guinea a day, and rations
      of all kinds for himself and family. In this appointment there was
      reciprocity. Loring had a handsome wife. The General, Sir William Howe,
      was fond of her. Joshua made no objections. He fingered the cash: the
      General enjoyed Madam. Everybody supposing the next campaign (should the
      rebels ever risk another) would put a final period to the rebellion.
      Loring was determined to make the most of his commission and by
      appropriating to his own use nearly two thirds of the rations allowed the
      prisoners, he actually starved to death about three hundred of the poor
      wretches before an exchange took place, and which was not until February,
      1777, and hundreds that were alive at the time were so emaciated and
      enfeebled for the want of provisions, that numbers died on the road on
      their way home, and many lived but a few days after reaching their
      habitations. The war continuing, the Commissaryship of Prisoners grew so
      lucrative that in 1778 the Admiral thought proper to appoint one for naval
      prisoners. Upon the French War a Commissary was appointed for France. When
      Spain joined France another was appointed for Spain. When Great Britain
      made war upon Holland a Commissary was appointed for Dutch prisoners. Each
      had his guinea a day, and rations for himself and family. Besides, the
      prisoners were half starved, as the Commissaries filched their provisions,
      and disposed of them for their own use. It is a known fact, also, that
      whenever an exchange was to take place the preference was given to those
      who had, or could procure, the most money to present to the Commissaries
      who conducted the exchange, by which means large sums of money were
      unjustly extorted and demanded from the prisoners at every exchange, to
      the scandal and disgrace of Britons. We had five Commissaries of
      Prisoners, when one could have done all the business. Each Commissary had
      a Deputy, a Clerk, a Messenger in full pay, with rations of every kind.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As Judge Jones was an ardent Tory we would scarcely imagine that he would
      exaggerate in describing the corruptions of the commissaries. He greatly
      deplored the cruelties with which he taxed General Howe and other
      officials, and declared that these enormities prevented all hopes of
      reconciliation with Great Britain.
    </p>
    <p>
      We will next quote from the &ldquo;Life of Ethan Allen,&rdquo; written by himself, as
      he describes the condition of the prisoners in the churches in New York,
      more graphically than any of his contemporaries.
    </p>
    <p>
      ETHAN ALLEN&rsquo;S ACCOUNT OF THE AMERICAN PRISONERS
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our number, about thirty-four, were all locked up in one common large
      room, without regard to rank, education, or any other accomplishment,
      where we continued from the setting to the rising sun, and as sundry of
      them were infected with the gaol and other distempers, the furniture of
      this spacious room consisted principally of excrement tubs. We petitioned
      for a removal of the sick into hospitals, but were denied. We remonstrated
      against the ungenerous usage of being confined with the privates, as being
      contrary to the laws and customs of nations, and particularly ungrateful
      in them, in consequence of the gentleman-like usage which the British
      imprisoned officers met with in America; and thus we wearied ourselves
      petitioning and remonstrating, but o no purpose at all; for General
      Massey, who commanded at Halifax, was as inflexible as the d&mdash;-l
      himself. * * * Among the prisoners were five who had a legal claim to a
      parole, James Lovel, Esq; Captain Francis Proctor; a Mr. Rowland, Master
      of a Continental armed vessel; a Mr. Taylor, his mate, and myself. * * *
      The prisoners were ordered to go on board of a man-of-war, which was bound
      for New York, but two of them were not able to go on board and were left
      in Halifax: one died and the other recovered. This was about the 12th of
      October, 1776. * * * We arrived before New York and cast an anchor the
      latter part of October, where we remained several days, and where Captain
      Smith informed me that he had recommended me to Admiral Howe, and General
      Sir Wm. Howe, as a gentleman of honor and veracity, and desired that I
      might be treated as such. Captain Burk was then ordered on board a prison
      ship in the harbor. I took my leave of Captain Smith, and with the other
      prisoners was sent on board a transport ship. * * * Some of the last days
      of November the prisoners were landed at New York, and I was admitted to
      parole with the other officers, viz: Proctor, Rowland, and Taylor. The
      privates were put into the filthy churches in New York, with the
      distressed prisoners that were taken at Fort Washington, and the second
      night Sergeant Roger Moore, who was bold and enterprising, found means to
      make his escape, with every of the remaining prisoners that were taken
      with me, except three who were soon after exchanged: so that out of
      thirty-one prisoners who went with me the round exhibited in these sheets,
      two only died with the enemy, and three only were exchanged, one of whom
      died after he came within our lines. All the rest at different times made
      their escape from the enemy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I now found myself on parole, and restricted to the limits of the city of
      New York, where I soon projected means to live in some measure agreeable
      to my rank, though I was destitute of cash. My constitution was almost
      worn out by such a long and barbarous captivity. * * * In consequence of a
      regular diet and exercise my blood recruited, and my nerves in a great
      measure recovered their former tone * * * in the course of six months.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;* * * Those who had the misfortune to fall into the enemy&rsquo;s hands at Fort
      Washington * * * were reserved from immediate death to famish and die with
      hunger: in fine the word rebel&rsquo; was thought by the enemy sufficient to
      sanctify whatever cruelties they were pleased to inflict, death itself not
      excepted. * * *
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The prisoners who were brought to New York were crowded into churches,
      and environed with slavish Hessian guards, a people of a strange language
      * * * and at other times by merciless Britons, whose mode of communicating
      ideas being unintelligible in this country served only to tantalize and
      insult the helpless and perishing; but above all the hellish delight and
      triumph of the tories over them, as they were dying by hundreds. This was
      too much for me to bear as a spectator; for I saw the tories exulting over
      the dead bodies of their countrymen. I have gone into the churches and
      seen sundry of the prisoners in the agonies of death, in consequence of
      very hunger; and others speechless and near death, biting pieces of chips;
      others pleading, for God&rsquo;s sake for something to eat, and at the same time
      shivering with the cold. Hollow groans saluted my ears, and despair seemed
      to be imprinted on every of their countenances. The filth in these
      churches, in consequence of the fluxes, was almost beyond description. I
      have carefully sought to direct my steps so as to avoid it, but could not.
      They would beg for God&rsquo;s sake for one copper or morsel of bread. I have
      seen in one of the churches seven dead, at the same time, lying among the
      excrements of their bodies.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was a common practice with the enemy to convey the dead from these
      filthy places in carts, to be slightly buried, and I have seen whole gangs
      of tories making derision, and exulting over the dead, saying &lsquo;There goes
      another load of d&mdash;&mdash;d rebels!&rsquo; I have observed the British
      soldiers to be full of their blackguard jokes and vaunting on those
      occasions, but they seemed to me to be less malignant than the Tories.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The provision dealt out to the prisoners was by no means sufficient for
      the support of life. It was deficient in Quantity, and much more so in
      Quality. The prisoners often presented me with a sample of their bread,
      which I certify was damaged to such a degree that it was loathsome and
      unfit to be eaten, and I am bold to aver it as my opinion, that it had
      been condemned and was of the very worst sort. I have seen and been fed
      upon damaged bread, in the course of my captivity, and observed the
      quality of such bread as has been condemned by the enemy, among which was
      very little so effectually spoiled as what was dealt out to these
      prisoners. Their allowance of meat, as they told me, was quite trifling
      and of the basest sort. I never saw any of it, but was informed, bad as it
      was, it was swallowed almost as quick as they got hold of it. I saw some
      of them sucking bones after they were speechless; others who could yet
      speak and had the use of their reason, urged me in the strongest and most
      pathetic manner, to use my interest in their behalf: &lsquo;For you plainly
      see,&rsquo; said they, &lsquo;that we are devoted to death and destruction,&rsquo; and after
      I had examined more particularly into their truly deplorable condition and
      had become more fully apprized of the essential facts, I was persuaded
      that it was a premeditated and systematized plan of the British council to
      destroy the youths of our land, with a view thereby to deter the country
      and make it submit to their despotism: but as I could not do them any
      material service, and by any public attempt for that purpose I might
      endanger myself by frequenting places the most nauseous and contagious
      that could be conceived of, I refrained going into the churches, but
      frequently conversed with such of the prisoners as were admitted to come
      out into the yard, and found that the systematical usage still continued.
      The guard would often drive me away with their fixed bayonets. A Hessian
      one day followed me five or six rods, but by making use of my legs, I got
      rid of the lubber.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sometimes I could obtain a little conversation notwithstanding their
      severities.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was in one of the yards and it was rumoured among those in the church,
      and sundry of the prisoners came with their usual complaints to me, and
      among the rest a large-boned, tall young man, as he told me from
      Pennsylvania, who was reduced to a mere skeleton. He said he was glad to
      see me before he died, which he had expected to have done last night, but
      was a little revived. He further informed me that he and his brother had
      been urged to enlist into the British army, but had both resolved to die
      first; that his brother had died last night, in consequence of that
      resolve, and that he expected shortly to follow him; but I made the other
      prisoners stand a little off and told him with a low voice to enlist; he
      then asked whether it was right in the sight of God? I assured him that it
      was, and that duty to himself obliged him to deceive the British by
      enlisting and deserting the first opportunity; upon which he answered with
      transport that he would enlist. I charged him not to mention my name as
      his adviser, lest it should get air and I should be closely confined, in
      consequence of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The integrity of these suffering prisoners is incredible. Many hundreds
      of them, I am confident, submitted to death rather than enlist in the
      British service, which, I am informed, they most generally were pressed to
      do. I was astonished at the resolution of the two brothers, particularly;
      it seems that they could not be stimulated to such exertions of heroism
      from ambition, as they were but obscure soldiers. Strong indeed must the
      internal principle of virtue be which supported them to brave death, and
      one of them went through the operation, as did many hundreds others * * *
      These things will have their proper effect upon the generous and brave.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The officers on parole were most of them zealous, if possible, to afford
      the miserable soldiers relief, and often consulted with one another on the
      subject, but to no effect, being destitute of the means of subsistence
      which they needed, nor could they project any measure which they thought
      would alter their fate, or so much as be a mean of getting them out of
      those filthy places to the privilege of fresh air. Some projected that all
      the officers should go in procession to General Howe and plead the cause
      of the perishing soldiers, but this proposal was negatived for the
      following reasons: viz: because that General Howe must needs be well
      acquainted and have a thorough knowledge of the state and condition of the
      prisoners in every of their wretched apartments, and that much more
      particular and exact than any officer on parole could be supposed to have,
      as the General had a return of the circumstances of the prisoners by his
      own officers every morning, of the number who were alive, as also of the
      number who died every twenty-four hours: and consequently the bill of
      mortality, as collected from the daily returns, lay before him with all
      the material situations and circumstances of the prisoners, and provided
      the officers should go in procession to General Howe, according to the
      projection, it would give him the greatest affront, and that he would
      either retort upon them, that it was no part of their parole to instruct
      him in his conduct to prisoners; that they were mutinying against his
      authority, and, by affronting him, had forfeited their parole, or that,
      more probably, instead of saying one word to them, would order them all
      into as wretched a confinement as the soldiers whom they sought to
      relieve, for at that time the British, from the General to the private
      centinel, were in full confidence, nor did they so much as hesitate, but
      that they should conquer the country.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thus the consultation of the officers was confounded and broken to
      pieces, in consequence of the dread which at the time lay on their minds
      of offending General Howe; for they conceived so murderous a tryant would
      not be too good to destroy even the officers on the least pretence of an
      affront, as they were equally in his power with the soldiers; and as
      General Howe perfectly understood the condition of the private soldiers,
      it was argued that it was exactly such as he and his council had devised,
      and as he meant to destroy them it would be to no purpose for them to try
      to dissuade him from it, as they were helpless and liable to the same
      fate, on giving the least affront. Indeed anxious apprehensions disturbed
      them in their then circumstances.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Meantime mortality raged to such an intolerable degree among the
      prisoners that the very school boys in the street knew the mental design
      of it in some measure; at least they knew that they were starved to death.
      Some poor women contributed to their necessity till their children were
      almost starved; and all persons of common understanding knew that they
      were devoted to the cruellest and worst of deaths.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was also proposed by some to make a written representation of the
      condition of the soldiery, and the officers to sign it, and that it should
      be couched in such terms, as though they were apprehensive that the
      General was imposed upon by his officers, in their daily returns to him of
      the state and condition of the prisoners, and that therefor the officers
      moved with compassion, were constrained to communicate to him the facts
      relative to them, nothing doubting but that they would meet with a speedy
      redress; but this proposal was most generally negatived also, and for much
      the same reason offered in the other case; for it was conjectured that
      General Howe&rsquo;s indignation would be moved against such officers as should
      attempt to whip him over his officers&rsquo; backs; that he would discern that
      he himself was really struck at, and not the officers who made the daily
      returns; and therefor self preservation deterred the officers from either
      petitioning or remonstrating to General Howe, either verbally or in
      writing; as also they considered that no valuable purpose to the
      distressed would be obtained.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I made several rough drafts on the subject, one of which I exhibited to
      the Colonels Magaw, Miles, and Atlee; and they said that they would
      consider the matter. Soon after I called on them, and some of the
      gentlemen informed me that they had written to the General on the subject,
      and I concluded that the gentlemen thought it best that they should write
      without me, as there was such spirited aversion subsisting between the
      British and me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Ethan Allen goes on to say: &ldquo;Our little army was retreating in New Jersey
      and our young men murdered by hundreds in New York.&rdquo; He then speaks of
      Washington&rsquo;s success at Trenton in the following terms: &ldquo;This success had
      a mighty effect on General Howe and his council, and roused them to a
      sense of their own weakness. * * * Their obduracy and death-designing
      malevolence in some measure abated or was suspended. The prisoners, who
      were condemned to the most wretched and cruellest of deaths, and who
      survived to this period, <i>though most of them died before,</i> were
      immediately ordered to be sent within General Washington&rsquo;s lines, for an
      exchange, and in consequence of it were taken out of their filthy and
      poisonous places of confinement, and sent out of New York to their friends
      in haste. Several of them fell dead in the streets of New York, as they
      attempted to walk to the vessels in the harbor, for their intended
      embarkation. What number lived to reach the lines I cannot ascertain, but,
      from concurrent representations which I have since received from numbers
      of people who lived in and adjacent to such parts of the country, where
      they were received from the enemy, <i>I apprehend that most of them died
      in consequence of the vile usage of the enemy.</i> Some who were eye
      witnesses of the scene of mortality, more especially in that part which
      continued after the exchange took place, are of opinion that it was partly
      in consequence of a slow poison; but this I refer to the doctors who
      attended them, who are certainly the best judges.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Upon the best calculation I have been able to make from personal
      knowledge, and the many evidences I have collected in support of the
      facts, I learn that, of the prisoners taken on Long Island and Fort
      Washington and some few others, at different times and places, about two
      thousand perished with hunger, cold, and sickness, occasioned by the filth
      of their prisons, at New York; and a number more on their passage to the
      continental lines; most of the residue who reached their friends having
      received their death wound, could not be restored by the assistance of
      their physicians and friends: but like their brother prisoners, fell a
      sacrifice to the relentless and scientific barbarity of the British. I
      took as much pains as the circumstances would admit of to inform myself
      not only of matters of fact, but likewise of the very design and aims of
      General Howe and his council, the latter of which I predicated on the
      former, and submit it to the candid public.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII. &mdash; THE ACCOUNT OF ALEXANDER GRAYDON
    </h2>
    <p>
      One of the most interesting and best memoirs of revolutionary times is
      that written by Alexander Graydon, and as he was taken prisoner at Fort
      Washington, and closely connected with the events in New York during the
      winter of 1776-7, we will quote here his account of his captivity.
    </p>
    <p>
      He describes the building of Fort Washington in July of 1776 by the men of
      Magaw&rsquo;s and Hand&rsquo;s regiments. General Putnam was the engineer. It was
      poorly built for defence, and not adapted for a siege.
    </p>
    <p>
      Graydon was a captain in Colonel Shee&rsquo;s Regiment, but, for some reason or
      other, Shee went home just before the battle was fought, and his troops
      were commanded by Cadwallader in his stead. Graydon puts the number of
      privates taken prisoner at 2706 and the officers at about 210. Bedinger,
      as we have already seen, states that there were 2673 privates and 210
      officers. He was a man of painstaking accuracy, and it is quite probable
      that his account is the most trustworthy. As one of the privates was
      Bedinger&rsquo;s own young brother, a boy of fifteen, whom he undoubtedly
      visited as often as possible, while Graydon only went once to the prisons,
      perhaps Bedinger had the best opportunities for computing the number of
      captives.
    </p>
    <p>
      Graydon says that Colonel Rawlings was, some time late in the morning of
      the 16th of November, attacked by the Hessians, when he fought with great
      gallantry and effect as they were climbing the heights, until the arms of
      the riflemen became useless from the foulness they contracted from the
      frequent repetition of their fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      Graydon, himself, becoming separated from his own men, mistook a party of
      Highlanders for them, and was obliged to surrender to them. He was put
      under charge of a Scotch sergeant, who said to him and his companion,
      Forrest: &ldquo;Young men, ye should never fight against your King!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Just then a British officer rode up at full gallop exclaiming, &ldquo;What!
      taking prisoners! Kill them, Kill every man of them!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My back was towards him when he spoke,&rdquo; says Graydon, &ldquo;and although by
      this time there was none of that appearance of ferocity in the guard which
      would induce much fear that they would execute his command, I yet thought
      it well enough to parry it, and turning to him, I took off my hat, saying,
      &lsquo;Sir, I put myself under your protection!&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No man was ever more effectually rebuked. His manner was instantly
      softened; he met my salutation with an inclination of his body, and after
      a civil question or two, as if to make amends for his sanguinary mandate,
      rode off towards the fort, to which he had enquired the way.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Though I had delivered up my arms I had not adverted to a cartouche box
      which I wore about my waist, and which, having once belonged to his
      British Majesty, presented in front the gilded letters, G. R. Exasperated
      at this trophy on the body of a rebel, one of the soldiers seized the belt
      with great violence, and in the act to unbuckle it, had nearly jerked me
      off my legs. To appease the offended loyalty of the honest Scot I
      submissively took it off and handed it to him, being conscious that I had
      no longer any right to it. At this moment a Hessian came up. He was not a
      private, neither did he look like a regular officer. He was some retainer,
      however, to the German troops, and as much of a brute as any one I have
      ever seen in human form. The wretch came near enough to elbow us, and,
      half unsheathing his sword, with a countenance that bespoke a most
      vehement desire to use it against us, he grunted out in broken English,
      &lsquo;Eh! you rebel! you damn rebel!&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I had by this time entire confidence in our Scotchmen, and therefore
      regarded the caitiff with the same indifference that I should have viewed
      a caged wild beast, though with much greater abhorrence. * * *
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We were marched to an old stable, where we found about forty or fifty
      prisoners already collected, principally officers, of whom I only
      particularly recollect Lieutenant Brodhead of our battalion. We remained
      on the outside of the building; and, for nearly an hour, sustained a
      series of the most intolerable abuse. This was chiefly from the officers
      of the light infantry, for the most part young and insolent puppies, whose
      worthlessness was apparently their recommendation to a service, which
      placed them in the post of danger, and in the way of becoming food for
      powder, their most appropriate destination next to that of the gallows.
      The term &lsquo;rebel,&rsquo; with the epithet &lsquo;damned&rsquo; before it, was the mildest we
      received. We were twenty times told, sometimes with a taunting affectation
      of concern, that we should every man of us be hanged. * * * The indignity
      of being ordered about by such contemptible whipsters, for a moment
      unmanned me, and I was obliged to apply my handkerchief to my eyes. This
      was the first time in my life that I had been the victim of brutal,
      cowardly oppression, and I was unequal to the shock; but my elasticity of
      mind was soon restored, and I viewed it with the indignant contempt it
      deserved.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For the greater convenience of guarding us we were now removed to the
      barn of Colonel Morris&rsquo;s house, which had been the head-quarters of our
      army. * * * It was a good, new building. * * * There were from a hundred
      and fifty to two hundred, comprising a motley group, to be sure. Men and
      officers of all descriptions, regulars and militia, troops continental and
      state, and some in hunting shirts, the mortal aversion of a red coat. Some
      of the officers had been plundered of their hats, and some of their coats,
      and upon the new society into which we were introduced, with whom a showy
      exterior was all in all, we were certainly not calculated to make a very
      favorable impression. I found Captain Tudor here, of our regiment, who, if
      I mistake not, had lost his hat. * * * It was announced, by an huzza, that
      the fort had surrendered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The officer who commanded the guard in whose custody we now were, was an
      ill-looking, low-bred fellow of this dashing corps of light infantry. * *
      * As I stood as near as possible to the door for the sake of air, the
      enclosure in which we were being extremely crowded and unpleasant, I was
      particularly exposed to his brutality; and repelling with some severity
      one of his attacks, for I was becoming desperate and careless of safety,
      the ruffian exclaimed, &lsquo;Not a word, sir, or damme, I&rsquo;ll give you my butt!&rsquo; 
      at the same time clubbing his fusee, and drawing it back as if to give the
      blow, I fully expected it, but he contented himself with the threat. I
      observed to him that I was in his power, and disposed to submit to it,
      though not proof against every provocation. * * * There were several
      British officers present, when a Serjeant-Major came to take an account of
      us, and particularly a list of such of us as were officers. This Serjeant,
      though not uncivil, had all that animated, degagè impudence of air, which
      belongs to a self complacent, non-commissioned officer of the most
      arrogant army in the world; and with his pen in his hand and his paper on
      his knee applied to each of us in his turn for his rank. * * * The
      sentinels were withdrawn to the distance of about ten or twelve feet, and
      we were told that such of us as were officers might walk before the door.
      This was a great relief to us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The officers were lodged in the barn loft quite comfortably. A young
      Lieutenant Beckwith had them in charge, and was a humane gentleman. In the
      evening he told them he would send them, if possible, a bottle of wine,
      but at any rate, a bottle of spirits. He kept his word as to the spirits,
      which was all the supper the party in the loft had. &ldquo;In the morning a
      soldier brought me Mr. B.&lsquo;s compliments, and an invitation to come down
      and breakfast with him. * * * I thankfully accepted his invitation, and
      took with me Forrest and Tudor. * * * He gave us a dish of excellent
      coffee, with plenty of very good toast, which was the only morsel we had
      eaten for the last twenty-four hours. * * * Our fellow sufferers got
      nothing until next morning. * * *
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All the glory that was going (in the battle of Fort Washington) had, in
      my idea of what had passed, been engrossed by the regiment of Rawlings,
      which had been actively engaged, killed a number of the enemy, and lost
      many themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;About two o&rsquo;clock Mr. B. sent me a plate amply supplied with corned beef,
      cabbage, and the leg and wing of a turkey, with bread in proportion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Though Mr. Graydon calls this gentleman Mr. Becket, it seems that there
      was no young officer of that name at the battle of Fort Washington. Becket
      appears to be a mistake for Lieutenant Onslow Beckwith. The prisoners were
      now marched within six miles of New York and Graydon&rsquo;s party of officers
      were well quartered in a house. &ldquo;Here,&rdquo; he continues, &ldquo;for the first time
      we drew provisions for the famished soldiers. * * * Previously to entering
      the city we were drawn up for about an hour on the high ground near the
      East River. Here, the officers being separated from the men, we were
      conducted into a church, where we signed a parole.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At this place a non-commissioned British officer, who had seen him at the
      ordinary kept by his widowed mother in Philadelphia, when he was a boy,
      insisted on giving him a dollar.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Quarters were assigned for us in the upper part of the town, in what was
      called &lsquo;The holy ground.&rsquo; * * * I ventured to take board at four dollars
      per week with a Mrs. Carroll. * * * Colonel Magaw, Major West, and others,
      boarded with me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He was fortunate in obtaining his trunk and mattress. Speaking of the
      prisons in which the privates were confined he says: &ldquo;I once and once only
      ventured to penetrate into these abodes of human misery and despair. But
      to what purpose repeat my visit, when I had neither relief to administer
      nor comfort to bestow? * * * I endeavoured to comfort them with the hope
      of exchange, but humanity forbade me to counsel them to rush on sure
      destruction. * * * Our own condition was a paradise to theirs. * * *
      Thousands of my unhappy countrymen were consigned to slow, consuming
      tortures, equally fatal and potent to destruction.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The American officers on parole in New York prepared a memorial to Sir
      William Howe on the condition of these wretched sufferers, and it was
      signed by Colonels Magaw, Miles, and Atlee. This is, no doubt, the paper
      of which Colonel Ethan Allen writes. Captain Graydon was commissioned to
      deliver this document to Sir William Howe. He says: &ldquo;The representation
      which had been submitted to General Howe in behalf of the suffering
      prisoners was more successful than had been expected. * * * The
      propositions had been considered by Sir William Howe, and he was disposed
      to accede to them. These were that the men should be sent within our
      lines, where they should be receipted for, and an equal number of the
      prisoners in our hands returned in exchange. * * * Our men, no longer
      soldiers (their terms for which they had enlisted having expired) and too
      debilitated for service, gave a claim to sound men, immediately fit to
      take the field, and there was moreover great danger that if they remained
      in New York the disease with which they were infected might be spread
      throughout the city. At any rate hope was admitted into the mansions of
      despair, the prison doors were thrown open, and the soldiers who were yet
      alive and capable of being moved were conveyed to our nearest posts, under
      the care of our regimental surgeons, to them a fortunate circumstance,
      since it enabled them to exchange the land of bondage for that of liberty.
      * * * Immediately after the release of our men a new location was assigned
      to us. On the 22nd of January, 1777, we were removed to Long Island.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX. &mdash; A FOUL PAGE OF ENGLISH HISTORY
    </h2>
    <p>
      We will not follow Mr. Graydon now to Long Island. It was then late in
      January, 1777. The survivors of the American prisoners were, many of them,
      exchanged for healthy British soldiers. The crime had been committed, one
      of the blackest which stains the annals of English history. By the most
      accurate computation at least two thousand helpless American prisoners had
      been slowly starved, frozen, or poisoned to death in the churches and
      other prisons in New York.
    </p>
    <p>
      No excuse for this monstrous crime can be found, even by those who are
      anxiously in search of an adequate one.
    </p>
    <p>
      We have endeavored to give some faint idea of the horrors of that hopeless
      captivity. As we have already said scarcely any one who endured
      imprisonment for any length of time in the churches lived to tell the
      tale. One of these churches was standing not many years ago, and the marks
      of bayonet thrusts might plainly be seen upon its pillars. What terrible
      deeds were enacted there we can only conjecture. We <i>know</i> that two
      thousand, healthy, high-spirited young men, many of them sons of
      gentlemen, and all patriotic, brave, and long enduring, even unto death,
      were foully murdered in these places of torment, compared to which
      ordinary captivity is described by one who endured it as paradise. We
      know, we say, that these young men perished awfully, rather than enlist in
      the British army; that posterity has almost forgotten them, and that their
      dreadful sufferings ought to be remembered wherever American history is
      read.
    </p>
    <p>
      We have already said that it is impossible now to obtain the names of all
      who suffered death at the hands of their inhuman jailors during the fall
      and winter of 1776-7. But we have taken Captain Abraham Shepherd&rsquo;s company
      of riflemen as a sample of the prisoners, and are able, thanks to the pay
      roll now in our care, to indicate the fate of each man upon the list.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is a mistake to say that no prisoners deserted to the British. After
      the account we have quoted from Ethan Allen&rsquo;s book we feel sure that no
      one can find the heart to blame the poor starving creatures who endeavored
      to preserve their remains of life in this manner.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry Bedinger gives the names of seven men of this company who deserted.
      They are Thomas Knox, a corporal; William Anderson, Richard Neal, George
      Taylor, Moses McComesky, Anthony Blackhead and Anthony Larkin. Thomas Knox
      did not join the British forces until the 17th of January, 1777; William
      Anderson on the 20th of January, 1777. Richard Neal left the American army
      on the tenth of August, 1776. He, therefore, was not with the regiment at
      Fort Washington. George Taylor deserted on the 9th of July, 1776, which
      was nine days after he enlisted. Moses McComesky did not desert until the
      14th of June, 1777. Anthony Blackhead deserted November 15th, 1776, the
      day before the battle was fought; Anthony Larkin, September 15th, 1776. We
      cannot tell what became of any of these men. Those who died of the
      prisoners are no less than fifty-two in this one company of seventy-nine
      privates and non-commissioned officers. This may and probably does include
      a few who lived to be exchanged. The date of death of each man is given,
      but not the place in which he died.
    </p>
    <p>
      A very singular fact about this record is that no less than <i>seventeen</i>
      of the prisoners of this company died on the same day, which was the
      fifteenth of February, 1777. Why this was so we cannot tell. We can only
      leave the cause of their death to the imagination of our readers. Whether
      they were poisoned by wholesale; whether they were murdered in attempting
      to escape; whether the night being extraordinarily severe, they froze to
      death; whether they were butchered by British bayonets, we are totally
      unable to tell. The record gives their names and the date of death and
      says that all seventeen were prisoners. That is all.
    </p>
    <p>
      The names of these men are Jacob Wine, William Waller, Peter Snyder,
      Conrad Rush, David Harmon, William Moredock, William Wilson, James Wilson,
      Thomas Beatty, Samuel Davis, John Cassody, Peter Good, John Nixon,
      Christopher Peninger, Benjamin McKnight, John McSwaine, James Griffith,
      and Patrick Murphy.
    </p>
    <p>
      Two or three others are mentioned as dying the day after. Is it possible
      that these men were on board one of the prison ships which was set on
      fire? If so we have been able to discover no account of such a disaster on
      that date.
    </p>
    <p>
      Many of the papers of Major Henry Bedinger were destroyed. It is possible
      that he may have left some clue to the fate of these men, but if so it is
      probably not now in existence. But among the letters and memoranda written
      by him which have been submitted to us for inspection, is a list, written
      on a scrap of paper, of the men that he recruited for Captain Shepherd&rsquo;s
      Company in the summer of 1776. This paper gives the names of the men and
      the date on which each one died in prison. It is as follows:
    </p>
    <p>
      LIST OF MEN RAISED BY LIEUTENANT HENRY BEDINGER, AND THAT HE BROUGHT
    </p>
    <p>
      FROM NEW TOWN, BERKELEY COUNTY, VA., AUGUST FIRST, 1776
    </p>
    <p>
      Dennis Bush, Fourth Sergeant. (He was taken prisoner at Fort Washington,
      but lived to be exchanged, and was paid up to October 1st, 1778, at the
      end of the term for which the company enlisted.)
    </p>
    <p>
      Conrad Cabbage, Prisoner, Died, Jan. 7th, 1777. John Cummins, Prisoner,
      Died, Jan. 27th, 1777. Gabriel Stevens, Prisoner, Died, March 1st, 1777.
      William Donally, Prisoner, Died, Jan. 10th, 1777. David Gilmer, Prisoner,
      Died, Jan. 26th, 1777. John Cassady, Prisoner, Died, Feb. 15th, 1777.
      Samuel Brown, Prisoner, Died, Feb. 26th, 1777. Peter Good, Prisoner, Died,
      Feb. 13th, 1777. William Boyle, Prisoner, Died, Feb. 25th, 1777. John
      Nixon, Prisoner, Died, Feb. 18th, 1777. Anthony Blackhead, deserted, Nov.
      15th, 1776. William Case, Prisoner, Died, March 15th, 1777. Caspar Myres,
      Prisoner, Died, Feb. 16th, 1777. William Seaman, Prisoner, Died, July 8th,
      1777. Isaac Price, Prisoner, Died, Feb. 5th, 1777. Samuel Davis, Prisoner,
      Died, Feb. 15th, 1777.
    </p>
    <p>
      William Seaman was the son of Jonah Seaman, living near Darkesville. Isaac
      Price was an orphan, living with James&rsquo; Campbell&rsquo;s father. Samuel Davis
      came from near Charlestown.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry Bedinger.
    </p>
    <p>
      This is all, but it is eloquent with what it does not say. All but two of
      this list of seventeen young, vigorous riflemen died in prison or from the
      effects of confinement. One, alone had sufficient vitality to endure until
      the 8th of July, 1777. Perhaps he was more to be pitied than his comrades.
    </p>
    <p>
      We now begin to understand how it happened that, out of more than 2,600
      privates taken prisoner at Fort Washington, 1,900 were dead in the space
      of two months and four days, when the exchange of some of the survivors
      took place. Surely this is a lasting disgrace to one of the greatest
      nations of the world. If, as seems undoubtedly true, more men perished in
      prison than on the battle fields of the Revolution, it is difficult to see
      why so little is made of this fact in the many histories of that struggle
      that have been written. We find that the accounts of British prisons are
      usually dismissed in a few words, sometimes in an appendix, or a casual
      note. But history was ever written thus. Great victories are elaborately
      described; and all the pomp and circumstance of war is set down for our
      pleasure and instruction. But it is due to the grand solemn muse of
      history, who carries the torch of truth, that the other side, the horrors
      of war, should be as faithfully delineated. Wars will not cease until the
      lessons of their cruelty, their barbarity, and the dark trail of suffering
      they leave behind them are deeply impressed upon the mind. It is our
      painful task to go over the picture, putting in the shadows as we see
      them, however gloomy may be the effect.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER X. &mdash; A BOY IN PRISON
    </h2>
    <p>
      In the winter of 1761 a boy was born in a German settlement near
      Lancaster, Pennsylvania, the third son of Henry Bedinger and his wife,
      whose maiden name was Magdalene von Schlegel. These Germans, whom we have
      already mentioned, moved, in 1762, to the neighborhood of the little
      hamlet, then called Mecklenburg, Berkeley County, Virginia. Afterwards the
      name of the town was changed to Shepherdstown, in honor of its chief
      proprietor, Thomas Shepherd.
    </p>
    <p>
      Daniel was a boy of fourteen when the first company of riflemen was raised
      at Shepherdstown by the gallant young officer, Captain Hugh Stephenson, in
      1775.
    </p>
    <p>
      The rendezvous of this company was the spring on his mother&rsquo;s farm, then
      called Bedinger&rsquo;s Spring, where the clear water gushes out of a great rock
      at the foot of an ancient oak. The son of Daniel Bedinger, Hon. Henry
      Bedinger, Minister to the Court of Denmark in 1853, left a short account
      of his father&rsquo;s early history, which we will quote in this place. He says:
      &ldquo;When the war of the Revolution commenced my father&rsquo;s eldest brother Henry
      was about twenty-two years of age. His next brother, Michael, about
      nineteen, and he himself only in his fifteenth year. Upon the first news
      of hostilities his two brothers joined a volunteer company under the
      command of Captain Hugh Stephenson, and set off immediately to join the
      army at Cambridge.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My father himself was extremely anxious to accompany them, but they and
      his mother, who was a widow, forbade his doing so, telling him he was
      entirely too young, and that he must stay at home and take care of his
      younger brothers and sisters. And he was thus very reluctantly compelled
      to remain at home. At the expiration of about twelve months his brothers
      returned home, and when the time for their second departure had arrived,
      the wonderful tales they had narrated of their life in camp had wrought so
      upon my father&rsquo;s youthful and ardent imagination that he besought them and
      his mother with tears in his eyes, to suffer him to accompany them. But
      they, regarding his youth, would not give their consent, but took their
      departure without him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;However, the second night after their arrival in camp (which was at
      Bergen, New Jersey), they were astonished by the arrival of my father, he
      having run off from home and followed them all the way on foot, and now
      appeared before them, haggard and weary and half starved by the lengths of
      his march. * * * My father was taken prisoner at the battle of Fort
      Washington, and the privations and cruel treatment which he then underwent
      gave a blow to his constitution from which he never recovered. After the
      close of the Revolution he returned home with a constitution much
      shattered. * * *&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Many years after the Revolution Dr. Draper, who died in Madison,
      Wisconsin, and left his valuable manuscripts to the Historical Society of
      that State, interviewed an old veteran of the war, in Kentucky. This
      venerable relic of the Revolution was Major George Michael Bedinger, a
      brother of Daniel. Dr. Draper took down from his lips a short account of
      the battle of Fort Washington, where his two brothers were captured. Major
      G. M. Bedinger was not in service at that time, but must have received the
      account from one or both of his brothers. Dr. Draper says: &ldquo;In the action
      of Fort Washington Henry Bedinger heard a Hessian captain, having been
      repulsed, speak to his riflemen in his own language, telling them to
      follow his example and reserve their fire until they were close. Bedinger,
      recognizing his mother tongue, watched the approach of the Hessian
      officer, and each levelled his unerring rifle at the other. Both fired,
      Bedinger was wounded in the finger: the ball passing, cut off a lock of
      his hair. The Hessian was shot through the head, and instantly expired.
      Captain Bedinger&rsquo;s young brother Daniel, in his company, then but a little
      past fifteen, shot twenty-seven rounds, and was often heard to say, after
      discharging his piece, &lsquo;There! take that, you&mdash;&mdash;!&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His youthful intrepidity, and gallant conduct, so particularly attracted
      the attention of the officers, that, though taken prisoner, he was
      promoted to an ensigncy, his commission dating back six months that he
      might take precedence of the other ensigns of his company.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;These two brothers remained prisoners, the youngest but a few months, and
      the elder nearly four years, both on prison ships, with the most cruel
      treatment, in filthy holds, impure atmosphere, and stinted allowance of
      food. With such treatment it was no wonder that but eight hundred out of
      the 2800 prisoners taken at Fort Washington survived.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;During the captivity of his brother Henry, Major Bedinger would by labor,
      loans at different times, and the property sold which he inherited from
      his father, procure money to convey to the British Commissary of Prisoners
      to pay his brother Henry&rsquo;s board. Then he was released from the filthy
      prison ship, limited on his parole of honor to certain limits at Flatbush,
      and decently provisioned and better treated, and it is pleasant to add
      that the British officers having charge of these matters were faithful in
      the proper application of funds thus placed in their hands. Major Bedinger
      made many trips on this labor of fraternal affection. This, with his
      attention to his mother and family, kept him from regularly serving in the
      army. But he, never the less, would make short tours of service.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So far we have quoted Dr. Draper&rsquo;s recollections of an interview with
      George Michael Bedinger in his extreme old age. We have already given
      Henry Bedinger&rsquo;s own acount of his captivity. What we know of Daniel&rsquo;s far
      severer treatment we will give in our own words.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was four days before the privates taken at Fort Washington had one
      morsel to eat. They were then given a little mouldy biscuit and raw pork.
      They were marched to New York, and Daniel was lodged with many others,
      perhaps with the whole company, in the Old Sugar House on Liberty Street.
      Here he very nearly died of exposure and starvation. There was no glass in
      the windows and scarce one of the prisoners was properly clothed. When it
      snowed they were drifted over as they slept.
    </p>
    <p>
      One day Daniel discovered in some vats a deposit of sugar which he was
      glad to scrape to sustain life. A gentleman, confined with him in the Old
      Sugar House, used to tell his descendants that the most terrible fight he
      ever engaged in was a struggle with a comrade in prison for the carcass of
      a decayed rat.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is possible that Henry Bedinger, an officer on parole in New York, may
      have found some means of communicating with his young brother, and even of
      supplying him, sometimes, with food. Daniel, however, was soon put on
      board a prison ship, probably the Whitby, in New York harbor.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before the first exchange was effected the poor boy had yielded to
      despair, and had turned his face to the wall, to die. How bitterly he must
      have regretted the home he had been so ready to leave a few months before!
      And now the iron had eaten into his soul, and he longed for death, as the
      only means of release from his terrible sufferings.
    </p>
    <p>
      Daniel&rsquo;s father was born in Alsace, and he himself had been brought up in
      a family where German was the familiar language of the household. It seems
      that, in some way, probably by using his mother tongue, he had touched the
      heart of one of the Hessian guards. When the officers in charge went among
      the prisoners, selecting those who were to be exchanged, they twice passed
      the poor boy as too far gone to be moved. But he, with a sudden revival of
      hope and the desire to live, begged and entreated the Hessian so pitifully
      not to leave him behind, that that young man, who is said to have been an
      officer, declared that he would be responsible for him, had him lifted and
      laid down in the bottom of a boat, as he was too feeble to sit or stand.
      In this condition he accompanied the other prisoners to a church in New
      York where the exchange was effected. One or more of the American surgeons
      accompanied the prisoners. In some way Daniel was conveyed to
      Philadelphia, where he completely collapsed, and was taken to one of the
      military hospitals.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here, about the first of January, 1777, his devoted brother, George
      Michael Bedinger, found him. Major Bedinger&rsquo;s son, Dr. B. F. Bedinger,
      wrote an account of the meeting of these two brothers for Mrs. H. B. Lee,
      one of Daniel&rsquo;s daughters, which tells the rest of the story. He said:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My father went to the hospital in search of his brother, but did not
      recognize him. On inquiry if there were any (that had been) prisoners
      there a feeble voice responded, from a little pile of straw and rags in a
      corner, &lsquo;Yes, Michael, there is one.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Overcome by his feelings my father knelt by the side of the poor
      emaciated boy, and took him in his arms. He then bore him to a house where
      he could procure some comforts in the way of food and clothing. After this
      he got an armchair, two pillows, and some leather straps.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He placed his suffering and beloved charge in the chair, supported him by
      the pillows, swung him by the leather straps to his back, and carried him
      some miles into the country, where he found a friendly asylum for him in
      the house of some good Quakers. There he nursed him, and by the aid of the
      kind owners, who were farmers, gave him nourishing food, until he
      partially recovered strength.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But your father was very impatient to get home, and wished to proceed
      before he was well able to walk, and did so leave, while my father walked
      by his side, with his arm around him to support him. Thus they travelled
      from the neighborhood of Philadelphia, to Shepherdstown (Virginia) of
      course by short stages, when my father restored him safe to his mother and
      family.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your father related some of the incidents of that trip to me when I last
      saw him at Bedford (his home) in the spring of 1817, not more than one
      year before his death. Our uncle, Henry Bedinger, was also a prisoner for
      a long time, and although he suffered greatly his suffering was not to be
      compared to your father&rsquo;s.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After your father recovered his health he again entered the service and
      continued in it to the end of the war. He was made Lieutenant, and I have
      heard my father speak of many battles he was in, but I have forgotten the
      names and places.&rdquo; [Footnote: Letter of Dr B. F. Bedinger to Mrs H. B.
      Lee, written in 1871.]
    </p>
    <p>
      After Daniel Bedinger returned home he had a relapse, and lay, for a long
      time, at the point of death. He, however, recovered, and re-entered the
      service, where the first duty assigned him was that of acting as one of
      the guards over the prisoners near Winchester. He afterwards fought with
      Morgan in the southern campaigns, was in the battle of the Cowpens, and
      several other engagements, serving until the army was disbanded. He was a
      Knight of the Order of the Cincinnati. His grandson, the Rev. Henry
      Bedinger, has the original parchment signed by General Washington, in his
      possession. This grandson is now the chaplain of the Virginia branch of
      the Society.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1791 Daniel Bedinger married Miss Sarah Rutherford, a daughter of Hon.
      Robert Rutherford, of Flowing Springs, in what is now Jefferson County,
      West Virginia, but was then part of Berkeley County, Virginia.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lieutenant Bedinger lived in Norfolk for many years. He was first engaged
      in the Custom House in that city. In 1802 he accepted the position of navy
      agent of the Gosport Navy Yard. He died in 1818 at his home near
      Shepherdstown, of a malady which troubled him ever after his confinement
      as a prisoner in New York. He hated the British with a bitter hatred,
      which is not to be wondered at. He was an ardent supporter of Thomas
      Jefferson, and wrote much for the periodicals of the time. Withal he was a
      scholarly gentleman, and a warm and generous friend. He built a beautiful
      residence on the site of his mother&rsquo;s old home near Sheperdstown; where,
      when he died in 1818, he left a large family of children, and a wide
      circle of friends and admirers.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XI. &mdash; THE NEWSPAPERS OF THE REVOLUTION
    </h2>
    <p>
      What we have been able to glean from the periodicals of the day about the
      state of the prisons in New York during the years 1776 and 1777 we will
      condense into one short chapter.
    </p>
    <p>
      We will also give an abstract taken from a note book written by General
      Jeremiah Johnson, who as a boy, lived near Wallabout Bay during the
      Revolution and who thus describes one of the first prison ships used by
      the British at New York. He says: &ldquo;The subject of the naval prisoners, and
      of the British prisons-ships, stationed at the Wallabout during the
      Revolution, is one which cannot be passed by in silence. From printed
      journals, published in New York at the close of the war, it appeared that
      11,500 American prisoners had died on board the prison ships. Although
      this number is very great, yet if the numbers who perished had been less,
      the Commissary of Naval Prisoners, David Sproat, Esq., and his Deputy, had
      it in their power, by an official Return, to give the true number taken,
      exchanged, escaped, and <i>dead</i>. Such a Return has never appeared in
      the United States.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;David Sproat returned to America after the war, and resided in
      Philadelphia, where he died. [Footnote: This is, we believe, a mistake.
      Another account says he died at Kirkcudbright, Scotland, in 1792.] The
      Commissary could not have been ignorant of the statement published here on
      this interesting subject. We may, therefore, infer that about that number,
      11,500, perished in the Prison ships.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A large transport called the Whitby, was the first prison ship anchored
      in the Wallabout. She was moored near Remsen&rsquo;s Mill about the 20th of
      October, 1776, and was then crowded with prisoners. Many landsmen were
      prisoners on board this vessel: she was said to be the most sickly of all
      the prison ships. Bad provisions, bad water, and scanted rations were
      dealt to the prisoners. No medical men attended the sick. Disease reigned
      unrelieved, and hundreds died from pestilence, or were starved on board
      this floating Prison. I saw the sand beach, between a ravine in the hill
      and Mr. Remsen&rsquo;s dock, become filled with graves in the course of two
      months: and before the first of May, 1777, the ravine alluded to was
      itself occupied in the same way.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the month of May, 1777, two large ships were anchored in the
      Wallabout, when the prisoners were transferred from the Whitby to them.
      These vessels were also very sickly from the causes before stated.
      Although many prisoners were sent on board of them, and none exchanged,
      death made room for all.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On a Sunday afternoon about the middle of October, 1777, one of these
      prison ships was burnt. The prisoners, except a few, who, it was said,
      were burnt in the vessel, were removed to the remaining ship. It was
      reported at the time, that the prisoners had fired their prison, which, if
      true, proves that they preferred death, even by fire, to the lingering
      sufferings of pestilence and starvation. In the month of February, 1778,
      the remaining prison ship was burnt, when the prisoners were removed from
      her to the ships then wintering in the Wallabout.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      One of the first notices we have in the newspapers of the day of American
      prisoners is to the following effect: &ldquo;London, August 5th, 1775. As every
      rebel, who is taken prisoner, has incurred the pain of death by the law
      martial, it is said that Government will charter several transports, after
      their arrival at Boston to carry the culprits to the East Indies for the
      Company&rsquo;s service. As it is the intention of Government only to punish the
      ringleaders and commanders <i>capitally</i>, and to suffer the inferior
      Rebels to redeem their lives by entering into the East India Company&rsquo;s
      service. This translation will only render them more useful subjects than
      in their native country.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This notice, copied from London papers, appeared in Holt&rsquo;s <i>New York
      Journal</i>, for October 19th, 1775. It proved to be no idle threat. How
      many of our brave soldiers were sent to languish out their lives in the
      British possessions in India, and on the coast of Africa, we have no means
      of knowing. Few, indeed, ever saw their homes again, but we will give, in
      a future chapter, the narrative of one who escaped from captivity worse
      than death on the island of Sumatra.
    </p>
    <p>
      An account of the mobbing of William Cunningham and John Hill is given in
      both the Tory and Whig papers of the day. It occurred in March, 1775.
      &ldquo;William Cunningham and John Hill were mobbed by 200 men in New York,
      dragged through the green, Cunningham was robbed of his watch and the
      clothes torn off his back, etc., for being a Tory, and having made himself
      obnoxious to the Americans. He has often been heard blustering in behalf
      of the ministry, and his behavior has recommended him to the favor of
      several men of eminence, both in the military and civil departments. He
      has often been seen, on a footing of familiarity, at their houses, and
      parading the streets on a horse belonging to one of the gentlemen, etc.,
      etc.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The <i>Virginia Gazette</i> in its issue for the first of July, 1775,
      says: &ldquo;On June 6th, 1775, the prisoners taken at Lexington were exchanged.
      The wounded privates were soon sent on board the Levity. * * * At about
      three a signal was made by the Levity that they were ready to deliver up
      our prisoners, upon which General Putnam and Major Moncrief went to the
      ferry, where they received nine prisoners. The regular officers expressed
      themselves as highly pleased, those who had been prisoners politely
      acknowledged the genteel kindness they had received from their captors;
      the privates, who were all wounded men, expressed in the strongest terms
      their grateful sense of the tenderness which had been shown them in their
      miserable situation; some of them could do it only by their tears. It
      would have been to the honor of the British arms if the prisoners taken
      from us could with justice have made the same acknowledgement. It cannot
      be supposed that any officers of rank or common humanity were knowing to
      the repeated cruel insults that were offered them; but it may not be amiss
      to hint to the upstarts concerned, two truths of which they appear to be
      wholly ignorant, viz: That compassion is as essential a part of the
      character of a truly brave man as daring, and that insult offered to the
      person completely in the power of the insulters smells as strong of
      cowardice as it does of cruelty.&rdquo; [Footnote: The first American prisoners
      were taken on the 17th of June, 1775. These were thrown indiscriminately
      into the jail at Boston without any consideration of their rank. General
      Washington wrote to General Gage on this subject, to which the latter
      replied by asserting that the prisoners had been treated with care and
      kindness, though indiscriminately, as he acknowledged no rank that was not
      derived from the King. General Carleton during his command conducted
      towards the American prisoners with a degree of humanity that reflected
      the greatest honor on his character.&rdquo; From Ramsay&rsquo;s &ldquo;History of the
      American Revolution&rdquo;]
    </p>
    <p>
      At the battle of the Great Bridge &ldquo;the Virginia militia showed the
      greatest humanity and tenderness to the wounded prisoners. Several of them
      ran through a hot fire to lift up and bring in some that were bleeding,
      and whom they feared would die if not speedily assisted by the surgeon.
      The prisoners had been told by Lord Dunmore that the Americans would scalp
      them, and they cried out, &lsquo;For God&rsquo;s sake do not murder us!&rsquo; One of them
      who was unable to walk calling out in this manner to one of our men, was
      answered by him: &lsquo;Put your arm about my neck and I&rsquo;ll show you what I
      intend to do.&rsquo; Then taking him, with his arm over his neck, he walked
      slowly along, bearing him with great tenderness to the breastwork.&rdquo; <i>Pennsylvania
      Evening Post</i>, January 6th, 1776.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Great Bridge was built over the southern branch of the Elizabeth
      River, twelve miles above Norfolk. Colonel William Woodford commanded the
      Virginia militia on this occasion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The scene closed with as much humanity as it had been conducted with
      bravery. The work of death being over, every one&rsquo;s attention was directed
      to the succor of the unhappy sufferers, and it is an undoubted fact that
      Captain Leslie was so affected with the tenderness of our troops towards
      those who were yet capable of assistance that he gave signs from the fort
      of his thankfulness for it.&rdquo; <i>Pennsylvania Evening Post</i>, Jan. 6th,
      1776.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first mention we can find of a British prison ship is in the <i>New
      York Packet</i> for the 11th of April, 1776: &ldquo;Captain Hammond * * *
      Ordered Captain Forrester, his prisoner, who was on board the Roebuck, up
      to the prison ship at Norfolk in a pilot boat.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <i>The Constitutional Gazette</i> for the 19th of April, 1776, has this
      announcement, and though it does not bear directly on the subject of
      prisoners, it describes a set of men who were most active in taking them,
      and were considered by the Americans as more cruel and vindictive than
      even the British themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Government have sent over to Germany to engage 1,000 men called Jagers,
      people brought up to the use of the rifle barrel guns in boar-hunting.
      They are amazingly expert. Every petty prince who hath forests keeps a
      number of them, and they are allowed to take apprentices, by which means
      they are a numerous body of people. These men are intended to act in the
      next campaign in America, and our ministry plume themselves much in the
      thought of their being a complete match for the American riflemen.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      From Gaine&rsquo;s <i>Mercury</i>, a notorious Tory paper published in New York
      during the British occupancy, we take the following: &ldquo;November 25th, 1776.
      There are now 5,000 prisoners in town, many of them half naked. Congress
      deserts the poor wretches,&mdash;have sent them neither provisions nor
      clothing, nor paid attention to their distress nor that of their families.
      Their situation must have been doubly deplorable, but for the humanity of
      the King&rsquo;s officers. Every possible attention has been given, considering
      their great numbers and necessary confinement, to alleviate their distress
      arising from guilt, sickness, and poverty.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This needs no comment. It is too unspeakably false to be worth
      contradicting.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New London, Conn., November 8th, 1776. Yesterday arrived E. Thomas, who
      was captured September 1st, carried to New York, and put on board the
      Chatham. He escaped Wednesday sennight.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New London, Nov. 20th, 1776. American officers, prisoners on parole, are
      walking about the streets of New York, but soldiers are closely confined,
      have but half allowance, are sickly, and die fast.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New London, Nov. 29th, 1776. A cartel arrived here for exchange of seamen
      only. Prisoners had miserable confinement on board of store ships and
      transports, where they suffered for want of the common necessaries of
      life.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Exact from a letter written on board the Whitby Prison Ship. New York,
      Dec. 9th, 1776. Our present situation is most wretched; more than 250
      prisoners, some sick and without the least assistance from physician,
      drug, or medicine, and fed on two-thirds allowance of salt provisions, and
      crowded promiscuously together without regard, to color, person or office,
      in the small room of a ship&rsquo;s between decks, allowed to walk the main deck
      only between sunrise and sunset. Only two at a time allowed to come on
      deck to do what nature requires, and sometimes denied even that, and use
      tubs and buckets between decks, to the great offence of every delicate,
      cleanly person, and prejudice of all our healths. Lord Howe has liberated
      all in the merchant service, but refuses to exchange those taken in arms
      but for like prisoners.&rdquo; (This is an extract from the Trumbull Papers.)
    </p>
    <p>
      From a Connecticut paper: &ldquo;This may inform those who have friends in New
      York, prisoners of war, that Major Wells, a prisoner, has come thence to
      Connecticut on parole, to collect money for the much distressed officers
      and soldiers there, and desires the money may be left at Landlord Betts,
      Norwalk; Captain Benjamin&rsquo;s, Stratford; Landlord Beers, New Haven;
      Hezekiah Wylly&rsquo;s, Hartford; and at said Well&rsquo;s, Colchester, with proper
      accounts from whom received, and to whom to be delivered. N. B. The
      letters must not be sealed, or contain anything of a political nature.&rdquo;
       Conn. Papers, Dec. 6th, 1776.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Conn. <i>Gazette</i>, Feb. 8th, 1777. William Gamble deposes that the
      prisoners were huddled together with negroes, had weak grog; no swab to
      clean the ship; bad oil; raw pork; seamen refused them water; called them
      d&mdash;&mdash;d rebels; the dead not buried, etc.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lieut. Wm. Sterrett, taken August 27, 1776, deposes that his clothing was
      stolen, that he was abused by the soldiers; stinted in food; etc., those
      who had slight wounds were allowed to perish from neglect. The recruiting
      officers seduced the prisoners to enlist, etc.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;March 7th, 1777. Forty-six prisoners from the Glasgow, transport ship,
      were landed in New Haven, where one of them, Captain Craigie, died and was
      buried.&rdquo; (Their names are published in the Connecticut <i>Courant</i>.)
    </p>
    <p>
      Connecticut <i>Gazette</i> of April 30th, 1777, says: &ldquo;The Connecticut
      Assembly sent to New York a sufficient supply of tow shirts and trousers
      for her prisoners, also £35 to Col. Ethan Allen, by his brother Levi.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lt. Thos. Fanning, now on parole from Long Island at Norwich, a prisoner
      to General Howe, will be at Hartford on his return to New York about
      September 8th, whence he proposes to keep the public road to King&rsquo;s
      Bridge. Letters and money left at the most noted public houses in the
      different towns, will be conveyed safe to the prisoners. Extraordinaries
      excepted.&rdquo; Connecticut <i>Gazette</i>, Aug. 15th, 1777.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Jan. 8th, &lsquo;77. A flag of truce vessel arrived at Milford after a tedious
      passage of eleven days, from New York, having above 200 prisoners, whose
      rueful countenances too well discovered the ill treatment they received in
      New York. Twenty died on the passage, and twenty since they landed.&rdquo; New
      Haven, Conn.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XII. &mdash; THE TRUMBULL PAPERS AND OTHER SOURCES OF INFORMATION
    </h2>
    <p>
      We will now quote from the Trumbull Papers and other productions, what is
      revealed to the public of the state of the prisoners in New York in 1776
      and 1777. Some of our information we have obtained from a book published
      in 1866 called &ldquo;Documents and Letters Intended to Illustrate the
      Revolutionary Incidents of Long Island, by Henry Onderdonk, Jr.&rdquo; He gives
      an affecting account of the wounding of General Woodhull, after his
      surrender, and when he had given up his sword. The British ruffians who
      held him insisted that he should cry, &ldquo;God save the King!&rdquo; whereupon,
      taking off his hat, he replied, reverently, &ldquo;God save all of us!&rdquo; At this
      the cruel men ran him through, giving him wounds that proved mortal,
      though had they been properly dressed his life might have been spared. He
      was mounted behind a trooper and carried to Hinchman&rsquo;s Tavern, Jamaica,
      where permission was refused to Dr. Ogden to dress his wounds. This was on
      the 28th of August, 1776. Next day he was taken westward and put on board
      an old vessel off New Utrecht. This had been a cattle ship. He was next
      removed to the house of Wilhelmus Van Brunt at New Utrecht. His arm
      mortified from neglect and it was decided to take it off. He sent express
      to his wife that he had no hope of recovery, and begged her to gather up
      what provisions she could, for he had a large farm, and hasten to his
      bedside. She accordingly loaded a wagon with bread, ham, crackers, butter,
      etc., and barely reached her husband in time to see him alive. With his
      dying breath he requested her to distribute the provisions she had brought
      to the suffering and starving American prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      Elias Baylis, who was old and blind, was chairman of the Jamaica Committee
      of Safety. He was captured and first imprisoned in the church at New
      Utrecht. Afterwards he was sent to the provost prison in New York. He had
      a very sweet voice, and was an earnest Christian. In the prison he used to
      console himself and his companions in misery by singing hymns and psalms.
      Through the intervention of his friends, his release was obtained after
      two months confinement, but the rigor of prison life had been too much for
      his feeble frame. He died, in the arms of his daughter, as he was in a
      boat crossing the ferry to his home.
    </p>
    <p>
      While in the Presbyterian church in New Utrecht used as a prison by the
      British, he had for companions, Daniel Duryee, William Furman, William
      Creed, and two others, all put into one pew. Baylis asked them to get the
      Bible out of the pulpit and read it to him. They feared to do this, but
      consented to lead the blind man to the pulpit steps. As he returned with
      the Bible in his hands a British guard met him, beat him violently and
      took away the book. They were three weeks in the church at New Utrecht.
      When a sufficient number of Whig prisoners were collected there they would
      be marched under guard to a prison ship. One old Whig named Smith, while
      being conducted to his destination, appealed to an onlooker, a Tory of his
      acquaintance, to intercede for him. The cold reply of his neighbor was,
      &ldquo;Ah, John, you&rsquo;ve been a great rebel!&rdquo; Smith turned to another of his
      acquaintances named McEvers, and said to him, &ldquo;McEvers, its hard for an
      old man like me to have to go to a prison! Can&rsquo;t you do something for me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What have you been doing, John?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, I&rsquo;ve had opinions of my own!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;ll see what I can do for you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      McEvers then went to see the officers in charge and made such
      representations to them that Smith was immediately released.
    </p>
    <p>
      Adrian Onderdonk was taken to Flushing and shut up in the old Friends&rsquo; 
      Meeting House there, which is one of the oldest places of worship in
      America. Next day he was taken to New York. He, with other prisoners, was
      paraded through the streets to the provost, with a gang of loose women
      marching before them, to add insult to suffering.
    </p>
    <p>
      Onderdonk says: &ldquo;After awhile the rigor of the prison rules was somewhat
      abated.&rdquo; He was allowed to write home, which he did in Dutch, for
      provisions, such as smoked beef, butter, etc. * * * His friends procured a
      woman to do his washing, prepare food and bring it to him. * * * One day
      as he was walking through the rooms followed by his constant attendant, a
      negro with coils of rope around his neck, this man asked Onderdonk what he
      was imprisoned for.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;I&rsquo;ve been a Committee man,&rsquo;&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; with an oath and a great deal of abuse, &lsquo;You shall be hung
      tomorrow.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This mulatto was named Richmond, and was the common hangman. He used to
      parade the provost with coils of ropes, requesting the prisoners to choose
      their own halters. He it was who hung the gallant Nathan Hale, and was
      Cunningham&rsquo;s accessory in all his brutal midnight murders. In Gaine&rsquo;s
      paper for August 4th, 1781, appears the following advertisement: &ldquo;One
      Guinea Reward, ran away a black man named Richmond, being the common
      hangman, formerly the property of the rebel Colonel Patterson of Pa.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wm. Cunningham.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      After nearly four weeks imprisonment the friends of Adrian Onderdonk
      procured his release. He was brought home in a wagon in the night, so
      pale, thin, and feeble from bodily suffering that his family scarcely
      recognized him. His constitution was shattered and he never recovered his
      former strength.
    </p>
    <p>
      Onderdonk says that women often brought food for the prisoners in little
      baskets, which, after examination, were handed in. Now and then the guard
      might intercept what was sent, or Cunningham, if the humor took him, as he
      passed through the hall, might kick over vessels of soup, placed there by
      the charitable for the poor and friendless prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      EXTRACT FROM A BETTER FROM DR. SILAS HOLMES
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The wounded prisoners taken at the battle of Brooklyn were put in the
      churches of Flatbush and New Utrecht, but being neglected and unattended
      were wallowing in their own filth, and breathed an infected and impure
      air. Ten days after the battle Dr. Richard Bailey was appointed to
      superintend the sick. He was humane, and dressed the wounded daily; got a
      sack bed, sheet, and blanket for each prisoner; and distributed the
      prisoners into the adjacent barns. When Mrs. Woodhull offered to pay Dr.
      Bailey for his care and attention to her husband, he said he had done no
      more than his duty, and if there was anything due it was to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Woodhull&rsquo;s wounds were neglected nine days before Dr. Bailey was allowed
      to attend them.
    </p>
    <p>
      How long the churches were used as prisons cannot be ascertained, but we
      have no account of prisoners confined in any of them after the year 1777.
      In the North Dutch Church in New York there were, at one time, eight
      hundred prisoners huddled together. It was in this church that bayonet
      marks were discernible on its pillars, many years after the war.
    </p>
    <p>
      The provost and old City Hall were used as prisons until Evacuation Day,
      when O&rsquo;Keefe threw his ponderous bunch of keys on the floor and retired.
      The prisoners are said to have asked him where they were to go.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To hell, for what I care,&rdquo; he replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the Middle Dutch Church,&rdquo; says Mr. John Pintard, who was a nephew of
      Commissary Pintard, &ldquo;the prisoners taken on Long Island and at Fort
      Washington, sick, wounded, and well, were all indiscriminately huddled
      together, by hundreds and thousands, large numbers of whom died by
      disease, and many undoubtedly poisoned by inhuman attendants for the sake
      of their watches, or silver buckles.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What was called the Brick Church was at first used as a prison, but soon
      it and the Presbyterian Church in Wall Street, the Scotch Church in Cedar
      Street, and the Friends&rsquo; Meeting House were converted into hospitals.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Oliver Woodruff, who died at the age of ninety, was taken prisoner at Fort
      Washington, and left the following record: &ldquo;We were marched to New York
      and went into different prisons. Eight hundred and sixteen went into the
      New Bridewell (between the City Hall and Broadway); some into the Sugar
      House; others into the Dutch Church. On Thursday morning they brought us a
      little provision, which was the first morsel we got to eat or drink after
      eating our breakfast on Saturday morning. * * * I was there (in New
      Bridewell) three months. In the dungeons of the old City Hall which stood
      on the site of what was afterwards the Custom House at first civil
      offenders were confined, but afterwards whale-boatmen and robbers.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Robert Troup, a young lieutenant in Colonel Lasher&rsquo;s battalion, testified
      that he and Lieut. Edward Dunscomb, Adjutant Hoogland, and two volunteers
      were made prisoners by a detachment of British troops at three o&rsquo;clock a
      m. on the 27th of August, 1776. They were carried before the generals and
      interrogated, with threats of hanging. Thence they were led to a house
      near Flatbush. At 9 a. m. they were led, in the rear of the army, to
      Bedford. Eighteen officers captured that morning were confined in a small
      soldier&rsquo;s tent for two nights and nearly three days. It was raining nearly
      all the time. Sixty privates, also, had but one tent, while at Bedford the
      provost marshal, Cunningham, brought with him a negro with a halter,
      telling them the negro had already hung several, and he imagined he would
      hang some more. The negro and Cunningham also heaped abuse upon the
      prisoners, showing them the halter, and calling them rebels, scoundrels,
      robbers, murderers, etc.
    </p>
    <p>
      From Bedford they were led to Flatbush, and confined a week in a house
      belonging to a Mr. Leffert, on short allowance of biscuit and salt pork.
      Several Hessians took pity on them and gave them apples, and once some
      fresh beef.
    </p>
    <p>
      From Flatbush after a week, he, with seventy or eighty other officers,
      were put on board a snow, lying between Gravesend and the Hook, without
      bedding or blankets; afflicted with vermin; soap and fresh water for
      washing purposes being denied them. They drank and cooked with filthy
      water brought from England. The captain charged a very large commission
      for purchasing necessaries for them with the money they procured from
      their friends.
    </p>
    <p>
      After six weeks spent on the snow they were taken on the 17th of October
      to New York and confined in a house near Bridewell. At first they were not
      allowed any fuel, and afterwards only a little coal for three days in the
      week. Provisions were dealt out very negligently, were scanty, and of bad
      quality. Many were ill and most of them would have died had their wants
      not been supplied by poor people and loose women of the town, who took
      pity on them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Shortly after the capture of Fort Washington these officers were paroled
      and allowed the freedom of the town. Nearly half the prisoners taken on
      Long Island died. The privates were treated with great inhumanity, without
      fuel, or the common necessaries of life, and were obliged to obey the
      calls of nature in places of their confinement.&rdquo; It is said that the
      British did not hang any of the prisoners taken in August on Long Island,
      but &ldquo;played the fool by making them ride with a rope around their necks,
      seated on coffins, to the gallows. Major Otho Williams was so treated.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Adolph Myer, late of Colonel Lasher&rsquo;s battalion, says he was taken by the
      British at Montresor&rsquo;s Island. They threatened twice to hang him, and had
      a rope fixed to a tree. He was led to General Howe&rsquo;s quarters near Turtle
      Bay, who ordered him to be bound hand and foot. He was confined four days
      on bread and water, in the &lsquo;condemned hole&rsquo; of the New Jail, without straw
      or bedding. He was next put into the College, and then into the New Dutch
      Church, whence he escaped on the twenty-fourth of January, 1777. He was
      treated with great inhumanity, and would have died had he not been
      supported by his friends. * * * Many prisoners died from want, and others
      were reduced to such wretchedness as to attract the attention of the loose
      women of the town, from whom they received considerable assistance. No
      care was taken of the sick, and if any died they were thrown at the door
      of the prison and lay there until the next day, when they were put in a
      cart and drawn out to the intrenchments beyond the Jews&rsquo; burial ground,
      when they were interred by their fellow prisoners, conducted thither for
      that purpose. The dead were thrown into a hole promiscuously, without the
      usual rites of sepulchre. Myer was frequently enticed to enlist.&rdquo; This is
      one of the few accounts we have from a prisoner who was confined in one of
      the churches in New York, and he was so fortunate as to escape before it
      was too late. We wish he had given the details of his escape. In such a
      gloomy picture as we are obliged to present to our readers the only high
      lights are occasional acts of humanity, and such incidents as fortunate
      escapes.
    </p>
    <p>
      It would appear, from many proofs, that the Hessian soldier was naturally
      a good-natured being, and he seems to have been the most humane of the
      prison guards. We will see, as we go on, instances of the kindness of
      these poor exiled mercenaries, to many of whom the war was almost as great
      a scene of calamity and suffering as it was to the wretched prisoners
      under their care.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lieutenant Catlin, taken September 15th, &lsquo;76, was confined in prison with
      no sustenance for forty-eight hours; for eleven days he had only two days
      allowance of pork offensive to the smell, bread hard, mouldy and wormy,
      made of canail and dregs of flax-seed; water brackish. &lsquo;I have seen $1.50
      given for a common pail full. Three or four pounds of poor Irish pork were
      given to three men for three days. In one church were 850 prisoners for
      near three months.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;About the 25th of December he with 225 men were put on board the Glasgow
      at New York to be carried to Connecticut for exchange. They were aboard
      eleven days, and kept on coarse broken bread, and less pork than before,
      and had no fire for sick or well; crowded between decks, where
      twenty-eight died through ill-usage and cold.&rdquo; (This is taken from the
      &ldquo;History of Litchfield,&rdquo; page 39.)
    </p>
    <p>
      EXTRACT FROM A LETTER DATED NEW YORK, DEC. 26, 1776
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The distress of the prisoners cannot be communicated in words. Twenty or
      thirty die every day; they lie in heaps unburied; what numbers of my
      countrymen have died by cold and hunger, perished for want of the common
      necessaries of life! I have seen it! This, sir, is the boasted British
      clemency! I myself had well nigh perished under it. The New England people
      can have no idea of such barbarous policy. Nothing can stop such treatment
      but retaliation. I ever despised private revenge, but that of the public
      must be in this case, both just and necessary; it is due to the manes of
      our murdered countrymen, and that alone can protect the survivors in the
      like situation. Rather than experience again their barbarity and insults,
      may I fall by the sword of the Hessians.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Onderdonk, who quotes this fragment, gives us no clue to the writer. A man
      named S. Young testifies that, &ldquo;he was taken at Fort Washington and, with
      500 prisoners, was kept in a barn, and had no provisions until Monday
      night, when the enemy threw into the stable, in a confused manner, as if
      to so many hogs, a quantity of biscuits in crumbs, mostly mouldy, and some
      crawling with maggots, which the prisoners were obliged to scramble for
      without any division. Next day they had a little pork which they were
      obliged to eat raw. Afterwards they got sometimes a bit of pork, at other
      times biscuits, peas, and rice. They were confined two weeks in a church,
      where they suffered greatly from cold, not being allowed any fire.
      Insulted by soldiers, women, and even negroes. Great numbers died, three,
      four, or more, sometimes, a day. Afterwards they were carried on board a
      ship, where 500 were confined below decks.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The date of this testimony is given as Dec. 15th, 1776: &ldquo;W. D. says the
      prisoners were roughly used at Harlem on their way from Fort Washington to
      New York, where 800 men were stored in the New Bridewell, which was a
      cold, open house, the windows not glazed. They had not one mouthful from
      early Saturday morning until Monday. Rations per man for three days were
      half a pound of biscuit, half a pound of pork, half a gill of rice, half a
      pint of peas, and half an ounce of butter, the whole not enough for one
      good meal, and they were defrauded in this petty allowance. They had no
      straw to lie on, no fuel but one cart load per week for 800 men. At nine
      o&rsquo;clock the Hessian guards would come and put out the fire, and lay on the
      poor prisoners with heavy clubs, for sitting around the fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The water was very bad, as well as the bread. Prisoners died like rotten
      sheep, with cold, hunger, and dirt; and those who had good apparel, such
      as buckskin breeches, or good coats, were necessitated to sell them to
      purchase bread to keep them alive.&rdquo; Hinman, page 277.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mrs. White left New York Jan. 20th, 1777. She says Bridewell, the
      College, the New Jail, the Baptist Meeting House, and the tavern lately
      occupied by Mr. De la Montaigne and several other houses are filled with
      sick and wounded of the enemy. General Lee was under guard in a small mean
      house at the foot of King Street. Wm. Slade says 800 prisoners taken at
      Fort Washington were put into the North church. On the first of December
      300 were taken from the church to the prison ship. December second he,
      with others, was marched to the Grosvenor transport in the North River;
      five hundred were crowded on board. He had to lie down before sunset to
      secure a place.&rdquo; Trumbull Papers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Henry Franklin affirms that about two days after the taking of Fort
      Washington he was in New York, and went to the North Church, in which were
      about 800 prisoners taken in said Fort. He inquired into their treatment,
      and they told him they fared hard on account both of provisions and
      lodging, for they were not allowed any bedding, or blankets, and the
      provisions had not been regularly dealt out, so that the modest or
      backward could get little or none, nor had they been allowed any fuel to
      dress their victuals. The prisoners in New York were very sickly, and died
      in considerable numbers.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Feb. 11, 1777. Joshua Loring, Commissary of Prisoners, says that but
      little provisions had been sent in by the rebels for their prisoners.&rdquo;
       Gaine&rsquo;s Mercury.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Jan. 4th</i>. 1777. &ldquo;Seventy-seven prisoners went into the Sugar House.
      N. Murray says 800 men were in Bridewell. The doctor gave poison powders
      to the prisoners, who soon died. Some were sent to Honduras to cut
      logwood; women came to the prison-gate to sell gingerbread.&rdquo; Trumbull
      Papers.
    </p>
    <p>
      The <i>New York Gazette</i> of May 6th, 1777, states that &ldquo;of 3000
      prisoners taken at Fort Washington, only 800 are living.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Onderdonk says: &ldquo;There seems to have been no systematic plan adopted
      by the citizens of New York for the relief of the starving prisoners. We
      have scattering notices of a few charitable individuals, such as the
      following:&mdash;&lsquo;Mrs. Deborah Franklin was banished from New York Nov.
      21st, 1780, by the British commandant, for her unbounded liberality to the
      American prisoners. Mrs. Ann Mott was associated with Mrs. Todd and Mrs.
      Whitten in relieving the sufferings of American prisoners in New York,
      during the Revolution. John Fillis died at Halifax, 1792, aged 68. He was
      kind to American prisoners in New York. Jacob Watson, Penelope Hull, etc.,
      are also mentioned.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      BRITISH ACCOUNT OF MORTALITY OF PRISONERS
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;P. Dobbyn, master of a transport, thus writes from New York, Jan. 15th,
      1777. &lsquo;We had four or five hundred prisoners on board our ships, but they
      had such bad distempers that each ship buried ten or twelve a day.&rsquo; 
      Another writer, under date of Jan. 14th, &lsquo;77, says, &lsquo;The Churches are full
      of American prisoners, who die so fast that 25 or 30 are buried at a time,
      in New York City. General Howe gave all who could walk their liberty,
      after taking their oath not to take up arms against his Majesty.&rsquo;&rdquo; (From a
      London Journal.)
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIII. &mdash; A JOURNAL KEPT IN THE PROVOST
    </h2>
    <p>
      An old man named John Fell was taken up by the British, and confined for
      some months in the Provost prison. He managed to secrete writing materials
      and made notes of his treatment. He was imprisoned for being a Whig and
      one of the councilmen of Bergen, New Jersey. We will give his journal
      entire, as it is quoted by Mr. Onderdonk.
    </p>
    <p>
      April 23rd, 1777. Last night I was taken prisoner from my house by 25
      armed men (he lived in Bergen) who brought me down to Colonel Buskirk&rsquo;s at
      Bergen Point, and from him I was sent to Gen. Pigot, at N. Y., who sent me
      with Captain Van Allen to the Provost Jail.
    </p>
    <p>
      24th. Received from Mrs. Curzon, by the hands of Mr. Amiel, $16, two
      shirts, two stocks, some tea, sugar, pepper, towels, tobacco, pipes,
      paper, and a bed and bedding.
    </p>
    <p>
      May 1st. Dr. Lewis Antle and Capt. Thomas Golden at the door, refused
      admittance.
    </p>
    <p>
      May 2nd. 6 10 P. M. died John Thomas, of smallpox, aged 70 &amp;
      inoculated.
    </p>
    <p>
      5th. Capt. Colden has brought from Mr. Curson $16.00.
    </p>
    <p>
      11. Dr. Antle came to visit me. Nero at the door. (A dog?)
    </p>
    <p>
      13. Cold weather.
    </p>
    <p>
      20. Lewis Pintard came per order of Elias Boudinot to offer me money.
      Refused admittance. Capt. Colden came to visit me.
    </p>
    <p>
      21. Capt and Mrs Corne came to visit me, and I was called downstairs to
      see them.
    </p>
    <p>
      23. Lewis Pintard came as Commissary to take account of officers, in order
      to assist them with money.
    </p>
    <p>
      24. Every person refused admittance to the Provost.
    </p>
    <p>
      25. All prisoners paraded in the hall: supposed to look for deserters.
    </p>
    <p>
      27. Rev. Mr. Hart and Col. Smith brought to the Provost from Long Island.
    </p>
    <p>
      29. Stormy in Provost.
    </p>
    <p>
      30. Not allowed to fetch good water.
    </p>
    <p>
      31. Bad water; proposing buying tea-water, but refused. This night ten
      prisoners from opposite room ordered into ours, in all twenty.
    </p>
    <p>
      June 1. Continued the same today.
    </p>
    <p>
      2. The people ordered back to their own room.
    </p>
    <p>
      3. Captain Van Zandt sent to the dungeon for resenting Captain
      Cunningham&rsquo;s insulting and abusing me.
    </p>
    <p>
      4. Capt. Adams brought into our room. At 9 P.M. candles ordered out.
    </p>
    <p>
      7. Captain Van Zandt returned from the dungeon.
    </p>
    <p>
      8. All prisoners paraded and called over and delivered to care of Sergt.
      Keath. (O&rsquo;Keefe, probably.) And told we are all alike, no distinction to
      be made.
    </p>
    <p>
      10. Prisoners very sickly.
    </p>
    <p>
      11. Mr Richards from Connecticut exchanged.
    </p>
    <p>
      12. Exceeding strict and severe. &ldquo;Out Lights!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      13. Melancholy scene, women refused speaking to their sick husbands, and
      treated cruelly by sentries.
    </p>
    <p>
      14. Mr. James Ferris released on parole. People in jail very sickly and
      not allowed a doctor.
    </p>
    <p>
      17. Capt. Corne came to speak to me; not allowed.
    </p>
    <p>
      18. Letter from prisoners to Sergeant Keath, requesting more privileges.
    </p>
    <p>
      19. Received six bottles claret and sundry small articles, but the note
      not allowed to come up.
    </p>
    <p>
      20. Memorandum sent to Gen. Pigot with list of grievances.
    </p>
    <p>
      21. Answered. &ldquo;Grant no requests made by prisoners.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      22. Mrs. Banta refused speaking to her son.
    </p>
    <p>
      23. Mr Haight died.
    </p>
    <p>
      24. Nineteen prisoners from Brunswick. Eighteen sent to the Sugar House.
    </p>
    <p>
      25. Dr Bard came to visit Justice Moore, but his wife was refused, tho&rsquo; 
      her husband was dying.
    </p>
    <p>
      26. Justice Moore died and was carried out.
    </p>
    <p>
      27. Several sick people removed below.
    </p>
    <p>
      30. Provost very sickly and some die.
    </p>
    <p>
      July 3. Received from Mrs Curson per Mrs. Marriner, two half Joes.
    </p>
    <p>
      6. Received of E. Boudinot, per Pintard, ten half Joes.
    </p>
    <p>
      7. Capt. Thomas Golden came to the grates to see me.
    </p>
    <p>
      9. Two men carried out to be hung for desertion, reprieved.
    </p>
    <p>
      11. Mr Langdon brought into our room.
    </p>
    <p>
      13. The Sergeant removed a number of prisoners from below.
    </p>
    <p>
      14. Messrs Demarests exchanged. Dr. Romaine ordered to visit the sick.
    </p>
    <p>
      15. A declaration of more privileges, and prisoners allowed to speak at
      the windows.
    </p>
    <p>
      17. Peter Zabriskie had an order to speak with me, and let me know that
      all was well at home
    </p>
    <p>
      19. Sergt. from Sugar House came to take account of officers in the
      Provost. Capt. Cunningham in town.
    </p>
    <p>
      21. Sergt. took account of officers. Capt. Jas. Lowry died.
    </p>
    <p>
      22. Mr. Miller died. Capt. Lowry buried.
    </p>
    <p>
      Aug. 1. Very sick. Weather very hot.
    </p>
    <p>
      5. Barry sent to the dungeon for bringing rum for Mr Phillips without
      leave of the Sergt. Everything looks stormy.
    </p>
    <p>
      6. Warm weather. Growing better. Mr. Pintard came to supply prisoners of
      war with clothes.
    </p>
    <p>
      10. Two prisoners from Long Island and four Lawrences from Tappan.
    </p>
    <p>
      11. John Coven Cromwell from White Plains. Freeland from Polly (?) Fly
      whipped about salt.
    </p>
    <p>
      12. Sergt. Keath took all pens and ink out of each room, and forbid the
      use of any on pain of the dungeon.
    </p>
    <p>
      13. Abraham Miller discharged.
    </p>
    <p>
      14. Jacobus Blauvelt died in the morning, buried at noon.
    </p>
    <p>
      16. Capt. Ed. Travis brought into our room from the dungeon, where he had
      long been confined and cruelly treated.
    </p>
    <p>
      17. Mr. Keath refused me liberty to send a card to Mr Amiel for a lb of
      tobacco.
    </p>
    <p>
      21. Capt. Hyer discharged from the Provost.
    </p>
    <p>
      25. Barry brought up from the dungeon, and Capt. Travis sent down again
      without any provocation.
    </p>
    <p>
      26. Badcock sent to dungeon for cutting wood in the evening. Locks put on
      all the doors, and threatened to be locked up. Col. Ethan Allen brought to
      the Provost from Long Island and confined below.
    </p>
    <p>
      27. Badcock discharged from below.
    </p>
    <p>
      30. 5 P.M. all rooms locked up close.
    </p>
    <p>
      31. A.M. Col Allen brought into our room.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sep. 1. Pleasant weather. Bad water.
    </p>
    <p>
      4. Horrid scenes of whipping.
    </p>
    <p>
      6. Lewis Pintard brought some money for the officers. P.M. Major Otho H.
      Williams brought from Long Island and confined in our room. Major Wells
      from same place confined below. A. M. William Lawrence of Tappan died.
    </p>
    <p>
      8. Campbell, Taylor, John Cromwell, and Buchanan from Philadelphia
      discharged.
    </p>
    <p>
      10. Provisions exceedingly ordinary,&mdash;pork very rusty, biscuit bad.
    </p>
    <p>
      12. Capt. Travis, Capt. Chatham and others brought out of dungeon.
    </p>
    <p>
      14. Two prisoners from Jersey, viz: Thomas Campbell of Newark and
      Joralemon. (Jos. Lemon?)
    </p>
    <p>
      16. Troops returned from Jersey. Several prisoners brought to Provost viz:&mdash;Capt.
      Varick, Wm. Prevost Brower, etc. Seventeen prisoners from Long Island.
    </p>
    <p>
      22. Nothing material. Major Wells brought from below upstairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      24. Received from Mr. Curson per Mr. Amiel four guineas, six bottles of
      wine, and one lb tobacco.
    </p>
    <p>
      26. Mr. Pintard carried list of prisoners and account of grievances to the
      General Capt. Chatham and others carried to dungeon.
    </p>
    <p>
      28. Yesterday a number of soldiers were sent below, and several prisoners
      brought out of dungeon. Statement of grievances presented to General Jones
      which much displeased Sergt. Keath who threatened to lock up the rooms.
    </p>
    <p>
      29. Last night Sergt. K. locked up all the rooms. Rev. Mr. Jas. Sears was
      admitted upstairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      30. Sent Mr. Pintard a list of clothing wanted for continental and state
      prisoners in the Provost. Sergt. locks up all the rooms.
    </p>
    <p>
      Oct. 2. Candles ordered out at eight.&mdash;Not locked up.
    </p>
    <p>
      4. Locked up. Great numbers of ships went up North River. Received
      sundries from Grove Bend. Three pair ribbed hose, three towels.
    </p>
    <p>
      5. Garret Miller, of Smith&rsquo;s Cove, signed his will in prison, in presence
      of Benjamin Goldsmith, Abr. Skinner, and myself. C. G. Miller died of
      small-pox&mdash;P. M. Buried.
    </p>
    <p>
      7. Wm. Prevost discharged from Provost.
    </p>
    <p>
      8. Capt. Chatham and Lewis Thatcher brought out of dungeon.
    </p>
    <p>
      10. Mr. Pintard sent up blankets, shoes, and stockings for the prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      12. Lt. Col. Livingstone and upwards of twenty officers from Fort
      Montgomery and Clinton, all below.
    </p>
    <p>
      13. Received from Mr. Pintard a letter by flag from Peter R. Fell, A. M.
      Mr. Noble came to the grates to speak to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      14. Sergt. Keath sent Lt. Mercer and Mr. Nath. Fitzrandolph to the dungeon
      for complaining that their room had not water sufficient.
    </p>
    <p>
      15. Mr. Pintard brought sundry articles for the prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      17. Mr. Antonio and other prisoners brought here from up North River.
    </p>
    <p>
      19. Ben Goldsmith ill of smallpox, made his will and gave it to me. Died
      two A. M. Oct. 20.
    </p>
    <p>
      21. Glorious news from the Northward.
    </p>
    <p>
      22. Confirmation strong as Holy Writ. Beef, loaf bread, and butter drawn
      today.
    </p>
    <p>
      23. Weather continues very cold. Ice in the tub in the hall. A number of
      vessels came down North River. Mr. Wm. Bayard at the door to take out old
      Mr. Morris.
    </p>
    <p>
      24. Prisoners from the Sugar House sent on board ships.
    </p>
    <p>
      25. Rev. Mr. Hart admitted on parole in the city. Sergt. Woolley from the
      Sugar House came to take names of officers, and says an exchange is
      expected.
    </p>
    <p>
      28. Last night and today storm continues very severe. Provost in a
      terrible condition. Lt. Col. Livingston admitted upstairs a few minutes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nov. 1. Lt. Callender of the train ordered back on Long Island; also
      several officers taken at Fort Montgomery sent on parole to Long Island.
    </p>
    <p>
      3. In the evening my daughter, Elizabeth Colden, came to see me,
      accompained by Mayor Matthews.
    </p>
    <p>
      5. Elizabeth Colden came to let me know she was going out of town.
      Yesterday Sergt refused her the liberty of speaking to me. Gen.
      Robertson&rsquo;s Aid-decamp came to inquire into grievances of prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      16. Jail exceedingly disagreeable.&mdash;many miserable and shocking
      objects, nearly starved with cold and hunger,&mdash;miserable prospect
      before me.
    </p>
    <p>
      18. The Town Major and Town Adjutant came with a pretence of viewing the
      jail.
    </p>
    <p>
      19. Peter and Cor. Van Tassel, two prisoners from Tarrytown, in our room.
    </p>
    <p>
      20 Mr. Pintard sent three barrels of flour to be distributed among the
      prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      21. Mr. Pintard came for an account of what clothing the prisoners wanted.
    </p>
    <p>
      24. Six tailors brought here from prison ship to work in making clothes
      for prisoners. They say the people on board are very sickly. Three hundred
      sent on board reduced to one hundred.
    </p>
    <p>
      25. Mr. Dean and others brought to jail from the town.
    </p>
    <p>
      26. Dean locked up by himself, and Mr. Forman brought upstairs attended by
      Rev. Mr. Inglis, and afterwards ordered downstairs. New order&mdash;one of
      the prisoners ordered to go to the Commissary&rsquo;s and see the provisions
      dealt out for the prisoners. Vast numbers of people assembled at the
      Provost in expectation of seeing an execution.
    </p>
    <p>
      27. John, one of the milkmen, locked upstairs with a sentry at his door. A
      report by Mr. Webb that a prisoner, Herring, was come down to be exchanged
      for Mr Van Zandt or me.
    </p>
    <p>
      30. Captain Cunningham came to the Provost.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dec. 1. Capt. Money came down with Mr Webb to be exchanged for Major
      Wells.
    </p>
    <p>
      2. Col. Butler visited the Provost and promised a doctor should attend.
      Received from Mr Bend cloth for a great coat, etc. Mr. Pmtard took a list
      of clothing wanted for the prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      3. Several prisoners of war sent from here on board the prison shop, &amp;
      some of the sick sent to the hospital, Dr Romaine being ordered by Sir H.
      Clinton to examine the sick Prisoners sickly: cause, cold. Prisoners in
      upper room (have) scanty clothing and only two bushels of coal for room of
      twenty men per week.
    </p>
    <p>
      5. Mr. Blanch ordered out; said to be to go to Morristown to get prisoners
      exchanged. Cold.
    </p>
    <p>
      7. Mr. Webb came to acquaint Major Wells his exchange was agreed to with
      Capt. Money.
    </p>
    <p>
      8. Major Gen. Robertson, with Mayor came to Provost to examine prisoners.
      I was called and examined, and requested my parole. The General said I had
      made bad use of indulgence granted me, in letting my daughter come to see
      me. * * *
    </p>
    <p>
      9. Major Wells exchanged.
    </p>
    <p>
      10. Mr. Pintard sent 100 loaves for the prisoners. A. M. Walter Thurston
      died. Prisoners very sickly and die very fast from the hospitals and
      prison ships.
    </p>
    <p>
      11. Some flags from North River.
    </p>
    <p>
      12. Abel Wells died, a tailor from the prison ship. Mr. Pintard brought
      letters for sundry people.
    </p>
    <p>
      14. Sunday. Guards more severe than ever notwithstanding General
      Robertson&rsquo;s promise of more indulgence. Capt. Van Zandt brought from Long
      Island.
    </p>
    <p>
      16. Sent message to Mr Pintard for wood. Cold and entirely out of wood.
    </p>
    <p>
      17. Commissary Winslow came and released Major Winslow on his parole on
      Long Island.
    </p>
    <p>
      18. Mr Pintard sent four cords of wood for the prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      19. Capt. John Paul Schoot released on parole. Mr Pintard with clothing
      for the people.
    </p>
    <p>
      21. A paper found at the door of the Provost, intimating that three
      prisoners had a rope concealed in a bag in one of the rooms in order to
      make their escape. The Sergt. examined all the rooms, and at night we were
      all locked up.
    </p>
    <p>
      22. Received from Mr Pintard 100 loaves and a quarter of beef.
    </p>
    <p>
      24. Distributed clothing, etc., to the prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      28. Gen. Robertson sent a doctor to examine me in consequence of the
      petition sent by Col. Allen for my releasement. The doctor reported to Dr.
      Mallet.
    </p>
    <p>
      29. Gen. Robertson sent me word I should be liberated in town, provided I
      procured a gentleman in town to be responsible for my appearance.
      Accordingly I wrote to Hon. H. White, Esq.
    </p>
    <p>
      30. Dr Romaine, with whom I sent the letter, said Mr White had a number of
      objections, but the doctor hoped to succeed in the afternoon. Mr. Winslow
      came and told the same story I heard the day before.
    </p>
    <p>
      31. Sergt. Keath brought a message from the General to the same purpose as
      yesterday. N. B. I lost the memoranda from this date to the time of my
      being liberated from the Provost on Jan. 7, 1778.
    </p>
    <p>
      New York Feb. 11. &lsquo;78. Received a letter from Joshua Loring, Esq,
      Commissary of Prisoners, with leave from Gen. Robertson for my having the
      bounds of the city allowed me.
    </p>
    <p>
      March. 23. Wrote to Major Gen. Robertson and told him this was the
      eleventh month of my imprisonment.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fell&rsquo;s note to the general follows, in which he begs to be liberated to
      the house of Mrs. Marriner, who kept an ordinary in the town. A card in
      reply from the general states that it is impossible to comply with his
      request until Mr. Fell&rsquo;s friends give him sufficient security that he will
      not attempt to escape. A Mr. Langdon having broken his faith in like
      circumstances has given rise to a rule, which it is out of the general&rsquo;s
      power to dispense with, etc, etc.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Feb. 4, 1778. I delivered to Mr. Pintard the wills of Garret Miller and
      Benjamin Goldsmith, to be forwarded to their respective families. Present
      E. Boudinot.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;May 20 &lsquo;78, I had my parole extended by order of Gen. Daniel Jones, to my
      own house in Bergen County, for thirty days.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;July 2. I left town, and next day arrived safe home.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nov. 15, 1778 I received a certificate from A. Skinner, Deputy Com. of
      Prisoners of my being exchanged for Gov. Skene. Signed by Joshua Loring,
      Commissary General of Prisoners, dated New York, Oct 26 1778.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIV. &mdash; FURTHER TESTIMONY OF CRUELTIES ENDURED BY AMERICAN
      PRISONERS
    </h2>
    <p>
      Mr. Fell&rsquo;s notes on his imprisonment present the best picture we can find
      of the condition of the Provost Jail during the term of his captivity. We
      have already seen how Mr Elias Boudinot, American Commissary of Prisoners,
      came to that place of confinement, and what he found there. This was in
      February, 1778. Boudinot also describes the sufferings of the American
      prisoners in the early part of 1778 in Philadelphia, and Mr. Fell speaks
      of Cunningham&rsquo;s return to New York. He had, it appears, been occupied in
      starving prisoners in Philadelphia during his absence from the Provost, to
      which General Howe sent him back, after he had murdered one of his victims
      in Philadelphia with the great key.
    </p>
    <p>
      It appears that the prisoners in the Provost sent an account of their
      treatment to General Jones, by Mr. Pintard, in September, 1777, several
      months before the visit of Mr. Elias Boudinot. They complained that they
      were closely confined in the jail without distinction of rank or
      character, amongst felons, a number of whom were under sentence of death:
      that their friends were not allowed to speak to them, even through the
      grates: that they were put on the scanty allowance of two pounds hard
      biscuit, and two pounds of raw pork per week, without fuel to dress it.
      That they were frequently supplied with water from a pump where all kinds
      of filth was thrown, by which it was rendered obnoxious and unwholesome,
      the effects of which were to cause much sickness. That good water could
      have been as easily obtained. That they were denied the benefit of a
      hospital; not permitted to send for medicine, nor to have the services of
      a doctor, even when in the greatest distress. That married men and others
      who lay at the point of death were refused permission to have their wives
      or other relations admitted to see them. And that these poor women, for
      attempting to gain admittance, were often beaten from the prison door.
      That commissioned officers, and others, persons of character and
      reputation, were frequently, without a cause, thrown into a loathsome
      dungeon, insulted in a gross manner, and vilely abused by a Provost
      Marshal, who was allowed to be one of the basest characters in the British
      Army, and whose power was so unlimited, that he had caned an officer, on a
      trivial occasion; and frequently beaten the sick privates when unable to
      stand, &ldquo;many of whom are daily obliged to enlist in the New Corps to
      prevent perishing for want of the necessaries of life.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Neither pen, ink, or paper allowed (to prevent their treatment being made
      public) the consequence of which indeed, the prisoners themselves dread,
      knowing the malignant disposition of their keeper.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Board of War reported on the 21 of January, 1778, that there were 900
      privates and 300 officers in New York, prisoners, and that &ldquo;the privates
      have been crowded all summer in sugar houses, and the officers boarded on
      Long Island, except about thirty, who have been confined in the
      Provost-Guard, and in most loathsome jails, and that since Oct. 1st, all
      those prisoners, both officers and privates, have been confined in
      prisons, prison ships, or the Provost.&rdquo; Lists of prisoners in the Provost;
      those taken by the Falcon, Dec. 1777, and those belonging to Connecticut
      who were in the Quaker and Brick Meeting House hospitals in Jan. 1778, may
      be found in the Trumbull Papers, VII, 62.
    </p>
    <p>
      It seems that General Lee, while a prisoner in New York, in 1778, drew a
      prize of $500 in the New York Lottery, and immediately distributed it
      among the prisoners in that city. A New London, Connecticut, paper, dated
      Feb. 20, 1778, states that &ldquo;it is said that the American prisoners, since
      we have had a Commissary in New York, are well served with good
      provisions, which are furnished at the expense of the States, and they are
      in general very healthy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      We fear this was a rose-colored view of the matter, though there is no
      doubt that our commissaries did what they could to alleviate the miseries
      of captivity.
    </p>
    <p>
      Onderdonk quotes from Gaine&rsquo;s <i>Mercury</i> an advertisement for nurses
      in the hospital, but it is undated. &ldquo;Nurses wanted immediately to attend
      the prison hospitals in this city. Good recommendations required, signed
      by two respectable inhabitants. Lewis Pintard.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      From the New York <i>Gazette</i>, May 6, 1778, we take the following:
      &ldquo;Colonel Miles, Irvin, and fifty more exchanged.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Conn. <i>Gazette</i>. July 10, &lsquo;78. About three weeks ago Robert
      Shefield, of Stonington, made his escape from New York after confinement
      in a prison ship. After he was taken he, with his crew of ten, were thrust
      into the fore-peak, and put in irons. On their arrival at New York they
      were carried on board a prison ship, and to the hatchways, on opening
      which, tell not of Pandora&rsquo;s box, for that must be an alabaster box in
      comparison to the opening of these hatches. True there were gratings (to
      let in air) but they kept their boats upon them. The steam of the hold was
      enough to scald the skin, and take away the breath, the stench enough to
      poison the air all around.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On his descending these dreary mansions of woe, and beholding the
      numerous spectacles of wretchedness and despair, his soul fainted within
      him. A little epitome of hell,&mdash;about 300 men confined between decks,
      half Frenchmen. He was informed there were three more of these vehicles of
      contagion, which contained a like number of miserable Frenchmen also, who
      were treated worse, if possible, than Americans.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The heat was so intense that (the hot sun shining all day on deck) they
      were all naked, which also served the well to get rid of vermin, but the
      sick were eaten up alive. Their sickly countenances, and ghastly looks
      were truly horrible; some swearing and blaspheming; others crying,
      praying, and wringing their hands; and stalking about like ghosts; others
      delirious, raving and storming,&mdash;all panting for breath; some dead,
      and corrupting. The air was so foul that at times a lamp could not be kept
      burning, by reason of which the bodies were not missed until they had been
      dead ten days.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One person alone was admitted on deck at a time, after sunset, which
      occasioned much filth to run into the hold, and mingle with the bilge
      water, which was not pumped out while he was aboard, notwithstanding the
      decks were leaky, and the prisoners begged permission to let in water and
      pump it out again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;While Mr. Sheffield was on board, which was six days, five or six died
      daily, and three of his people. He was sent for on shore as evidence in a
      Court of Admiralty for condemning his own vessel, and happily escaped.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He was informed in New York that the fresh meat sent in to our prisoners
      by our Commissary was taken by the men-of-war for their own use. This he
      can say: he did not see any aboard the ship he was in, but they were well
      supplied with soft bread from our Commissaries on shore. But the provision
      (be it what it will) is not the complaint. Fresh air and fresh water,
      God&rsquo;s free gift, is all their cry.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New London, Conn. July 31. 78. Last week 500 or 600 prisoners were
      released from confinement at New York and sent out chiefly by way of New
      Jersey, being exchanged.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New London Conn. Sep. 26, 78. All American prisoners are nearly sent out
      of New York, but there are 615 French prisoners still there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oct 18, 78. The Ship, Good Hope, lies in the North River.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New London Dec. 18, 78. A Flag with 70 men from the horrible prison ships
      of New York arrived: 30 very sickly, 2 died since they arrived.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;N. London. Dec. 25, 78. A cartel arived here from New York with 172
      American prisoners. They were landed here and in Groton, the greater part
      are sickly and in most deplorable condition, owing chiefly to the ill
      usage in the prison ships, where numbers had their feet and legs frozen&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XV. &mdash; THE OLD SUGAR HOUSE&mdash;TRINTY CHURCHYARD
    </h2>
    <p>
      We will now take our readers with us to the Sugar House on Liberty Street,
      long called the Old Sugar House, and the only one of the three Sugar
      Houses which appear to have been used as a place of confinement for
      American prisoners of war after the year 1777.
    </p>
    <p>
      We have already mentioned this dreary abode of wretchedness, but it
      deserves a more elaborate description.
    </p>
    <p>
      From Valentine&rsquo;s Manual of the Common Council of New York for 1844 we will
      copy the following brief sketch of the British Prisons in New York during
      the Revolution.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The British took possession of New York Sep. 15, &lsquo;76, and the capture of
      Ft. Washington, Nov. 16, threw 2700 prisoners into their power. To these
      must be added 1000 taken at the battle of Brooklyn, and such private
      citizens as were arrested for their political principles, in New York City
      and on Long Island, and we may safely conclude that Sir William Howe had
      at least 5000 prisoners to provide for.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The sudden influx of so many prisoners; the recent capture of the city,
      and the unlooked-for conflagration of a fourth part of it, threw his
      affairs into such confusion that, from these circumstances alone, the
      prisoners must have suffered much, from want of food and other bodily
      comforts, but there was superadded the studied cruelty of Captain
      Cunningham, the Provost Marshal, and his deputies, and the criminal
      negligence of Sir Wm. Howe.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To contain such a vast number of prisoners the ordinary places of
      confinement were insufficient. Accordingly the Brick Church, the Middle
      Church, the North Church, and the French Church were appropriated to their
      use. Beside these, Columbia College, the Sugar House, the New Gaol, the
      new Bridewell, and the old City Hall were filled to their utmost capacity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Till within a few years there stood on Liberty Street, south of the
      Middle Dutch Church, a dark, stone building, with small, deep porthole
      looking windows, rising tier above tier; exhibiting a dungeon-like aspect.
      It was five stories high, and each story was divided into two dreary
      apartments.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On the stones and bricks in the wall were to be seen names and dates, as
      if done with a prisoner&rsquo;s penknife, or nail. There was a strong, gaol-like
      door opening on Liberty St., and another on the southeast, descending into
      a dismal cellar, also used as a prison. There was a walk nearly broad
      enough for a cart to travel around it, where night and day, two British or
      Hessian guards walked their weary rounds. The yard was surrounded by a
      close board fence, nine feet high. &lsquo;In the suffocating heat of summer,&rsquo; 
      says Wm. Dunlap, &lsquo;I saw every narrow aperture of these stone walls filled
      with human heads, face above face, seeking a portion of the external air.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;While the gaol fever was raging in the summer of 1777, the prisoners were
      let out in companies of twenty, for half an hour at a time, to breathe
      fresh air, and inside they were so crowded, that they divided their
      numbers into squads of six each. No. 1 stood for ten minutes as close to
      the windows as they could, and then No. 2 took their places, and so on.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Seats there were none, and their beds were but straw, intermixed with
      vermin.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For many days the dead-cart visited the prison every morning, into which
      eight or ten corpses were flung or piled up, like sticks of wood, and
      dumped into ditches in the outskirts of the city.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Silas Talbot says: &ldquo;A New York gentleman keeps a window shutter that was
      used as a checkerboard in the Sugar House. The prisoners daily unhinged
      it, and played on it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Many years ago a small pamphlet was printed in New York to prove that some
      of the American prisoners who died in the Old Sugar House were buried in
      Trinity church-yard. Andrew S. Norwood, who was a boy during the
      Revolution, deposed that he used to carry food to John Van Dyke, in this
      prison. The other prisoners would try to wrest away the food, as they were
      driven mad by hunger. They were frequently fed with bread made from old,
      worm-eaten ship biscuits, reground into meal and offensive to the smell.
      Many of the prisoners died, and some were put into oblong boxes, sometimes
      two in a box, and buried in Trinity church-yard, and the boy, himself,
      witnessed some of the interments. A part of Trinity church-yard was used
      as a common burying-ground,&mdash;as was also the yard of St. George&rsquo;s
      Church, and what was called the Swamp Burying-Ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      This boy also deposed that his uncle Clifford was murdered during the
      Revolution, it was supposed by foreign soldiers, and he was buried in
      Trinity church-yard.
    </p>
    <p>
      Jacob Freeman, also a boy during the Revolution, deposed that his father
      and several other inhabitants of Woodbridge were arrested and sent to New
      York. His grandfather was sixty years old, and when he was arrested, his
      son, who was concealed and could have escaped, came out of his
      hiding-place and surrendered himself for the purpose of accompanying his
      father to prison. The son was a Lieutenant. They were confined in the
      Sugar House several months. Every day some of the prisoners died and were
      buried in Old Trinity church-yard. Ensign Jacob Barnitz was wounded in
      both legs at the battle of Fort Washington. He was conveyed to New York
      and there thrown into the Sugar House, and suffered to lie on the damp
      ground. A kind friend had him conveyed to more comfortable quarters.
      Barnitz came from York, or Lancaster, Pa.
    </p>
    <p>
      Little John Pennell was a cabin boy, bound to Captain White of the sloop
      of war, Nancy, in 1776. He testified that the prisoners of the Sugar
      House, which was very damp, were buried on the hill called &ldquo;The Holy
      Ground.&rdquo; &ldquo;I saw where they were buried. The graves were long and six feet
      wide. Five or six were buried in one grave.&rdquo; It was Trinity Church ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      We will now give an account of Levi Hanford, who was imprisoned in the
      Sugar House in 1777. Levi Hanford was a son of Levi Hanford, and was born
      in Connecticut, in the town of Norwalk, on the 19th of Feb., 1759. In 1775
      he enlisted in a militia company. In 1776 he was in service in New York.
      In March 1777, being then a member of a company commanded by Captain Seth
      Seymour, he was captured with twelve others under Lieut. J. B. Eels, at
      the &ldquo;Old Well&rdquo; in South Norwalk, Conn. While a prisoner in the Old Sugar
      House he sent the following letter to his father. A friend wrote the first
      part for him, and he appears to have finished it in his own handwriting.
    </p>
    <p>
      New York June 7. 1777
    </p>
    <p>
      Loving Father:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      I take the opportunity to let you know I am alive, and in reasonable
      health, since I had the small-pox.&mdash;thanks be to the Lord for it. * *
      * I received the things you sent me. * * * I wish you would go and see if
      you can&rsquo;t get us exchanged&mdash;if you please. Matthias Comstock is dead.
      Sam. Hasted, Ebenezer Hoyt, Jonathan Kellog has gone to the hospital to be
      inoculated today. We want money very much. I have been sick but hope I am
      better. There is a doctor here that has helpt me. * * * I would not go to
      the Hospital, for all manner of disease prevail there. * * * If you can
      possibly help us send to the Governor and try to help us. * * * Remember
      my kind love to all my friends. I am
    </p>
    <p>
      Your Obedient son, Levi Hanford.
    </p>
    <p>
      Poor Levi Hanford was sent to the prison ship, Good Intent, and was not
      exchanged until the 8th of May, 1778.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the &ldquo;Journal of American History,&rdquo; the third number of the second
      volume, on page 527, are the recollections of Thomas Stone, a soldier of
      the Revolution, who was born in Guilford, Conn., in 1755. In April, 1777,
      he enlisted under Capt. James Watson in Colonel Samuel Webb&rsquo;s Regiment,
      Connecticut line. He spent the following campaign near the Hudson. The 9th
      of December following Stone and his comrades under Gen. Parsons, embarked
      on board some small vessel at Norwalk, Conn, with a view to take a small
      fort on Long Island. &ldquo;We left the shore,&rdquo; he says, &ldquo;about six o&rsquo;clock, P.
      M. The night was very dark, the sloop which I was aboard of parted from
      the other vessels, and at daybreak found ourselves alongside a British
      frigate. Our sloop grounded, we struck our colors-fatal hour! We were
      conducted to New York, introduced to the Jersey Prison Ship. We were all
      destitute of any clothing except what we had on; we now began to taste the
      vials of Monarchial tender mercy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;About the 25th of Jan. 1778, we were taken from the ships to the Sugar
      House, which during the inclement season was more intolerable than the
      Ships.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We left the floating Hell with joy, but alas, our joy was of short
      duration. Cold and famine were now our destiny. Not a pane of glass, nor
      even a board to a single window in the house, and no fire but once in
      three days to cook our small allowance of provision. There was a scene
      that truly tried body and soul. Old shoes were bought and eaten with as
      much relish as a pig or a turkey; a beef bone of four or five ounces,
      after it was picked clean, was sold by the British guard for as many
      coppers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the spring our misery increased; frozen feet began to mortify; by the
      first of April, death took from our numbers, and, I hope, from their
      misery, from seven to ten a day; and by the first of May out of sixty-nine
      taken with me only fifteen were alive, and eight out of that number unable
      to work.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Death stared the living in the face: we were now attacked by a fever
      which threatened to clear our walls of its miserable inhabitants.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;About the 20th of July I made my escape from the prison-yard. Just before
      the lamps were lighted. I got safely out of the city, passed all the
      guards, was often fired at, but still safe as to any injury done me;
      arrived at Harlem River eastward of King&rsquo;s Bridge.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hope and fear were now in full exercise. The alarm was struck by the
      sentinels keeping firing at me. I arrived at the banks of Harlem,&mdash;five
      men met me with their bayonets at my heart; to resist was instant death,
      and to give up, little better.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was conducted to the main guard, kept there until morning then started
      for New York with waiters with bayonets at my back, arrived at my old
      habitation about 1 o&rsquo;clock, P. M.; was introduced to the Prison keeper who
      threatened me with instant death, gave me two heavy blows with his cane; I
      caught his arm and the guard interfered. Was driven to the provost, thrust
      into a dungeon, a stone floor, not a blanket, not a board, not a straw to
      rest on. Next day was visited by a Refugee Lieutenant, offered to enlist
      me, offered a bounty, I declined. Next day renewed the visit, made further
      offers, told me the General was determined I should starve to death where
      I was unless I would enter their service. I told him his General dare not
      do it. (I shall here omit the imprecations I gave him in charge.)
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The third day I was visited by two British officers, offered me a
      sergeant&rsquo;s post, threatened me with death as before, in case I refused. I
      replied, &lsquo;Death if they dare!&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In about ten minutes the door was opened, a guard took me to my old
      habitation the Sugar House, it being about the same time of day I left my
      cell that I entered it, being three days and nights without a morsel of
      food or a drop of water,&mdash;all this for the crime of getting out of
      prison. When in the dungeon reflecting upon my situation I thought if ever
      mortal could be justified in praying for the destruction of his enemies, I
      am the man.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After my escape the guard was augmented, and about this time a new prison
      keeper was appointed, our situation became more tolerable.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The 16th of July was exchanged. Language would fail me to describe the
      joy of that hour; but it was transitory. On the morning of the 16th, some
      friends, or what is still more odious, some Refugees, cast into the Prison
      yard a quantity of warm bread, and it was devoured with greediness. The
      prison gate was opened, we marched out about the number of 250. Those
      belonging to the North and Eastern States were conducted to the North
      River and driven on board the flag ship, and landed at Elizabethtown, New
      Jersey. Those who ate of the bread soon sickened; there was death in the
      bread they had eaten. Some began to complain in about half an hour after
      eating the bread, one was taken sick after another in quick succession and
      the cry was, &lsquo;Poison, poison!&rsquo; I was taken sick about an hour after
      eating. When we landed, some could walk, and some could not. I walked to
      town about two miles, being led most of the way by two men. About one half
      of our number did not eat of the bread, as a report had been brought into
      the prison <i>that the prisoners taken at Fort Washington had been
      poisoned in the same way</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The sick were conveyed in wagons to White Plains, where I expected to
      meet my regiment, but they had been on the march to Rhode Island I
      believe, about a week. I was now in a real dilemma; I had not the vestige
      of a shirt to my body, was moneyless and friendless. What to do I knew
      not. Unable to walk, a gentleman, I think his name was Allen, offered to
      carry me to New Haven, which he did. The next day I was conveyed to
      Guilford, the place of my birth, but no near relative to help me. Here I
      learned that my father had died in the service the Spring before. I was
      taken in by a hospitable uncle, but in moderate circumstances. Dr.
      Readfield attended me for about four months I was salivated twice, but it
      had no good effect. They sent me 30 miles to Dr Little of East Haddam, who
      under kind Providence restored me to such state of health that I joined my
      Regiment in the Spring following.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the year 1780, I think in the month of June, General Green met the
      enemy at Springfield, New Jersey, and in the engagement I had my left
      elbow dislocated in the afternoon. The British fired the village and
      retreated. We pursued until dark. The next morning my arm was so swollen
      that it <i>could</i> not, or at least was not put right, and it has been
      ever since a weak, feeble joint, which has disabled me from most kinds of
      manual labor.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      To this account the grandson of Thomas Stone, the Rev. Hiram Stone, adds
      some notes, in one of which he says, speaking of the Sugar House: &ldquo;I have
      repeatedly heard my grandfather relate that there were no windows left in
      the building, and that during the winter season the snow would be driven
      entirely across the great rooms in the different stories, and in the
      morning lie in drifts upon our poor, hungry, unprotected prisoners. Of a
      morning several frozen corpses would be dragged out, thrown into wagons
      like logs, then driven away and pitched into a large hole or trench, and
      covered up like dead brutes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Speaking of the custom of sending the exchanged prisoners as far as
      possible from their own homes, he says: &ldquo;I well remember hearing my
      grandfather explain this strange conduct of the enemy in the following
      way. Alter the poison was thus perfidiously administered, the prisoners
      belonging at the North were sent across to the Jersey side, while those of
      the South were sent in an opposite direction, the intention of the enemy
      evidently being to send the exchanged prisoners as far from home as
      possible, that most of them might die of the effect of the poison before
      reaching their friends. Grandfather used to speak of the treatment of our
      prisoners as most cruel and murderous, though charging it more to the
      Tories or Refugees than to the British.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The effects of the poison taken into his system were never eradicated in
      the life-time of my grandfather, a &lsquo;breaking out,&rsquo; or rash, appearing
      every spring, greatly to his annoyance and discomfort.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVI. &mdash; THE CASE OF JOHN BLATCHFORD
    </h2>
    <p>
      In our attempt to describe the sufferings of American prisoners taken
      during the Revolution, we have, for the most part, confined ourselves to
      New York, only because we have been unable to make extensive research into
      the records of the British prisons in other places. But what little we
      have been able to gather on the subject of the prisoners sent out of
      America we will also lay before our readers.
    </p>
    <p>
      We have already stated the fact that some of our prisoners were sent to
      India and some to Africa. They seem to have been sold into slavery, and
      purchased by the East India Company, and the African Company as well.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is doubtful if any of the poor prisoners sent to the unwholesome
      climate of Africa ever returned to tell the story of British cruelties
      inflicted upon them there,&mdash;where hard work in the burning sun,&mdash;scanty
      fare,&mdash;and jungle fever soon ended their miseries. But one American
      prisoner escaped from the Island of Sumatra, where he had been employed in
      the pepperfields belonging to the East India Company. His story is
      eventful, and we will give the reader an abridgement of it, as it was told
      by himself, in his narrative, first published in a New England newspaper.
    </p>
    <p>
      John Blatchford was born at Cape Ann, Mass., in the year 1762. In June,
      1777, he went as a cabin boy on board the Hancock, a continental ship
      commanded by Capt. John Manly. On the 8th of July the Hancock was captured
      by the Rainbow, under Sir George Collier, and her crew was taken to
      Halifax.
    </p>
    <p>
      John Blatchford was, at this time, in his sixteenth year. He was of medium
      height, with broad shoulders, full chest, and well proportioned figure.
      His complexion was sallow, his eyes dark, and his hair black and curly. He
      united great strength with remarkable endurance, else he could not have
      survived the rough treatment he experienced at the hands of fate. It is
      said that as a man he was temperate, grave, and dignified, and although
      his strength was so great, and his courage most undaunted, yet he was
      peaceable and slow to anger. His narrative appears to have been dictated
      by himself to some better educated person. It was first published in New
      London, Conn., in the year 1788. In the year 1797 an abstract of it
      appeared in Philip Freneau&rsquo;s <i>Time Piece</i>, a paper published in New
      York. In July, 1860, the entire production was published in the <i>Cape
      Ann Gazette</i>. We will now continue the narrative in Blatchford&rsquo;s own
      words:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On our arrival at Halifax we were taken on shore and confined in a prison
      which had formerly been a sugar-house.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The large number of prisoners confined in this house, near 300, together
      with a scanty allowance of provisions, occasioned it to be very sickly. *
      * * George Barnard, who had been a midshipman on the Hancock, and who was
      confined in the same room as myself, concerted a plan to release us, which
      was to be effected by digging a small passage under ground, to extend to a
      garden that was behind the prison, and without the prison wall, where we
      might make a breach in the night with safety, and probably all obtain our
      liberty. This plan greatly elated our spirits, and we were anxious to
      proceed immediately in executing it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our cabins were built one above another, from the floor to the height of
      a man&rsquo;s head; and mine was pitched upon to be taken up; and six of us
      agreed to do the work, whose names were George Barnard, William Atkins,
      late midshipmen in the Hancock; Lemuel Towle of Cape Ann, Isaiah Churchill
      of Plymouth; Asa Cole of Weathersfield, and myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We took up the cabin and cut a hole in the plank underneath. The sugar
      house stood on a foundation of stone which raised the floor four feet
      above the ground, and gave us sufficient room to work, and to convey away
      the dirt that we dug up.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The instruments that we had to work with were one scraper, one long
      spike, and some sharp sticks; with these we proceeded in our difficult
      undertaking. As the hole was too small to admit of more than one person to
      work at a time we dug by turns during ten or twelve days, and carried the
      dirt in our bosoms to another part of the cellar. By this time we supposed
      we had dug far enough, and word was given out among the prisoners to
      prepare themselves for flight.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But while we were in the midst of our gayety, congratulating ourselves
      upon our prospects, we were basely betrayed by one of our own countrymen,
      whose name was Knowles. He had been a midshipman on board the Boston
      frigate, and was put on board the Fox when she was taken by the Hancock
      and Boston. What could have induced him to commit so vile an action cannot
      be conceived, as no advantage could accrue to him from our detection, and
      death was the certain consequence to many of his miserable countrymen.
      That it was so is all that I can say. A few hours before we were to have
      attempted our escape Knowles informed the Sergeant of the guard of our
      design, and by his treachery cost his country the lives of more than one
      hundred valuable citizens,&mdash;fathers, and husbands, whose return would
      have rejoiced the hearts of now weeping, fatherless children, and called
      forth tears of joy from wives, now helpless and disconsolate widows.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When we were discovered the whole guard were ordered into the room and
      being informed by Knowles who it was that performed the work we were all
      six confined in irons; the hole was filled up and a sentinel constantly
      placed in the room, to prevent any further attempt.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We were all placed in close confinement, until two of my
      fellow-sufferers, Barnard and Cole, died; one of which was put into the
      ground with his irons on his hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was afterwards permitted to walk the yard. But as my irons were too
      small, and caused my hands to swell, and made them very sore, I asked the
      Sergeant to take them off and give me larger ones. He being a person of
      humanity, and compassionating my sufferings, changed my irons for others
      that were larger, and more easy to my hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Knowles, who was also permitted to walk the yard, for his perfidy, would
      take every opportunity to insult and mortify me, by asking me whether I
      wanted to run away again, and when I was going home, etc?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His daily affronts, together with his conduct in betraying, his
      countrymen, so exasperated me that I wished for nothing more than an
      opportunity to convince him that I did not love him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One day as he was tantalizing over me as usual, I suddenly drew my one
      hand out of my irons, flew at him and struck him in the face, knocked out
      two or three of his teeth, and bruised his mouth very much. He cried out
      that the prisoner had got loose, but before any assistance came, I had put
      my hand again into the hand-cuff, and was walking about the yard as usual.
      When the guard came they demanded of me in what manner I struck him. I
      replied with both my hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They then tried to pull my hands out, but could not, and concluded it
      must be as I said. Some laughed and some were angry, but in the end I was
      ordered again into prison.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The next day I was sent on board the Greyhound, frigate, Capt. Dickson,
      bound on a cruise in Boston Bay.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After being out a few days we met with a severe gale of wind, in which we
      sprung our main-mast, and received considerable other damage. We were then
      obliged to bear away for the West Indies, and on our passage fell in with
      and took a brig from Norwich, laden with stock.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Captain and hands were put on board a Danish vessel the same day. We
      carried the brig into Antigua, where we immediately repaired, and were
      ordered in company of the Vulture, sloop of war, to convoy a sloop of
      merchantmen into New York.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We left the fleet off Sandy Hook, and sailed for Philadelphia, where we
      lay until we were made a packet, and ordered for Halifax with dispatches.
      We had a quick passage, and arrived safe.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;While we lay in the road Admiral Byron arrived, in the Princess Royal
      from England, who, being short of men, and we having a surplusage for a
      packet, many of our men were ordered on board the Princess Royal, and
      among them most of our boat&rsquo;s crew.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Soon after, some of the officers going on shore, I was ordered into the
      boat. We landed at the Governor&rsquo;s slip&mdash;it being then near night.
      This was the first time since I had been on board the Greyhound that I had
      had an opportunity to escape from her, as they were before this
      particularly careful of me; therefore I was determined to get away if
      possible, and to effect it I waded round a wharf and went up a byway,
      fearing I should meet the officers. I soon got into the street, and made
      the best of my way towards Irishtown (the southern suburbs of Halifax)
      where I expected to be safe, but unfortunately while running I was met and
      stopped by an emissary, who demanded of me my business, and where I was
      going? I tried to deceive him, that he might let me pass, but it was in
      vain, he ordered me to follow him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I offered him what money I had, about seven shillings, sixpence, to let
      me go, this too was in vain. I then told him I was an American, making my
      escape, from a long confinement, and was determined to pass, and took up a
      stone. He immediately drew his bayonet, and ordered me to go back with
      him. I refused and told him to keep his distance. He then run upon me and
      pushed his bayonet into my side. It come out near my navel; but the wound
      was not very deep; he then made a second pass at me, and stabbed me
      through my arm; he was about to stab me a third time, when I struck him
      with the stone and knocked him down. I then run, but the guard who had
      been alarmed, immediately took me and carried me before the Governor,
      where I understood the man was dead.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was threatened with every kind of death, and ordered out of the
      Governor&rsquo;s presence. * * * Next day I was sent on board the Greyhound, the
      ship I had run from, and we sailed for England. Our captain being a humane
      man ordered my irons off, a few days after we sailed, and permitted me to
      do duty as formerly. Being out thirteen days we spoke the Hazard sloop of
      war, who informed that the French fleet was then cruising in the English
      Channel. For this reason we put into Cork, and the dispatches were
      forwarded to England.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;While we lay in the Cove of Cork I jumped overboard with the intention of
      getting away; unfortunately I was discovered and fired at by the marines;
      the boat was immediately sent after me, took me up, and carried me on
      board again. At this time almost all the officers were on shore, and the
      ship was left in charge of the sailing-master, one Drummond, who beat me
      most cruelly. To get out of his way I run forward, he followed me, and as
      I was running back he came up with me and threw me down the main-hold. The
      fall, together with the beating was so severe that I was deprived of my
      senses for a considerable time. When I recovered them I found myself in
      the carpenter&rsquo;s berth, placed upon some old canvas between two chests,
      having my right thigh, leg and arm broken, and several parts of my body
      severely bruised. In this situation I lay eighteen days till our officers,
      who had been on business to Dublin, came on board. The captain inquired
      for the prisoners, and on being informed of my situation came down with
      the doctor to set my bones, but finding them callussed they concluded not
      to meddle with me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The ship lay at Cork until the French fleet left the Channel, and then
      sailed for Spithead. On our arrival there I was sent in irons on board the
      Princess Amelia, and the next day was carried on board the Brittania, in
      Portsmouth Harbor, to be tried before Sir Thomas Pye, lord high admiral of
      England, and President of the court martial.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Before the officers had collected I was put under the care of a sentinel,
      and the seamen and women who came on board compassionated my sufferings,
      which rather heightened than diminished my distress.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was sitting under the awning, almost overpowered by the reflection of
      my unhappy situation, every morning expecting to be summoned for my trial,
      when I heard somebody enquire for the prisoner, and supposing it to be an
      officer I rose up and answered that I was there.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The gentleman came to me, told me to be of good chear, and taking out a
      bottle of cordial, bade me drink, which I did. He then enquired where I
      belonged. I informed him. He asked me if I had parents living, and if I
      had any friends in England? I answered I had neither. He then assured me
      he was my friend, and would render me all the assistance in his power. He
      then enquired of me every circumstance relative to my fray with the man at
      Halifax, for whose death I was now to be tried and instructed me what to
      say on my trial, etc.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Whether this man was a philanthropist, or an agent for the East India
      Company, we do not know. He instructed Blatchford to plead guilty, and
      then defended him from the charge of murder, no doubt on the plea of
      self-defence. Blatchford was therefore acquitted of murder, but apparently
      sold to the East India Company as a slave. How this was condoned we do not
      know, but will let the poor sailor continue his narrative in his own
      words.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was carried on board an Indiaman, and immediately put down into the
      run, where I was confined ten days. * * * On the seventh day I heard the
      boatswain pipe all hands, and about noon I was called up on board, where I
      found myself on board the Princess Royal, Captain Robert Kerr, bound to
      the East Indies, with six others, all large ships belonging to the East
      India Company.&rdquo; He had been told that he was to be sent back to America to
      be exchanged, and his disappointment amounted almost to despair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our captain told me if I behaved well and did my duty I should receive as
      good usage as any man on board; this gave me great encouragement. I now
      found my destiny fixed, that whatever I could do would not in the least
      alter my situation, and therefor was determined to do the best I could,
      and make myself as contented as my unfortunate situation would admit.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After being on board seven days I found there were in the Princess Royal
      82 Americans, all destined to the East Indies, for being what they called
      &lsquo;Rebels.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We had a passage of seventeen weeks to St Helena, where we put in and
      landed part of our cargo, which consisted wholly of provisions. * * * The
      ship lay here about three weeks. We then sailed for Batavia, and on the
      passage touched at the Cape of Good Hope, where we found the whole of the
      fleet that sailed with us from England. We took in some provisions and
      necessaries, and set sail for Batavia, where we arrived in ten weeks. Here
      we purchased a large quantity of arrack, and remained a considerable time.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We then sailed for Bencoulen in the Island of Sumatria, and after a
      passage of about six weeks arrived there. This was in June, 1780.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At this place the Americans were all carried on shore, and I found that I
      was no longer to remain on board the ship, but condemned to serve as a
      soldier for five years. I offered to bind myself to the captain for five
      years, or any longer term if I might serve on board the ship. He told me
      it was impossible for me to be released from acting as a soldier, unless I
      could pay £50, sterling. As I was unable to do this I was obliged to go
      through the manual exercise with the other prisoners; among whom was Wm.
      Randall of Boston, and Josiah Folgier of Nantucket, both young men, and
      one of them an old ship-mate of mine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;These two and myself agreed to behave as ignorant and awkward as
      possible, and what motions we learned one day we were to forget the next.
      We pursued this conduct nearly a fortnight, and were beaten every day by
      the drill-sergeant who exercised us, and when he found we were determined,
      in our obstinacy, and that it was not possible for him to learn us
      anything, we were all three sent into the pepper gardens belonging to the
      East India Company; and continued picking peppers from morning till night,
      and allowed but two scanty meals a day. This, together with the amazing
      heat of the sun, the island lying under the equator, was too much for an
      American constitution, unused to a hot climate, and we expected that we
      should soon end our misery and our lives; but Providence still preserved
      us for greater hardships.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Americans died daily with heat and hard fare, which determined my two
      comrades and myself in an endeavor to make our escape. We had been in the
      pepper-gardens four months when an opportunity offered, and we resolved
      upon trying our fortune. Folgier, Randall and myself sat out with an
      intention of reaching Croy (a small harbor where the Dutch often touched
      at to water, on the opposite side of the island). Folgier had by some
      means got a bayonet, which he fixed in the end of a stick. Randall and
      myself had nothing but staves, which were all the weapons we carried with
      us. We provided ourselves with fireworks [he means flints to strike fire]
      for our journey, which we pursued unmolested till the fourth day just at
      night, when we heard a rustle in the bushes and discovered nine sepoys,
      who rushed out upon us.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Folgier being the most resolute of us run at one of them, and pushed his
      bayonet through his body into a tree. Randall knocked down another; but
      they overpowered us, bound us, and carried us back to the fort, which we
      reached in a day and a half, though we had been four days travelling from
      it, owing to the circle we made by going round the shore, and they came
      across the woods being acquainted with the way.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Immediately on our arrival at the fort the Governor called a court
      martial, to have us tried. We were soon all condemned to be shot next
      morning at seven o&rsquo;clock, and ordered to be sent into the dungeon and
      confined in irons, where we were attended by an adjutant who brought a
      priest with him to pray and converse with us, but Folgier, who hated the
      sight of an Englishman, desired that we might be left alone. * * * the
      clergyman reprimanded him, and told him he made very light of his
      situation on the supposition that he would be reprieved; but if he
      expected it he deceived himself. Folgier still persisted in the
      clergyman&rsquo;s leaving us, if he would have us make our peace with God,
      &lsquo;for,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;the sight of Englishmen, from whom we have received such
      treatment, is more disagreeable than the evil spirits of which you have
      spoken;&rsquo; that, if he could have his choice, he would choose death in
      preference to life, if he must have it on the condition of such barbarous
      usage as he had received from their hands; and the thoughts of death did
      not seem so hideous to him as his past sufferings.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He visited us again about midnight, but finding his company was not
      acceptable, he soon left us to our melancholy reflections.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Before sunrise we heard the drums beat, and soon after heard the direful
      noise of the door grating on its iron hinges. We were all taken out, our
      irons taken off, and we conducted by a strong guard of soldiers to the
      parade, surrounded by a circle of armed men, and led into the midst of
      them, where three white officers were placed by our side;&mdash;silence
      was then commanded, and the adjutant taking a paper out of his pocket read
      our sentence;&mdash;and now I cannot describe my feelings upon this
      occasion, nor can it be felt by any one but those who have experienced
      some remarkable deliverance from the grim hand of death, when surrounded
      on all sides, and nothing but death expected from every quarter, and by
      Divine Providence there is some way found out for escape&mdash;so it
      seemed to me when the adjutant pulled out another paper from his pocket
      and read: &lsquo;That the Governor and Council, in consideration of the youth of
      Randall and myself, supposing us to be led on by Folgier, who was the
      oldest, thought proper to pardon us from death, and that instead we were
      to receive 800 lashes each.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Although this last sentence seemed terrible to me, yet in comparison with
      death, it seemed to be light. Poor Folgier was shot in our presence,&mdash;previous
      to which we were told we might go and converse with him. Randall went and
      talked with him first, and after him I went up to take my leave, but my
      feelings were such at the time I had not power to utter a single word to
      my departing friend, who seemed as undaunted and seemingly as willing to
      die as I was to be released, and told me not to forget the promises we had
      formerly made to each other, which was to embrace the first opportunity to
      escape.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We parted, and he was immediately after shot dead. We were next taken and
      tied, and the adjutant brought a small whip made of cotton, which
      consisted of a number of strands and knotted at the ends; but these knots
      were all cut off by the adjutant before the drummer took it, which made it
      not worse than to have been whipped with cotton yarn.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After being whipped 800 lashes we were sent to the Company&rsquo;s hospital,
      where we had been about three weeks when Randall told me he intended very
      soon to make his escape:&mdash;This somewhat surprised me, as I had lost
      all hopes of regaining my liberty, and supposed he had. I told him I had
      hoped he would never mention it again; but however, if that was his
      design, I would accompany him. He advised me, if I was fearful, to tarry
      behind; but finding he was determined on going, I resolved to run the
      risque once more; and as we were then in a hospital we were not suspected
      of such a design.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Having provided ourselves with fire-works, and knives, about the first of
      December, 1780, we sat out, with the intent to reach the Dutch settlement
      of Croy, which is about two or three hundred miles distance upon a direct
      line, but as we were obliged to travel along the coast (fearing to risque
      the nearest way), it was a journey of 800 miles.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We took each a stick and hung it around our neck, and every day cut a
      notch, which was the method we took to keep time.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In this manner we travelled, living upon fruit, turtle eggs, and
      sometimes turtle, which we cooked every night with the fire we built to
      secure us from wild beasts, they being in great plenty,&mdash;such as
      buffaloes, tigers, jackanapes, leopards, lions, and baboons and monkies.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On the 30th day of our traveling we met with nothing we could eat and
      found no water. At night we found some fruit which appeared to the eyes to
      be very delicious, different from any we had seen in our travels. It
      resembled a fruit which grows in the West Indies, called a Jack, about the
      size of an orange. We being very dry and hungry immediately gathered some
      of this fruit, but finding it of a sweet, sickish taste, I eat but two.
      Randall eat freely. In the evening we found we were poisoned: I was sick
      and puked considerably, Randall was sick and began to swell all round his
      body. He grew worse all night, but continued to have his senses till the
      next day, when he died, and left me to mourn my greater wretchedness,&mdash;more
      than 400 miles from any settlement, no companion, the wide ocean on one
      side, and a prowling wilderness on the other, liable to many kinds of
      death, more terrible than being shot.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I laid down by Randall&rsquo;s body, wishing, if possible, that he might return
      and tell me what course to take. My thoughts almost distracted me, so that
      I was unable to do anything untill the next day, during all which time I
      continued by the side of Randall. I then got up and made a hole in the
      sand and buried him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I now continued my journey as well as the weak state of my body would
      permit,&mdash;the weather being at the time extremely hot and rainy. I
      frequently lay down and would wish that I might never rise again;&mdash;despair
      had almost wholly possessed me; and sometimes in a kind of delirium I
      would fancy I heard my mother&rsquo;s voice, and my father calling me, and I
      would answer them. At other times my wild imagination would paint to my
      view scenes which I was acquainted with. Then supposing myself near home I
      would run as fast as my legs could carry me. Frequently I fancied that I
      heard dogs bark, men cutting wood, and every noise which I have heard in
      my native country.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One day as I was travelling a small dog, as I thought it to be, came
      fawning round me and followed me, but I soon discovered it to be a young
      lion. I supposed that its dam must be nigh, and therefore run. It followed
      me some time and then left me. I proceeded on, but had not got far from it
      before it began to cry. I looked round and saw a lioness making towards
      it. She yelled most frightfully, which greatly terrified me; but she laid
      down something from her mouth for her young one, and then with another
      yell turned and went off from me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Some days after I was travelling by the edge of a woods, which from its
      appearance had felt severely the effects of a tornado or hurricane, the
      trees being all torn up by the roots, and I heard a crackling noise in the
      bushes. Looking about I saw a monstrous large tiger making slowly towards
      me, which frightened me exceedingly. When he had approached within a few
      rods of me, in my surprise I lifted up my hands and hollowed very loud.
      The sudden noise frightened him, seemingly as much as I had been, and he
      immediately turned and run into the woods, and I saw him no more.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After this I continued to travel on without molestation, only from the
      monkies who were here so plentiful that oftentimes I saw them in large
      droves; sometimes I run from them, as if afraid of them, they would then
      follow, grin, and chatter at me, and when they got near I would turn, and
      they would run from me back into the woods, and climb the trees to get out
      of my way.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was now 15 weeks since I had left the hospital. I had travelled most
      all of the day without any water and began to be very thirsty, when I
      heard the sound of running water, as it were down a fall of rocks. I had
      heard it a considerable time and at last began to suspect it was nothing,
      but imaginary, as many other noises I had before thought to have heard. I
      however went on as fast as I could, and at length discovered a brook. On
      approaching it I was not a little surprised and rejoiced by the sight of a
      Female Indian, who was fishing at the brook. She had no other dress on
      than that which mother nature affords impartially to all her children,
      except a small cloth which she wore round her waist.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I knew not how to address myself to her. I was afraid if I spoke she
      would run, and therefore I made a small noise; upon which she looked
      round, and seeing me, run across the brook, seemingly much frightened,
      leaving her fishing line. I went up to her basket which contained five or
      six fish which looked much like our trout. I took up the basket and
      attempted to wade across where she had passed, but was too weak to wade
      across in that place, and went further up the stream, where I passed over,
      and then looking for the Indian woman I saw her at some distance behind a
      large cocoa-nut tree. I walked towards her but dared not keep my eyes
      steadily upon her lest she would run as she did before. I called to her in
      English, and she answered in her own tongue, which I could not understand.
      I then called to her in the Malaysian, which I understood a little of; she
      answered me in a kind of surprise and asked me in the name of Okrum Footee
      (the name of their God) from whence I came, and where I was going. I
      answered her as well as I could in the Melais, that I was from Fort
      Marlborough, and going to Croy&mdash;that I was making my escape from the
      English, by whom I had been taken in war. She told me that she had been
      taken by the Malays some years before, for that the two nations were
      always at war, and that she had been kept as a slave among them three
      years and was then retaken by her countrymen. While we were talking
      together she appeared to be very shy, and I durst not come nearer than a
      rod to her, lest she should run from me. She said that Croy, the place I
      was bound to, was about three miles distant: That if I would follow her
      she would conduct me to her countrymen, who were but a small distance off.
      I begged her to plead with her countrymen to spare my life. She said she
      would, and assured me that if I behaved well I should not be hurt. She
      then conducted me to a small village, consisting of huts or wigwams. When
      we arrived at the village the children that saw me were frightened and run
      away from me, and the women exhibited a great deal of fear and kept at a
      distance. But my guide called to them and told them not to be afraid, for
      that I was not come to hurt them, and then informed them from whence I
      came, and that I was going to Croy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I told my guide I was very hungry, and she sent the children for
      something for me to eat. They came and brought me little round balls of
      rice, and they, not daring to come nigh, threw them at me. These I picked
      up and eat. Afterwards a woman brought some rice and goat&rsquo;s milk in a
      copper bason, and setting it on the ground made signs for me to take it up
      and eat it, which I did, and then put the bason down again. They then
      poked away the bason with a stick, battered it with stones, and making a
      hole in the ground, buried it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After that they conducted me to a small hut, and told me to tarry there
      until the morning, when they would conduct me to the harbor. I had but
      little sleep that night, and was up several time to look out, and saw two
      or three Indians at a little distance from the hut, who I supposed were
      placed there to watch me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Early in the morning numbers came around the hut, and the female who was
      my guide asked me where my country was? I could not make her understand,
      only that it was at a great distance. She then asked me if my countrymen
      eat men? I told her, no, and seeing some goats pointed at them, and told
      her we eat such as them. She then asked me what made me white, and if it
      was not the white rain that come upon us when we were small * * * as I
      wished to please them I told her that I supposed it was, for it was only
      in certain seasons of the year that it fell, and in hot weather when it
      did not fall the people grew darker until it returned, and then the people
      all grew white again. This seemed to please them very much.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My protectress then brought a young man to me who she said was her
      brother, and who would show me the way to the harbour. She then cut a
      stick about eight feet long, and he took hold of one end and gave me the
      other. She told me that she had instructed her brother what to say at the
      harbour. He then led off, and I followed. During our walk I put out my
      hand to him several times, and made signs of friendship, but he seemed to
      be afraid of me, and would look upwards and then fall flat on the ground
      and kiss it: this he repeated as often as I made any sign or token of
      friendship to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When we had got near the harbor he made a sign for me to sit down upon a
      rock, which I did. He then left me and went, as I supposed, to talk to the
      people at the water concerning me; but I had not sat long before I saw a
      vessel coming round the point into the harbor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They soon came on shore in the boat. I went down to them and made my case
      known and when the boat returned on board they took me with them. It was a
      Dutch snow bound from China to Batavia. After they had wooded and watered
      they set sail for Batavia:&mdash;being out about three weeks we arrived
      there: I tarried on board her about three weeks longer, and then got on
      board a Spanish ship which was from Rio de la Plate bound to Spain, but by
      stress of weather was obliged to put into this port. After the vessel had
      repaired we sailed for Spain. When we made the Cape of Good Hope we fell
      in with two British cruisers of twenty guns each, who engaged us and did
      the vessel considerable damage, but at length we beat them off, and then
      run for the coast of Brazil, where we arrived safe, and began to work at
      repairing our ship, but upon examination she was found to be not fit to
      proceed on her voyage. She was therefore condemned. I then left her and
      got on board a Portuguese snow bound up to St. Helena, and we arrived safe
      at that place.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I then went on shore and quitted her and engaged in the garrison there to
      do duty as a soldier for my provisions till some ship should arrive there
      bound for England. After serving there a month I entered on board a ship
      called the Stormont, but orders were soon after received that no Indiaman
      should sail without convoy; and we lay here six months, during which time
      the Captain died.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;While I was in St. Helena the vessel in which I came out from England
      arrived here, homeward bound; she being on the return from her second
      voyage since I came from England. And now I made known my case to Captain
      Kerr, who readily took me on board the Princess Royal, and used me kindly
      and those of my old ship-mates on board were glad to see me again. Captain
      Kerr on first seeing me asked me if I was not afraid to let him know who I
      was, and endeavored to frighten me; yet his conduct towards me was humane
      and kind.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It had been very sickly on board the Princess Royal, and the greater part
      of the hands who came out of England in her had died, and she was now
      manned chiefly with lascars. Among those who had died was the boatswain,
      and boatswain&rsquo;s mate, and Captain Kerr made me boatswain of the ship, in
      which office I continued until we arrived in London, and it protected me
      from being impressed upon our arrival in England.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We sailed from St. Helena about the first of November, 1781, under convoy
      of the Experiment of fifty guns, commanded by Captain Henry, and the Shark
      sloop of war of 18 guns, and we arrived in London about the first of
      March, 1782, it having been about two years and a half from the time I had
      left it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In about a fortnight after our arrival in London I entered on board the
      King George, a store-ship bound to Antigua, and after four weeks passage
      arrived there.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The second night after we came to anchor in Antigua I took the ship&rsquo;s
      boat and escaped in her to Montserrat (in the West Indies) which place had
      but just before been taken by the French.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Here I did not meet with the treatment which I expected; for on my
      arrival at Montserrat I was immediately taken up and put in prison, where
      I continued twenty-four hours, and my boat taken from me. I was then sent
      to Guadaloupe, and examined by the Governor. I made known my case to him,
      by acquainting him with the misfortunes I had gone through in my
      captivity, and in making my escape. He seemed to commiserate me, gave me
      ten dollars for the boat that I escaped in, and provided a passage for me
      on board a French brigantine that was bound from Gaudaloupe to
      Philadelphia.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The vessel sailed in a few days, and now my prospects were favorable, but
      my misfortunes were not to end here, for after being out twenty-one days
      we fell in with the Anphitrite and Amphene, two British cruizers, off the
      Capes of Delaware, by which we were taken, carried in to New York and put
      on board the Jersey prison ship. After being on board about a week a
      cartel was fitted out for France, and I was sent on board as a French
      prisoner. The cartel was ordered for St. Maloes, and after a passage of
      thirty-two days we arrived safe at that place.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Finding no American vessel at St. Male&rsquo;s, I went to the Commandant, and
      procured a pass to go by land to Port l&rsquo;Orient. On my arrival there I
      found three American privateers belonging to Beverley in the
      Massachusetts. I was much elated at seeing so many of my countrymen, some
      of whom I was well acquainted with. I immediately entered on board the
      Buccaneer, Captain Pheirson. We sailed on a cruise, and after being out
      eighteen days we returned to L&rsquo;Orient with six prizes. Three days after
      our arrival in port we heard the joyful news of peace; on which the
      privateer was dismantled, the people discharged, and Captain P sailed on a
      merchant voyage to Norway.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I then entered on board a brig bound to Lisbon (Captain Ellenwood of
      Beverley) and arrived at Lisbon in eight days. We took in a cargo of salt,
      and sailed for Beverley, where we arrived the ninth of May, 1783. Being
      now only fifteen miles from home, I immediately set out for Cape Ann, went
      to my father&rsquo;s house, and had an agreeable meeting with my friends, after
      an absence of almost six years.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;John Blatchford
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New London, May 10th, 1788.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;N. B. Those who are acquainted with the narrator will not scruple to give
      full credence to the foregoing account, and others may satisfy themselves
      by conversing with him. The scars he carries are a proof of his narrative,
      and a gentleman of New London who was several months with him, was
      acquainted with part of his sufferings, though it was out of his power to
      relieve him. He is a poor man with a wife and two children. His employment
      is fishing and coasting. <i>Editor</i>.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Our readers may be interested to know what became of John Blatchford, who
      wrote, or dictated, the narrative we have given, in the year 1788. He was,
      at that time, a married man. He had married a young woman named Ann
      Grover. He entered the merchant marine, and died at Port au Prince about
      the year 1794, when nearly thirty-three years of age. Thus early closed
      the career of a brave man, who had experienced much hardship, and had
      suffered greatly from man&rsquo;s inhumanity to man, and who is, as far as we
      know, the only American prisoner sent to the East Indies who ever returned
      to tell the story of the barbarities inflicted upon him.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVII. &mdash; BENJAMIN FRANKLIN AND OTHERS ON THE SUBJECT OF
      AMERICAN PRISONERS
    </h2>
    <p>
      When Benjamin Franklin and Silas Deane were in Paris they wrote the
      following letter to Lord Stormont, the English Ambassador to France.
    </p>
    <p>
      Paris, April 2nd, 1777.
    </p>
    <p>
      My Lord:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      We did ourselves the honor of writing some time since to your Lordship on
      the subject of exchanging prisoners: you did not condescend to give us any
      answer, and therefore we expect none to this. We, however, take the
      liberty of sending you copies of certain depositions which we shall
      transmit to Congress, whereby it will be known to your Court, that the
      United States are not unacquainted with the barbarous treatment their
      people receive when they have the misfortune to be your prisoners here in
      Europe, and that if your conduct towards us is not altered, it is not
      unlikely that severe reprisals may be thought justifiable from a necessity
      of putting some check to such abominable practices. For the sake of
      humanity it is to be wished that men would endeavor to alleviate the
      unavoidable miseries attending a state of war. It has been said that among
      the civilized nations of Europe the ancient horrors of that state are much
      diminished; but the compelling men by chains, stripes, and famine to fight
      against their friends and relatives, is a new mode of barbarity, which
      your nation alone has the honor of inventing, and the sending American
      prisoners of war to Africa and Asia, remote from all probability of
      exchange, and where they can scarce hope ever to hear from their families,
      even if the unwholesomeness of the climate does not put a speedy end to
      their lives, is a manner of treating captives that you can justify by no
      other precedent or custom except that of the black savages of Guinea. We
      are your Lordship&rsquo;s most obedient, humble servants, Benjamin Franklin,
      Silas Deane.
    </p>
    <p>
      The reply to this letter was laconic.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The King&rsquo;s Ambassador recognizes no letters from Rebels, except when they
      come to ask mercy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Inclosed in the letter from our representatives were the following
      depositions.
    </p>
    <p>
      THE DEPOSITION OF ELIPHALET DOWNER
    </p>
    <p>
      Eliphalet Downer, Surgeon, taken in the Yankee privateer, testifies that
      after he was made prisoner by Captains Ross and Hodge, who took advantage
      of the generous conduct of Captain Johnson of the Yankee to them his
      prisoners, and of the confidence he placed in them in consequence of that
      conduct and their assurances; he and his countrymen were closely confined,
      yet assured that on their arrival in port they should be set at liberty,
      and these assurances were repeated in the most solemn manner, instead of
      which they were, on their approach to land, in the hot weather of August,
      shut up in a small cabin; the windows of which were spiked down and no air
      admitted, insomuch that they were all in danger of suffocation from the
      excessive heat.
    </p>
    <p>
      Three or four days after their arrival in the river Thames they were
      relieved from this situation in the middle of the night, hurried on board
      a tender and sent down to Sheerness, where the deponent was put into the
      Ardent, and there falling sick of a violent fever in consequence of such
      treatment, and languishing in that situation for some time, he was
      removed, still sick, to the Mars, and notwithstanding repeated petitions
      to be suffered to be sent to prison on shore, he was detained until having
      the appearance of a mortification in his legs, he was sent to Haslar
      hospital, from whence after recovering his health, he had the good fortune
      to make his escape.
    </p>
    <p>
      While on board those ships and in the hospital he was informed and
      believes that many of his countrymen, after experiencing even worse
      treatment than he, were sent to the East Indies, and many of those taken
      at Quebec were sent to the coast of Africa, as soldiers.
    </p>
    <p>
      THE DEPOSITION OF CAPTAIN SETH CLARK OF NEWBURY PORT IN THE STATE OF
      MASSACHUSETTS BAY IN AMERICA
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This deponent saith that on his return from Cape Nichola Mole to Newbury
      Port, he was taken on the 17th of September last by an armed schooner in
      his British Majesty&rsquo;s service, &mdash;&mdash; Coats, Esquire, Commander,
      and carried down to Jamaica, on his arrival at which place he was sent on
      board the Squirrel, another armed vessel, &mdash;&mdash; Douglas, Esquire,
      Commander, where, although master and half owner of the vessel in which he
      was taken, he was returned as a common sailor before the mast, and in that
      situation sailed for England in the month of November, on the twenty-fifth
      of which month they took a schooner from Port a Pie to Charlestown, S. C.,
      to which place she belonged, when the owner, Mr. Burt, and the master, Mr.
      Bean, were brought on board. On the latter&rsquo;s denying he had any ship
      papers Captain Douglas ordered him to be stripped and tied up and then
      whipped with a wire cat of nine tails that drew blood every stroke and
      then on his saying that he had thrown his papers overboard he was untied
      and ordered to his duty as a common sailor, with no place for himself or
      his people to lay on but the decks. On their arrival at Spithead, the
      deponent was removed to the Monarch, and there ordered to do duty as a
      fore-mast-man, and on his refusing on account of inability to do it, he
      was threatened by the Lieutenant, a Mr. Stoney, that if he spoke one word
      to the contrary he should be brought to the gangway, and there severely
      flogged.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After this he was again removed and put on board the Bar-fleur, where he
      remained until the tenth of February. On board this ship the deponent saw
      several American prisoners, who were closely confined and ironed, with
      only four men&rsquo;s allowance to six. These prisoners and others informed this
      deponent that a number of American prisoners had been taken out of the
      ship and sent to the East Indies and the coast of Africa, which he has
      told would have been his fate, had he arrived sooner.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This deponent further saith, That in Haslar hospital, to which place on
      account of sickness he was removed from the Bar-fleur, he saw a Captain
      Chase of Providence, New England, who told him he had been taken in a
      sloop of which he was half owner and master, on his passage from
      Providence to South Carolina, by an English transport, and turned over to
      a ship of war, where he was confined in irons thirteen weeks, insulted,
      beat, and abused by the petty officers and common sailors, and on being
      released from irons was ordered to do duty as a foremost man until his
      arrival in England, when being dangerously ill he was sent to said
      hospital.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Paris March 30th. 1777.
    </p>
    <p>
      Benjamin Franklin, in a letter written in 1780, to a Mr. Hartley, an
      English gentleman who was opposed to the war, said that Congress had
      investigated the cruelties perpetrated by the English upon their
      defenceless prisoners, and had instructed him to prepare a <i>school book</i>
      for the use of American children, to be illustrated by thirty-five good
      engravings, each to picture some scene of horror, some enormity of
      suffering, such as should indelibly impress upon the minds of the school
      children a dread of British rule, and a hatred of British malice and
      wickedness!
    </p>
    <p>
      The old philosopher did not accomplish this task: had he done so it is
      improbable that we would have so long remained in ignorance of some of the
      facts which we are now endeavoring to collect. It will be pleasant to
      glance, for a moment, on the other side the subject. It is well known that
      there was a large party in England, who, like Benjamin Franklin&rsquo;s
      correspondent, were opposed to the war; men of humanity, fair-minded
      enough to sympathize with the struggles of an oppressed people, of the
      same blood as themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Prisoners of 1776, A Relic of the Revolution,&rdquo; is a little book
      edited by the Rev. R. Livesey, and published in Boston, in 1854. The facts
      in this volume were complied from the journal of Charles Herbert of
      Newburyport, Mass. This young man was taken prisoner in December, 1776. He
      was a sailor on board the brigantine Dolton. He and his companions were
      confined in the Old Mill Prison in Plymouth, England.
    </p>
    <p>
      Herbert, who was in his nineteenth year, was a prisoner more than two
      years. He managed to keep a journal during his captivity, and has left us
      an account of his treatment by the English which is a pleasant relief in
      its contrast to the dark pictures that we have drawn of the wretchedness
      of American prisoners elsewhere. A collection of upwards of $30,000 was
      taken up in England for the relief of our prisoners confined in English
      jails.
    </p>
    <p>
      Herbert secreted his journal in a chest which had a false bottom. It is
      too long to give in its entirety, but we have made a few extracts which
      will describe the treatment the men received in England, where all that
      was done was open to public inspection, and where no such inhuman monsters
      as Cunningham were suffered to work their evil will upon their victims.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dec. 24th, 1776. We were taken by the Reasonable, man-of-war of 64 guns.
      I put on two shirts, pair of drawers and breeches, and trousers over them,
      two or three jackets, and a pair of new shoes, and then filled my bosom
      and pockets as full as I could carry. Nothing but a few old rags and
      twelve old blankets were sent to us. Ordered down to the cable tier.
      Almost suffocated. Nothing but the bare cable to lie on, and that very
      uneven.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Jan. 15, 1777. We hear that the British forces have taken Fort Washington
      with a loss of 800.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      After several changes Herbert was put on board the Tarbay, a ship of 74
      guns, and confined between decks, with not room for all to lie down at
      once.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very cold. Have to lie on a wet deck without blankets. Some obliged to
      sit up all night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      On the 18th of February they received flock beds and pillows, rugs, and
      blankets. &ldquo;Ours are a great comfort to us after laying fifty-five nights
      without any, all the time since we were taken. * * *
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We are told that the Captain of this ship, whose name is Royer, gave us
      these clothes and beds out of his own pocket.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      On the twelfth of April he was carried on shore to the hospital, where his
      daily allowance was a pound of beef, a pound of potatoes, and three pints
      of beer.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the 7th of May he writes: &ldquo;I now have a pound of bread, half a pound of
      mutton and a quart of beer daily. The doctor is very kind. Three of our
      company have died.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      On the fifth of June he was committed to the Old Mill Prison at Plymouth.
      Many entries in his journal record the escapes of his companions. &ldquo;Captain
      Brown made his escape.&rdquo; &ldquo;William Woodward of the charming Sallie escaped,
      etc., etc.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      June 6th he records: &ldquo;Our allowance here in prison is a pound of beef, a
      pound of greens, and a quart of beer, and a little pot liquor that the
      greens and beef were boiled in, without any thickening.&rdquo; Still he declares
      that he has &ldquo;a continued gnawing in his stomach.&rdquo; The people of the
      neighborhood came to see them daily when they were exercising in the
      prison yard, and sometimes gave them money and provisions through the
      pickets of the high fence that surrounded the prison grounds. Herbert had
      a mechanical turn, and made boxes which he sold to these visitors,
      procuring himself many comforts in this manner.
    </p>
    <p>
      About ten prisoners were brought in daily. They were constantly digging
      their way out and were sometimes recaptured, but a great number made their
      escape. On the twentieth of July he records that they begin to make a
      breach in the prison wall. &ldquo;Their intention is to dig eighteen feet
      underground to get into a field on the other side of the wall.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We put all the dirt in our chests.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      August third he says: &ldquo;There are 173 prisoners in the wards. On the fifth
      thirty-two escaped, but three were brought back. These were confined in
      the Black Hole forty days on half allowance, and obliged to lie on the
      bare floor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;September 12th. We had a paper wherein was a melancholy account of the
      barbarous treatment of American prisoners, taken at Ticonderoga.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sept. 16th. Today about twenty old countrymen petitioned the Board for
      permission to go on board His Majesty&rsquo;s ships.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Jan. 7th. 1778. 289 prisoners here in Plymouth. In Portsmouth there are
      140 prisoners. Today the prison was smoked with charcoal and brim-stone.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He records the gift of clothes, blankets, and all sorts of provisions.
      They were allowed to wash at the pump in relays of six. Tobacco and
      everything necessary was freely given them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Jan. 27th. The officers in a separate prison are allowed to burn candles
      in the evening until gun-fire, which is eight o&rsquo;clock.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;28th. Today some new washing troughs were brought up for us to wash our
      clothes in; and now we have plenty of clothes, soap, water, and tubs to
      wash in. In general we are tolerably clean.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Feb. 1st. Sunday. Last evening between 7 and 9 o&rsquo;clock five of the
      officers in a separate prison, who had agreed with the sentry to let them
      go, made their escape and took two sentries with them. The five officers
      were Captain Henry Johnston, Captain Eleazar Johnston, Offin Boardman,
      Samuel Treadwell, and one Mr. Deal.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Feb. 8th. Sunday. We have the paper wherein is an account of a letter
      from Dr. Franklin, Dean, and Lee, to Lord North, and to the ministry,
      putting them in mind of the abuse which the prisoners have had from time
      to time, and giving them to know that it is in the power of the Americans
      to make ample retaliation. * * * We learn that their answer was that in
      America there was an exchange.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      On the 9th of March he writes: &ldquo;We are all strong, fat and hearty.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;March 12th. Today our two fathers came to see us as they generally do
      once or twice a week. They are Mr. Heath, and Mr. Sorry, the former a
      Presbyterian minister, in Dock, the latter a merchant in Plymouth. They
      are the two agents appointed by the Committee in London to supply us with
      necessaries. A smile from them seems like a smile from a father. They tell
      us that everything goes well on our side.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;April 7th. Today the latter (Mr. Sorry) came to see us, and we desired
      him, for the future, to send us a four penny white loaf instead of a
      six-penny one to each mess, per day, for we have more provision than many
      of us want to eat, and any person can easily conjecture that prisoners, in
      our situation, who have suffered so much for the want of provisions would
      abhor such an act as to waste what we have suffered so much for the want
      of.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Herbert was liberated at the end of two years. Enough has been quoted to
      prove the humanity with which the prisoners at Plymouth were treated. He
      gives a valuable list of crews in Old Mill Prison, Plymouth, during the
      time of his incarceration, with the names of captains, number that
      escaped, those who died, and those who joined the English.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                                                             Joined
   NAMES OF SHIPS AND CAPTAINS     No. of                   British
                                      Men     Escaped  Died   Ships
   Brig Dolton, Capt. Johnston        120        21      8        7
   Sloop Charming Sally, Capt. Brown.  52         6      7       16
   Brig Fancy, Capt. Lee               56        11      2        0
   Brig Lexington, Capt. Johnston      51         6      1       26
   Schooner Warren, Capt. Ravel        40         2      0        6

   PARTS OF CREWS TAKEN INTO PLYMOUTH

   Brig Freedom, Capt. Euston          11         3       1       0
   Ship Reprisal, Capt. Weeks          10         2       0       3
   Sloop Hawk                           6         0       0       0
   Schooner Hawk, Capt. Hibbert         6         0       0       0
   Schooner Black Snake, Capt. Lucran   3         1       0       0
   Ship Oliver Cromwell                 7         1       0       4
   Letter of Marque Janey, Capt. Rollo  2         1       0       0
   Brig Cabot                           3         0       0       0
   True Blue, Capt. Furlong             1         0       0       0
   Ranger                               1         0       0       0
   Sloop Lucretia                       2         0       0       0
   Musquito Tender                      1         0       0       1
   Schooner, Capt. Burnell              2         1       0       1
   Sturdy Beggar                        3         0       0       0
   Revenge, Capt Cunningham             3         0       0       0

            Total                     380        55      19      62
      Remained in Prison until exchanged, 244
</pre>
    <p>
      Before we leave the subject of Plymouth we must record the fact that some
      time in the year 1779 a prize was brought into the harbor captured from
      the French with 80 French prisoners. The English crew put in charge of the
      prize procured liquor, and, in company of some of the loose women of the
      town, went below to make a night of it. In the dead of night the Frenchmen
      seized the ship, secured the hatches, cut the cable, took her out of port,
      homeward bound, and escaped.
    </p>
    <p>
      A writer in the London <i>Gazette</i> in a letter to the Lord Mayor, dated
      August 6th, 1776, says: &ldquo;I was last week on board the American privateer
      called the Yankee, commanded by Captain Johnson, and lately brought into
      this port by Captain Ross, who commanded one of the West India sugar
      ships, taken by the privateer in July last: and as an Englishman I
      earnestly wish your Lordship, who is so happily placed at the head of this
      great city (justly famed for its great humanity even to its enemies),
      would be pleased to go likewise, or send proper persons, to see the truly
      shocking and I may say barbarous and miserable condition of the
      unfortunate American prisoners, who, however criminal they may be thought
      to have been, are deserving of pity, and entitled to common humanity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They are twenty-five in number, and all inhumanly shut close down, like
      wild beasts, in a small stinking apartment, in the hold of a sloop, about
      seventy tons burden, without a breath of air, in this sultry season, but
      what they receive from a small grating overhead, the openings in which are
      not more than two inches square in any part, and through which the sun
      beats intensely hot all day, only two or three being permitted to come on
      deck at a time; and then they are exposed in the open sun, which is
      reflected from the decks like a burning glass.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not at all exaggerate, my lord, I speak the truth, and the
      resemblance that this barbarity bears to the memorable Black Hole at
      Calcutta, as a gentleman present on Saturday observed, strikes every eye
      at the sight. All England ought to know that the same game is now acting
      upon the Thames on board this privateer, that all the world cried out
      against, and shuddered at the mention of in India, some years ago, as
      practised on Captain Hollowell and other of the King&rsquo;s good subjects. The
      putrid steams issuing from the hold are so hot and offensive that one
      cannot, without the utmost danger, breathe over it, and I should not be at
      all surprised if it should cause a plague to spread.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The miserable wretches below look like persons in a hot bath, panting,
      sweating, and fainting, for want of air; and the surgeon declares that
      they must all soon perish in this situation, especially as they are almost
      all in a sickly state from bilious disorders.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The captain and surgeon, it is true, have the liberty of the cabin (if it
      deserves the name of a cabin), and make no complaints on their own
      account. They are both sensible and well behaved young men, and can give a
      very good account of themselves, having no signs of fear, and being
      supported by a consciousness of the justice of their cause.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They are men of character, of good families in New England, and highly
      respected in their different occupations; but being stripped of their all
      by the burning of towns, and other destructive measures of the present
      unnatural war, were forced to take the disagreeable method of making
      reprisals to maintain themselves and their children rather than starve. *
      * * English prisoners taken by the Americans have been treated with the
      most remarkable tenderness and generosity, as numbers who are safely
      returned to England most freely confess, to the honor of our brethern in
      the colonies, and it is a fact, which can be well attested in London, that
      this very surgeon on board the privateer, after the battle of Lexington,
      April 19th, 1775, for many days voluntarily and generously without fee or
      reward employed himself in dressing the King&rsquo;s wounded soldiers, who but
      an hour before would have shot him if they could have come at him, and in
      making a collection for their refreshment, of wine, linen, money, etc., in
      the town where he lived. * * * The capture of the privateer was, solely
      owing to the ill-judged lenity and brotherly kindness of Captain Johnson,
      who not considering his English prisoners in the same light that he would
      French or Spanish, put them under no sort of confinement, but permitted
      them to walk the decks as freely as his own people at all times. Taking
      advantage of this indulgence the prisoners one day watched their
      opportunity when most of the privateer&rsquo;s people were below, and asleep,
      shut down the hatches, and making all fast, had immediate possession of
      the vessel without using any force.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      What the effect of this generous letter was we have no means of
      discovering. It displays the sentiments of a large party in England, who
      bitterly condemned the &ldquo;unnatural war against the Colonies.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVIII. &mdash; THE ADVENTURES OF ANDREW SHERBURNE
    </h2>
    <p>
      While we are on the subject of the treatment of American prisoners in
      England, which forms a most grateful contrast to that which they received
      in New York, Philadelphia, and other parts of America, we will give an
      abstract of the adventures of another young man who was confined in the
      Old Mill Prison at Plymouth, England. This young man was named Andrew
      Sherburne. He was born at Rye, New Hampshire, on the 3oth of September,
      1765.
    </p>
    <p>
      He first served on the continental ship of war, Ranger, which shipped a
      crew at Portsmouth, N. H. His father consented that he should go with her,
      and his two half uncles, Timothy and James Weymouth, were on board. There
      were about forty boys in the crew. Andrew was then in his fourteenth year,
      and was employed as waiter to the boatswain. The vessel sailed in the
      month of June, 1779. She took ten prizes and sailed for home, where she
      arrived in August, 1779. Next year she sailed again on another cruise, but
      was taken prisoner by the British at Charleston, S. C., on the 12th of
      May, 1780.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our officers,&rdquo; says Sherburne, &ldquo;were paroled and allowed to retain their
      waiters. We were for several days entirely destitute of provisions except
      muscles, which we gathered from the muscle beds. I was at this time waiter
      to Captain Pierce Powers, master&rsquo;s mate of the Ranger. He treated me with
      the kindness of a father.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At this time,&rdquo; he continues, &ldquo;Captain Simpson and the other officers
      procured a small vessel which was employed as a cartel, to transport the
      officers, their boys and baggage, agreeably to the terms of capitulation,
      to Newport, R. I. It being difficult to obtain suitable casks for water
      they procured such as they could. These proved to be foul, and after we
      got to sea our water became filthy and extremely noxious. Very few if any
      on board escaped an attack of the diarrhoea.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      After his return he next shipped under Captain Wilds on the Greyhound,
      from Portsmouth, N. H., and at last, after many adventures, was taken
      prisoner by Newfoundlanders, off Newfoundland. He was then put on board
      the Fairy, a British sloop of war, commanded by Captain Yeo, &ldquo;a complete
      tyrant&rdquo; &ldquo;Wilds and myself,&rdquo; he continues, &ldquo;were called to the quarter
      deck, and after having been asked a few questions by Captain Yeo, he
      turned to his officers and said: &lsquo;They are a couple of fine lads for his
      Majesty&rsquo;s service. Mr. Gray, see that they do their duty.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      When the sloop arrived in England the boys complained that they were
      prisoners of war, in consequence of which they were sent to the Old Mill
      Prison at Plymouth, accused of &ldquo;rebellion, piracy, and high treason.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Here they found acquaintances from Portsmouth, N. H. The other prisoners
      were very kind to young Sherburne, gave him clothing and sent him to a
      school which was kept in the prison. Ship building and other arts were
      carried on in this place, and he learned navigation, which was of great
      service to him in after life.
    </p>
    <p>
      The fare, he declared, was tolerably good, but there was not enough of it.
      He amused himself by making little toy ships. He became ill and delirious,
      but recovered in time to be sent to America when a general exchange of
      prisoners was effected in 1781. The rest of his adventures has nothing to
      do with prisons, in England, and shall not now be detailed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Although the accounts of the English prisons left by Herbert, Sherburne
      and others are so favorable, yet it seems that, after the year 1780, there
      was some cause of complaint even there. We will quote a passage from the
      British Annual Register to prove this statement. This passage we take from
      the Register for 1781, page 152.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A petition was presented to the House the same day (June 20th) by Mr.
      Fox, from the American prisoners in Mill Prison, Plymouth, setting forth
      that they were treated with less humanity than the French and Spanish,
      though by reason that they had no Agent established in this country for
      their protection, they were entitled to expect a larger share of
      indulgence than others. They had not a sufficient allowance of <i>bread</i>,
      and were very scantily furnished with clothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A similar petition was presented to the House of Peers by the Duke of
      Richmond, and these petitions occasioned considerable debate in both
      Houses. Several motions were grounded on these petitions, but to those
      proposed by the Lords and gentlemen in the opposition, were determined in
      the negative, and others to <i>exculpate</i> the Government in this
      business were resolved in the affirmative. It appeared upon inquiry, that
      the American prisoners were allowed a half pound of bread less per day
      than the French and Spanish prisoners. But the petitions of the Americans
      produced no alterations in their favor, and the conduct of the
      Administration was equally unpolitic and illiberal. The additional
      allowance, which was solicited on behalf of the prisoners, could be no
      object, either to Government or to the Nation, and it was certainly
      unwise, by treating American prisoners worse than those of France or
      Spain, to increase the fatal animosity which had unhappily taken place
      between the mother country and the Colonies, and this, too, at a period
      when the subjugation of the latter had become hopeless.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIX. &mdash; MORE ABOUT THE ENGLISH PRISONS&mdash;MEMOIR OF ELI
      BICKFORD&mdash;CAPTAIN FANNING
    </h2>
    <p>
      Eli Bickford, who was born on the 29th of September, 1754, in the town of
      Durham, N. H., and enlisted on a privateer, was taken prisoner by the
      British, confined at first on the Old Jersey, and afterwards sent to
      England with many others, in a vessel commanded by Captain Smallcorn, whom
      he called &ldquo;a sample of the smallest corn he had ever met.&rdquo; While on board
      this vessel he was taken down with the smallpox. No beds or bedding were
      provided for the prisoners and a plank on deck was his only pillow. He and
      his fellow sufferers were treated with great severity, and insulted at
      every turn. When they reached England they were sent to prison, where he
      remained in close confinement for four years and six months.
    </p>
    <p>
      Finding a piece of a door hinge, he and some of the others endeavored to
      make their escape by digging a passage under the walls. A report of their
      proceedings reached the jailer, but, secure in the strength of the walls
      he did not believe it. This jailor would frequently jest with Bickford on
      the subject, asking him when he intended to make his escape. His answers
      were so truthful and accurate that they served to blind the jailor still
      further. One morning as this official entered the prison he said: &ldquo;Well,
      Bickford, how soon will you be ready to go out?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tomorrow night!&rdquo; answered Bickford.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;O, that&rsquo;s only some of your nonsense,&rdquo; he replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      However, it was true.
    </p>
    <p>
      After digging a passage for some days underground, the prisoners found
      themselves under an adjoining house. They proceeded to take up the brick
      floor, unlocked the door and passed out, without disturbing the inmates,
      who were all asleep. Unable to escape they concealed themselves for
      awhile, and then tamely gave themselves up. Such a vigilant watch was kept
      upon the house after they were missed from the prison, that they had no
      other choice. So they made a contract with a man who was to return them to
      the prison, and then give them half of the reward of forty shillings which
      was offered for their re-capture. So successful was this expedient that it
      was often put into operation when they needed money.
    </p>
    <p>
      As a punishment for endeavoring to escape they were confined in the Black
      Hole for a week on bread and water.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bickford describes the prison regulations for preserving order which were
      made and carried out by the prisoners themselves. If a difficulty arose
      between two of them it was settled in the following manner. The prisoners
      formed a circle in the centre of which the disputants took their stand,
      and exchanged a few rounds of well-directed blows, after which they shook
      hands, and were better friends than before.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bickford was not released until peace was declared. He then returned to
      his family, who had long thought him dead. It was on Sunday morning that
      he reached his native town. As he passed the meeting house he was
      recognized, and the whole congregation ran out to see and greet him.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had but seven dollars as his whole capital when he married. He moved to
      Vermont, where he farmed a small place, and succeeded in making a
      comfortable livelihood. He attained the great age of 101, and was one of
      the last surviving prisoners of the Revolution.
    </p>
    <p>
      THE ADVENTURES OF A NAVAL OFFICER
    </p>
    <p>
      In the year 1806 a little book with this title was published in New York,
      by Captain Nathaniel Fanning. It was dedicated to John Jackson, Esquire,
      the man who did so much to interest the public in the preservation and
      interment of the remains of the martyrs of the prisonships in the
      Wallabout.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fanning was born in Connecticut, in the year 1755. On the 26th of May,
      1778, he went on board the brig Angelica, commanded by Captain William
      Dennis, which was about to sail on a six months cruise. There were 98 men
      and boys in the crew, and Fanning was prize-master on board the privateer.
      She was captured by the Andromeda, a frigate of 28 guns, five days from
      Philadelphia, with General Howe on board on his way back to England.
    </p>
    <p>
      All the prisoners were paraded on deck and asked if they were willing to
      engage in his British Majesty&rsquo;s service. Nearly all answered in the
      negative. They were then told that they were &ldquo;a set of rebels,&rdquo; and that
      it was more than probable that they would all be hung at Portsmouth.
    </p>
    <p>
      Their baggage was then taken away, and they were confined in the hold of
      the ship. Their clothes were stolen by the sailors, and a frock and cheap
      trousers dealt out to each man in their place.
    </p>
    <p>
      The heat was intolerable in the hold, although they went naked. In this
      condition they plotted to seize the vessel, and procured some weapons
      through the agency of their surgeon. Spencer, the captain&rsquo;s clerk,
      betrayed them to the captain of the Andromeda, and, after that, the
      hatches were barred down, and they began to think that they would all die
      of suffocation. The sentence pronounced upon them was that they should be
      allowed only half a pint of water a day for each man, and barely food
      enough to sustain life.
    </p>
    <p>
      Their condition would have been terrible, but, fortunately for them, they
      were lodged upon the water casks, over which was constructed a temporary
      deck. By boring holes in the planks they managed, by means of a proof
      glass, to obtain all the water they needed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Between them and the general&rsquo;s store room was nothing but a partition of
      plank. They went to work to make an aperture through which a man could
      pass into this store room. A young man named Howard from Rhode Island was
      their instigator in all these operations. They discovered that one of the
      shifting boards abaft the pump room was loose, and that they could ship
      and unship it as they pleased. When it was unshipped there was just room
      for a man to crawl into the store room. &ldquo;Howard first went in,&rdquo; writes
      Captain Fanning, &ldquo;and presently desired me to hand him a mug or can with a
      proof glass. A few minutes after he handed me back the same full, saying
      &lsquo;My friends, as good Madeira wine as ever was drank at the table of an
      Emperor!&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I took it from his hands and drank about half a pint.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thus we lived like hearty fellows, taking care every night to secure
      provisions, dried fruit, and wines for the day following * * * and all
      without our enemies&rsquo; knowledge.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Scurvy broke out among the crew, and some of the British sailors died, but
      the Americans were all &ldquo;brave and hearty.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Captain would say, &lsquo;What! are none of them damned Yankees sick? Damn
      them, there&rsquo;s nothing but thunder and lightning will kill &lsquo;em.&rsquo;&rdquo; On the
      thirtieth of June the vessel arrived at Portsmouth. The prisoners were
      sent to Hazel hospital, to be examined by the Commissioners of the
      Admiralty, and then marched to Forton prison, where they were committed
      under the charges of piracy and high treason. This prison was about two
      miles from Portsmouth harbor, and consisted of two commodious buildings,
      with a yard between them large enough to parade a guard of 100 men, which
      was the number required to maintain law and order at the station.
    </p>
    <p>
      They also had a spacious lot of about three quarters of an acre in extent,
      adjoining the houses, in which they took their daily exercise. In the
      middle of this lot was a shed with seats. It was open on all sides. The
      lot was surrounded by a wall of iron pickets, eight feet in height. The
      agent for American prisoners was nicknamed by them &ldquo;the old crab.&rdquo; He was
      very old and ugly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Only three-fourths of the usual allowance to prisoners of war was dealt
      out to them, and they seem to have fared much worse than the inmates of
      the Old Mill Prison at Plymouth.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Fanning declares that they were half starved, and would sometimes
      beg bones from the people who came to look at them. When they obtained
      bones they would dig out the marrow, and devour it. The guard was cruel
      and spiteful. One day they heated some pokers red hot and began to burn
      the prisoners&rsquo; shirts that were hung up to dry. These men begged the
      guard, in a very civil manner, not to burn all their shirts, as they had
      only one apiece. This remonstrance producing no effect they then ran to
      the pickets and snatched away their shirts. At this the officer on command
      ordered a sentinel to fire on them. This he did, killing one prisoner, and
      wounding several. There were three hundred American prisoners in the yard
      at this time.
    </p>
    <p>
      These prisons appear to have been very imperfectly guarded, and the
      regular occupation of the captives, whenever their guards were asleep or
      absent, was to make excavations for the purpose of escaping. A great many
      regained their freedom in this manner, though some were occasionally
      brought back and punished by being shut up for forty days in the Black
      Hole on bread and water. Some, less fortunate, remained three or four
      years in the prison.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was always digging going on in some part of the prison and as soon
      as one hole was discovered and plastered up, another would be begun. For a
      long time they concealed the dirt that they took out of these excavations
      in an old stack of disused chimneys. The hours for performing the work
      were between eleven and three o&rsquo;clock at night. Early in the morning they
      ceased from their labors, concealing the hole they had made by pasting
      white paper over it.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a school kept constantly in the prison, where many of them had
      the first opportunity that had ever been granted them of receiving an
      education. Many learned to read and write, and became proficient in
      French.
    </p>
    <p>
      At one time there were 367 officers confined in this place. In the course
      of twelve months 138 of them escaped and got safely to France. While some
      of the men were digging at night, others would be dancing to drown the
      noise. They had several violins, and seem to have been a reckless and
      jovial set.
    </p>
    <p>
      The officers bunked on the second floor over the guard room of the English
      officers. At times they would make so much noise that the guard would rush
      up the stairs, only to find all lights out and every man <i>asleep and
      snoring</i> in his hammock. They would relieve their feelings by a volley
      of abusive language and go down stairs again, when instantly the whole
      company would be on their feet, the violins would strike up, and the fun
      be more fast and furious than ever. These rushes of the guard would
      sometimes be repeated several times a night, when they would always find
      the prisoners in their hammocks. Each hammock had what was called a
      &ldquo;king&rsquo;s rug,&rdquo; a straw bed, and pillow.
    </p>
    <p>
      At one time several men were suddenly taken sick, with strong symptoms of
      poison. They were removed to the hospital, and for a time, there was great
      alarm. The prisoners feared that &ldquo;the same game was playing here as had
      been done on the Old Jersey, where we had heard that thousands of our
      countrymen had died.&rdquo; The poison employed in this instance was glass
      pounded fine and cooked with their bread.
    </p>
    <p>
      An English clergyman named Wren sympathized strongly with the prisoners
      and assisted them to escape. He lived at Gosport, and if any of the
      captives were so fortunate as to dig themselves out and succeed in
      reaching his house, they were safe. This good man begged money and food
      for &ldquo;his children,&rdquo; as he called them.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the second of June, 1779, 120 of them were exchanged. There were then
      600 confined in that prison. On the 6th of June they sailed for Nantes in
      France. The French treated them with great kindness, made up a purse for
      them, and gave them decent clothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fanning next went to L&rsquo;Orient, and there met John Paul Jones, who invited
      him to go on board the Bon Homme Richard as a midshipman. They sailed on
      the 14th of August on the memorable expedition to the British Channel.
    </p>
    <p>
      After being with Jones for some time Fanning, on the 23rd of March, 1781,
      sailed for home in a privateer from Morlaix, France. This privateer was
      captured by the English frigate, Aurora.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Captain Anthon and myself and crew,&rdquo; writes Mr. Fanning, &ldquo;were all
      ordered to a prison at about two miles from Falmouth. The very dirtiest
      and most loathsome building I ever saw. Swarms of lice, remarkably fat and
      full grown; bed bugs, and fleas. I believe the former were of Dutch
      extraction, as there were confined here a number of Dutch prisoners of
      war, and such a company of dirty fellows I never saw before or since.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Yet these same poor fellows ceded to Captain Anthon and Mr. Fanning a
      corner of the prison for their private use. This they managed to get
      thoroughly cleansed, screened themselves off with some sheets, provided
      themselves with large swinging cots, and were tolerably comfortable. They
      were paroled and allowed full liberty within bounds, which were a mile and
      a half from the prison. In about six weeks Fanning was again exchanged,
      and went to Cherbourg in France, where he met Captain Manly, who had just
      escaped from the Mill prison after three years confinment.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XX. &mdash; SOME SOUTHERN NAVAL PRISONERS
    </h2>
    <p>
      Very little is known of the State navies of the south during the
      Revolution. Each State had her own small navy, and many were the
      interesting adventures, some successful, and others unfortunate, that the
      hardy sailors encountered. The story of each one of these little vessels
      would be as interesting as a romance, but we are here only concerned with
      the meagre accounts that have reached us of the sufferings of some of the
      crews of the privateers who were so unlucky as to fall into the hands of
      the enemy.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the infant navy of Virginia were many small, extremely fleet vessels.
      The names of some of the Virginia ships, built at Gosport, Fredericksburg,
      and other Virginia towns, were the Tartar, Oxford, Thetis, Virginia,
      Industry, Cormorant, Loyalist (which appears to have been captured from
      the British), Pocohontas, Dragon, Washington, Tempest, Defiance, Oliver
      Cromwell, Renown, Apollo, and the Marquis Lafayette. Virginia also owned a
      prisonship called the Gloucester. Brigs and brigantines owned by the State
      were called the Raleigh, Jefferson, Sallie Norton, Northampton, Hampton,
      Greyhound, Dolphin, Liberty, Mosquito, Rochester, Willing Lass, Wilkes,
      American Fabius, Morning Star, and Mars. Schooners were the Adventure,
      Hornet, Speedwell, Lewis, Nicholson, Experiment, Harrison, Mayflower,
      Revenge, Peace and Plenty, Patriot, Liberty, and the Betsy. Sloops were
      the Virginia, Rattlesnake, Scorpion, Congress, Liberty, Eminence,
      Game-Cock, and the American Congress. Some of the galleys were the
      Accomac, Diligence, Hero, Gloucester, Safeguard, Manly, Henry, Norfolk,
      Revenge, Caswell, Protector, Washington, Page, Lewis, Dragon, and Dasher.
      There were two armed pilot boats named Molly and Fly. Barges were the York
      and Richmond. The Oxford, Cormorant, and Loyalist were prizes. The two
      latter were taken from the English by the French and sold to Virginia.
    </p>
    <p>
      What an interesting book might be written about this little navy! Nearly
      all were destined to fall at last into the hands of the enemy; their crews
      to languish out the remainder of their days in foul dungeons, where famine
      and disease made short work of them. Little remains to us now except the
      names of these vessels.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Virginia was built at Gosport. The Dragon and some others were built
      at Fredericksburg. Many were built at Norfolk.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Hermit was early captured by the British. The gallant little Mosquito
      was taken by the Ariadne. Her crew was confined in a loathsome jail at
      Barbadoes. But her officers were sent to England, and confined in Fortune
      jail at Gosport. They succeeded in escaping and made their way to France.
      The names of these officers were Captain John Harris; Lieutenant
      Chamberlayne; Midshipman Alexander Moore; Alexander Dock, Captain of
      Marines; and George Catlett, Lieutenant of Marines.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Raleigh was captured by the British frigate Thames. Her crew was so
      shamefully maltreated that upon representations made to the Council of
      State upon their condition, it was recommended that by way of retaliation
      the crew of the Solebay, a sloop of war which had fallen into the hands of
      the Americans, should be visited with the like severe treatment. To what
      extent this was carried out we cannot discover.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Scorpion was taken by the British in the year 1781, a fatal year for
      the navy of Virginia.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the year 1857 an unsigned article on the subject of the Virginia Navy
      was published in the <i>Southern Literary Messenger</i>, which goes on to
      say: &ldquo;But of all the sufferings in these troublous times none endured such
      horrors as did those Americans who were so unfortunate as to become
      prisoners of war to the British. They were treated more as felons than as
      honorable enemies. It can scarcely be credited that an enlightened people
      would thus have been so lost to the common instincts of humanity, as were
      they in their conduct towards men of the same blood, and speaking the same
      language with themselves. True it is they sometimes excused the cruelty of
      their procedures by avowing in many instances their prisoners were
      deserters from the English flag, and were to be dealt with accordingly. Be
      this as it may, no instance is on record where a Tory whom the Americans
      had good cause to regard as a traitor, was visited with the severities
      which characterized the treatment of the ordinary military captives, on
      the part of the English authorities. * * * The patriotic seamen of the
      Virginia navy were no exceptions to the rule when they fell into the hands
      of the more powerful lords of the ocean. They were carried in numbers to
      Bermuda, and to the West Indies, and cast into loathsome and pestilential
      prisons, from which a few sometimes managed to escape, at the peril of
      their lives. Respect of position and rank found no favor in the eyes of
      their ungenerous captors, and no appeal could reach their hearts except
      through the promises of bribes. Many languished and died in those places,
      away from country and friends, whose fate was not known until long after
      they had passed away. But it was not altogether abroad that they were so
      cruelly maltreated. The record of their sufferings in the prisons of the
      enemy, in our own country, is left to testify against these relentless
      persecutors.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In New York and Halifax many of the Virginian officers and seamen were
      relieved of their pains, alone by the hand of death; and in their own
      State, at Portsmouth, the like fate overtook many more, who had endured
      horrors rivalled only by the terrors of the Black Hole of Calcutta. * * *
      The reader will agree that we do not exaggerate when he shall have seen
      the case as given under oath by one who was in every respect a competent
      witness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will be remembered that, in another part of this narrative, mention
      was made of the loss in Lynhaven Bay of the galley Dasher, and the capture
      of the officers and the crew. Captain Willis Wilson was her unfortunate
      commander on that occasion. He and his men were confined in the Provost
      Jail at Portsmouth, Virginia, and after his release he made public the
      &lsquo;secrets&rsquo; of that &lsquo;Prison House,&rsquo; by the following deposition, which is
      copied from the original document.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;The deposition of Willis Wilson, being first sworn deposes and sayeth:
      That about the 23rd July last the deponent was taken a prisoner of war;
      was conducted to Portsmouth (Virginia) after having been plundered of all
      his clothing, etc., and there lodged with about 190 other prisoners, in
      the Provost. This deponent during twenty odd days was a spectator to the
      most savage cruelty with which the unhappy prisoners were treated by the
      English. The deponent has every reason to believe there was a premeditated
      scheme to infect all the prisoners who had not been infected with the
      smallpox. There were upwards of 100 prisoners who never had the disorder,
      notwithstanding which negroes, with the infection upon them, were lodged
      under the same roof of the Provost. Others were sent in to attend upon the
      prisoners, with the scabs of that disorder upon them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Some of the prisoners soon caught the disorder, others were down with
      the flux, and some from fevers. From such a complication of disorders
      &lsquo;twas thought expedient to petition General O&rsquo;Hara who was then commanding
      officer, for a removal of the sick, or those who were not, as yet,
      infected with the smallpox. Accordingly a petition was sent by Dr. Smith
      who shortly returned with a verbal answer, as he said, from the General.
      He said the General desired him to inform the prisoners that the <i>law of
      nations was annihilated</i>, that he had nothing then to bind them but
      bolts and bars, and they were to continue where they were, but that they
      were free agents to inoculate if they chose.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;About thirty agreed with the same Smith to inoculate them at a guinea a
      man; he performed the operation, received his guinea from many, and then
      left them to shift for themselves, though he had agreed to attend them
      through the disorder. Many of them, as well as those who took it in the
      natural way, died. Colonel Gee, with many respectable characters, fell
      victims to the unrelenting cruelty of O&rsquo;Hara, who would admit of no
      discrimination between the officers, privates, negroes, and felons; but
      promiscuously confined the whole in one house. * * * They also suffered
      often from want of water, and such as they got was very muddy and unfit to
      drink.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Willis Wilson.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;This day came before me Captain Willis Wilson and made oath that the
      above is true.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Samuel Thorogood.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There is much of great interest in this article on the Virginia Navy which
      is not to our present purpose. The writer goes on to tell how, on one
      occasion, the ship Favorite, bearing a flag of truce, was returning to
      Virginia, with a number of Americans who had just been liberated or
      exchanged in Bermuda, when she was overhauled by a British man-of-war, and
      both her crew and passengers robbed of all they had. The British ships
      which committed this dastardly deed were the Tiger, of 14 guns, and the
      schooner Surprise, of 10 guns.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain James Barron, afterwards Commodore Barren, was the master spirit
      of the service in Virginia. One of the Virginian vessels, very
      appropriately named the Victory, was commanded by him, and was never
      defeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1781 Joseph Galloway wrote a letter to Lord Howe in which he says: &ldquo;The
      rebel navy has been in a great measure destroyed by the small British
      force remaining in America, and the privateers sent out from New York.
      Their navy, which consisted, at the time of your departure, of about
      thirty vessels, is now reduced to eight, and the number of privateers
      fitted out in New England amounting to an hundred and upwards is now less
      than forty.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXI. &mdash; EXTRACTS FROM NEWSPAPERS&mdash;SOME OF THE PRISON
      SHIPS&mdash;CASE OF CAPTAIN
    </h2>
    <p>
      BIRDSALL
    </p>
    <p>
      At the risk of repetition of some facts that have already been given, we
      must again refer the reader to some extracts from the newspapers of the
      day. In this instance the truth can best be established by the mouths of
      many witnesses, and we do not hesitate to give the English side whenever
      we have been able to discover anything bearing on the subject in the
      so-called loyal periodicals of the time.
    </p>
    <p>
      From Freeman&rsquo;s <i>Journal,</i> date of Jan. 19th, 1777, we take the
      following:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;General Howe has discharged all the privates who were prisoners in New
      York. Half he sent to the world of spirits for want of food: the others he
      hath sent to warn their countrymen of the danger of falling into his
      hands, and to convince them by ocular demonstration, that it is infinitely
      better to be slain in battle, than to be taken prisoner by British brutes,
      whose tender mercies are cruelties.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      In the <i>Connecticut Journal</i> of Jan. 30th, 1777, is the following:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This account of the sufferings of these unfortunate men was obtained from
      the prisoners themselves. As soon as they were taken they were robbed of
      all their baggage; of whatever money they had, though it were of paper; of
      their silver shoe buckles and knee buckles, etc.; and many were stripped
      almost of their clothes. Especially those who had good clothes were
      stripped at once, being told that such were &lsquo;too good for rebels.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thus deprived of their clothes and baggage, they were unable to shift
      even their linen, and were obliged to wear the same shirts for even three
      or four months together, whereby they became extremely nasty; and this of
      itself was sufficient to bring on them many mortal diseases.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After they were taken they were in the first place put on board the
      ships, and thrust down into the hold, where not a breath of fresh air
      could be obtained, and they were nearly suffocated for want of air.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Some who were taken at Fort Washington were first in this manner thrust
      down into the holds of vessels in such numbers that even in the cold
      season of November they could scarcely bear any clothes on them, being
      kept in a constant sweat. Yet these same persons, after lying in this
      situation awhile, till the pores of their bodies were as perfectly open as
      possible, were of a sudden taken out and put into some of the churches of
      New York, without covering, or a spark of fire, where they suffered as
      much by the cold as they did by the sweating stagnation of the air in the
      other situation; and the consequence was that they took such colds as
      brought on the most fatal diseases, and swept them off almost beyond
      conception.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Besides these things they suffered severely for want of provisions. The
      commissioners pretended to allow a half a pound of bread, and four ounces
      of pork per day; but of this pittance they were much cut short. What was
      given them for three days was not enough for one day and, in some
      instances, they went for three days without a single mouthful of food of
      any kind. They were pinched to such an extent that some on board the ships
      would pick up and eat the salt that happened to be scattered there; others
      gathered up the bran which the light horse wasted, and eat it, mixed with
      dirt and filth as it was.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nor was this all, both the bread and pork which they did allow them was
      extremely bad. For the bread, some of it was made out of the bran which
      they brought over to feed their light horse, and the rest of it was so
      muddy, and the pork so damnified, being so soaked in bilge water during
      the transportation from Europe, that they were not fit to be eaten by
      human creatures, and when they were eaten were very unwholesome. Such
      bread and pork as they would not pretend to give to their own countrymen
      they gave to our poor sick dying prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nor were they in this doleful condition allowed a sufficiency of water.
      One would have thought that water was so cheap and plentiful an element,
      that they would not have grudged them that. But there are, it seems, no
      bounds to their cruelty. The water allowed them was so brackish, and
      withal nasty, that they could not drink it until reduced to extremity. Nor
      did they let them have a sufficiency of even such water as this.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When winter came on, our people suffered extremely for want of fire and
      clothes to keep them warm. They were confined in churches where there were
      no fireplaces that they could make fires, even if they had wood. But wood
      was only allowed them for cooking their pittance of victuals; and for that
      purpose very sparingly. They had none to keep them warm even in the
      extremest of weather, although they were almost naked, and the few clothes
      they had were their summer clothes. Nor had they a single blanket, nor any
      bedding, not even straw allowed them until a little before Christmas.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At the time those were taken on Long Island a considerable part of them
      were sick of the dysentery; and with this distemper on them were first
      crowded on board the ships, afterwards in the churches in New York, three,
      four or five hundred together, without any blankets, or anything for even
      the sick to lie upon, but the bare floors or pavements.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In this situation that contagious distemper soon communicated from the
      sick to the well, who would probably have remained so, had they not in
      this manner been thrust in together without regard to sick or well, or to
      the sultry, unwholesome season, it being then the heat of summer. Of this
      distemper numbers died daily, and many others by their confinement and the
      sultry season contracted fevers and died of them. During their sickness,
      with these and other diseases, they had no medicines, nothing soothing or
      comfortable for sick people, and were not so much as visited by the
      physician for months together.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nor ought we to omit the insults which the humane Britons offered to our
      people, nor the artifices which they used to enlist them in their service
      to fight against their country. It seems that one end of their starving
      our people was to bring them, by dint of necessity, to turn rebels to
      their own country, their own consciences, and their God. For while thus
      famishing they would come and say to them: &lsquo;This is the just punishment of
      your rebellion. Nay, you are treated too well for rebels; you have not
      received half you deserve or half you shall receive. But if you will
      enlist into his Majesty&rsquo;s service, you shall have victuals and clothes
      enough.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As to insults, the British officers, besides continually cursing and
      swearing at them as rebels, often threatened to hang them all; and, on a
      particular time, ordered a number, each man to choose his halter out of a
      parcel offered, wherewith to be hanged; and even went so far as to cause a
      gallows to be erected before the prison, as if they were to be immediately
      executed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They further threatened to send them all into the East Indies, and sell
      them there for slaves.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In these and numberless other ways did the British officers seem to rack
      their inventions to insult, terrify, and vex the poor prisoners. The
      meanest, upstart officers among them would insult and abuse our colonels
      and chief officers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In this situation, without clothes, without victuals or drink, or even
      water, or with those which were base and unwholesome; without fire, a
      number of them sick, first with a contagious and nauseous distemper;
      these, with others, crowded by hundreds into close confinement, at the
      most unwholesome season of the year, and continued there for four months
      without blankets, bedding, or straw; without linen to shift or clothes to
      cover their bodies;&mdash;No wonder they all became sickly, and having at
      the same time no medicine, no help of physicians, nothing to refresh or
      support nature, died by scores in a night, and those who were so far gone
      as to be unable to help themselves lay uncared for, till death, more kind
      than Britons, put an end to their misery.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By these means, and in this way, 1,500 brave Americans, who had nobly
      gone forth in defence of their injured, oppressed country, but whom the
      chance at war had cast into the hands of our enemies, died in New York,
      many of whom were very amiable, promising youths, of good families, the
      very flower of our land; and of those who lived to come out of prison, the
      greater part, as far as I can learn, are dead or dying. Their
      constitutions are broken; the stamina of nature worn out; they cannot
      recover&mdash;they die. Even the few that might have survived are dying of
      the smallpox. For it seems that our enemies determining that even these,
      whom a good constitution and a kind Providence had carried through
      unexampled sufferings, should not at last escape death, just before their
      release from imprisonment infected them with that fatal distemper.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To these circumstances we subjoin the manner in which they buried those
      of our people who died. They dragged them out of the prison by one leg or
      one arm, piled them up without doors, there let them lie until a
      sufficient number were dead to make a cart load, then loaded them up in a
      cart, drove the cart thus loaded out to the ditches made by our people
      when fortifying New York; there they would tip the cart, tumble the
      corpses together into the ditch, and afterwards slightly cover them with
      earth. * * * While our poor prisoners have been thus treated by our foes,
      the prisoners we have taken have enjoyed the liberty of walking and riding
      about within large limits at their pleasure; have been freely supplied
      with every necessary, and have even lived on the fat of the land. None
      have been so well fed, so plump, and so merry as they; and this generous
      treatment, it is said, they could not but remember. For when they were
      returned in the exchange of prisoners, and saw the miserable, famished,
      dying state of our prisoners, conscious of the treatment they had
      received, they could not refrain from tears.&rdquo; <i>Connecticut Journal,</i>
      Jan. 30th, 1777.
    </p>
    <p>
      In April of the year 1777 a committee that was appointed by Congress to
      inquire into the doings of the British on their different marches through
      New York and New Jersey reported that &ldquo;The prisoners, instead of that
      humane treatment which those taken by the United States experienced, were
      in general treated with the greatest barbarity. Many of them were kept
      near four days without food altogether. * * * Freemen and men of substance
      suffered all that generous minds could suffer from the contempt and
      mockery of British and foreign mercenaries. Multitudes died in prison.
      When they were sent out several died in being carried from the boats on
      shore, or upon the road attempting to go home. The committee, in the
      course of their inquiry, learned that sometimes the common soldiers
      expressed sympathy with the prisoners, and the foreigners (did this) more
      than the English. But this was seldom or never the case with the officers,
      nor have they been able to hear of any charitable assistance given them by
      the inhabitants who remained in, or resorted to the city of New York,
      which neglect, if universal, they believe was never known to happen in any
      similar case in a Christian country.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      We have already shown that some of the citizens of New York, even a number
      of the profligate women of the town, did their best to relieve the wants
      of the perishing prisoners. But the guards were very strict, and what they
      could do was inadequate to remove the distresses under which these victims
      of cruelty and oppression died. As we are attempting to make this work a
      compendium of all the facts that can be gathered upon the subject, we must
      beg the reader&rsquo;s indulgence if we continue to give corroborating testimony
      of the same character, from the periodicals of the day. We will next quote
      from the <i>New Hampshire Gazette,</i> date of February 4th, 1779.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is painful to repeat the indubitable accounts we are constantly
      receiving, of the cruel and inhuman treatment of the subjects of these
      States from the British in New York and other places. They who hear our
      countrymen who have been so unfortunate as to fall into the hands of those
      unrelenting tyrants, relate the sad story of their captivity, the insults
      they have received, and the slow, cool, systematic manner in which great
      numbers of those who could not be prevailed on to enter their service have
      been murdered, must have hearts of stone not to melt with pity for the
      sufferers, and burn with indignation at their tormentors. As we have daily
      fresh instances to prove the truth of such a representation, public
      justice requires that repeated public mention should be made of them. A
      cartel vessel lately arrived at New London in Connecticut, carrying about
      130 American prisoners from the prison ships in New York. Such was the
      condition in which these poor creatures were put on board the cartel, that
      in the short run, 16 died on board; upwards of sixty when they were
      landed, were scarcely able to move, and the remainder greatly emaciated
      and enfeebled; and many who continue alive are never likely to recover
      their former health. The greatest inhumanity was experienced by the
      prisoners in a ship of which one Nelson, a Scotchman, had the
      superintendence. Upwards of 300 American prisoners were confined at a
      time, on board this ship. There was but one small fire-place allowed to
      cook the food of such a number. The allowance of the prisoners was,
      moreover, frequently delayed, insomuch that, in the short days of November
      and December, it was not begun to be delivered out until 11 o&rsquo;clock in the
      forenoon so that the whole could not be served until three. At sunset the
      fire was ordered to be quenched; no plea from the many sick, from their
      absolute necessity, the shortness of the time or the smallness of the
      hearth, was allowed to avail. The known consequence was that some had not
      their food dressed at all; many were obliged to eat it half raw. On board
      the ship no flour, oatmeal, and things of like nature, suited to the
      condition of infirm people, were allowed to the many sick, nothing but
      ship-bread, beef, and pork. This is the account given by a number of
      prisoners, who are credible persons, and this is but a part of their
      sufferings; so that the excuse made by the enemy that the prisoners were
      emaciated and died by contagious sickness, which no one could prevent, is
      futile. It requires no great sagacity to know that crowding people
      together without fresh air, and feeding, or rather starving them in such a
      manner as the prisoners have been, must unavoidably produce a contagion.
      Nor is it a want of candor to suppose that many of our enemies saw with
      pleasure this contagion, which might have been so easily prevented, among
      the prisoners who could not be persuaded to enter the service.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      THE CASE OF CAPTAIN BIRDSALL
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon after the battle of Long Island Captain Birdsall, a Whig officer,
      made a successful attempt to release an American vessel laden with flour
      for the army, which had been captured in the Sound by the British. Captain
      Birdsall offered, if the undertaking was approved of by his superior
      officer, to superintend the enterprise himself. The proposal was accepted,
      when Birdsall, with a few picked men, made the experiment, and succeeded
      in sending the vessel to her original destination. But he and one of his
      men fell into the hands of the enemy. He was sent to the Provost Jail
      under surveillance of &ldquo;that monster in human shape, the infamous
      Cunningham.&rdquo; He requested the use of pen, ink, and paper, for the purpose
      of acquainting his family of his situation. On being refused he made a
      reply which drew from the keeper some opprobious epithets, accompanied by
      a thrust from his sword, which penetrated the shoulder of his victim, and
      caused the blood to flow freely. Being locked up alone in a filthy
      apartment, and denied any assistance whatever, he was obliged to dress the
      wound with his own linen, and then to endure, in solitude and misery,
      every indignity which the malice of the Provost Master urged him to
      inflict upon a <i>damned rebel</i>, who, he declared, ought to be hung.
      &ldquo;After several months of confinement and starvation he was exchanged.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Two Whig gentlemen of Long Island were imprisoned in the Provost Prison
      some time in the year 1777. Two English Quakers named Jacob Watson and
      Robert Murray at last procured their release. Their names were George
      Townsend and John Kirk. Kirk caught the smallpox while in prison. He was
      sent home in a covered wagon. His wife met him at the door, and tenderly
      nursed him through the disorder. He recovered in due time, but she and her
      infant daughter died of the malady. There were hundreds of such cases:
      indeed throughout the war contagion was carried into every part of the
      country by soldiers and former prisoners. In some instances the British
      were accused of selling inoculated clothing to the prisoners. Let us hope
      that some, at least, of these reports are unfounded.
    </p>
    <p>
      The North Dutch Church was the last of the churches used as prisons to be
      torn down. As late as 1850 it was still standing, and marks of bayonet
      thrusts were plainly to be discerned upon its pillars. How many of the
      wretched sufferers were in this manner done to death we have no means of
      discovering, but it must have been easier to die in that manner than to
      have endured the protracted agonies of death by starvation.
    </p>
    <p>
      John Pintard, who assisted his uncle, Lewis Pintard, Commissioner for
      American prisoners in New York, thus wrote of their sufferings. It must be
      remembered that the prisoners taken in 1776 died, for the most part,
      before our struggling nation was able to protect them, before
      Commissioners had been appointed, and when, in her feeble infancy, the
      Republic was powerless to aid them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The prisoners taken on Long Island and at Fort Washington, sick, wounded,
      and well, were all indiscriminately huddled together, by hundreds and
      thousands, large numbers of whom died by disease, and many undoubtedly
      poisoned by inhuman attendants, for the sake of their watches or silver
      buckles.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was on the 20th of January, 1777, that Washington proposed to Mr. Lewis
      Pintard, a merchant of New York, that he should accept the position as
      resident agent for American prisoners. In May of that year General Parsons
      sent to Washington a plan for making a raid upon Long Island, and bringing
      off the American officers, prisoners of war on parole. Washington,
      however, disapproved of the plan, and it was not executed.
    </p>
    <p>
      No one sympathized with the unfortunate victims of British cruelty more
      deeply than the Commander-in-chief. But he keenly felt the injustice of
      exchanging sound, healthy, British soldiers, for starved and dying
      wretches, for the most part unable even to reach their homes. In a letter
      written by him on the 28th of May, 1777, to General Howe, he declared that
      a great proportion of prisoners sent out by the British were not fit
      subjects for exchange, and that, being made so unfit by the severity of
      their treatment, a deduction should be made. It is needless to say that
      the British General refused this proposition.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the 10th of June, 1777, Washington, in a long letter to General Howe,
      states that he gave clothing to the British prisoners in his care. He also
      declares that he was not informed of the sufferings of the Americans in
      New York until too late, and that he was refused permission to establish
      an agency in that city to purchase what was necessary to supply the wants
      of the prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not until after the battle of Trenton that anything could be done
      to relieve these poor men. Washington, by his heroism, when he led his
      little band across the half frozen Delaware, saved the lives of the small
      remnant of prisoners in New York. After the battle he had so many British
      and Hessian prisoners in his power, that he was able to impress upon the
      British general the fact that American prisoners were too valuable to be
      murdered outright, and that it was more expedient to keep them alive for
      purposes of exchange.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rivington&rsquo;s <i>Gazette</i> of Jan. 15th, 1779, contains this notice:
      &ldquo;Privateers arriving in New York Harbor are to put their prisoners on
      board the Good Hope or Prince of Wales prison ships.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;James Dick.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      If the Jersey were in use at that time it must have been too crowded for
      further occupancy. But although there is frequent mention in the
      periodicals of the day of the prison ships of New York the Jersey did not
      become notorious until later.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the 29th of June, 1779, Sir George Collier, in a notice in Rivington&rsquo;s
      <i>Gazette</i>, forbids &ldquo;privateers landing prisoners on Long Island to
      the damage and annoyance of His Majesty&rsquo;s faithful servants.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This order was no doubt issued, in fear of contagion, which fear led the
      British to remove their prison ships out of New York Harbor to the retired
      waters of Wallabout Bay, where the work of destruction could go on with
      less fear of producing a general pestilence.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the issue for the 23rd of August, 1779, we read: &ldquo;To be sold, The sails
      and rigging of the ship Good Hope. Masts, spars, and yards as good as
      new.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Among the accounts of cruelty to the prisoners it is refreshing to come
      upon such a paragraph as this, from a New London, Conn. paper, dated
      August 18th, 1779. &ldquo;Last week five or six hundred American prisoners were
      exchanged. A flag returned here with 47 American prisoners, and though
      taken out of the Good Hope prison ship, it must (for once) be acknowledged
      that all were very well and healthy. Only 150 left.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The next quotation that we will give contains one of the first mentions of
      the Jersey as a prison ship, that we have been able to find.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New London, Sept. 1st, 1779. D. Stanton testifies that he was taken June
      5th and put in the Jersey prison ship. An allowance from Congress was sent
      on board. About three or four weeks past we were removed on board the Good
      Hope, where we found many sick. There is now a hospital ship provided, to
      which they are removed, and good attention paid.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A Boston paper dated September 2nd, 1779, has the following: &ldquo;Returned to
      this port Alexander Dickey, Commissary of Prisoners, from New York, with a
      cartel, having on board 180 American prisoners. Their countenances
      indicate that they have undergone every conceivable inhumanity.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New London, Sep. 29th 1779. A Flag arrived here from New York with 117
      prisoners, chiefly from New England.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      From Rivington&rsquo;s <i>Gazette,</i> March lst, 1780. &ldquo;Last Saturday afternoon
      the Good Hope prison ship, lying in the Wallebocht Bay was entirely
      consumed after having been wilfully set on fire by a Connecticut man named
      Woodbury, who confessed to the fact. He with others of the incendiaries
      are removed to the Provost. The prisoners let each other down from the
      port holes and decks into the water.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So that was the end of the Good Hope. She seems to have been burned by
      some of the prisoners in utter desperation, probably with some hope that,
      in the confusion, they might be enabled to escape, though we do not learn
      that any of them were so fortunate, and the only consequence of the deed
      appears to have been that the remaining ships were crowded to suffocation.
    </p>
    <p>
      A writer in the Connecticut <i>Gazette,</i> whose name is not given, says:
      &ldquo;May 25th, 1780. I am now a prisoner on board the Falmouth, a place the
      most dreadful; we are confined so that we have not room even to lie down
      all at once to sleep. It is the most horrible, cursed, hole that can be
      thought of. I was sick and longed for some small beer, while I lay
      unpitied at death&rsquo;s door, with a putrid fever, and though I had money I
      was not permitted to send for it. I offered repeatedly a hard dollar for a
      pint. The wretch who went forward and backward would not oblige me. I am
      just able to creep about. Four prisoners have escaped from this ship. One
      having, as by accident, thrown his hat overboard, begged leave to go after
      it in a small boat, which lay alongside. Having reached the hat they
      secured the sentinel and made for the Jersey shore, though several armed
      boats pursued, and shot was fired from the shipping.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The New Jersey <i>Gazette</i> of June 4th, 1780, says: &ldquo;Thirty-five
      Americans, including five officers, made their escape from the prison ship
      at New York and got safely off.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For Sale. The remains of the hospital ship Kitty, as they now lie at the
      Wallebocht, with launch, anchors, and cables.&rdquo; Gaine&rsquo;s <i>Mercury</i>,
      July 1st, 1780.
    </p>
    <p>
      New Jersey <i>Gazette</i>, August 23, 1780. &ldquo;Captain Grumet, who made his
      escape from the Scorpion prison ship, at New York, on the evening of the
      15th, says more lenity is shown the prisoners. There are 200 in the
      Strombolo, and 120 in the Scorpion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was in 1780 that the poet Freneau was a prisoner on the Scorpion,
      which, at that time, was anchored in the East River. In Rivington&rsquo;s <i>Gazette</i>,
      at the end of that year, the &ldquo;hulks of his Majesty&rsquo;s sloops Scorpion and
      Hunter&rdquo; are advertised for sale. Also &ldquo;the Strombolo fire-ship, now lying
      in North River.&rdquo; It appears, however, that there were no purchasers, and
      they remained unsold. They were still in use until the end of the year
      1781. Gaine&rsquo;s <i>Mercury</i> declares that &ldquo;the Strombolo, from August
      21st to December 10th, 1781, had never less than 150 prisoners on board,
      oftener over 200.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Captain Cahoon with four others escaped from a prison ship to Long Island
      in a boat, March 8, notwithstanding they were fired on from the prison and
      hospital ships, and pursued by guard boats from three in the afternoon to
      seven in the evening. He left 200 prisoners in New York.&rdquo; <i>Connecticut
      Journal</i>, March 22, 1781.
    </p>
    <p>
      The <i>Connecticut Gazette</i>, in May, 1781, stated that 1100 French and
      American prisoners had died during the winter in the prison ships. &ldquo;New
      London, November 17th, 1781. A Flag of truce returned here from New York
      with 132 prisoners, with the rest of those carried off by Arnold. They are
      chiefly from the prison ships, and some from the Sugar House, and are
      mostly sick.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New London, Jan. 4th, 1782. 130 prisoners landed here from New York
      December third, in most deplorable condition. A great part are since dead,
      and the survivors so debilitated that they will drag out a miserable
      existence. It is enough to melt the most obdurate heart to see these
      miserable objects landed at our wharves sick and dying, and the few rags
      they have on covered with vermin and their own excrements.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXII. &mdash; THE JOURNAL OF DR. ELIAS CORNELIUS&mdash;BRITISH
      PRISONS IN THE SOUTH
    </h2>
    <p>
      We must now conduct our readers back to the Provost Prison in New York,
      where, for some time, Colonel Ethan Allen was incarcerated. Dr. Elias
      Cornelius, a surgeon&rsquo;s mate, was taken prisoner by the British on the 22nd
      of August, 1777. On that day he had ridden to the enemy&rsquo;s advanced post to
      make observations, voluntarily accompanying a scouting party. On his way
      back he was surprised, over-powered, and captured by a party of British
      soldiers.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was at East Chester. He seems to have lagged behind the rest of the
      party, and thus describes the occurrence: &ldquo;On riding into town (East
      Chester) four men started from behind a shed and took me prisoner. They
      immediately began robbing me of everything I had, horse and harness,
      pistols, Great Coat, shoe-buckles, pocket book, which contained over
      thirty pounds, and other things. The leader of the guard abused me very
      much. * * * When we arrived at King&rsquo;s Bridge I was put under the Provost
      Guard, with a man named Prichard and several other prisoners.&rdquo; They were
      kept at the guard house there for some time, and regaled with mouldy
      bread, rum and water, and sour apples, which were thrown down for them to
      scramble for, as if they were so many pigs. They were at last marched to
      New York. Just before reaching that city they were carried before a
      Hessian general to be &ldquo;made a show of.&rdquo; The Hessians mocked them, told
      them they were all to be hung, and even went so far as to draw their
      swords across their throats. But a Hessian surgeon&rsquo;s mate took pity on
      Cornelius, and gave him a glass of wine.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the march to New York in the hot summer afternoon they were not allowed
      to stop even for a drink of water. Cornelius was in a fainting condition,
      when a poor woman, compassionating his sad plight, asked to be allowed to
      give them some water. They were then about four miles from New York. She
      ran into her house and brought out several pails of beer, three or four
      loaves of bread, two or three pounds of cheese, and besides all this, she
      gave money to some of the prisoners. Her name was Mrs. Clemons. She was
      from Boston and kept a small store along the road to New York.
    </p>
    <p>
      Cornelius says: &ldquo;We marched till we come to the Bowery, three quarters of
      a mile from New York. * * * As we come into town, Hessians, Negroes, and
      children insulted, stoned, and abused us. * * * In this way we were led
      through half the streets as a show. * * * At last we were ordered to the
      Sugar House, which formerly went by the name of Livingstone&rsquo;s Sugar House.
      Here one Walley, a Sergeant of the 20th Regiment of Irish traitors in the
      British service, had the charge of the prisoners. This man was the most
      barbarous, cruel man that ever I saw. He drove us into the yard like so
      many hogs. From there he ordered us into the Sugar House, which was the
      dirtiest and most disagreeable place that I ever saw, and the water in the
      pump was not better than that in the docks. The top of the house was open
      * * * to the weather, so that when it rained the water ran through every
      floor, and it was impossible for us to keep dry. Mr. Walley gave thirteen
      of us four pounds of mouldy bread and four pounds of poor Irish pork for
      four days. I asked Mr Walley if I was not to have my parole. He answered
      &lsquo;No!&rsquo; When I asked for pen and ink to write a few lines to my father, he
      struck me across the face with a staff which I have seen him beat the
      prisoners.&rdquo; (with)
    </p>
    <p>
      On the next morning Cornelius was conveyed to the Provost Guard. &ldquo;I was
      then taken down to a Dungeon. The provost marshal was Sergeant Keith&rdquo;
       (Cunningham appears to have been, at this time, murdering the unfortunate
      prisoners in his power at Philadelphia).
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There was in this place a Captain Travis of Virginia, and Captain of a
      sloop of war. There were also in this dismal place nine thieves,
      murderers, etc. A Captain Chatham was taken sick with nervous fever. I
      requested the Sergeant to suffer me to send for some medicine, or I
      believed he might die, to which he replied he might die, and if he did he
      would bury him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All the provisions each man had was but two pounds meat and two pounds
      bread for a week, always one and sometimes both was not fit to eat. * * *
      I had no change of linen from the 25th of August to the 12th of
      September.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It seems that the father of Cornelius, who lived on Long Island, was an
      ardent Tory. Cornelius asked Sergeant O&rsquo;Keefe to be allowed to send to his
      father for money and clothing. But this was refused. &ldquo;In this hideous
      place,&rdquo; he continues, &ldquo;I was kept until the 20th of September; when
      Sergeant Keath took Captains C., and Travis, and myself, and led us to the
      upper part of the prison, where were Ethan Allen, Major Williams, Paine
      and Wells and others. Major Williams belonged at Maryland and was taken
      prisoner at Fort Washington. * * *
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;While at this place we were not allowed to speak to any friend, not even
      out of the window. I have frequently seen women beaten with canes and
      ram-rods who have come to the prisons&rsquo; windows to speak to their Husbands,
      Sons, or Brothers, and officers put in the dungeon just for asking for
      cold water.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Dried peas were given out to the prisoners, without the means of cooking
      them.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Fort Montgomery was taken by the British the American officers who
      had been in command at that post were brought to the Provost and put into
      two small rooms on the lower floor. Some of them were badly wounded, but
      no surgeon was allowed to dress their wounds. Cornelius asked permission
      to do so, but this was refused. &ldquo;All of us in the upper prison,&rdquo; he
      continues, &ldquo;were sometimes allowed to go on top of the house. I took this
      opportunity to throw some Ointment and Lint down the chimney to the
      wounded in the lower rooms with directions how to use it. I knew only one
      of them&mdash;Lt. Col. Livingstone.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At the time of Burgoyne&rsquo;s surrender a rumor of the event reached the
      prisoners, and women passing along the street made signs to assure them
      that that general was really a captive. Colonel Livingstone received a
      letter from his father giving an account of Burgoyne&rsquo;s surrender. &ldquo;Soon we
      heard hollooing and other expressions of joy from him and others in the
      (lower) rooms. * * * He put the letter up through a crack in the floor for
      us to read. * * * The whole prison was filled with joy inexpressible. * *
      * From this time we were better treated, although the provision was bad,
      but we drew rather larger quantities of it. Some butter, and about a gill
      of rice and some cole were dealt out to us, which we never drew before.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;About this time my father came to see me. I was called down to the
      grates. My heart at first was troubled within me; I burst into tears, and
      did not speak for some minutes. I put my hand through the grates, and took
      my father&rsquo;s and held it fast. The poor old gentleman shed many tears, and
      seemed much troubled to see me in so woeful a place. * * * He asked me
      what I thought of myself now, and why I could not have been ruled by him.
      * * * Soon the Provost Marshal came and said he could not allow my father
      to stay longer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;* * * Toward the latter part of December we had Continental bread and
      beef sent us, and as much wood as we wished to burn. A friend gave me some
      money which was very useful.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Jan. 9th, 1778. This day Mr. Walley came and took from the prison myself
      and six others under guard to the Sugar House. * * * At this time my
      health was bad, being troubled with the scurvy, and my prospects for the
      winter were dark.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He describes the Sugar House as a dreadful place of torment, and says that
      thirty disorderly men were allowed to steal from the other prisoners the
      few comforts they possessed. They would even take the sick out of their
      beds, steal their bedding, and beat and kick the wretched sufferers. The
      articles thus procured they would sell to Mr. Walley (or Woolley) for rum.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the 13th of January Cornelius was sent to the hospital. The Brick
      Meeting House was used for the sick among the prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Here,&rdquo; he continues, &ldquo;I stayed until the 16th. I was not much better than
      I was in the Sugar House, no medicine was given me, though I had a cough
      and a fever. The Surgeon wished me as soon as I got better to take the
      care of the sick, provided I could get my parole.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Jan. 16th. On coming next morning he (the surgeon) said he could get my
      parole. I was now determined to make my escape, though hardly able to
      undertake it. Just at dusk, having made the Sentinel intoxicated, I with
      others, went out into the backyard to endeavor to escape over the fence.
      The others being backward about going first, I climbed upon a tombstone
      and gave a spring, and went over safe, and then gave orders for the others
      to do so also. A little Irish lad undertook to leap over, and caught his
      clothes in the spikes on the wall, and made something of a noise. The
      sentinel being aroused called out &lsquo;Rouse!&rsquo; which is the same as to command
      the guards to turn out. They were soon out and surrounded the prison. In
      the mean time I had made my way to St. Paul&rsquo;s Church, which was the wrong
      way to get out of town.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The guards, expecting that I had gone towards North River, went in that
      direction. On arriving at the Church I turned into the street to go by the
      College and thus go out of town by the side of the river. Soon after I was
      out of town I heard the eight o&rsquo;clock gun, which * * * was the signal for
      the sentinels to hail every man that came by. I wished much to cross the
      river, but could not find any boat suitable. While going along up the side
      of the river at 9 P.M., I was challenged by a sentinel with the usual word
      (Burdon), upon which I answered nothing, and on being challenged the
      second time I answered &lsquo;Friend.&rsquo; He bade me advance and give the
      countersign, upon which I fancied (pretended) I was drunk, and advanced in
      a staggering manner, and after falling to the ground he asked me where I
      was going. I told him &lsquo;Home,&rsquo; but that I had got lost, and having been to
      New York had taken rather too much liquor, and become somewhat
      intoxicated. He then asked me my name which I told him was Matthew Hoppen.
      Mr. Hoppen lived not far distant. I solicited him to put me in the right
      direction, but he told me I must not go until the Sergeant of the guard
      dismissed me from him, unless I could give him the countersign. I still
      entreated him to let me go. Soon he consented and directed my course,
      which I thanked him for. Soon the moon arose and made it very light, and
      there being snow on the ground, crusted over, and no wind, therefore a
      person walking could be heard a great distance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At this time the tumor in my lungs broke, and being afraid to cough for
      fear of being heard, prevented me from relieving myself of the pus that
      was lodged there.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I had now to cross lots that were cleared and covered with snow, the
      houses being thick on the road which I was to cross, and for fear of being
      heard I lay myself flat on my stomach and crept along on the frozen snow.
      When I come to the fence I climbed over, and walked down the road, near a
      house where there was music and dancing. At this time one of the guards
      came out. I immediately fell down upon my face. Soon the man went into the
      house. I rose again, and crossed the fence into the field, and proceeded
      towards the river. There being no trees or rocks to prevent my being seen,
      and not being able to walk without being heard, and the dogs beginning to
      bark, I lay myself down flat again, and crept across the field, which took
      me half an hour. I at length reached the river and walked by the side of
      it some distance, and saw a small creek which ran up into the island, and
      by the side of it a small house, and two Sentinels one on each side of it.
      Not knowing what to do I crept into a hole in the bank which led in
      between two rocks. Here I heard them talk. I concluded to endeavor to go
      around the head of the creek, which was about half a mile, but on getting
      out of the hole I took hold of the limb of a tree which gave way, and made
      a great noise. The sentinel, on hearing it said, &lsquo;Did you not hear a
      person on the creek?&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I waited some minutes and then went around the head of the creek and came
      down the river on the other side to see if I could not find a boat to
      cross to Long Island. But on finding sentinels near by I retreated a short
      distance back, and went up the river. I had not gone more than thirty rods
      when I saw another sentinel posted on the bank of the river where I must
      pass. * * * I stood some time thinking what course to pursue, but on
      looking at the man found he did not move and was leaning on his gun. I
      succeeded in passing by without waking him up. After this I found a
      Sentinel every fifteen or twenty rods until I came within two miles of
      Hell Gate. Here I stayed until my feet began to freeze, and having nothing
      to eat I went a mile further up the river. It now being late I crept into
      the bushes and lay down to think what to do next. I concluded to remain
      where I was during the night, and early in the morning to go down to New
      York and endeavor to find some house to conceal myself in.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the morning as soon as the Revelry Beating commenced I went on my way
      to New York which was eight miles from this place. After proceeding awhile
      I heard the morning guns fired from New York, though I was four miles from
      it. I passed the sentinels unmolested down the middle of the road, and
      arrived there before many were up. I met many British and Hessian soldiers
      whom I knew very well, but they did not know me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I went to a house, and found them friends of America, and was kindly
      received of them, and (they) promised to keep me a few days.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I had not been here but three quarters of an hour when I was obliged to
      call for a bed. After being in bed two or three hours I was taken with a
      stoppage in my breast, and made my resperation difficult, and still being
      afraid to cough loud for fear of being heard. The good lady of the house
      gave me some medicine of my own prescribing, which soon gave me relief.
      Soon after a rumor spread about town among the friends of America of my
      confinement, and expecting soon to be retaken, they took measures to have
      me conveyed to Long Island, which was accordingly done.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Feb. 18th, 1778. The same day I was landed I walked nine miles, and put
      up at a friend&rsquo;s house, during my walk I passed my Grandfather&rsquo;s house,
      and dare not go in for fear he would deliver me up to the British. Next
      morning I started on my journey again, and reached the place I intended at
      12 o&rsquo;clock, and put up with two friends. The next morning I and two
      companions started from our friends with four days provisions, and shovels
      and axes to build us a hut in the woods. We each of us had a musket,
      powder, and balls. After going two miles in the woods we dug away the snow
      and made us a fire. After warming ourselves we set to work to build
      ourselves a hut; and got one side of it done the first day, and the next
      we finished it. It was tolerably comfortable. We kept large fires, and
      cooked our meat on the coals. In eight or ten days we had some provisions
      brought us by our friends. At this time we heard that Captain Rogers was
      cast away on Long Island, and concealed by some of his friends. We went to
      see him, and found him. We attempted to stay in the house in a back room.
      At about ten A. M. there came in a Tory, he knowing some of us seemed much
      troubled. We made him promise that he would not make known our escape. The
      next day our two comrades went back to their old quarters, and Captain
      Rogers and myself and a friend went into the woods and built us a hut,
      about ten miles from my former companions, with whom we kept up a constant
      correspondence. Soon a man was brought to us by our friends, whom we found
      to be John Rolston, a man who was confined in the Provost Jail with us,
      and was carried to the Hospital about three weeks after I was, and made
      his escape the same way, and by friends was brought to Long Island.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;March 19th, 1778. About 5 o&rsquo;clock a friend came to us and and said we had
      an opportunity to go over to New England in a boat that had just landed
      with four Tories, that had stolen the boat at Fairfield, Conn. We
      immediately sent word to our two friends with whom I first helped to build
      a hut, but they could not be found. At sunset those that came in the boat
      went off, and some of our friends guided us through the woods to the boat,
      taking two oars with us, for fear we should not find any in the boat. On
      arrival at the place our kind friends helped us off. We rowed very fast
      till we were a great distance from land. The moon rose soon, and the wind
      being fair we arrived we knew not where, about a half hour before day. We
      went on shore, and soon found it was Norwalk, Conn. We had bade farewell
      to Long Island, for the present, upon which I composed the following
      lines:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  &ldquo;O fair you well, once happy land,
    Where peace and plenty dwelt,
  But now oppressed by tyrants&rsquo; hands,
    Where naught but fury&rsquo;s felt

  &ldquo;Behold I leave you for awhile,
    To mourn for all your sons,
  Who daily bleed that you may smile
    When we&rsquo;ve your freedom won
</pre>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After being rested, just as the day began to dawn, we walked to a place
      called the Old Mill, where we found a guard (American) who hailed us at a
      distance, and on coming up to him kindly received us, and invited us to
      his house to warm us. This being done we went home with Captain Rodgers,
      for he lived in Norwalk. Here we went to bed at sunrise, and stayed till
      10 o&rsquo;clock. After dinner we took leave of Captain Rodgers and started for
      head-quarters in Pennsylvania, where the grand Army was at that time. In
      seven days we arrived at Valley Forge.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Elias Cornelius.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This portion of the journal of Dr. Cornelius was published in the <i>Putnam
      County Republican</i>, in 1895, with a short account of the author.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dr. Cornelius was born on Long Island in 1758, and was just twenty at the
      time of his capture. His ancestors came from Holland. They were of good
      birth, and brought a seal bearing their coat of arms to this country. On
      the 15th of April, 1777, he was appointed surgeon&rsquo;s mate to the Second
      Regiment of Rhode Island troops under Colonel Israel Angell.
    </p>
    <p>
      The article in the <i>Republican</i> gives a description of Cunningham and
      the Provost which we do not quote in full, as it contains little that is
      new. It says, however that &ldquo;While Cunningham&rsquo;s victims were dying off from
      cold and starvation like cattle, he is said to have actually mingled an
      arsenical preparation with the food to make them die the quicker. It is
      recorded that he boasted that he had killed more rebels with his own hand
      than had been slain by all the King&rsquo;s forces in America.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Cornelius continued in the Continental service until January 1st, 1781,
      and received an honorable discharge. After the war he settled at Yorktown,
      Westchester County, and came to be known as the &ldquo;beloved physician.&rdquo; He
      was very gentle and kind, and a great Presbyterian. He died in 1823, and
      left descendants, one of whom is Judge C. M. Tompkins, of Washington, D.
      C.
    </p>
    <p>
      As we have seen, Cunningham was not always in charge of the Provost. It
      appears that, during his absence in Philadelphia and other places, where
      he spread death and destruction, he left Sergeant O&rsquo;Keefe, almost as great
      a villian as himself, in charge of the hapless prisoners in New York. It
      is to be hoped that his boast that he had killed more Americans than all
      the King&rsquo;s forces is an exaggeration. It may, however, be true that in the
      years 1776 and 1777 he destroyed more American soldiers than had, at that
      time, fallen on the field of battle.
    </p>
    <p>
      When an old building that had been used as a prison near the City Hall was
      torn down a few years ago to make way for the Subway Station of the
      Brooklyn Bridge, a great number of skeletons were found <i>in its cellars</i>.
      That these men starved to death or came to their end by violence cannot be
      doubted. New York, at the time of the Revolution, extended to about
      three-quarters of a mile from the Battery, its suburbs lying around what
      is now Fulton Street. Cornelius speaks of the Bowery as about
      three-quarters of a mile from New York! &ldquo;St. Paul&rsquo;s Church,&rdquo; says Mr.
      Haltigan, in his very readable book called &ldquo;The Irish in the American
      Revolution,&rdquo; &ldquo;where Washington attended divine service, is now the only
      building standing that existed in those days, and that is a veritable
      monument to Irish and American patriotism. * * * On the Boston Post Road,
      where it crossed a brook in the vicinity of Fifty-Second street and Second
      avenue, then called Beekman&rsquo;s Hill, William Beekman had an extensive
      country house. During the Revolution this house was the British
      headquarters, and residence of Sir William Howe, where Nathan Hale was
      condemned to death, and where Major Andrè received his last instructions
      before going on his ill-fated mission to the traitor Arnold.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Lossing tells us of the imprisonment of one of the signers of the
      Declaration of Independence, in the following language: &ldquo;Suffering and woe
      held terrible sway after Cornwallis and his army swept over the plains of
      New Jersey. Like others of the signers of the great Declaration, Richard
      Stockton was marked for peculiar vengeance by the enemy. So suddenly did
      the flying Americans pass by in the autumn of 1776, and so soon were the
      Hessian vultures and their British companions on the trail, that he had
      barely time to remove his family to a place of safety before his beautiful
      mansion was filled with rude soldiery. The house was pillaged, the horses
      and stock were driven away, the furniture was converted into fuel, the
      choice old wines in the cellar were drunk, the valuable library, and all
      the papers of Mr. Stockton were committed to the flames, and the estate
      was laid waste. Mr. Stockton&rsquo;s place of concealment was discovered by a
      party of loyalists, who entered the house at night, dragged him from his
      bed, and treating him with every indignity that malice could invent,
      hurried him to New York, where he was confined in the loathsome Provost
      Jail and treated with the utmost cruelty. When, through the interposition
      of Congress he was released, his constitution was hopelessly shattered,
      and he did not live to see the independence of his country achieved. He
      died at his home at Princeton, in February, 1781, blessed to the last with
      the tender and affectionate attentions of his noble wife.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      We have gathered very little information about the British prisons in the
      south, but that little shall be laid before the reader. It repeats the
      same sad story of suffering and death of hundreds of martyrs to the cause
      of liberty, and of terrible cruelty on the part of the English as long as
      they were victorious.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Haltigan tells of the &ldquo;tender mercies&rdquo; of Cornwallis at the south in
      the following words: &ldquo;Cornwallis was even more cruel than Clinton, and
      more flagrant in his violations of the conditions of capitulation. After
      the fall of Charleston the real misery of the inhabitants began. Every
      stipulation made by Sir Henry Clinton for their welfare was not only
      grossly violated, but he sent out expeditions in various sections to
      plunder and kill the inhabitants, and scourge the country generally. One
      of these under Tarleton surprised Colonel Buford and his Virginia regiment
      at Waxhaw, N. C., and while negotiations were pending for a surrender, the
      Americans, without notice, were suddenly attacked and massacred in cold
      blood. Colonel Buford and one hundred of his men saved themselves only by
      flight. Though the rest sued for quarter, one hundred and thirteen of them
      were killed on the spot, and one hundred and fifty more were so badly
      hacked by Tarleton&rsquo;s dragoons that they could not be removed. Only
      fifty-three out of the entire regiment were spared and taken prisoners.
      &lsquo;Tarleton&rsquo;s quarter&rsquo; thereafter became the synonym for barbarity. * * *
      Feeling the silent influence of the eminent citizens under parole in
      Charleston, Cornwallis resolved to expatriate them to Florida.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lieutenant Governor Gadsden and seventy-seven other public and
      influential men were taken from their beds by armed parties, before dawn
      on the morning of the 27th of August, 1780, hurried on board the Sandwich
      prison ship, without being allowed to bid adieu to their families, and
      were conveyed to St. Augustine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The pretence for this measure, by which the British authorities attempted
      to justify it, was the false accusation that these men were concerting a
      scheme for burning the town and massacring the loyal inhabitants. Nobody
      believed the tale, and the act was made more flagrant by this wicked
      calumny. Arrived at St. Augustine the prisoners were offered paroles to
      enjoy liberty within the precincts of the town. Gadsden, the sturdy
      patriot, refused acquiescence, for he disdained making further terms with
      a power that did not regard the sanctity of a solemn treaty. He was
      determined not to be deceived the second time.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Had the British commanders,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;regarded the terms of
      capitulation at Charleston I might now, although a prisoner, enjoy the
      smiles and consolations of my family under my own roof; but even without a
      shadow of accusation preferred against me, for any act inconsistent with
      my plighted faith, I am torn from them, and here, in a distant land,
      invited to enter into new engagements. I will give no parole.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Think better of it,&rsquo; said Governor Tonyn, who was in command, &lsquo;a second
      refusal of it will fix your destiny,&mdash;a dungeon will be your future
      habitation.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Prepare it then,&rsquo; replied the inflexible patriot, &lsquo;I will give no
      parole, so help me God!&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And the petty tyrant did prepare it, and for forty-two weeks that
      patriot, of almost threescore years of age, never saw the light of the
      blessed sun, but lay incarcerated in the dungeon of the castle of St
      Augustine. All the other prisoners accepted paroles, but they were exposed
      to indignities more harrowing to the sensitive soul than close
      confinement. When they were exchanged, in June, 1781, they were not
      allowed even to touch at Charleston, but were sent to Philadelphia,
      whither their families had been banished when the prisoners were taken to
      the Sandwich. More than a thousand persons were thus exiled, and husbands
      and wives, fathers and children, first met in a distant State after a
      separation of ten months.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nearly all the soldiers taken prisoners at Charleston were confined in
      prison ships in the harbor, where foul air, bad food, filth, and disease
      killed hundreds of them. Those confined at Haddrell&rsquo;s Point also suffered
      terribly. Many of them had been nurtured in affluence; now far from
      friends and entirely without means, they were reduced to the greatest
      straits. They were not even allowed to fish for their support, but were
      obliged to perform the most menial services. After thirteen months
      captivity, Cornwallis ordered them to be sent to the West Indies, and this
      cruel order would have been carried out, but for the general exchange of
      prisoners which took place soon afterwards.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Governor Rutledge, in speaking before the South Carolina Assembly at
      Jacksonboro, thus eloquently referred to the rigorous and unjustifiable
      conduct of the British authorities:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Regardless of the sacred ties of honor, destitute of the feelings of
      humanity, and determined to extinguish, if possible, every spark of
      freedom in this country, the enemy, with the insolent pride of conquerors,
      gave unbounded scope to the exercise of their tyrannical disposition,
      infringed their public engagements, and violated their most solemn
      treaties. Many of our worthiest citizens, without cause, were long and
      closely confined, some on board prison ships, and others in the town and
      castle of St. Augustine. Their properties were disposed of at the will and
      caprice of the enemy, and their families sent to a different and distant
      part of the continent without the means of support. Many who had
      surrendered prisoners of war were killed in cold blood. Several suffered
      death in the most ignominious manner, and others were delivered up to
      savages and put to tortures, under which they expired. Thus the lives,
      liberties, and properties of the people were dependent solely on the
      pleasure of the British officers, who deprived them of either or all on
      the most frivolous pretenses. Indians, slaves, and a desperate banditti of
      the most profligate characters were caressed and employed by the enemy to
      execute their infamous purposes. Devastation and ruin marked their
      progress and that of their adherents; nor were their violences restrained
      by the charms or influence of beauty and innocence; even the fair sex,
      whom it is the duty of all, and the pleasure and pride of the brave to
      protect, they and their tender offspring, were victims to the inveterate
      malice of an unrelenting foe. Neither the tears of mothers, nor the cries
      of infants could excite pity or compassion. Not only the peaceful
      habitation of the widow, the aged and the infirm, but the holy temples of
      the Most High were consumed in flames, kindled by their sacrilegious
      hands. They have tarnished the glory of the British army, disgraced the
      profession of a British soldiery, and fixed indelible stigmas of rapine,
      cruelty and peridy, and profaneness on the British name.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      When in 1808 the Tammany Society of New York laid the cornerstone of a
      vault in which the bones of many of the prison ship martyrs were laid
      Joseph D. Fay, Esq., made an oration in which he said:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But the suffering of those unfortunate Americans whom the dreadful
      chances of war had destined for the prison-ships, were far greater than
      any which have been told. In that deadly season of the year, when the
      dog-star rages with relentless fury, when a pure air is especially
      necessary to health, the British locked their prisoner, after long
      marches, in the dungeons of ships affected with contagion, and reeking
      with the filth of crowded captives, dead and dying. * * * No reasoning, no
      praying could obtain from his stern tyrants the smallest alleviation of
      his fate.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In South Carolina the British officer called Fraser, after trying in
      every manner to induce the prisoners to enlist, said to them: &lsquo;Go to your
      dungeons in the prison ships, where you shall perish and rot, but first
      let me tell you that the rations which have been hitherto allowed for your
      wives and children shall, from this moment, cease forever; and you shall
      die assured that they are starving in the public streets, and that <i>you</i>
      are the authors of their fate.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A sentence so terribly awful appalled the firm soul of every listening
      hero. A solemn silence followed the declaration; they cast their wondering
      eyes one upon the other, and valor, for a moment, hung suspended between
      love of family, and love of country. Love of country at length rose
      superior to every other consideration, and moved by one impulse, this
      glorious band of patriots thundered into the astonished ears of their
      persecutors, &lsquo;The prison-ships and Death, or Washington and our country!&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Meagre famine shook hands with haggard pestilence, joining a league to
      appall, conquer, and destroy the glorious spirit of liberty.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIII. &mdash; A POET ON A PRISON SHIP
    </h2>
    <p>
      Philip Freneau, the poet of the Revolution, as he has been called, was of
      French Huguenot ancestry. The Freneaus came to New York in 1685. His
      mother was Agnes Watson, a resident of New York, and the poet was born on
      the second of January, 1752.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the year 1780 a vessel of which he was the owner, called the Aurora,
      was taken by the British. Freneau was on board, though he was not the
      captain of the ship. The British man-of-war, Iris, made the Aurora her
      prize, after a fight in which the sailing master and many of the crew were
      killed. This was in May, 1780. The survivors were brought to New York, and
      confined on board the prison ship, Scorpion. Freneau has left a poem
      describing the horrors of his captivity in very strong language, and it is
      easy to conceive that his suffering must have been intense to have aroused
      such bitter feelings. We give a part of his poem, as it contains the best
      description of the indignities inflicted upon the prisoners, and their
      mental and physical sufferings that we have found in any work on the
      subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      PART OF PHILIP FRENEAU&rsquo;S POEM ON THE PRISON SHIPS
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Conveyed to York we found, at length, too late,
  That Death was better than the prisoner&rsquo;s fate
  There doomed to famine, shackles, and despair,
  Condemned to breathe a foul, infected air,
  In sickly hulks, devoted while we lay,&mdash;
  Successive funerals gloomed each dismal day

  The various horrors of these hulks to tell&mdash;
  These prison ships where Pain and Penance dwell,
  Where Death in ten-fold vengeance holds his reign,
  And injured ghosts, yet unavenged, complain:
  This be my task&mdash;ungenerous Britons, you
  Conspire to murder whom you can&rsquo;t subdue

</pre>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  So much we suffered from the tribe I hate,
  So near they shoved us to the brink of fate,
  When two long months in these dark hulks we lay,
  Barred down by night, and fainting all the day,
  In the fierce fervors of the solar beam
  Cooled by no breeze on Hudson&rsquo;s mountain stream,
  That not unsung these threescore days shall fall
  To black oblivion that would cover all.

  No masts or sails these crowded ships adorn,
  Dismal to view, neglected and forlorn;
  Here mighty ills oppressed the imprisoned throng;
  Dull were our slumbers, and our nights were long.
  From morn to eve along the decks we lay,
  Scorched into fevers by the solar ray;
  No friendly awning cast a welcome shade,
  Once was it promised, and was never made;
  No favors could these sons of Death bestow,
  &lsquo;Twas endless vengeance, and unceasing woe.
  Immortal hatred doth their breasts engage,
  And this lost empire swells their souls with rage.

  Two hulks on Hudson&rsquo;s stormy bosom lie,
  Two, on the east, alarm the pitying eye,
  There, the black Scorpion at her mooring rides,
  And there Strombolo, swinging, yields the tides;
  Here bulky Jersey fills a larger space,
  And Hunter, to all hospitals disgrace.
  Thou Scorpion, fatal to thy crowded throng,
  Dire theme of horror to Plutonian song,
  Requir&rsquo;st my lay,&mdash;thy sultry decks I know,
  And all the torments that exist below!
  The briny wave that Hudson&rsquo;s bosom fills
  Drained through her bottom in a thousand rills;
  Rotten and old, replete with sighs and groans,
  Scarce on the water she sustained her bones:

  Here, doomed to toil, or founder in the tide,
  At the moist pumps incessantly we plied;
  Here, doomed to starve, like famished dogs we tore
  The scant allowance that our tyrants bore.
  Remembrance shudders at this scene of fears,
  Still in my view, some tyrant chief appears,
  Some base-born Hessian slave walks threatening by,
  Some servile Scot with murder in his eye,
  Still haunts my sight, as vainly they bemoan
  Rebellions managed so unlike their own.
  O may I never feel the poignant pain
  To live subjected to such fiends again!
  Stewards and mates that hostile Britain bore,
  Cut from the gallows on their native shore;
  Their ghastly looks and vengeance beaming eyes
  Still to my view in dismal visions rise,&mdash;
  O may I ne&rsquo;er review these dire abodes,
  These piles for slaughter floating on the floods!
  And you that o&rsquo;er the troubled ocean go
  Strike not your standards to this venomed foe,
  Better the greedy wave should swallow all,
  Better to meet the death-conducting ball,
  Better to sleep on ocean&rsquo;s oozy bed,
  At once destroyed and numbered with the dead,
  Than thus to perish in the face of day
  Where twice ten thousand deaths one death delay.
  When to the ocean sinks the western sun,
  And the scorched tories fire their evening gun,
  &ldquo;Down, rebels, down!&rdquo; the angry Scotchmen cry,
  &ldquo;Base dogs, descend, or by our broadswords die!&rdquo;
 
  Hail, dark abode! What can with thee compare?
  Heat, sickness, famine, death, and stagnant air,&mdash;

</pre>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Swift from the guarded decks we rushed along,
  And vainly sought repose, so vast our throng.
  Three hundred wretches here, denied all light,
  In crowded quarters pass the infernal night.
  Some for a bed their tattered vestments join,
  And some on chest, and some on floors recline;
  Shut from the blessings of the evening air
  Pensive we lay with mingled corpses there:
  Meagre and wan, and scorched with heat below,
  We looked like ghosts ere death had made us so:
  How could we else, where heat and hunger joined
  Thus to debase the body and the mind?
  Where cruel thirst the parching throat invades,
  Dries up the man and fits him for the shades?
  No waters laded from the bubbling spring
  To these dire ships these little tyrants bring&mdash;
  By plank and ponderous beams completely walled
  In vain for water, still in vain we called.
  No drop was granted to the midnight prayer
  To rebels in these regions of despair!
  The loathsome cask a deadly dose contains,
  Its poison circles through the languid veins.
  &ldquo;Here, generous Briton, generous, as you say,
  To my parched tongue one cooling drop convey&mdash;
  Hell has no mischief like a thirsty throat,
  Nor one tormentor like your David Sproat!&rdquo;
 
  Dull flew the hours till, from the East displayed,
  Sweet morn dispelled the horrors of the shade:
  On every side dire objects met the sight,
  And pallid forms, and murders of the night:
  The dead were past their pains, the living groan,
  Nor dare to hope another morn their own.

</pre>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  O&rsquo;er distant streams appears the living green,
  And leafy trees on mountain tops are seen:
  But they no grove or grassy mountain tread,
  Marked for a longer journey to the dead.

  Black as the clouds that shade St. Kilda&rsquo;s shore,
  Wild as the winds that round her mountains roar,
  At every post some surly vagrant stands,
  Culled from the English, or the Scottish bands.
  Dispensing death triumphantly they stand,
  Their musquets ready to obey command;
  Wounds are their sport, and ruin is their aim;
  On their dark souls compassion has no claim,
  And discord only can their spirits please,
  Such were our tyrants here, such foes as these.

</pre>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  But such a train of endless woes abound
  So many mischiefs in these hulks are found
  That on them all a poem to prolong
  Would swell too high the horrors of our song.
  Hunger and thirst to work our woe combine,
  And mouldy bread, and flesh of rotten swine;
  The mangled carcase and the battered brain;
  The doctor&rsquo;s poison, and the captain&rsquo;s cane;
  The soldier&rsquo;s musquet, and the steward&rsquo;s debt:
  The evening shackle, and the noonday threat.

</pre>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  That charm whose virtue warms the world beside,
  Was by these tyrants to our use denied.
  While yet they deigned that healthsome balm to lade,
  The putrid water felt its powerful aid;
  But when refused, to aggravate our pains,
  Then fevers raged and revelled through our veins;
  Throughout my frame I felt its deadly heat;
  I felt my pulse with quicker motions beat;
  A pallid hue o&rsquo;er every face was spread,
  Unusual pains attacked the fainting head:
  No physic here, no doctor to assist,
  With oaths they placed me on the sick man&rsquo;s list:
  Twelve wretches more the same dark symptoms took,
  And these were entered on the doctor&rsquo;s book.
  The loathsome Hunter was our destined place,
  The Hunter, to all hospitals disgrace.
  With soldiers sent to guard us on the road,
  Joyful we left the Scorpion&rsquo;s dire abode:
  Some tears we shed for the remaining crew,
  Then cursed the hulk, and from her sides withdrew.

  THE HOSPITAL PRISON SHIP

  Now towards the Hunter&rsquo;s gloomy decks we came,
  A slaughter house, yet hospital in name;
  For none came there till ruined with their fees,
  And half consumed, and dying of disease:&mdash;

  But when too near, with laboring oar, we plied,
  The Mate, with curses, drove us from the side:&mdash;
  That wretch, who banished from the navy crew,
  Grown old in blood did here his trade renew.
  His rancorous tongue, when on his charge let loose,
  Uttered reproaches, scandal, and abuse;
  Gave all to hell who dared his king disown,
  And swore mankind were made for George alone.
  A thousand times, to irritate our woe,
  He wished us foundered in the gulph below:
  A thousand times he brandished high his stick,
  And swore as often, that we were not sick:&mdash;
  And yet so pale! that we were thought by some
  A freight of ghosts from Death&rsquo;s dominions come.
  But, calmed at length, for who can always rage?
  Or the fierce war of boundless passion wage?
  He pointed to the stairs that led below
  To damps, disease, and varied forms of woe:&mdash;
  Down to the gloom I took my pensive way,
  Along the decks the dying captives lay,
  Some struck with madness, some with scurvy pained,
  But still of putrid fevers most complained.
  On the hard floors the wasted objects laid
  There tossed and tumbled in the dismal shade:
  There no soft voice their bitter fate bemoaned,
  But Death strode stately, while his victims groaned.
  Of leaky decks I heard them long complain,
  Drowned as they were in deluges of rain:
  Denied the comforts of a dying bed,
  And not a pillow to support the head:
  How could they else but pine, and grieve and sigh,
  Detest a wretched life, and wish to die?

  Scarce had I mingled with this wretched band,
  When a thin victim seized me by the hand:&mdash;
  &ldquo;And art thou come?&rdquo;&mdash;death heavy on his eyes&mdash;
  &ldquo;And art thou come to these abodes?&rdquo; he cries,
  &ldquo;Why didst thou leave the Scorpion&rsquo;s dark retreat?
  And hither haste, a surer death to meet?
  Why didst thou leave thy damp, infected cell?
  If that was purgatory, this is hell.
  We too, grown weary of that horrid shade,
  Petitioned early for the Doctor&rsquo;s aid;
  His aid denied, more deadly symptoms came,
  Weak and yet weaker, glowed the vital flame;
  And when disease had worn us down so low
  That few could tell if we were ghosts or no,
  And all asserted death would be our fate,
  Then to the Doctor we were sent, too late&rdquo;
 
  Ah! rest in peace, each injured, parted shade,
  By cruel hands in death&rsquo;s dark weeds arrayed,
  The days to come shall to your memory raise
  Piles on these shores, to spread through earth your praise.

  THE HESSIAN DOCTOR

  From Brooklyn heights a Hessian doctor came,
  Nor great his skill, nor greater much his fame:
  Fair Science never called the wretch her son,
  And Art disdained the stupid man to own.

  He on his charge the healing work begun
  With antmomial mixtures by the tun:
  Ten minutes was the time he deigned to stay,
  The time of grace allotted once a day:
  He drenched us well with bitter draughts, tis true,
  Nostrums from hell, and cortex from Peru:
  Some with his pills he sent to Pluto&rsquo;s reign,
  And some he blistered with his flies of Spain.
  His Tartar doses walked their deadly round,
  Till the lean patient at the potion frowned,
  And swore that hemlock, death, or what you will,
  Were nonsense to the drugs that stuffed his bill.
  On those refusing he bestowed a kick,
  Or menaced vengeance with his walking stick:
  Here uncontrolled he exercised his trade,
  And grew experienced by the deaths he made.

  Knave though he was, yet candor must confess
  Not chief physician was this man of Hesse:
  One master o&rsquo;er the murdering tribe was placed,
  By him the rest were honored or disgraced
  Once, and but once, by some strange fortune led,
  He came to see the dying and the dead.
  He came, but anger so inflamed his eye,
  And such a faulchion glittered on his thigh,
  And such a gloom his visage darkened o&rsquo;er,
  And two such pistols in his hands he bore,
  That, by the gods, with such a load of steel,
  We thought he came to murder, not to heal.
  Rage in his heart, and mischief in his head,
  He gloomed destruction, and had smote us dead
  Had he so dared, but fear withheld his hand,
  He came, blasphemed, and turned again to land

  THE BENEVOLENT CAPTAIN

  From this poor vessel, and her sickly crew
  A british seaman all his titles drew,
  Captain, Esquire, Commander, too, in chief,
  And hence he gained his bread and hence his beef:
  But sir, you might have searched creation round,
  And such another ruffian not have found
  Though unprovoked an angry face he bore,&mdash;
  All were astonished at the oaths he swore
  He swore, till every prisoner stood aghast,
  And thought him Satan in a brimstone blast
  He wished us banished from the public light;
  He wished us shrouded in perpetual night;

</pre>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  He swore, besides, that should the ship take fire
  We, too, must in the pitchy flames expire&mdash;
  That if we wretches did not scrub the decks
  His staff should break our base, rebellious necks;

</pre>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  If, where he walked, a murdered carcase lay,
  Still dreadful was the language of the day;
  He called us dogs, and would have held us so,
  But terror checked the meditated blow
  Of vengeance, from our injured nation due,
  To him, and all the base, unmanly crew
  Such food they sent to make complete our woes
  It looked like carrion torn from hungry crows
  Such vermin vile on every joint were seen,
  So black, corrupted, mortified, and lean,
  That once we tried to move our flinty chief,
  And thus addressed him, holding up the beef&mdash;
  &ldquo;See, Captain, see, what rotten bones we pick,
  What kills the healthy cannot cure the sick,
  Not dogs on such by Christian men are fed,
  And see, good master, see, what lousy bread!&rdquo;
   &ldquo;Your meat or bread,&rdquo; this man of death replied,
  &ldquo;Tis not my care to manage or provide
  But this, base rebel dogs I&rsquo;d have you know,
  That better than you merit we bestow&mdash;
  Out of my sight!&rdquo; nor more he deigned to say,
  But whisked about, and frowning, strode away

  CONCLUSION

  Each day at least six carcases we bore
  And scratched them graves along the sandy shore
  By feeble hands the shallow graves were made,
  No stone memorial o&rsquo;er the corpses laid
  In barren sands and far from home they lie,
  No friend to shed a tear when passing by
  O&rsquo;er the mean tombs insulting Britons tread,
  Spurn at the sand, and curse the rebel dead.
  When to your arms these fatal islands fall&mdash;
  For first or last, they must be conquered, all,
  Americans! to rites sepulchral just
  With gentlest footstep press this kindred dust,
  And o&rsquo;er the tombs, if tombs can then be found,
  Place the green turf, and plant the myrtle round
</pre>
    <p>
      This poem was written in 1780, the year that Freneau was captured. He was
      on board the Scorpion and Hunter about two months, and was then exchanged.
      We fear that he has not in the least exaggerated the horrors of his
      situation. In fact there seem to have been many bloody pages torn from the
      book of history, that can never be perused. Many dark deeds were done in
      these foul prisons, of which we can only give hints, and the details of
      many crimes committed against the helpless prisoners are left to our
      imaginations. But enough and more than enough is known to make us fear
      that <i>inhumanity</i>, a species of cruelty unknown to the lower animals,
      is really one of the most prominent characteristics of men. History is a
      long and bloody record of battles, massacres, torture chambers; greed and
      violence; bigotry and sin. The root of all crimes is selfishness. What we
      call inhumanity is we fear not <i>inhuman</i>, but <i>human nature
      unrestrained</i>. It is true that some progress is made, and it is no
      longer the custom to kill all captives, at least not in civilized
      countries. But war will always be &ldquo;<i>horrida bella</i>,&rdquo; chiefly because
      war means license, when the unrestrained, wolfish passions of man get for
      the time the upper hand. Our task, however, is not that of a moralist, but
      of a narrator of facts, from which all who read can draw the obvious moral
      for themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIV. &mdash; &ldquo;THERE WAS A SHIP&rdquo;
     </h2>
    <p>
      Of all the ships that were ever launched the &ldquo;Old Jersey&rdquo; is the most
      notorious. Never before or since, in the dark annals of human sufferings,
      has so small a space enclosed such a heavy weight of misery. No other
      prison has destroyed so many human beings in so short a space of time. And
      yet the Jersey was once as staunch and beautiful a vessel as ever formed a
      part of the Royal Navy of one of the proudest nations of the world. How
      little did her builders imagine that she would go down to history
      accompanied by the execrations of all who are acquainted with her terrible
      record!
    </p>
    <p>
      It is said that it was in the late spring of 1780 that the Old Jersey, as
      she was then called, was first moored in Wallabout Bay, off the coast of
      Long Island. We can find no record to prove that she was used as a prison
      ship until the winter of that year. She was, at first, a hospital ship for
      British soldiers.
    </p>
    <p>
      The reason for the removal of the unfortunate prisoners from the ships in
      New York Harbor was that pestilential sickness was fast destroying them,
      and it was feared that the inhabitants of New York would suffer from the
      prevailing epidemics. They were therefore placed in rotten hulks off the
      quiet shores of Long Island, where, secluded from the public eye, they
      were allowed to perish by the thousands from cruel and criminal neglect.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Old Jersey and the two hospital ships,&rdquo; says General J. Johnson,
      &ldquo;remained in the Wallabout until New York was evacuated by the British.
      The Jersey was the receiving ship: the others, truly, the ships of death!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It has been generally thought that all the prisoners died on board the
      Jersey. This is not true. Many may have died on board of her who were not
      reported as sick, but all who were placed on the sick list were removed to
      the hospital ships, from which they were usually taken, sewed up in a
      blanket, to their graves.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After the hospital ships were brought into the Wallabout, it was reported
      that the sick were attended by physicians. Few indeed were those who
      recovered, or came back to tell the tale of their sufferings in those
      horrible places. It was no uncommon sight to see five or six dead bodies
      brought on shore in a single morning, when a small excavation would be dug
      at the foot of the hill, the bodies cast into it, and then a man with a
      shovel would quickly cover them by shovelling sand down the hill upon
      them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Many were buried in a ravine of this hill and many on Mr. Remsen&rsquo;s farm.
      The whole shore, from Rennie&rsquo;s Point, to Mr. Remsen&rsquo;s dooryard, was a
      place of graves; as were also the slope of the hill near the house; the
      shore, from Mr. Remsen&rsquo;s barn along the mill-pond to Rappelye&rsquo;s farm; and
      the sandy island between the flood-gates and the mill-dam, while a few
      were buried on the shore on the east side of the Wallabout.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thus did Death reign here, from 1776 (when the Whitby prison ship was
      first moored in the Wallabout) until the peace. The whole Wallabout was a
      sickly place during the war. The atmosphere seemed to be charged with foul
      air: from the prison ships; and with the effluvia of dead bodies washed
      out of their graves by the tides. * * * More than half of the dead buried
      on the outer side of the mill-pond, were washed out by the waves at high
      tide, during northeasterly winds.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The bodies of the dead lay exposed along the beach, drying and bleaching
      in the sun, and whitening the shores, till reached by the power of a
      succeeding storm, as the agitated waves receded, the bones receded with
      them into the deep, where they remain, unseen by man, awaiting the
      resurrection morn, when, again joined to the spirits to which they belong,
      they will meet their persecuting murderers at the bar of the Supreme Judge
      of the quick and the dead.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We have ourselves,&rdquo; General Johnson continues, &ldquo;examined many of the
      skulls lying on the shore. From the teeth they appeared to be the remains
      of men in the prime of life.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      We will quote more of this interesting account written by an eyewitness of
      the horrors he records, in a later chapter. At present we will endeavor to
      give the reader a short history of the Jersey, from the day of her
      launching to her degradation, when she was devoted to the foul usages of a
      prison ship.
    </p>
    <p>
      She was a fourth rate ship of the line, mounting sixty guns, and carrying
      a crew of four hundred men. She was built in 1736, having succeeded to the
      name of a celebrated 50-gun ship, which was then withdrawn from the
      service, and with which she must not be confounded. In 1737 she was fitted
      for sea as one of the Channel Fleet, commanded by Sir John Norris.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the fall of 1738 the command of the Jersey was given to Captain Edmund
      Williams, and in July, 1739, she was one of the vessels which were sent to
      the Mediterranean under Rear Admiral Chaloner Ogle, when a threatened
      rupture with Spain rendered it necessary to strengthen the naval force in
      that quarter.
    </p>
    <p>
      The trouble in the Mediterranean having been quieted by the appearance of
      so strong a fleet, in 1740 the Jersey returned home; but she was again
      sent out, under the command of Captain Peter Lawrence, and was one of the
      vessels forming the fleet of Sir John Norris, when, in the fall of that
      year and in the spring of 1741, that gentleman made his fruitless
      demonstrations against the Spanish coast. Soon afterwards the Jersey,
      still forming one of the fleet commanded by Sir Chaloner Ogle, was sent to
      the West Indies, to strengthen the forces at that station, commanded by
      Vice-Admiral Vernon, and she was with that distinguished officer when he
      made his well-known, unsuccessful attack on Carthagena, and the Spanish
      dominions in America in that year.
    </p>
    <p>
      In March, 1743, Captain Lawrence was succeeded m the command of the Jersey
      by Captain Harry Norris, youngest son of Admiral Sir John Norris: and the
      Jersey formed one of the fleet commanded by Sir John Norris, which was
      designed to watch the enemy&rsquo;s Brest fleet; but having suffered severely
      from a storm while on that station, she was obliged to return to the
      Downs.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Harry Norris having been promoted to a heavier ship, the command
      of the Jersey was given soon afterwards to Captain Charles Hardy
      subsequently well known as Governor of the Colony of New York; and in
      June, 1744, that officer having been appointed to the command of the
      Newfoundland Station, she sailed for North America, and bore his flag in
      those waters during the remainder of the year. In 1745, still under the
      immediate command of Captain Hardy, the Jersey was one of the ships which,
      under Vice-Admiral Medley, were sent to the Mediterranean, where
      Vice-Admiral Sir William Rowley then commanded; and as she continued on
      that station during the following year there is little doubt that Captain
      Hardy remained there, during the remainder of his term of service on that
      vessel.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was while under the command of Captain Hardy in July, 1745, that the
      Jersey was engaged with the French ship, St. Esprit, of 74 guns, in one of
      the most desperate engagements on record. The action continued during two
      hours and a half, when the St. Esprit was compelled to bear away for
      Cadiz, where she was repaired and refitted for sea. At the close of Sir
      Charles Hardy&rsquo;s term of service in 1747, the Jersey was laid up, evidently
      unfit for active service; and in October, 1748, she was reported among the
      &ldquo;hulks&rdquo; in port.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the renewal of hostilities with France in 1756 the Jersey was refitted
      for service, and the command given to Captain John Barker, and in May,
      1757, she was sent to the Mediterranean, where, under the orders of
      Admiral Henry Osbourne, she continued upwards of two years, having been
      present, on the 28th of February, 1758, when M. du Quesne made his
      ineffectual attempt to reinforce M. De la Clue, who was then closely
      confined, with the fleet under his command, in the harbor of Carthagena.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the 18th of August, 1759, while commanded by Captain Barker, the
      Jersey, with the Culloden and the Conqueror, were ordered by Admiral
      Boscowan, the commander of the fleet, to proceed to the mouth of the
      harbor of Toulon, for the purpose of cutting out or destroying two French
      ships which were moored there under cover of the batteries with the hope
      of forcing the French Admiral, De la Clue, to an engagement. The three
      ships approached the harbour, as directed, with great firmness; but they
      were assailed by so heavy a fire, not only from the enemy&rsquo;s ships and
      fortifications, but from several masked batteries, that, after an unequal
      but desperate contest of upwards of three hours, they were compelled to
      retire without having succeeded in their object; and to repair to
      Gibraltar to be refitted.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the course of the year 1759 Captain Barker was succeeded in the command
      of the Jersey by Captain Andrew Wilkinson, under whom, forming one of the
      Mediterranean fleet, commanded by Sir Charles Saunders, she continued in
      active service until 1763.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1763 peace was established, and the Jersey returned to England and was
      laid up; but in May, 1766, she was again commissioned, and under the
      command of Captain William Dickson, and bearing the flag of Admiral Spry,
      she was ordered to her former station in the Mediterranean, where she
      remained three years.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the spring of 1769, bearing the flag of Commodore Sir John Byron, the
      Jersey sailed for America. She seems to have returned home at the close of
      the summer, and her active duties appear to have been brought to an end.
    </p>
    <p>
      She remained out of commission until 1776, when, without armament, and
      under the command of Captain Anthony Halstead, she was ordered to New York
      as a hospital ship.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Halstead died on the 17th of May, 1778, and, in July following, he
      was succeeded by Commander David Laird, under whom, either as a hospital,
      or a prison ship, she remained in Wallabout bay, until she was abandoned
      at the close of the war, to her fate, which was to rot in the mud at her
      moorings, until, at last, she sank, and for many years her wretched
      worm-eaten old hulk could be seen at low tide, shunned by all, a sorry
      spectacle, the ghost of what had once been a gallant man-of-war.
    </p>
    <p>
      This short history of the Jersey has been condensed from the account
      written in 1865 by Mr. Henry B. Dawson and published at Morrisania, New
      York, in that year.
    </p>
    <p>
      In an oration delivered by Mr. Jonathan Russel, in Providence, R. I., on
      the 4th of July 1800, he thus speaks of this ill-fated vessel and of her
      victims: &ldquo;But it was not in the ardent conflicts of the field only, that
      our countrymen fell; it was not the ordinary chances of war alone which
      they had to encounter. Happy indeed, thrice happy were Warren, Montgomery,
      and Mercer; happy those other gallant spirits who fell with glory in the
      heat of the battle, distinguished by their country and covered with her
      applause. Every soul sensible to honor, envies rather than compassionates
      their fate. It was in the dungeons of our inhuman invaders; it was in the
      loathsome and pestiferous prisons, that the wretchedness of our countrymen
      still makes the heart bleed. It was there that hunger, and thirst, and
      disease, and all the contumely that cold-hearted cruelty could bestow,
      sharpened every pang of death. Misery there wrung every fibre that could
      feel, before she gave the Blow of Grace which sent the sufferer to
      eternity. It is said that poison was employed. No, there was no such mercy
      there. There, nothing was employed which could blunt the susceptibility to
      anguish, or which, by hastening death, could rob its agonies of a single
      pang. On board one only of these Prison ships above 11,000 of our brave
      countrymen are said to have perished. She was called the Jersey. Her wreck
      still remains, and at low ebb, presents to the world its accursed and
      blighted fragments. Twice in twenty-four hours the winds of Heaven sigh
      through it, and repeat the groans of our expiring countrymen; and twice
      the ocean hides in her bosom those deadly and polluted ruins, which all
      her waters cannot purify. Every rain that descends washes from the
      unconsecrated bank the bones of those intrepid sufferers. They lie, naked
      on the shore, accusing the neglect of their countrymen. How long shall
      gratitude, and even piety deny them burial? They ought to be collected in
      one vast ossory, which shall stand a monument to future ages, of the two
      extremes of human character: of that depravity which, trampling on the
      rights of misfortune, perpetrated cold and calculating murder on a
      wretched and defenceless prisoner; and that virtue which animated this
      prisoner to die a willing martyr to his country. Or rather, were it
      possible, there ought to be raised a Colossal Column whose base sinking to
      Hell, should let the murderers read their infamy inscribed upon it; and
      whose capital of Corinthian laurel ascending to Heaven, should show the
      sainted Patriots that they have triumphed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Deep and dreadful as the coloring of this picture may appear, it is but a
      taint and imperfect sketch of the original. You must remember a thousand
      unutterable calamities; a thousand instances of domestic as well as
      national anxiety and distress; which mock description. You ought to
      remember them; you ought to hand them down in tradition to your posterity,
      that they may know the awful price their fathers paid for freedom.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXV. &mdash; A DESCRIPTION OF THE JERSEY
    </h2>
    <p>
      SONNET
    </p>
    <p>
      SUGGESTED BY A VISION OF THE JERSEY PRISON SHIP
    </p>
    <p>
      BY W P P
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  O Sea! in whose unfathomable gloom
  A world forlorn of wreck and ruin lies,
  In thy avenging majesty arise,
  And with a sound as of the trump of doom
  Whelm from all eyes for aye yon living tomb,
  Wherein the martyr patriots groaned for years,
  A prey to hunger and the bitter jeers
  Of foes in whose relentless breasts no room
  Was ever found for pity or remorse;
  But haunting anger and a savage hate,
  That spared not e&rsquo;en their victim&rsquo;s very corse,
  But left it, outcast, to its carrion fate
  Wherefore, arise, O Sea! and sternly sweep
  This floating dungeon to thy lowest deep
</pre>
    <p>
      It was stated in the portion of the eloquent oration given in our last
      chapter that more than 11,000 prisoners perished on board the Jersey
      alone, during the space of three years and a half that she was moored in
      the waters of Wallabout Bay. This statement has never been contradicted,
      as far as we know, by British authority. Yet we trust that it is
      exaggerated. It would give an average of more than three thousand deaths a
      year. The whole number of names copied from the English War Records of
      prisoners on board the Jersey is about 8,000. This, however, is an
      incomplete list. You will in vain search through its pages to find the
      recorded names of many prisoners who have left well attested accounts of
      their captivity on board that fatal vessel. All that we can say now is
      that the number who perished there is very great.
    </p>
    <p>
      As late as 1841 the bones of many of these victims were still to be found
      on the shores of Walabout Bay, in and around the Navy Yard. On the 4th of
      February of that year some workmen, while engaged in digging away an
      embankment in Jackson Street, Brooklyn, near the Navy Yard, accidentally
      uncovered a quantity of human bones, among which was a skeleton having a
      pair of iron manacles still upon the wrists. (See Thompson&rsquo;s History of
      Long Island, Vol. 1, page 247.)
    </p>
    <p>
      In a paper published at Fishkill on the 18th of May, 1783, is the
      following card: &ldquo;To All Printers, of Public Newspapers:&mdash;Tell it to
      the world, and let it be published in every Newspaper throughout America,
      Europe, Asia, and Africa, to the everlasting disgrace and infamy of the
      British King&rsquo;s commanders at New York: That during the late war it is said
      that 11,644 American prisoners have suffered death by their inhuman,
      cruel, savage, and barbarous usage on board the filthy and malignant
      British prison ship called the Jersey, lying at New York. Britons tremble,
      lest the vengeance of Heaven fall on your isle, for the blood of these
      unfortunate victims!
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  &ldquo;An American&rdquo;
 
  &ldquo;They died, the young, the loved, the brave,
    The death barge came for them,
  And where the seas yon black rocks lave
    Is heard their requiem
  They buried them and threw the sand
  Unhallowed o&rsquo;er that patriot band

  The black ship like a demon sate
    Upon the prowling deep,
  From her came fearful sounds of hate,
    Till pain stilled all in sleep
  It was the sleep that victims take,
  Tied, tortured, dying, at the stake.

  Yet some the deep has now updug,
    Their bones are in the sun,
  Whether by sword or deadly drug
    They perished, one by one,
  Was it not dread for mortal eye
  To see them all so strangely die?

  Are there those murdered men who died
    For freedom and for me?
  They seem to point, in martyred pride
    To that spot upon the sea
  From whence came once the frenzied yell,
  From out that wreck, that prison hell&rdquo;
 </pre>
    <p>
      This rough but strong old poem was written many years ago by a Mr. Whitman
      We have taken the liberty of retouching it to a slight degree.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is well known that <i>twenty hogsheads</i> of bones were collected in
      1808 from the shores of the Wallabout, and buried under the auspices of
      the Tammany Society in a vault prepared for the purpose. These were but a
      small part of the remains of the victims of the prison ships. Many were,
      as we have seen, washed into the sea, and many more were interred on the
      shores of New York Harbor, before the prison ships were removed to the
      Wallabout. It will be better that we should give the accounts left to us
      by eye witnesses of the sufferings on board these prison ships, and we
      will therefore quote from the narrative of John Van Dyke, who was confined
      on board the Jersey before her removal to the Wallabout.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain John Van Dyke was taken prisoner in May, 1780, at which time he
      says: &ldquo;We were put on board the prison ship Jersey, anchored off Fly
      Market. (New York City) This ship had been a hospital ship. When I came on
      board her stench was so great, and my breathing this putrid air&mdash;I
      thought it would kill me, but after being on board some days I got used to
      it, and as though all was a common smell. * * *
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On board the Jersey prison ship it was short allowance, so short a person
      would think it was not possible for a man to live on. They starved the
      American prisoners to make them enlist in their service. I will now relate
      a fact. Every man in a mess of six took his daily turn to get the mess&rsquo;s
      provisions. One day I went to the galley and drew a piece of salt, boiled
      pork. I went to our mess to divide it. * * * I cut each one his share, and
      each one eat our day&rsquo;s allowance in one mouthful of this salt pork and
      nothing else. One day called peaday I took the drawer of our doctor&rsquo;s
      chest (Dr. Hodges of Philadelphia) and went to the galley, which was the
      cooking place, with my drawer for a soup dish. I held it under a large
      brass cock, the cook turned it. I received the allowance of my mess, and
      behold! Brown water, and fifteen floating peas&mdash;no peas on the bottom
      of my drawer, and this for six men&rsquo;s allowance for 24 hours. The peas were
      all in the bottom of the kettle. Those left would be taken to New York
      and, I suppose, sold.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One day in the week, called pudding day, we would receive three pounds of
      damaged flour, in it would be green lumps such as their men would not eat,
      and one pound of very bad raisins, one third raisin sticks. We would pick
      out the sticks, mash the lumps of flour, put all with some water into our
      drawer, mix our pudding and put it into a bag and boil it with a tally
      tied to it with the number of our mess. This was a day&rsquo;s allowance. We,
      for some time, drew a half pint of rum for each man. One day Captain Lard
      (Laird) who commanded the ship Jersey, came on board. As soon as he was on
      the main deck of the ship he cried out for the boatswain. The boatswain
      arrived and in a very quick motion, took off his hat. There being on deck
      two half hogshead tubs where our allowance of rum was mixed into grog,
      Captain L., said, &lsquo;Have the prisoners had their allowance of rum today?&rsquo; 
      &lsquo;No, sir&rsquo; answered the boatswain. Captain L. replied, &lsquo;Damn your soul, you
      rascal, heave it overboard.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The boatswain, with help, upset the tubs of rum on the middle deck. The
      grog rum run out of the scuppers of the ship into the river. I saw no more
      grog on board. * * * Every fair day a number of British officers and
      sergeants would come on board, form in two ranks on the quarter deck,
      facing inwards, the prisoners in the after part of the quarter deck. As
      the boatswain would call a name, the word would be &lsquo;Pass!&rsquo; As the
      prisoners passed between the ranks officers and sergeants stared them in
      the face. This was done to catch deserters, and if they caught nothing the
      sergeants would come on the middle deck and cry out &lsquo;Five guineas bounty
      to any man that will enter his Majesty&rsquo;s service!&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Shortly after this party left the ship a Hessian party would come on
      board, and the prisoners had to go through the same routine of duty again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;From the Jersey prison ship eighty of us were taken to the pink stern
      sloop-of-war Hunter, Captain Thomas Henderson, Commander. We were taken
      there in a large ship&rsquo;s long boat, towed by a ten-oar barge, and one other
      barge with a guard of soldiers in the rear.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On board the ship Hunter we drew one third allowance, and every Monday we
      received a loaf of wet bread, weighing seven pounds for each mess. This
      loaf was from Mr. John Pintard&rsquo;s father, of New York, the American
      Commissary, and this bread, with the allowance of provisions, we found
      sufficient to live on.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After we had been on board some time Mr. David Sproat, the British
      Commissary of prisoners, came on board; all the prisoners were ordered
      aft; the roll was called and as each man passed him Mr. Sproat would ask,
      &lsquo;Are you a seaman?&rsquo; The answer was &lsquo;Landsman, landsman.&rsquo; There were ten
      landsmen to one answer of half seaman. When the roll was finished Mr.
      Sproat said to our sea officers, &lsquo;Gentlemen, how do you make out at sea,
      for the most part of you are landsmen?&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our officers answered: &lsquo;You hear often how we make out. When we meet our
      force, or rather more than our force we give a good account of them.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Sproat asked, &lsquo;And are not your vessels better manned than these. Our
      officers replied, &lsquo;Mr Sproat, we are the best manned out of the port of
      Philadelphia.&rsquo; Mr. Sproat shrugged his shoulders saying, &lsquo;I cannot see how
      you do it.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      We do not understand what John Van Dyke meant by his expression &ldquo;half
      seaman.&rdquo; It is probable that the sailors among the prisoners pretended to
      be soldiers in order to be exchanged. There was much more difficulty in
      exchanging sailors than soldiers, as we shall see. David Sproat was the
      British Commissary for Naval Prisoners alone. In a paper published in New
      York in April 28th, 1780, appears the following notice:&mdash;&ldquo;I do hereby
      direct all Captains, Commanders, Masters, and Prize Masters of ships and
      other vessels, who bring naval prisoners into this port, immediately to
      send a list of their names to this office, No. 33 Maiden Lane, where they
      will receive an order how to dispose of them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;(Signed) David Sproat.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Jersey and some of the other prison ships often had landsmen among
      their prisoners, at least until the last years of the war, when they were
      so overcrowded with sailors, that there must have been scant room for any
      one else.
    </p>
    <p>
      The next prisoner whose recollections we will consider is Captain Silas
      Talbot, who was confined on board the Jersey in the fall of 1780. He says:
      &ldquo;All her port holes were closed. * * * There were about 1,100 prisoners on
      board. There were no berths or seats, to lie down on, not a bench to sit
      on. Many were almost without cloaths. The dysentery, fever, phrenzy and
      despair prevailed among them, and filled the place with filth, disgust and
      horror. The scantiness of the allowance, the bad quality of the
      provisions, the brutality of the guards, and the sick, pining for comforts
      they could not obtain, altogether furnished continually one of the
      greatest scenes of human distress and misery ever beheld. It was now the
      middle of October, the weather was cool and clear, with frosty nights, so
      that the number of deaths per day was <i>reduced to an average of ten</i>,
      and this number was considered by the survivors a small one, when compared
      with the terrible mortality that had prevailed for three months before.
      The human bones and skulls, yet bleaching on the shore of Long Island, and
      daily exposed, by the falling down of the high bank on which the prisoners
      were buried, is a shocking sight, and manifestly demonstrates that the
      Jersey prison ship had been as destructive as a field of battle.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVI. &mdash; THE EXPERIENCE OF EBENEZER FOX. &mdash;
    </h2>
    <p>
      Ebenezer Fox, a prisoner on board the Jersey, wrote a little book about
      his dreadful experiences when he was a very old man. The book was written
      in 1838, and published by Charles Fox in Boston in 1848. Ebenezer Fox was
      born in the East Parish of Roxbury, Mass., in 1763. In the spring of 1775
      he and another boy named Kelly ran away to sea. Fox shipped as a cabin boy
      in a vessel commanded by Captain Joseph Manchester.
    </p>
    <p>
      He made several cruises and returned home. In 1779 he enlisted, going as a
      substitute for the barber to whom he was apprenticed. His company was
      commanded by Captain William Bird of Boston in a regiment under Colonel
      Proctor. Afterwards he signed ship&rsquo;s papers and entered the naval service
      on a twenty gun ship called the Protector, Captain John F. Williams of
      Massachusetts. On the lst of April, 1780, they sailed for a six months
      cruise, and on the ninth of June, 1780, fought the Admiral Duff until she
      took fire and blew up. A short time afterwards the Protector was captured
      by two English ships called the Roebuck and Mayday.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fox concealed fifteen dollars in the crown of his hat, and fifteen more in
      the soles of his shoes.
    </p>
    <p>
      All the prisoners were sent into the hold. One third of the crew of the
      Protector were pressed into the British service. The others were sent to
      the Jersey. Evidently this prison ship had already become notorious, for
      Fox writes: &ldquo;The idea of being incarcerated in this floating pandemonium
      filled us with horror, but the ideas we had formed of its horror fell far
      short of the reality. * * * The Jersey was removed from the East River,
      and moored with chain cables at the Wallabout in consequence of the fears
      entertained that the sickness which prevailed among the prisoners might
      spread to the shore. * * * I now found myself in a loathsome prison, among
      a collection of the most wretched and disgusting looking objects that I
      ever beheld in human form.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Here was a motley crew, covered with rags and filth; visages pallid with
      disease; emaciated with hunger and anxiety; and hardly retaining a trace
      of their original appearance. Here were men, who had once enjoyed life
      while riding over the mountain wave or roaming through pleasant fields,
      full of health and vigor, now shrivelled by a scanty and unwholesome diet,
      ghastly with inhaling an impure atmosphere, exposed to contagion; in
      contact with disease, and surrounded with the horrors of sickness, and
      death. Here, thought I, must I linger out the morning of my life&rdquo; (he was
      seventeen) &ldquo;in tedious days and sleepless nights, enduring a weary and
      degrading captivity, till death should terminate my sufferings, and no
      friend will know of my departure.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A prisoner on board the &lsquo;Old Jersey!&rsquo; The very thought was appalling. I
      could hardly realize my situation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The first thing we found it necessary to do after our capture was to form
      ourselves into small parties called messes, consisting of six in each, as
      previous to doing this, we could obtain no food. All the prisoners were
      obliged to fast on the first day of their arrival, and seldom on the
      second could they obtain any food in season for cooking it. * * * All the
      prisoners fared alike; officers and sailors received the same treatment on
      board of this old hulk. * * * We were all &lsquo;rebels.&rsquo; The only distinction
      known among us was made by the prisoners themselves, which was shown in
      allowing those who had been officers previous to their captivity, to
      congregate in the extreme afterpart of the ship, and to keep it
      exclusively to themselves as their place of abode. * * * The prisoners
      were confined in the two main decks below. The lowest dungeon was
      inhabited by those prisoners who were foreigners, and whose treatment was
      more severe than that of the Americans.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The inhabitants of this lower region were the most miserable and
      disgusting looking objects that can be conceived. Daily washing in salt
      water, together with their extreme emaciation, caused the skin to appear
      like dried parchment. Many of them remained unwashed for weeks; their hair
      long, and matted, and filled with vermin; their beards never cut except
      occasionally with a pair of shears, which did not improve their
      comeliness, though it might add to their comfort. Their clothes were mere
      rags, secured to their bodies in every way that ingenuity could devise.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Many of these men had been in this lamentable condition for two years,
      part of the time on board other prison ships; and having given up all hope
      of ever being exchanged, had become resigned to their situation. These men
      were foreigners whose whole lives had been one continual scene of toil,
      hardship, and suffering. Their feelings were blunted; their dispositions
      soured; they had no sympathies for the world; no home to mourn for; no
      friends to lament for their fate. But far different was the condition of
      the most numerous class of prisoners, composed mostly of young men from
      New England, fresh from home.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They had reason to deplore the sudden change in their condition. * * *
      The thoughts of home, of parents, brothers, sisters, and friends, would
      crowd upon their minds, and brooding on what they had been, and what they
      were, their desire for home became a madness. The dismal and disgusting
      scene around; the wretched objects continually in sight; and &lsquo;hope
      deferred which maketh the heart sick&rsquo;, produced a state of melancholy that
      often ended in death,&mdash;the death of a broken heart.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Fox describes the food and drink, the prison regulations, deaths, and
      burials, just as they were described by Captain Dring, who wrote the
      fullest account of the Jersey, and from whose memoirs we shall quote
      further on. He says of their shallow graves in the sand of the Wallabout:
      &ldquo;This was the last resting place of many a son and a brother,&mdash;young
      and noble-spirited men, who had left their happy homes and kind friends to
      offer their lives in the service of their country. * * * Poor fellows!
      They suffered more than their older companions in misery. They could not
      endure their hopeless and wearisome captivity:&mdash;to live on from day
      to day, denied the power of doing anything; condemned to that most irksome
      and heart-sickening of all situations, utter inactivity; their restless
      and impetuous spirits, like caged lions, panted to be free, and the
      conflict was too much for endurance, enfeebled and worn out as they were
      with suffering and confinement. * * * The fate of many of these unhappy
      victims must have remained forever unknown to their friends; for in so
      large a number, no exact account could be kept of those who died, and they
      rested in a nameless grave; while those who performed the last sad rites
      were hurried away before their task was half completed, and forbid to
      express their horror and indignation at this insulting negligence towards
      the dead. * * *
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The regular crew of the Jersey consisted of a Captain, two Mates, a
      steward, a cook, and about twelve sailors. There was likewise on board a
      guard of about thirty soldiers, from the different regiments quartered on
      Long Island, who were relieved by a fresh party every week.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The physical force of the prisoners was sufficient at any time to take
      possession of the ship, but the difficulty was to dispose of themselves
      after a successful attempt. Long Island was in possession of the British,
      and the inhabitants were favorable to the British cause. To leave the ship
      and land on the island, would be followed by almost certain detection; and
      the miseries of our captivity would be increased by additional cruelties
      heaped upon us from the vindictive feelings of our oppressors.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yet, small as was the chance for succeeding in the undertaking, the
      attempt to escape was often made, and in not a few instances with success.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our sufferings were so intolerable, that we felt it to be our duty to
      expose ourselves to almost any risk to obtain our liberty. To remain on
      board of the prison ship seemed to be certain death, and in its most
      horrid form; to be killed, while endeavoring to get away, could be no
      worse.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;American prisoners are proverbial for their ingenuity in devising ways
      and means to accomplish their plans, whether they be devised for their own
      comfort and benefit, or for the purpose of annoying and tormenting their
      keepers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Although we were guarded with vigilance yet there did not appear much
      system in the management of the prisoners; for we frequently missed a
      whole mess from our number, while their disappearance was not noticed by
      our keepers. Occasionally a few would be brought back who had been found
      in the woods upon Long Island, and taken up by the Tories.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our mess one day noticed that the mess that occupied the place next to
      them were among the missing. This circumstance led to much conjecture and
      inquiry respecting the manner in which they had effected their escape. By
      watching the movements of our neighbors we soon found out the process
      necessary to be adopted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Any plan which a mess had formed they kept a secret among their number,
      in order to insure a greater prospect of success. * * * For the
      convenience of the officers of the ship a closet, called the &ldquo;round
      house&rdquo;, had been constructed under the forecastle, the door of which was
      kept locked. This room was seldom used, there being other conveniences in
      the ship preferable to it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Some of the prisoners had contrived to pick the lock of the door; and as
      it was not discovered the door remained unfastened.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After we had missed our neighbor prisoners, and had ascertained to our
      satisfaction their mode of operation, the members of our mess determined
      to seize the first opportunity that offered to attempt our escape. We
      selected a day, about the 15th of August, and made all the preparations in
      our power for ensuring us success in our undertaking. At sunset, when the
      usual cry from the officer of the guard, &lsquo;Down, rebels, down!&rsquo; was heard,
      instead of following the multitude down the hatchways, our mess,
      consisting of six, all Americans, succeeded in getting into the &lsquo;round
      house&rsquo;, except one. The round house was found too small to contain more
      than five; and the sixth man, whose name, I think, was Putnam of Boston,
      concealed himself under a large tub, which happened to be lying near the
      place of our confinement. The situation of the five, as closely packed in
      the round house as we could stand and breathe, was so uncomfortable as to
      make us very desirous of vacating it as soon as possible.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We remained thus cooped up, hardly daring to breathe, for fear we should
      be heard by the guard. The prisoners were all below, and no noise was
      heard above, saving the tramp of the guard as he paced the deck. It was
      customary, after the prisoners were secured below, for the ship&rsquo;s mate
      every night to search above; this, however, was considered a mere
      formality, and the duty was very imperfectly executed. While we were
      anxiously awaiting the completion of this service, an event transpired,
      that we little anticipated, and which led to our detection.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One of the prisoners, an Irishman, had made his arrangements to escape
      the same evening, and had not communicated with any one on the subject
      except a countryman of his, whom he persuaded to bury him up in the coal
      hole, near the forecastle.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Whether his friend covered him faithfully or not, or whether the Irishman
      thought that if he could not see anybody, nobody could see him, or
      whether, feeling uncomfortable in his position, he turned over to relieve
      himself, I know not; but when the mate looked in the coal hole he espied
      something rather whiter than the coal, which he soon ascertained to be the
      Irishman&rsquo;s shoulder. This discovery made the officer suspicious, and
      induced him to make a more thorough search than usual.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We heard the uproar that followed the discovery, and the threats of the
      mate that he would search every damned corner. He soon arrived at the
      round house, and we heard him ask a soldier for the key. Our hopes and
      expectations were a little raised when we heard the soldier reply, &lsquo;There
      is no need of searching this place, for the door is kept constantly
      locked.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But the mate was not to be diverted from his purpose, and ordered the
      soldier to get the key.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;During the absence of the soldier, we had a little time to reflect upon
      the dangers of our situation; crowded together in a space so small as not
      to admit of motion; with no other protection than the thickness of a
      board; guarded on the outside by about twelve soldiers, armed with
      cutlasses, and the mate, considerably drunk, with a pistol in each hand,
      threatening every moment to fire through;&mdash;our feelings may be more
      easily conceived than described. There was but little time for
      deliberation; something must be immediately done. * * * In a whispered
      consultation of some moments, we conceived that the safest course we could
      pursue would be to break out with all the violence we could exercise,
      overcome every obstacle, and reach the quarter-deck. By this time the
      soldier had arrived with the key, and upon applying it, the door was found
      to be unlocked. We now heard our last summons from the mate, with
      imprecations too horrible to be repeated, and threatening us with instant
      destruction if we did not immediately come out.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To remain any longer where we were would have been certain death to some
      of us; we therefore carried our hastily formed plan into execution. The
      door opened outwards, and forming ourselves into a solid body, we burst
      open the door, rushed out pellmell, and making a brisk use of our fists,
      knocked the guard heels over head in all directions, at the same time
      running with all possible speed for the quarter-deck. As I rushed out,
      being in the rear, I received a wound from a cutlass on my side, the scar
      of which remains to this day.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As nearly all the guards were prostrated by our unexpected sally, we
      arrived at our destined place, without being pursued by anything but
      curses and threats.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The mate exercised his authority to protect us from the rage of the
      soldiers, who were in pursuit of us, as soon as they had recovered from
      the prostration into which they had been thrown; and, with the assistance
      of the Captain&rsquo;s mistress, whom the noise had brought upon deck, and whose
      sympathy was excited when she saw we were about to be murdered: she placed
      herself between us and the enraged guard, and made such an outcry as to
      bring the Captain&rdquo; (Laird) &ldquo;up, who ordered the guard to take their
      station at a little distance and to watch us narrowly. We were all put in
      irons, our feet being fastened to a long bar, a guard placed over us, and
      in this situation we were left to pass the night.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;During the time of the transactions related, our fellow prisoner, Putnam,
      remained quietly under the tub, and heard the noise from his hiding place.
      He was not suffered to remain long in suspense. A soldier lifted up the
      tub, and seeing the poor prisoner, thrust his bayonet into his body, just
      above his hip, and then drove him to the quarter-deck, to take his place
      in irons among us. The blood flowed profusely from his wound, and he was
      soon after sent on board the hospital ship, and we never heard anything
      respecting him afterwards.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;With disappointed expectations we passed a dreary night. A cold fog,
      followed by rain, came on; to which we were exposed, without any blankets
      or covering to protect us from the inclemency of the weather. Our
      sufferings of mind and body during that horrible night, exceeded any that
      I have ever experienced.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We were chilled almost to death, and the only way we could preserve heat
      enough in our bodies to prevent our perishing, was to lie upon each other
      by turns.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Morning at last came, and we were released from our fetters. Our limbs
      were so stiff that we could hardly stand. Our fellow prisoners assisted us
      below, and wrapping us in blankets, we were at last restored to a state of
      comparative comfort.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For attempting to escape we were punished by having our miserable
      allowance reduced one third in quantity for a month; and we had found the
      whole of it hardly sufficient to sustain life. * * *
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One day a boat came alongside containing about sixty firkins of grease,
      which they called butter. The prisoners were always ready to assist in the
      performance of any labor necessary to be done on board of the ship, as it
      afforded some little relief to the tedious monotony of their lives. On
      this occasion they were ready to assist in hoisting the butter on board.
      The firkins were first deposited upon the deck, and then lowered down the
      main hatchway. Some of the prisoners, who were the most officious in
      giving their assistance, contrived to secrete a firkin, by rolling it
      forward under the forecastle, and afterwards carrying it below in their
      bedding.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This was considered as quite a windfall; and being divided among a few of
      us, proved a considerable luxury. It helped to fill up the pores in our
      mouldy bread, when the worms were dislodged, and gave to the crumbling
      particles a little more consistency.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Several weeks after our unsuccessful attempt to escape, another one
      attended with better success, was made by a number of the prisoners. At
      sunset the prisoners were driven below, and the main hatchway was closed.
      In this there was a trap-door, large enough for a man to pass through, and
      a sentinel was placed over it with orders to permit one prisoner at a time
      to come up during the night.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The plan that had been formed was this:&mdash;one of the prisoners should
      ascend, and dispose of the sentinel in such a manner that he should be no
      obstacle in the way of those who were to follow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Among the soldiers was an Irishman who, in consequence of having a head
      of hair remarkable for its curly appearance, and withal a very crabbed
      disposition, had been nicknamed &lsquo;Billy the Ram&rsquo;. He was the sentinel on
      duty this night, for one was deemed sufficient, as the prisoners were
      considered secure when they were below, having no other place of egress
      saving the trap-door, over which the sentinel was stationed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Late in the night one of the prisoners, a bold, athletic fellow, ascended
      upon deck, and in an artful manner engaged the attention of Billy the Ram,
      in conversation respecting the war; lamenting that he had engaged in so
      unnatural a contest, expressing his intention of enlisting in the British
      service, and requesting Billy&rsquo;s advice respecting the course necessary to
      be pursued to obtain the confidence of the officers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Billy happened to be in a mood to take some interest in his views, and
      showed an inclination, quite uncommon for him, to prolong the
      conversation. Unsuspicious of any evil design on the part of the prisoner,
      and while leaning carelessly on his gun, Billy received a tremendous blow
      from the fist of his entertainer on the back of his head, which brought
      him to the deck in a state of insensibility.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As soon as he was heard to fall by those below, who were anxiously
      awaiting the result of the friendly conversation of their pioneer with
      Billy, and were satisfied that the final knock-out argument had been
      given, they began to ascend, and, one after another, to jump overboard, to
      the number of about thirty.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The noise aroused the guard, who came upon deck, where they found Billy
      not sufficiently recovered from the stunning effects of the blow he had
      received to give any account of the transaction. A noise was heard in the
      water; but it was so dark that no object could be distinguished. The
      attention of the guard, however, was directed to certain spots which
      exhibited a luminous appearance, which salt water is known to assume in
      the night when it is agitated, and to these appearances they directed
      their fire, and getting out the boats, picked out about half the number
      that attempted to escape, many of whom were wounded, though not one was
      killed. The rest escaped.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;During the uproar overhead the prisoners below encouraged the fugitives,
      and expressed their approbation of their proceedings in three hearty
      cheers; for which gratification we suffered our usual punishment&mdash;a
      short allowance of our already short and miserable fare.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For about a fortnight after this transaction it would have been a
      hazardous experiment to approach near to &lsquo;Billy the Ram&rsquo;, and it was a
      long time before we ventured to speak to him, and finally to obtain from
      him an account of the events of the evening.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not long after this another successful attempt to escape was made, which
      for its boldness is perhaps unparalleled in the history of such
      transactions.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One pleasant morning about ten o&rsquo;clock a boat came alongside, containing
      a number of gentlemen from New York, who came for the purpose of
      gratifying themselves with a sight of the miserable tenants of the
      prison-ship, influenced by the same kind of curiosity that induces some
      people to travel a great distance to witness an execution.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The boat, which was a beautiful yawl, and sat like a swan upon the water,
      was manned by four oarsmen, with a man at the helm. Considerable attention
      and respect was shown the visitors, the ship&rsquo;s side being manned when they
      showed their intention of coming on board, and the usual naval courtesies
      extended. The gentlemen were soon on board; and the crew of the yawl,
      having secured her to the forechains on the larboard side of the ship,
      were permitted to ascend the deck.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A soldier as usual was pacing with a slow and measured tread the whole
      length of the deck, wheeling round with measured precision, when he
      arrived at the end of his walk; and whether upon this occasion, any one
      interested in his movements had secretly slipped a guinea into his hand,
      not to quicken but to retard his progress, was never known; but it was
      evident to the prisoners that he had never occupied so much time before in
      measuring the distance with his back to the place where the yawl was
      fastened.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At this time there were sitting in the forecastle, apparently admiring
      the beautiful appearance of the yawl, four mates and a captain, who had
      been brought on board as prisoners a few days previous, taken in some
      vessel from a southern port.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As soon as the sentry had passed these men, in his straightforward march,
      they, in a very quiet manner, lowered themselves down into the yawl, cut
      the rope, and the four mates taking in hand the oars, while the captain
      managed the helm, in less time than I have taken to describe it, they were
      under full sweep from the ship. They plied the oars with such vigor that
      every stroke they took seemed to take the boat out of the water. In the
      meantime the sentry heard nothing and saw nothing of this transaction,
      till he had arrived at the end of his march, when, in wheeling slowly
      round, he could no longer affect ignorance, or avoid seeing that the boat
      was several times its length from the ship. He immediately fired; but,
      whether he exercised his best skill as a marksman, or whether it was on
      account of the boat&rsquo;s going ahead its whole length at every pull of the
      rowers, I could never exactly ascertain, but the ball fell harmlessly into
      the water. The report of the gun brought the whole guard out, who blazed
      away at the fugitives, without producing any dimunition in the rapidity of
      their progress.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By this time the officers of the ship were on deck with their visitors;
      and while all were gazing with astonishment at the boldness and effrontery
      of the achievement, the guard were firing as fast as they could load their
      guns. When the prisoners gave three cheers to the yawl&rsquo;s crew, as an
      expression of their joy at their success, the Captain ordered all of us to
      be driven below at the point of the bayonet, and there we were confined
      the remainder of the day.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;These five men escaped, greatly to the mortification of the captain and
      officers of the prison-ship. After this, as long as I remained a prisoner,
      whenever any visitors came on board, all the prisoners were driven below,
      where they were obliged to remain till the company had departed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVII. &mdash; THE EXPERIENCE OF EBENEZER FOX (CONTINUED)
    </h2>
    <p>
      The miseries of our condition were continually increasing. The pestilence
      on board spread rapidly; and every day added to our bill of mortality. The
      young were its most frequent victims. The number of the prisoners was
      constantly augmenting, notwithstanding the frequent and successful
      attempts to escape. When we were mustered and called upon to answer to our
      names, and it was ascertained that nearly two hundred had mysteriously
      disappeared, without leaving any information of their departure, the
      officers of the ship endeavored to make amends for their past remissness
      by increasing the rigor of our confinement, and depriving us of all hope
      of adopting any of the means for liberating ourselves from our cruel
      thralldom, so successfully practiced by many of our comrades.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;With the hope that some relief might be obtained to meliorate the
      wretchedness of our situation, the prisoners petitioned General Clinton,
      commanding the British forces in New York, for permission to send a
      memorial to General Washington, describing our condition, and requesting
      his influence in our behalf, that some exchange of prisoners might be
      effected.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Permission was obtained, and the memorial was sent. * * * General
      Washington wrote to Congress, and also to the British Commissary of Naval
      prisoners, remonstrating with him, deprecating the cruel treatment of the
      Americans, and threatening retaliation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The long detention of American sailors on board of British prison-ships
      was to be attributed to the little pains taken by our countrymen to retain
      British subjects who were taken prisoner on the ocean during the war. Our
      privateers captured many British seamen, who, when willing to enlist in
      our service, as was generally the case, were received on board of our
      ships. Those who were brought into port were suffered to go at large; for
      in the impoverished condition of the country, no state or town was willing
      to subject itself to the expence of maintaining prisoners in a state of
      confinement; they were permitted to provide for themselves. In this way
      the number of British seamen was too small for a regular and equal
      exchange. Thus the British seamen, after their capture, enjoyed the
      blessings of liberty, the light of the sun, and the purity of the
      atmosphere, while the poor American sailors were compelled to drag out a
      miserable existence amid want and distress, famine and pestilence. As
      every principle of justice and humanity was disregarded by the British in
      their treatment of the prisoners, so likewise was every moral and legal
      right violated in compelling them to enter into their service.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We had obtained some information in relation to an expected draught that
      would soon be made upon the prisoners to fill up a complement of men that
      were wanted for the service of his Majesty&rsquo;s fleet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One day in the last part of August our fears for the dreaded event were
      realized. A British officer with a number of soldiers came on board. The
      prisoners were all ordered on deck, placed on the larboard gangway, and
      marched in single file round to the quarter-deck, where the officers stood
      to inspect them, and select such ones as suited their fancies without any
      reference to the rights of the prisoners. * * * We continued to march
      round in solemn and melancholy processsion, till they had selected from
      among our number about three hundred of the ablest, nearly all of whom
      were Americans, and they were directed to go below under a guard, to
      collect together whatever things they wished to take belonging to them.
      They were then driven into the boats, waiting alongside, and left the
      prison ship, not to enjoy their freedom, but to be subjected to the iron
      despotism, and galling slavery of a British man-of-war; to waste their
      lives in a foreign service; and toil for masters whom they hated. Such,
      however, were the horrors of our situation as prisoners, and so small was
      the prospect of relief, that we almost envied the lot of those who left
      the ship to go into the service of the enemy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That the reader may not think I have given an exaggerated account of our
      sufferings on board the Jersey, I will here introduce some facts related
      in the histories of the Revolutionary War. I introduce them as an apology
      for the course that I and many of my fellow citizens adopted to obtain
      temporary relief from our sufferings.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The prisoners captured by Sir William Howe in 1776 amounted to several
      thousands. * * * The privates were confined in prisons, deserted churches,
      and other large open buildings, entirely unfit for the habitations of
      human beings, in severe winter weather, without any of the most ordinary
      comforts of life.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To the indelible and everlasting disgrace of the British name, these
      unfortunate victims of a barbarity more befitting savages than gentlemen
      belonging to a nation boasting itself to be the most enlightened and
      civilized of the world,&mdash;many hundreds of them, perished from want of
      proper food and attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The cruelty of their inhuman jailors was not terminated by the death of
      these wretched men, as so little care was taken to remove the corpses that
      seven dead bodies have been seen at one time lying in one of the buildings
      in the midst of their living fellow-prisoners, who were perhaps envying
      them their release from misery. Their food * * * was generally that which
      was rejected by the British ships as unfit to be eaten by the sailors, and
      unwholesome in the highest degree, as well as disgusting in taste and
      appearance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In December, 1776, the American board of war, after procuring such
      evidence as convinced them of the truth of their statements, reported
      that: &lsquo;There were 900 privates and 300 officers of the American army,
      prisoners in the city of New York, and 500 privates and 50 officers in
      Philadelphia. That since the beginning of October, all these officers and
      privates had been confined in prisons or in the provost. That, from the
      best evidence the subject could admit of, the general allowance of the
      prisoners did not exceed four ounces of meat a day, and that often so
      damaged as to be uneatable. That it had been a common practice of the
      British to keep their prisoners four or five days without a morsel of meat
      and thus tempt them to enlist to save their lives.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Many were actually starved to death, in hope of making them enroll
      themselves in the British army. The American sailors when captured
      suffered even more than the soldiers, for they were confined on board
      prison ships in great numbers, and in a manner which showed that the
      British officers were willing to treat fellow beings, whose only crime was
      love of liberty, worse than the vilest animals; and indeed in every
      respect, with as much cruelty as is endured by the miserable inhabitants
      of the worst class of slave ships. * * * In the course of the war it has
      been asserted on good evidence, that 11,000 prisoners died on board the
      Jersey. * * * These unfortunate beings died in agony in the midst of their
      fellow sufferers, who were obliged to witness their tortures, without the
      power of relieving their dying countrymen, even by cooling their parched
      lips with a drop of cold water, or a breath of fresh air; and, when the
      last breath had left the emaciated body, they sometimes remained for hours
      in close contact with the corpse, without room to shrink from companions
      that Death had made so horrible, and when at last the dead were removed,
      they were sent in boats to the shore, and so imperfectly buried that long
      after the war was ended, their bones lay whitening in the sun on the beach
      of Long Island, a lasting memorial of British cruelty, so entirely
      unwarranted by all the laws of war or even common humanity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They could not even pretend that they were retaliating, for the Americans
      invariably treated their prisoners with kindness, and as though they were
      fellow men. All the time that these cruelties were performed those who
      were deprived of every comfort and necessary were constantly entreated to
      leave the American service, and induced to believe, while kept from all
      knowledge of public affairs, that the republican cause was hopeless; that
      all engaged in it would meet the punishment of traitors to the king, and
      that all their prospect of saving their lives, or escaping from an
      imprisonment worse than death to young and high-spirited men, as most of
      them were, would be in joining the British army, where they would be sure
      of good pay and quick promotion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;These were the means employed by our enemies to increase their own
      forces, and discourage the patriots, and it is not strange they were
      successful in many instances. High sentiments of honor could not well
      exist in the poor, half-famished prisoners, who were denied even water to
      quench their thirst, or the privilege of breathing fresh, pure air, and
      cramped, day after day, in a space too small to admit of exercising their
      weary limbs, with the fear of wasting their lives in a captivity, which
      could not serve their country, nor gain honor to themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But worse than all was the mortifying consideration that, after they had
      suffered for the love of their country, more than sailors in active
      service, they might die in these horrible places, and be laid with their
      countrymen on the shores of Long Island, or some equally exposed spot,
      without the rites of burial, and their names never be heard of by those
      who, in future ages, would look back to the roll of patriots, who died in
      defence of liberty, with admiration and respect, while, on the contrary,
      by dissembling for a time, they might be able to regain a place in the
      service so dear to them, and in which they were ready to endure any
      hardship or encounter any danger.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of all the prisons, on land or water, for the confinement of the
      Americans, during the Revolutionary War, the Old Jersey was acknowledged
      to be the worst; such an accumulation of horrors was not to be found in
      any other one, or perhaps in all collectively.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The very name of it struck terror into the sailor&rsquo;s heart, and caused him
      to fight more desperately, to avoid being made a captive. Suffering as we
      did, day after day, with no prospect of relief, our numbers continually
      augmenting, * * * can it be thought strange that the younger part of the
      prisoners, to whom confinement seemed worse than death, should be tempted
      to enlist into the British service; especially when, by so doing, it was
      probable that some opportunity would be offered to desert? We were
      satisfied that death would soon put an end to our sufferings if we
      remained prisoners much longer, yet when we discussed the expediency of
      seeking a change in our condition, which we were satisfied could not be
      worse under any circumstances, and it was proposed that we should enter
      the service of King George, our minds revolted at the idea, and we
      abandoned the intention.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the midst of our distresses, perplexities, and troubles of this
      period, we were not a little puzzled to know how to dispose of the vermin
      that would accumulate upon our persons, notwithstanding all our attempts
      at cleanliness. To catch them was a very easy task, but to undertake to
      deprive each individual captive of life, as rapidly as they could have
      been taken, would have been a more herculean task for each individual
      daily, than the destruction of 3000 Philistines by Sampson of old. To
      throw them overboard would have been but a small relief, as they would
      probably add to the impurities of the boiler, by being deposited in it the
      first time it was filled up for cooking our unsavory mess. What then was
      to be done with them? A general consultation was held, and it was
      determined to deprive them of their liberty. This being agreed upon, the
      prisoners immediately went to work, for their comfort and amusement, to
      make a liberal contribution of those migratory creatures, who were
      compelled to colonize for a time within the boundaries of a large snuff
      box appropriated for the purpose. There they lay, snugly ensconced, of all
      colors, ages, and sizes, to the amount of some hundreds, waiting for
      orders.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;British recruiting officers frequently came on board, and held out to the
      prisoners tempting offers to enlist in his Majesty&rsquo;s service; not to fight
      against their own country, but to perform garrison duty in the island of
      Jamaica.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One day an Irish officer came on board for this purpose, and not meeting
      with much success among the prisoners who happened to be on deck, he
      descended below to repeat his offers. He was a remarkably tall man, and
      was obliged to stoop as he passed along between decks. The prisoners were
      disposed for a frolic, and kept the officer in their company for some
      time, flattering him with expectations, till he discovered their
      insincerity, and left them in no very pleasant humor. As he passed along,
      bending his body and bringing his broad shoulders to nearly a horizontal
      position, the idea occurred to our minds to furnish him with some recruits
      from the colony in the snuff box. A favorable opportunity presented, the
      cover of the box was removed, and the whole contents discharged upon the
      red-coated back of the officer. Three cheers from the prisoners followed
      the migration, and the officer ascended to the deck, unconscious of the
      number and variety of the recruits he had obtained without the formality
      of an enlistment. The captain of the ship, suspecting that some joke had
      been practised, or some mischief perpetrated, from the noise below, met
      the officer at the head of the gangway, and seeing the vermin crawling up
      his shoulders, and aiming at his head, with the instinct peculiar to them,
      exclaimed, &lsquo;Hoot mon! what&rsquo;s the maitter wi&rsquo; your back!&rsquo; * * * By this
      time many of them in their wanderings, had travelled from the rear to the
      front, and showed themselves, to the astonishment of the officer. He flung
      off his coat, in a paroxysm of rage, which was not allayed by three cheers
      from the prisoners on deck. Confinement below, with a short allowance, was
      our punishment for this gratification.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;From some information we had obtained we were in daily expectation of a
      visit from the British recruiting officers, and from the summary method of
      their procedure, no one felt safe from the danger of being forced into
      their service. Many of the prisoners thought it would be better to enlist
      voluntarily, as it was probable that afterwards they would be permitted to
      remain on Long Island, preparatory to their departure to the West Indies,
      and during that time some opportunity would be offered for their escape to
      the Jersey shore. * * * Soon after we had formed this desperate resolve a
      recruiting officer came on board to enlist men for the 88th Regiment to be
      stationed at Kingston, in the island of Jamaica. * * * The recruiting
      officer presented his papers for our signature. We hesitated, we stared at
      each other, and felt we were about to do a deed of which we were ashamed,
      and which we might regret. Again we heard the tempting offers, and again
      the assurance that we should not be called upon to fight against our
      government or country, and with the hope that we should find an
      opportunity to desert, of which it was our firm intention to avail
      ourselves when offered,&mdash;with such hopes, expectations, and motives,
      we signed the papers, and became soldiers in his Majesty&rsquo;s service,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How often did we afterwards lament that we had ever lived to see this
      hour? How often did we regret that we were not in our wretched prison ship
      again, or buried in the sand at the Wallabout!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There were twelve of the prisoners who left the Jersey with Ebenezer Fox.
      They were at first taken to Long Island and lodged in barns, but so
      vigilantly were they guarded that they found it impossible to escape. They
      were all sent to Kingston, and Fox was allowed to resume his occupation as
      a barber, much patronized by the officers stationed at that post. He was
      soon allowed the freedom of the city, and furnished with a pass to go
      about it as much as he wished. At last, in company with four other
      Americans, he escaped, and after many adventures the party succeeded in
      reaching Cuba, by means of a small sailing boat which they pressed into
      service for that purpose. From Cuba they took passage in a small vessel
      for St. Domingo, and dropped anchor at Cape Francois, afterwards called
      Cape Henri. There they went on board the American frigate, Flora, of 32
      guns, commanded by Captain Henry Johnson, of Boston.
    </p>
    <p>
      The vessel soon sailed for France and took several prizes. It finally went
      up the Garonne to Bordeaux, where it remained nine months. In the harbor
      of Bordeaux were about six hundred vessels bearing the flags of various
      nations. Here they remained until peace was proclaimed, when Fox procured
      service on board an American brig lying at Nantes, and set sail for home
      in April, 1783.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length he again reached his mother&rsquo;s house at Roxbury, after an absence
      of about three years. His mother, at first, did not recognize him. She
      entertained him as a stranger, until he made himself known, and then her
      joy was great, for she had long mourned him as lost.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVIII. &mdash; THE CASE OF CHRISTOPHER HAWKINS
    </h2>
    <p>
      Christopher Hawkins was born in Providence, Rhode Island, in 1764. When he
      was in his thirteenth year he sailed on board an American privateer as a
      cabin boy. The privateer was a schooner, called the Eagle, commanded by
      Captain Potter. Taken prisoner by the British, Hawkins was sent on board
      the Asia, an old transport ship, but was soon taken off this vessel, then
      used for the confinement of American prisoners, and sent on board a
      frigate, the Maidstone, to serve as a waiter to the British officers on
      board. He remained on board the Maidstone a year. At the end of that time
      he was allowed a good deal of liberty. He and another boy were sent on
      shore to New York with a message, managed to elude the sentinels, and
      escaped first to Long Island, and afterwards returned home to Providence.
    </p>
    <p>
      About 1781 he again went on board a privateer under Captain Whipple, was
      again captured, and this time he was sent to the Jersey. He describes the
      condition of the prisoners on their way in a transport to this fearful
      prison ship. They were so crowded together that they could scarcely move,
      yet they all joined in singing a patriotic song every stanza of which
      ended with the words:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For America and all her sons forever will shine!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They were on board this transport three or four days unable to sit or lie
      down for want of room. When at last they reached the Jersey they found 800
      prisoners on board. Many of these poor wretches would become sick in the
      night and die before day. Hawkins was obliged to lie down to rest only
      twenty feet from the gangway, and in the path of the prisoners who would
      run over him to get on the upper deck. He describes the condition of these
      men as appalling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Near us,&rdquo; he writes, &ldquo;was a guard ship and hospital ship, and along the
      shore a line of sentinels at regular intervals.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Yet he determined to escape. Many did so; and many were murdered in the
      attempt. A mess of six had just met a dreadful fate. One of them became
      terrified and exclaimed as soon as he touched the water, &ldquo;O Lord, I shall
      be drowned!&rdquo; The guard turned out, and murdered five of the poor wretches.
      The sixth managed to hide, and held on by the flukes of the anchor with
      nothing but his nose above water. Early in the morning he climbed up the
      anchor over the bow of the ship to the forecastle, and fled below. A boy
      named Waterman and Hawkins determined to drop through a port-hole, and
      endeavor to reach Long Island by swimming. He thus describes the
      adventure:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The thunder-storm was opportune to our design, for having previously
      obtained from the cook&rsquo;s room an old axe and crow-bar from the upper deck
      for the purpose, we concealed them till an opportunity should offer for
      their use. We took advantage of the peals of thunder in a storm that came
      over us in the afternoon to break one of the gun ports on the lower deck,
      which was strongly barred with iron and bolts. * * * When a peal of
      thunder roared we worked with all our might with the axe and crow-bar
      against the bars and bolts. When the peals subsided we ceased, without our
      blows being heard by the British, until another peal commenced. We then
      went to work again, and so on, until our work was completed to our liking.
      The bars and bolts, after we had knocked them loose, were replaced so as
      not to draw the attention of our British gentry if they should happen to
      visit the lower deck before our departure. We also hung some old apparel
      over and around the shattered gunport to conceal any marks.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Being thus and otherwise prepared for our escape, the ship was visited by
      our Captain Whipple the next day after we had broken the gun-port. To him
      we communicated our intention and contemplated means of escape. He
      strongly remonstrated against the design. We told him we should start the
      ensuing evening. Captain Whipple answered:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;How do you think of escaping?&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I answered, &lsquo;By swimming to that point,&rsquo; at the same time pointing to a
      place then in our view on Long Island, in a northeasterly direction from
      the prison ship. We must do this to avoid the sentinels who were stationed
      in the neighborhood of the ship.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;What!&rsquo; said Captain Whipple, &lsquo;Do you think of swimming to that point?&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Yes, we must, to avoid the sentinels,&rsquo; I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said Captain Whipple, &lsquo;Give it up, It is only throwing your lives
      away, for there is not a man on earth who can swim from this ship to that
      point as cold as the water is now. Why, how far do you think it is?&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Why,&rsquo; I answered, &lsquo;Waterman and myself have estimated the distance at a
      mile and a half.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;It&rsquo;s all of two and a half miles. You cannot measure
      across as well as I can. So you had better give it up, for I have
      encouragement of getting home next week, and if I do, I will make it my
      whole business to get you all exchanged immediately.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Altho&rsquo; Waterman was several years my senior in age, the conversation was
      carried on between Captain Whipple and myself for the reason that Captain
      W. was more acquainted with me than with Waterman, but Waterman was
      present.&rdquo; (Captain Whipple was captured five times during the Revolution,
      each time on his own vessel.)
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His advice had great weight on our minds, but did not shake our purpose.
      We had not been on board the Old Jersey more than one hour before we began
      to plot our escape. We had been only three days on board when we left it
      forever. We had been on board long enough to discover the awful scenes
      which took place daily in this &lsquo;floating hell.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our preparations for leaving were completed by procuring a piece of rope
      from an old cable that was stretched under the fo&rsquo;castle of the ship, * *
      * and wound around the cable to preserve it. We had each of us packed our
      wearing apparel in a knapsack for each, made on board the Old Jersey. I
      gave some of my apparel to the two Smiths. I stowed in my knapsack a thick
      woolen sailor jacket, well lined, a pair of thick pantaloons, one vest, a
      pair of heavy silver shoe buckles, two silk handkerchiefs, four silver
      dollars, not forgetting a junk bottle of rum, which we had purchased on
      board at a dear rate. Waterman had stowed his apparel and other articles
      in his knapsack. Mine was very heavy. It was fastened to my back with two
      very strong garters, passing over my shoulders, and under each arm, and
      fastened with a string to my breast, bringing my right and left garter in
      contact near the centre.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thus equipt we were ready to commit ourselves to the watery element, and
      to our graves, as many of our hardy fellow prisoners predicted. The
      evening was as good an one as we could desire at that season of the year,
      the weather was mild and hazy, and the night extremely dark.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was arranged between Waterman and myself that after leaving the ship
      we should be governed in our course by the lights on board the ships and
      the responses of the sentinels on shore, and after arriving on shore to
      repair near a dwelling house which we could see from the Old Jersey in the
      day time, and spend the balance of the night in a barn, but a few rods
      from the dwelling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Waterman was the first to leave the ship through the broken-open
      gun-port, and suspended to the rope by his hands, and at the end behind
      him (it was held) by several of our fellow prisoners whom we were leaving
      behind us, and with whom we affectionately parted with reciprocal good
      wishes. He succeeded in gaining the water and in leaving the ship without
      discovery from the British. It had been agreed, if detection was about to
      take place, that he should be received again into the ship. I had agreed
      to follow him in one minute in the same manner. I left and followed in
      half that time, and succeeded in leaving the ship without giving the least
      alarm to those who had held us in captivity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I kept along close to the side of the ship until I gained the stern, and
      then left the ship. This was all done very slowly, sinking my body as deep
      in the water as possible, without stopping my course, until I was at such
      a distance from her that my motions in the water would not create
      attention from those on board. After gaining a suitable distance from the
      ship, I hailed Waterman three times. He did not answer me. * * * I have
      never seen him since he left the Old Jersey to this day. His fate and
      success I have since learned from James Waterman, one of his brothers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the meantime I kept on my course without thinking that any accident
      would befall him, as I knew him to be an excellent swimmer, and no
      fainthearted or timid fellow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I could take my course very well from the light reflected from the stern
      lanthorns of the prison, guards, and hospital ships, and also from the
      responses of the sentinels on shore; in the words, &lsquo;All&rsquo;s well.&rsquo; These
      responses were repeated every half hour on board the guard ship, and by
      the sentinels. * * * These repetitions served me to keep the time I was
      employed in reaching the shore;&mdash;no object occupied my mind during
      this time so much as my friend Waterman, if I may except my own success in
      getting to land in safety.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I flattered myself I should find him on shore or at the barn we had
      agreed to occupy after we might gain it. After I had been swimming nearly
      or quite two hours my knapsack had broken loose from my back, from the
      wearing off of the garters under my arms, in consequence of the friction
      in swimming. * * * This occurrence did not please me much. I endeavored to
      retain my knapsack by putting it under one arm, * * * but soon found that
      this impeded my progress, and led me from my true course. * * * By this
      time I had become much chilled, and benumbed from cold, but could swim
      tolerably well. * * * I hesitated whether or not to retain my knapsack
      longer in my possession, or part from it forever, I soon determined on the
      latter, and sent it adrift. In this balancing state of mind and subsequent
      decision I was cool and self collected as perhaps at any time in my life.
      * * * I now soon found I was close in with the shore. * * * I swam within
      twelve feet of the shore before I could touch bottom, and in so doing I
      found I could not stand, I was so cold * * * but I moved around in shoal
      water until I found I could stand, then stept on shore. * * * I had not
      sent my clothes adrift more than twenty-five minutes or so before striking
      the shore. I was completely naked except for a small hat on my head which
      I had brought from the Old Jersey. What a situation was this, without
      covering to hide my naked body, in an enemy&rsquo;s country, without food or
      means to obtain any, and among Tories more unrelenting than the devil,&mdash;more
      perils to encounter and nothing to aid me but the interposition of heaven!
      Yet I had gained an important portion of my enterprise: I had got on land,
      after swimming in the water two hours and a half, and a distance of
      perhaps two miles and a half.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Hawkins at last found the barn and slept in it the rest of the night, but
      not before falling over a rock in the darkness, and bruising his naked
      body severely. Next morning a black girl came into the barn, apparently
      hunting for eggs, but he did not dare reveal himself to her. He remained
      there all day, and endeavored to milk the cows, but they were afraid of a
      naked stranger. He left the place in the night and travelled east. In a
      field he found some overripe water melons, but they were neither wholesome
      nor palatable. After wandering a long time in the rain he came to another
      barn, and in it he slept soundly until late the next day. Nearly famished
      he again wandered on and found in an orchard a few half rotten pears. Near
      by was a potato patch which he entered hoping to get some of them. Here a
      young woman, who had been stooping down digging potatoes, started up. &ldquo;I
      was, of course,&rdquo; he continues, &ldquo;naked, my head excepted. She was, or
      appeared to be, excessively frightened, and ran towards a house,
      screeching and screaming at every step.&rdquo; Hawkins ran in the other
      direction, and got safely away. At last the poor boy found another barn,
      and lay, that night, upon a heap of flax. After sunrise next morning he
      concluded to go on his way. &ldquo;I could see the farmers at their labor in the
      fields. I then concluded to still keep on my course, and go to some of
      these people then in sight. I was, by this time, almost worn out with
      hunger. I slowly approached two tall young men who were gathering garden
      sauce. They soon discovered me and appeared astonished at my appearance,
      and began to draw away from me, but I spoke to them in the following
      words:&mdash;&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t be afraid of me: I am a human being!&rsquo; They then made a
      halt and inquired of me, &lsquo;Are you scared?&rsquo; &lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I. They then
      advanced slowly towards me, and inquired, &lsquo;How came you here naked?&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I seated myself on the ground and told them the truth.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      One of the young men told him to conceal himself from the sight of the
      neighbors, and he would go and consult with his mother what had best be
      done. He soon returned, bringing two large pieces of bread and butter and
      a decent pair of pantaloons. He then told him to go to the side of the
      barn and wait there for his mother, but not to allow himself to be seen.
      The boys&rsquo; mother came out to speak to him with a shirt on her arm. As he
      incautiously moved around the side of the barn to meet her, she exclaimed,
      &ldquo;For God&rsquo;s sake don&rsquo;t let that black woman see you!&rdquo; A slave was washing
      clothes near the back door of the farm house. The poor woman explained to
      Hawkins that this negress would betray him, &ldquo;For she is as big a devil as
      any of the king&rsquo;s folks, and she will bring me out, and then we should all
      be put in the provost and die there, for my husband was put there more
      than two years ago, and rotted and died there not more than two weeks
      since.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The poor woman wept as she told her story, and the escaped prisoner wept
      with her. This woman and her two sons were Dutch, and their house was only
      nine miles from Brooklyn ferry. She now directed the boy to a house at
      Oyster Bay where she said there was a man who would assist him to escape.
    </p>
    <p>
      After running many risks he found the house at last, but the woman who
      answered his knock told him that her husband was away and when he
      explained who he was she became very angry, and said that it was her duty
      to give him up. So he ran away from her, and at last fell into the hands
      of a party of British, who recaptured him, and declared that they would
      send him immediately back to the prison ship. They were quartered in a
      house near Oyster Bay, and here they locked him in a room, and he was told
      to lie down on some straw to sleep, as it was now night. In the night the
      fleas troubled him so much that he was very restless. A sentinel had been
      placed to guard him, and when this wretch heard him moving in the dark he
      exclaimed, &ldquo;Lie still, G&mdash;d&mdash;-you,&rdquo; and pricked him several
      times with his bayonet, so that the poor boy felt the fresh blood running
      down his body. He begged the sentinel to spare his life, declaring that it
      was hard he should be killed merely because the fleas had made him
      restless. He now did not dare to move, and was obliged to endure the
      attacks the fleas and the stiffness of his wounds in perfect silence until
      the sentinel was relieved. The next sentinel was kind and humane and
      seemed to compassionate his sufferings. He said that some men were natural
      brutes, and seemed to take an interest in the boy, but could do little for
      him. At daylight he was sent to the quarters of a Tory colonel a mile from
      the guard room. The colonel was a tall man of fine appearance, who
      examined him, and then said he must be sent back to the Jersey. The poor
      lad was now left in an unlocked room on the ground floor of the colonel&rsquo;s
      house. He was given his breakfast, and a mulatto man was set to guard him.
      Now there was a pantry opening into this room, and a negro girl, who
      appeared very friendly with the mulatto, called him to eat his breakfast
      in this pantry. The mulatto, while eating, would look out every few
      minutes. Just after one of these inspections the boy got up softly, with
      his shoes in his hands, stepped across the room, out at the back door, and
      concealed himself in a patch of standing hemp. From thence he made his way
      into an orchard, and out into a wood lot. Here he hid himself and remained
      quiet for several hours, and although he heard several persons talking
      near him, he was not pursued. At last he stole out, walked about six
      miles, and at night fall entered a barn and slept there. He was in rather
      better case than before his recapture, for a doctor belonging to the
      British service had taken pity on him the night before, and had furnished
      him with warm clothes, shoes, and a little money.
    </p>
    <p>
      Next morning a woman who lived in a small house near the road gave him
      some bread and milk. The time of the year was autumn, it was a day or two
      before Cornwallis&rsquo;s surrender at Yorktown. He now very fortunately met an
      acquaintance named Captain Daniel Havens. He was an uncle of a boy named
      John Sawyer, with whom young Hawkins had run away from New York some years
      before. Through the agency of this old friend Hawkins got on board a
      smuggler in the night and finally reached home in safety.
    </p>
    <p>
      Christopher Hawkins&rsquo;s account of the Old Jersey is not so reliable as that
      of some others who were among her inmates. He was only on board that
      vessel three days, but in that time he saw enough to decide him to risk
      death in the attempt to escape rather than remain any longer on board of
      her. He declares that: &ldquo;The cruel and unjustifiable treatment of the
      prisoners by the British soon produced the most demoralizing effects upon
      them. Boxing was tolerated without stint.... After I left the ship an
      American vessel came into the port of New York as a cartel for the
      exchange of prisoners.... A ship&rsquo;s mate was so fortunate as to be one of
      the exchanged. He had a large chest on board, and, as privately as he
      could, he put the cabin boy into the chest, locked him in, and carried him
      on board the cartel. A prisoner named Spicer had seen the boy put into the
      chest, and after he had been conveyed on board the cartel, Spicer
      communicated the affair to the commanding officer on board the Jersey. The
      cartel was immediately boarded, as she had not yet left the port, and the
      boy was found and brought back. Spicer paid for his treachery with his
      life. The prisoners knocked him down the hatchway, when they were going
      down for the night; they then fell upon him, cut off his ears, and mangled
      him in a shocking manner, so that he died in a day or two.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This event occured after he left the ship, according to his own narrative.
      The same story is told in a different way by an eye witness of undoubted
      veracity. He says that the prisoners were so incensed against Spicer that
      they determined to kill him. For this purpose some of them held him, while
      another was about to cut his throat, when the guards, hearing the uproar,
      rushed down the hatchway, and rescued him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hawkins also says: &ldquo;I one day observed a prisoner on the forecastle of the
      ship, with his shirt in his hands, having stripped it from his body,
      deliberately picking the vermin from the pleats and putting them in his
      mouth. * * * I stepped very near the man and commenced a conversation with
      him. He said he had been on board two years and a half, or eighteen
      months. He had completely lost count of time, was a skeleton and nearly
      naked. This was only one case from perhaps a hundred similar. This man
      appeared in tolerable health as to body, his emaciation excepted. * * *
      The discipline of the prisoners by the British was in many respects of the
      most shocking and appalling character. The roll of the prisoners, as I was
      informed, was called every three months, unless a large acquisiton of
      prisoners should render it necessary more often. The next day after our
      crew were put on board the roll was called, and the police regulations of
      the ship were read. I heard this. One of the new regulations was to the
      effect that every captive trying to get away should suffer instant death,
      and should not even be taken on board alive.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It appears that David Laird commanded the Old Jersey from 1778 until early
      in the year 1781. He was then relieved of the command, and this office was
      given to a man named John Sporne, or Spohn, until the 9th of April, 1783,
      when all the prisoners remaining in her were released, and she was
      abandoned. The dread of contagion kept visitors aloof. She was still
      moored in the mud of the Wallabout by chain cables, and gradually sank
      lower and lower. There is a beam of her preserved as a curiosity at the
      Naval Museum at Brooklyn.
    </p>
    <p>
      David Laird, the Scotchman who commanded her until the early part of 1781,
      returned to New York after the peace of 1783 as captain of a merchant
      ship, and moored his vessel at or near Peck&rsquo;s Slip. A number of persons
      who had been prisoners on board the Jersey, and had suffered by his
      cruelty, assembled on the wharf to receive him, but he deemed it prudent
      to remain on ship-board during the short time his vessel was there.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is in the recollections of Ebenezer Fox that we have the only mention
      ever made of a woman on board that dreadful place, the Old Jersey, and
      although she may have been and probably was an abandoned character, yet
      she seems to have been merciful, and unwilling to see the prisoners who
      were attempting to escape, butchered before her eyes. It is indeed to be
      hoped that no other woman ever set foot in that terrible place to suffer
      with the prisoners, and yet there are a few women&rsquo;s names in the list of
      these wretched creatures given in the appendix to this book. It is most
      likely, however, that these were men, and that their feminine appellations
      were nicknames. [Footnote: One is named Nancy and one Bella, etc.]
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIX. &mdash; TESTIMONY OF PRISONERS ON BOARD THE JERSEY
    </h2>
    <p>
      We must again quote from Ebenezer Fox, whose description of the provisions
      dealt out to the prisoners on board the prison ships shall now be given.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The prisoners received their mess rations at nine in the morning. * * *
      All our food appeared to be damaged. The bread was mostly mouldy, and
      filled with worms. It required considerable rapping upon the deck, before
      these worms could be dislodged from their lurking places in a biscuit. As
      for the pork, we were cheated out of it more than half the time, and when
      it was obtained one would have judged from its motley hues, exhibiting the
      consistence and appearance of variegated soap, that it was the flesh of
      the porpoise or sea hog, and had been an inhabitant of the ocean, rather
      than a sty. * * * The flavor was so unsavory that it would have been
      rejected as unfit for the stuffing of even Bologna sausages. The
      provisions were generally damaged, and from the imperfect manner in which
      they were cooked were about as indigestible as grape shot. The flour and
      oatmeal was often sour, and when the suet was mixed with the flour it
      might be nosed half the length of the ship. The first view of the beef
      would excite an idea of veneration for its antiquity, * * * its color was
      a dark mahagony, and its solidity would have set the keenest edge of a
      broad axe at defiance to cut across the grain, though like oakum it could
      be pulled to pieces, one way, in strings, like rope yarn. * * * It was so
      completely saturated with salt that after having been boiled in water
      taken from the sea, it was found to be considerably freshened by the
      process. * * * Such was our food, but the quality was not all of which we
      had to complain. * * * The cooking was done in a great copper vessel. * *
      * The Jersey, from her size, and lying near the shore, was embedded in the
      mud, and I don&rsquo;t recollect seeing her afloat the whole time I was a
      prisoner. All the filth that accumulated among upwards of a thousand men
      was daily thrown overboard, and would remain there until carried away by
      the tide. The impurity of the water may be easily conceived, and in that
      water our meat was boiled. It will be recollected, too, that the water was
      salt, which caused the inside of the copper to be corroded to such a
      degree that it was lined with a coat of verdigris. Meat thus cooked must,
      in some degree, be poisoned, and the effects of it were manifest in the
      cadaverous countenances of the emaciated beings who had remained on board
      for any length of time.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;* * * We passed the night amid the accumulated horrors of sighs and
      groans; of foul vapor; a nauseous and putrid atmosphere, in a stifling and
      almost suffocating heat. * * * Little sleep could be enjoyed, for the
      vermin were so horribly abundant that all the personal cleanliness we
      could practice would not protect us from their attacks.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The public papers of the day often contained accounts of the cruelties
      practiced upon the prisoners on the ships. In the <i>Pennsylvania Packet</i>
      of Sept. 4th, 1781, there is an extract from a letter written by a
      prisoner whose name is not given.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;EXTRACT FROM A LETTER DATED ON BOARD THE JERSEY (VULGARLY CALLED HELL)
      PRISON SHIP
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New York August 10th 1781
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is nothing but death or entering into the British service before
      me. Our ship&rsquo;s company is reduced by death and entering into the British
      service to the small number of 19. * * * I am not able to give you even
      the outlines of my exile; but this much I will inform you, that we bury 6,
      7, 8, 9, 10, and 11 in a day. We have 200 more sick and falling sick every
      day; the sickness is the yellow fever, small pox, and in short everything
      else that can be mentioned.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New London. Conn. March 3rd. 1782. Sunday last a flag ship returned from
      New York which brought twenty Americans who had been a long time on board
      a prison ship. About 1,000 of our countrymen remain in the prison ships at
      New York, great part of whom have been in close confinement for more than
      six months, and in the most deplorable condition: many of them seeing no
      prospect of release are entering into the British service to elude the
      contagion with which the ships are fraught.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      EXTRACT OF A LETTER WRITTEN ON BOARD THE PRISON SHIP JERSEY, APRIL 26TH,
      1782.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am sorry to write you from this miserable place. I can assure you that
      since I have been here we have had only twenty men exchanged, although we
      are in number upwards of 700, exclusive of the sick in the Hospital ships,
      who died like sheep; therefore my intention is, if possible, to enter on
      board some merchant or transport vessel, as it is impossible for so many
      men to keep alive in one vessel.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Providence. May 25th 1782. Sunday last a flag of truce returned here from
      New York and brought a few prisoners. We learn that 1100 Americans were on
      board the prison and hospital ships at New York, when the flag sailed from
      thence, and that from six to seven were generally buried every day.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Salem. Mass. Extract from a letter of an officer on board the Jersey.&mdash;&lsquo;The
      deplorable situation I am in cannot be expressed. The captains,
      lieutenants, and sailing masters have gone to the Provost, but they have
      only gotten out of the frying pan into the fire. I am left here with about
      700 miserable objects, eaten up by lice, and daily taking fevers, which
      carry them off fast. Nov 9th 1782.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      By repeated acts of cruelty on the part of the British the Americans were,
      at last, stung to attempt something like retaliation. In 1782 a prison
      ship, given that name, was fitted up and stationed in the Thames near New
      London, as we learn from the following extract:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New London, Conn. May 24th 1782. Last Saturday the Retaliation prison
      ship was safely moored in the river Thames, about a mile from the ferry,
      for the receipt of such British prisoners as may fall into our hands,
      since which about 100 prisoners have been put on board.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It is said that this ship was in use but a short time, and we have been
      unable to learn anything further of her history.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thomas Philbrook, who was a prisoner on board the Jersey for several
      months was one of the &ldquo;working-party,&rdquo; whose duty it was to scrub the
      decks, attend to the sick, and bring up the dead. He says: &ldquo;As the morning
      dawned there would be heard the loud, unfeeling, and horrid cry, &lsquo;Rebels!
      Bring up your dead!&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Staggering under the weight of some stark, still form, I would at length
      gain the upper deck, when I would be met with the salutation: &lsquo;What! <i>you
      alive yet?</i> Well, you are a tough one!&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
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      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXX. &mdash; RECOLLECTIONS OF ANDREW SHERBURNE
    </h2>
    <p>
      Andrew Sherburne, a lad of seventeen, shipped on the Scorpion, Captain R.
      Salter, a small vessel, with a crew of eighteen men. This vessel was
      captured by the Amphion, about the middle of November, 1782. Sherburne
      says that the sailors plundered them of everything they possessed, and
      that thirteen of them were put on board the Amphion, and sent down to the
      cable tiers between the two decks, where they found nearly a hundred of
      their countrymen, who were prisoners of war.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We were very much crowded, and having nothing but the cables to lay on,
      our beds were as hard and unpleasant as though they were made of cord
      wood, and indeed we had not sufficient room for each to stretch himself at
      the same time.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After about two weeks we arrived at New York, and were put on board that
      wretched ship the Jersey. The New York prison ships had been the terror of
      American tars for years. The Old Jersey had become notorious in
      consequence of the unparallelled mortality on board her. * * *
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I entered the Jersey towards the last of November, I had just entered the
      eighteenth year of my age, and had now to commence a scene of suffering
      almost without a parallel. * * * A large proportion of the prisoners had
      been robbed of their clothing. * * * Early in the winter the British took
      the Chesapeake frigate of about thirty guns, and 300 hands. All were sent
      on board the Jersey, which so overcrowded her, that she was very sickly.
      This crew died exceedingly fast, for a large proportion were fresh hands,
      unused to the sea.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sherburne says that boats from the city brought provisions to sell to such
      of the prisoners as were so fortunate as to be possessed of money, and
      that most of them were able to make purchases from them. A piece of
      sausage from seven to nine inches long sold for sixpence.
    </p>
    <p>
      In January, 1783, Sherburne became ill and was sent to the Frederick, a
      hospital ship. In this two men shared every bunk, and the conditions were
      wretchedly unsanitary. He was placed in a bunk with a man named Wills from
      Massachusetts, a very gentle and patient sufferer, who soon died.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have seen seven men drawn out and piled together on the lower hatchway,
      who had died in one night on board the Frederick.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There were ten or twelve nurses, and about a hundred sick. Some, if not
      all of the nurses, were prisoners. * * * They would indulge in playing
      cards and drinking, while their fellows were thirsting for water and some
      dying. At night the hatches were shut down and locked, and the nurses
      lived in the steerage, and there was not the least attention paid to the
      sick except by the convalescent, who were so frequently called upon that,
      in many cases, they overdid themselves, relapsed, and died.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sherburne suffered extremely from the cold. &ldquo;I have often,&rdquo; he says
      &ldquo;toiled the greatest part of the night, in rubbing my feet and legs to
      keep them from freezing. * * * In consequence of these chills I have been
      obliged to wear a laced stocking upon my left leg for nearly thirty years
      past. My bunk was directly against the ballast-port; and the port not
      being caulked, when there came a snow-storm the snow would blow through
      the seams in my bed, but in those cases there was one advantage to me,
      when I could not otherwise procure water to quench my thirst. The
      provision allowed the sick was a gill of wine, and twelve ounces of bread
      per day. The wine was of an ordinary quality, and the bread made of sour
      or musty flour, and sometimes poorly baked. There was a small sheet iron
      stove between decks, but the fuel was green, and not plenty, and there
      were some peevish and surly fellows generally about it. I never got an
      opportunity to sit by it, but I could generally get the favor of some one
      near it to lay a slice of bread upon it, to warm or toast it a little, to
      put into my wine and water. We sometimes failed in getting our wine for
      several days together; we had the promise of its being made up to us, but
      this promise was seldom performed. * * * Water was brought on board in
      casks by the working party, and when it was very cold it would freeze in
      the casks, and it would be difficult to get it out. * * * I was frequently
      under the necessity of pleading hard to get my cup filled. I could not eat
      my bread, but gave it to those who brought me water. I have given three
      days allowance to have a tin cup of water brought me. * * * A company of
      the good citizens of New York supplied all the sick with a pint of good
      Bohea tea, well sweetened with molasses a day; and this was constant. I
      believe this tea saved my life, and the lives of hundreds of others. * * *
      The physicians used to visit the sick once in several days: their stay was
      short, nor did they administer much medicine. Were I able to give a full
      description of our wretched and filthy condition I should almost question
      whether it would be credited. * * * It was God&rsquo;s good pleasure to raise me
      up once more so that I could just make out to walk, and I was again
      returned to the Jersey prison ship.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Here he received sad news. One of his uncles was a prisoner on board the
      Jersey, and had been very kind to him, giving him a share of his money
      with which to purchase necessaries. Now he found his uncle about to take
      his place in the hospital ship. A boy named Stephen Nichols also informed
      him of the death in his absence of the gunner of their ship, whose name
      was Daniel Davis. This poor man had his feet and legs frozen, from which
      he died.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nichols and myself were quite attached to each other. * * * We stalked
      about the decks together, lamenting our forlorn condition. In a few days
      there came orders to remove all the prisoners from the Jersey in order to
      cleanse the ship. We were removed on board of transports, and directly
      there came on a heavy storm. The ship on which I was was exceedingly
      crowded, so that there was not room enough for each man to lay down under
      deck, and the passing and repassing by day had made the lower deck
      entirely wet. Our condition was distressing. After a few days we were all
      put on board the Jersey again. A large number had taken violent colds,
      myself among the rest. The hospital ships were soon crowded, and even the
      Jersey herself shortly became about as much of a hospital ship as the
      others.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sherburne was again sent to a hospital ship, where he was rejoiced to find
      his uncle convalescing. A man who lay next him had been a nurse, but had
      had his feet and legs frozen, the toes and bottom of his feet fell off.
    </p>
    <p>
      Two brothers shared a bunk near him. Their names were John and Abraham
      Falls. John was twenty-three, and Abraham only sixteen. Both were very
      sick. One night Abraham was heard imploring John not to lie on him, and
      the other invalids reproached him for his cruelty in thus treating his
      young brother. But John was deaf to their reproaches, for he was dead.
      Abraham was too ill to move from under him. Next day the dead brother was
      removed from the living one, but it was too late to save him, and the poor
      boy died that morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sherburne says that only five of his crew of thirteen survived, and that
      in many instances a much larger proportion died.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At length came news of peace. It was exceedingly trying to our feelings
      to see our ship mates daily leaving us, until our ship was almost
      deserted. We were, however, convalescent, but we gained exceedingly
      slowly. * * * I think there were but seven or eight left on board the
      hospital ship when we left it, in a small schooner sent from R. I., for
      the purpose of taking home some who belonged to that place, and the
      commander of the hospital ship had the humanity to use his influence with
      the master of the cartel to take us on board, and to our unspeakable joy
      he consented.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      When at last he reached home he says: &ldquo;My brother Sam took me into another
      room to divest me of my filthy garments and to wash and dress me. He
      having taken off my clothes and seen my bones projecting here and there,
      was so astonished that his strength left him. He sat down on the point of
      fainting, and could render me no further service. I was able to wash
      myself and put on my clothes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      After this he was obliged to spend twenty days in bed. Poor Mrs. Falls,
      the mother of the two young men who had died on the hospital ship, called
      on him and heard the fate of her sons. She was in an agony, and almost
      fainted, and kept asking if it was not a mistake that <i>both</i> were
      dead.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXI. &mdash; CAPTAIN ROSWELL PALMER
    </h2>
    <p>
      In the year 1865 a son of Captain Roswell Palmer, of Connecticut, wrote a
      letter to Mr. Henry Drowne, in which he narrates the story of his father&rsquo;s
      captivity, which we will condense in these pages. He says that his father
      was born in Stonington, Conn., in August, 1764, and was about seventeen at
      the time of his capture by the British, which must have been in 1781.
    </p>
    <p>
      Palmer had several relations in the army, and was anxious to enlist, but
      was rejected as too young. His uncle, however, received him as an
      assistant in the Commissary Department, and when the brig Pilgrim, of
      Stonington, was commissioned to make war on the public enemy, the rejected
      volunteer was warmly welcomed on board by his kinsman, Captain Humphrey
      Crary.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first night after putting to sea, the Pilgrim encountered a British
      fleet just entering the Vineyard Sound. A chase and running fight of
      several hours ensued, but at length the vessel was crippled and compelled
      to surrender. The prize was taken into Holmes&rsquo; Hole, and the crew
      subsequently brought to New York. Mr. Henry Palmer thus describes the
      Jersey, which was his father&rsquo;s destination.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Jersey never left her anchorage at the Wallabout, whether from
      decrepitude, or the intolerable burden of woes and wrongs accumulated in
      her wretched hulk,&mdash;but sank slowly down at last into the subjacent
      ooze, as if to hide her shame from human sight, and more than forty years
      after my father pointed out to me at low tide huge remnants of her
      unburied skeleton.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On board of this dread Bastile were crowded year after year, some 1,400
      prisoners, mostly Americans. The discipline was very strict, while the
      smallest possible attention was paid by their warders to the sufferings of
      the captives. Cleanliness was simply an impossibility, where the quarters
      were so narrow, the occupants so numerous, and little opportunity afforded
      for washing the person or the tatters that sought to hide its nakedness.
      Fortunate was the wretch who possessed a clean linen rag, for this, placed
      in his bosom, seemed to attract to it crowds of his crawling tormentors,
      whose squatter sovereignty could be disposed of by the wholesale at his
      pleasure.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The food of the prisoners consisted mainly of spoiled sea biscuit, and of
      navy beef, which had become worthless from long voyaging in many climes
      years before. These biscuits were so worm-eaten that a slight pressure of
      the hand reduced them to dust, which rose up in little clouds of
      insubstantial aliment, as if in mockery of the half famished expectants.
      For variety a ration called &lsquo;Burgoo,&rsquo; was prepared several times a week,
      consisting of mouldy oatmeal and water, boiled in two great Coppers, and
      served out in tubs, like swill to swine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By degrees they grew callous to each other&rsquo;s miseries, and alert to seize
      any advantage over their fellow sufferers. Many played cards day and
      night, regardless of the scenes of woe and despair around them. * * * The
      remains (of those who died) were huddled into blankets, and so slightly
      interred on the neighboring slope that scores of them, bared by the rains,
      were always visible to their less fortunate comrades left to pine in
      hopeless captivity. * * * After having been imprisoned about a year and a
      half my father, one night, during a paroxysm of fever, rushed on board,
      and jumped overboard.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The shock restored him to consciousness, he was soon rescued, and the
      next morning was taken by the Surgeon-General&rsquo;s orders to his quarters in
      Cherry St., near Pearl, where he remained until the close of the war. The
      kind doctor had taken a fancy to the handsome Yankee patient, whom he
      treated with fatherly kindness; giving him books to read; and having him
      present at his operations and dissections; and finally urged him to seek
      his fortune in Europe, where he should receive a good surgical education
      free of charge.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The temptation was very great, but the rememberance of a nearer home and
      dearer friends, unseen for years, was greater, and to them the long lost
      returned at last, as one from the dead.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Captain Palmer commanded a merchant ship after the war, retired and bought
      a farm near Stockbridge, Mass. He followed the sea over forty years. In
      appearance he was very tall, erect, robust, and of rare physical power and
      endurance. He had remarkably small hands and feet, a high and fair
      forehead, his hair was very black, a tangle of luxuriant curls, and his
      eyes were clear hazel. He died in his 79th year, in 1844, leaving a large
      family of children. In his own memoranda he writes: &ldquo;Four or five hundred
      Frenchmen were transferred as prisoners to the orlop deck of the Jersey.
      They were much better treated than we Americans on the deck above them.
      All, however, suffered very much for the want of water, crowding around
      two half hogsheads when they were brought on board, and often fighting for
      the first drink. On one of these occasions a Virginian near me was elbowed
      by a Spaniard and thrust him back. The Spaniard drew a sheath knife, when
      the Virginian knocked him headlong backwards, down two hatches, which had
      just been opened for heaving up a hogshead of stale water from the hold,
      for the prisoners&rsquo; drink. This water had probably been there for years,
      and was as ropy as molasses.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There was a deal of trouble between the American and the French and
      Spanish prisoners. The latter slept in hammocks, we, on the <i>floor</i>
      of the deck next above them. One night our boys went down * * * and, at a
      given signal, cut the hammock lashings of the French and Spanish prisoners
      at the head, and let them all down by the run on the dirty floor. In the
      midst of the row that followed this deed of darkness, the Americans stole
      back to their quarters, and were all fast asleep when the English guard
      came down.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No lights were permitted after ten o&rsquo;clock. We used, however, to hide our
      candles occasionally under our hats, when the order came to &lsquo;Douse the
      glim!&rsquo; One night the officer of the guard discovered our disobedience, and
      came storming down the hatchway with a file of soldiers. Our lights were
      all extinguished in a moment, and we on the alert for our tyrants, whom we
      seized with a will, and hustled to and fro in the darkness, till their
      cries aroused the whole ship.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      An uncle of Roswell Palmer&rsquo;s named Eliakim Palmer, a man named Thomas
      Hitchcock, and John Searles were prisoners on board the Scorpion, a
      British 74, anchored off the Battery, New York. They were about to be
      transferred to the Old Jersey, when Hitchcock went into the chains and
      dropped his hat into the water. On his return he begged for a boat to
      recover it, and being earnestly seconded by Lieutenant Palmer, the officer
      of the deck finally consented, ordering a guard to accompany the &ldquo;damned
      rebels.&rdquo; They were a long time in getting the boat off. The hat, in the
      mean time, floated away from the ship. They rowed very awkardly, of course
      got jeered at uproariously for &ldquo;Yankee land lubbers,&rdquo; and were presently
      ordered to return. Being then nearly out of musket range, Lieutenant
      Palmer suddenly seized and disarmed the astonished guard, while his
      comrades were not slow in manifesting their latent adroitness in the use
      of the oar, to the no less astonishment of their deriders. In a moment the
      Bay was alive with excitement; many shots, big and little, were fired at
      the audacious fugitives from all the fleet; boats put off in hot pursuit;
      but the Stonington boys reached the Jersey shore in safety, and escaped
      with their prisoner to Washington&rsquo;s headquarters, where the tact and
      bravery they had displayed received the approval of the great commander.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lieutenant Eliakim Palmer was again taken prisoner later in the war and
      again escaped. This time he was on board the Jersey. He cut away three
      iron bars let into an aperture on the side of the ship on the orlop deck,
      formerly a part of her hold. He swam ashore with his shirt and trousers
      tied to his head. Having lost his trousers he was obliged to make his way
      down Long Island for nearly its whole length, in his shirt only. He hid in
      ditches during the day, subsisting on berries, and the bounty of cows,
      milked directly into his mouth. He crawled by the sentries stationed at
      different parts of the island, and at length, after many days, reached
      Oyster Pond Point, whence he was smuggled by friends to his home in
      Stonington, Conn.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXII. &mdash; THE NARRATIVE OF CAPTAIN ALEXANDER COFFIN
    </h2>
    <p>
      In 1807 Dr. Mitchell, of New York published a small volume entitled: &ldquo;The
      Destructive Operation of Foul Air, Tainted Provisions, Bad Water, and
      Personal Filthiness, Upon Human Constitutions, Exemplified in the
      Unparallelled Cruelty of the British to the American Captives at New York
      During the Revolutionary War, on Board their Prison and Hospital ships. By
      Captain Alexander Coffin, Junior, One of the Surviving Sufferers. In a
      Communication to Dr. Mitchell, dated September 4th, 1807.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Truly our ancestors were long-winded! A part of this narrative is as
      follows: &ldquo;I shall furnish you with an account of the treatment that I,
      with other of my fellow citizens, received on board the Jersey and John
      prison ships, those monuments of British barbarity and infamy. I shall
      give you nothing but a plain simple statement of facts that cannot be
      controverted. And I begin my narrative from the time of my leaving the
      South Carolina frigate.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In June, 1782, I left the above-mentioned frigate in the Havana, on board
      of which I had long served as a mid-ship-man, and made several trading
      voyages. I sailed early in September, from Baltimore, for the Havana, in a
      fleet of about forty sail, most of which were captured, and we among the
      rest, by the British frigate, Ceres, Captain Hawkins, a man in every sense
      of the word a perfect brute.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Though our commander, Captain Hughes, was a very gentlemanly man, he was
      treated in the most shameful and abusive manner by said Hawkins, and
      ordered below to mess with the petty officers. Our officers were put into
      the cable tier, with the crew, and a guard placed at the hatchway to
      prevent more than two going on deck at a time. The provisions were of the
      very worst kind, and very short allowance even of them. They frequently
      gave us pea-soup, that is pea-water, for the pease and the soup, all but
      about a gallon or two, were taken for the ship&rsquo;s company, and the coppers
      filled up with water, and brought down to us in a strap-tub. And Sir, I
      might have defied any person on earth, possessing the most acute olfactory
      powers and the most refined taste to decide, either by one or the other or
      both of these senses, whether it was pease and water, slush and water, or
      swill.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After living and being treated in this way, subject to every insult and
      abuse for ten or twelve days, we fell in with the Champion, a British
      twenty gun ship, which was bound to New York to refit, and were all sent
      on board of her The Captain was a true seaman and a gentleman, and our
      treatment was so different from what we had experienced on board the
      Ceres, that it was like being removed from Purgatory to Paradise. His
      name, I think, was Edwards.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We arrived about the beginning of October in New York and were
      immediately sent on board the prison-ship in a small schooner, called,
      ironically enough, the Relief, commanded by one Gardner, an Irishman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This schooner Relief plied between the prison ship and New York, and
      carried the water and provisions from that city to the ship. In fact the
      said schooner might emphatically be called the Relief, for the execrable
      water and provisions she carried relieved many of my brave but unfortunate
      countrymen by death, from the misery and savage treatment they daily
      endured.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Before I go on to relate the treatment we experienced on board the
      Jersey, I will make one remark, and that is if you were to rake the
      infernal regions, I doubt whether you could find such another set of
      demons as the officers and men who had charge of the Old Jersey
      Prison-ship, and, Sir, I shall not be surprised if you, possessing the
      finer feelings which I believe to be interwoven in the composition of men,
      and which are not totally torn from the <i>piece</i>, till by a long and
      obstinate perseverance in the meanest, the basest, and cruellest of all
      human acts, a man becomes lost to every sense of honor, of justice, of
      humanity, and common honesty; I shall not be surprised, I say, if you,
      possessing these finer feelings, should doubt whether men could be so lost
      to their sacred obligations to their God; and the moral ties which ought
      to bind them to their duty toward their fellow men, as those men were, who
      had the charge, and also who had any agency in the affairs of the Jersey
      prison-ship.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On my arrival on board the Old Jersey, I found there about 1,100
      prisoners; many of them had been there from three to six months, but few
      lived over that time if they did not get away by some means or other. They
      were generally in the most deplorable situation, mere walking skeletons,
      without money, and scarcely clothes to cover their nakedness, and overrun
      with lice from head to feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The provisions, Sir, that were served out to us, was not more than four
      or five ounces of meat, and about as much bread, all condemned provisions
      from the ships of war, which, no doubt, were supplied with new in their
      stead, and the new, in all probability, charged by the commissaries to the
      Jersey. They, however, know best about that; and however secure they may
      now feel, they will have to render an account of that business to a Judge
      who cannot be deceived. This fact, however, I can safely aver, that both
      the times I was confined on board the prison ships, there never were
      provisions served out to the prisoners that would have been eatable by men
      that were not literally in a starving situation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The water that we were forced to use was carried from the city, and I
      postively assert that I never after having followed the sea thirty years,
      had on board of any ship, (and I have been three years on some of my
      voyages,) water so bad as that we were obliged to use on board the Old
      Jersey; when there was, as it were to tantalize us, as pure water, not
      more than three cables length from us, at the Mill in the Wallabout, as
      was perhaps ever drank.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There were hogs kept in pens on the Gun-deck for their own use; and I
      have seen the prisoners watch an opportunity, and with a tin pot steal the
      bran from the hogs&rsquo; trough, and go into the Galley and when they could get
      an opportunity, boil it over the fire, and eat it, as you, Sir, would eat
      of good soup when hungry. This I have seen more than once, and there are
      now living besides me, who can bear testimony to the same fact. There are
      many other facts equally abominable that I could mention, but the very
      thought of those things brings to my recollection scenes the most
      distressing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When I reflect how many hundreds of my brave and intrepid countrymen I
      have seen, in all the bloom of health, brought on board of that ship, and
      in a few days numbered with the dead, in consequence of the savage
      treatment they there received, I can but adore my Creator that He suffered
      me to escape; but I did not escape, Sir, without being brought to the very
      verge of the grave.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This was the second time I was on board, which I shall mention more
      particularly hereafter. Those of us who had money fared much better than
      those who had none. I had made out to save, when taken, about twenty
      dollars, and with that I could buy from the bumboats, that were permitted
      to come alongside, bread, fruit, etc.; but, Sir, the bumboatmen were of
      the same kidney as the officers of the Jersey and we got nothing from them
      without paying through the nose for it, and I soon found the bottom of my
      purse; after which I fared no better than the rest. I was, however,
      fortunate in one respect; for after having been there about six weeks, two
      of my countrymen, (I am a Nantucket man) happened to come to New York to
      endeavor to recover a whaling sloop that had been captured, with a whaling
      license from Admiral Digby; and they found means to procure my release,
      passing me for a Quaker, to which I confess I had no pretensions further
      than my mother being a member of that respectable society. Thus, Sir, I
      returned to my friends, fit for the newest fashion, after an absence of
      three years.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For my whole wardrobe I carried on my back, which consisted of a jacket,
      shirt, and trousers, a pair of old shoes and a handkerchief, which served
      me for a hat, and had more than two months, for I lost my hat the day we
      were taken, from the maintop-gallant yard, furling the top-gallant sail.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My clothing, I forgot to mention, was completed laced with locomotive
      tinsel, and moved as by instinct, in all directions; but as my mother was
      not fond of such company, she furnished me with a suit of my father&rsquo;s, who
      was absent at sea, and condemned my laced suit for the benefit of all
      concerned.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Being then in the prime of youth, about eighteen years of age, and
      naturally of a roving disposition; I could not bear the idea of being idle
      at home. I therefore proceeded to Providence, R. I., and shipped on board
      the brig Betsy and Polly, Captain Robert Folger, bound for Virginia and
      Amsterdam. We sailed from Newport early in February, 1783; and were taken
      five days after, off the capes of Virginia, by the Fair American
      privateer, of those parts, mounting sixteen six-pounders, and having 85
      men, commanded by one Burton, a refugee, most of whose officers were of
      the same stamp. We were immediately handcuffed two and two, and ordered
      into the hold in the cable-tier. Having been plundered of our beds and
      bedding, the softest bed we had was the soft side of a water cask, and the
      coils of a cable.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Fair American, after having been handsomely dressed by an United
      States vessel of half of her force, was obliged to put into New York, then
      in possession of the British army, to refit, and we arrived within the
      Hook about the beginning of March, and were put on board a pilot boat, and
      brought up to this city. The boat hauled up alongside the Crane-wharf,
      where we had our irons knocked off, the mark of which I carry to this day;
      and were put on board the same schooner, Relief, mentioned in a former
      part of this narrative, and sent up once more to the prison-ship.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was just three months from my leaving the Old Jersey to my being again
      a prisoner on board of her, and on my return I found but very few of the
      men I had left three months before. Some had made their escape; some had
      been exchanged; but the greater part had taken up their abode under the
      surface of the hill, which you can see from your windows, where their
      bones are mouldering to dust, mingled with mother earth; a lesson to
      Americans, written <i>in capitals, on British cruelty and injustice</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I found, on my return on board the Jersey, more prisoners than when I
      left her; and she being so crowded, they were obliged to send about 200 of
      us on board the John, a transport-ship of about 300 tons.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There we were treated worse, if possible, than on board the Jersey, and
      our accommodations were infinitely worse, for the Jersey, being an old,
      condemned 64 gun ship had two tiers of ports fore and aft, air-ports, and
      large hatchways, which gave a pretty free circulation of air through the
      ship; whereas the John, being a merchant-ship, and with small hatchways,
      and the hatchways being laid down every night, and no man being allowed to
      go on deck * * * the effluvia arising from these, together with the
      already contaminated air, occasioned by the breath of so many people so
      pent up together, was enough to destroy men of the most healthy and robust
      constitutions. All the time I was on board this ship, not a prisoner eat
      his allowance, bad as it was, cooked, more than three or four times; but
      eat it raw as it came out of the barrel. * * * In the middle of the ship,
      between decks, was raised a platform of boards about two and a half feet
      high, for those prisoners to sleep on who had no hammocks. On this they
      used frequently to sit and play at cards to pass the time. One night in
      particular, several of us sat to see them play until about ten o&rsquo;clock,
      and then retired to our hammocks. About one A. M, we were called and told
      that one Bird was dying; we turned out and went to where he lay, and found
      him just expiring. Thus, at 10 P. M, the young man was apparently as well
      as any of us, and at one A. M. had paid the debt to nature. Many others
      went off in the same way. It will perhaps be said that men die suddenly
      anywhere. True, but do they die suddenly anywhere from the same cause?
      After all these things it is, I think, impossible for the mind to form any
      other conclusion than that there was a premeditated design to destroy as
      many Americans as they could on board the prison-ships; the treatment of
      the prisoners warrants the conclusion; but it is mean, base, and cowardly,
      to endeavor to conquer an enemy by such infamous means, and truly
      characteristic of base and cowardly wretches. The truly brave will always
      treat their prisoners well.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There were two or three hospital-ships near the prison-ships; and so soon
      as any of the prisoners complained of being sick, they were sent on board
      of one of them; and I verily believe that not one out of a hundred ever
      returned or recovered. I am sure I never knew but one to recover. Almost,
      and in fact I believe I may say every morning, a large boat from each of
      the hospital ships went loaded with dead bodies, which were all tumbled
      together into a hole dug for the purpose, on the hill where the national
      navy-yard now is.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A singular affair happened on board of one of the hospital-ships, and no
      less true than singular. All the prisoners that died after the boat with
      the load had gone ashore were sewed up in hammocks, and left on deck till
      next morning. As usual, a great number had thus been disposed of. In the
      morning, while employed in loading the boat, one of the seamen perceived
      motion in one of the hammocks, just as they were about launching it down
      the board placel for that purpose from the gunwale of the ship into the
      boat, and exclaimed, &lsquo;Damn my eyes! That fellow isn&rsquo;t dead!&rsquo; and if I have
      been rightly informed, and I believe I have, there was quite a dispute
      between the man and the others about it. They swore he was dead enough,
      and should go into the boat; he swore he should not be launched, as they
      termed it, and took his knife and ripped open the hammock, and behold, the
      man was really alive. There had been a heavy rain during the night; and as
      the vital functions had not totally ceased, but were merely suspended in
      consequence of the main-spring being out of order, this seasonable
      moistening must have given tone and elasticity to the great spring, which
      must have communicated to the lesser ones, and put the whole machinery
      again into motion. You know better about this than I do, and can better
      judge of the cause of the re-animation of the man. * * * He was a native
      of Rhode Island; his name was Gavot. He went to Rhode Island in the same
      flag of truce as myself, about a month afterwards. I felt extremely ill,
      but made out to keep about until I got home. My parents then lived on the
      island of Nantucket. I was then taken down, and lay in my bed six weeks in
      the most deplorable situation; my body was swelled to a great degree, and
      my legs were as big round as my body now is, and affected with the most
      excruciating pains. What my disorder was I will not pretend to say; but
      Dr. Tupper, quite an eminent physician, and a noted tory, who attended me,
      declared to my mother that he knew of nothing that would operate in the
      manner that my disorder did, but poison. For the truth of that I refer to
      my father and brothers, and to Mr. Henry Coffin, father to Captain Peter
      Coffin, of the Manchester Packet of this point.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thus, Sir, in some haste, without much attention to order or diction, I
      have given you part of the history of my life and sufferings, but I
      endeavored to bear them as became an American. And I must mention before I
      close, to the everlasting honor of those unfortunate Americans who were on
      board the Jersey, that notwithstanding the savage treatment they received,
      and death staring them in the face, every attempt which was made by the
      British to persuade them to enter their ships of war or in their army, was
      treated with the utmost contempt; and I saw only one instance of defection
      while I was on board, and that person was hooted at and abused by the
      prisoners till the boat was out of hearing. Their patriotism in preferring
      such treatment, and even death in its most frightful shapes, to the
      service of the British, and fighting against their own country has seldom
      been equalled, certainly never excelled, and if there be no monument
      raised with hands to commemorate the virtue of those men, it is stamped in
      capitals on the heart of every American acquainted with their merit and
      sufferings, and will there remain as long as the blood flows from its
      fountains.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      We have already seen that many of the prisoners on board the Jersey were
      impressed into the service of British men-of-war, and that others
      voluntarily enlisted for garrison duty in the West Indies. It seems
      probable, however, that, as Captain Coffin asserts, few enlisted in the
      service to fight against their own countrymen, and those few were probably
      actuated by the hope of deserting. It is certain that thousands preferred
      death to such a method of escaping from prison, as is proved by the
      multitudes of corpses interred in the sand of the Wallabout, all of whom
      could, in this way, have saved their lives. Conditions changed on board
      the Jersey, from time to time. Thus, the water supply that was at one time
      brought by the schooner Relief from New York, was, at other times,
      procured from a beautiful spring on Long Island, as we will see in our
      next chapter.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some of the prisoners speak of the foul air on board the prison ship
      caused by the fact that all her port holes were closed, and a few openings
      cut in her sides, which were insufficient to ventilate her. Coffin says
      there was a good passage of air through the vessel from her port holes. It
      is probable that the Jersey became so notorious as a death trap that at
      last, for very shame, some attempt was made to secure more sanitary
      conditions. Thus, just before peace was established, she was, for the
      first time, overhauled and cleaned, the wretched occupants being sent away
      for the purpose. The port holes were very probably opened, and this is the
      more likely as we read of some of the prisoners freezing to death during
      the last year of the war. From that calamity, at least, they were safe as
      long as they were deprived of outer air.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXIII. &mdash; A WONDERFUL DELIVERANCE
    </h2>
    <p>
      There are few records of religious feeling on board the &ldquo;Jersey, vulgarly
      called &lsquo;Hell.&rsquo;&rdquo; No clergyman was ever known to set foot on board of her,
      although a city of churches was so near. The fear of contagion may have
      kept ministers of the gospel away. Visitors came, as we have seen, but not
      to soothe the sufferings of the prisoners, or to comfort those who were
      dying. It is said that a young doctor, named George Vandewater attended
      the sick, until he took a fatal disease and died. He was a resident of
      Brooklyn, and seems to have been actuated by motives of humanity, and
      therefore his name deserves a place in this record.
    </p>
    <p>
      But although the rough seamen who left narratives of their experiences in
      that fearful place have told us little or nothing about the inner feelings
      of those poor sufferers, yet it must be presumed that many a silent prayer
      went up to the Judge and Father of all men, from the depths of that foul
      prison ship. There was one boy on board the Jersey, one at least, and we
      hope that there were many more, who trusted in God that He could deliver
      him, even &ldquo;from the nethermost hell.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A large proportion of the prisoners were young men in their teens, who had
      been attracted by the mysterious fascination of the sea; many of them had
      run away from good homes, and had left sorrowing parents and friends to
      mourn their loss. The feelings of these young men, full of eager hopes,
      and as yet unsoured by too rough handling in their wrestle with the world,
      suddenly transferred to the deck of the Jersey, has been well described by
      Fox and other captives, whose adventures we have transcribed in these
      pages.
    </p>
    <p>
      We have now to tell the experience of a youth on the Jersey who lived to
      be a minister, and for many years was in charge of a church at Berkeley.
      This youth was sensitive, delicate, and far from strong. His faith in
      human nature received a shock, and his disposition was warped at the most
      receptive and formative period of his life, by the terrible scenes of
      suffering on the one hand, and relentless cruelty on the other, that he
      witnessed in that fatal place. He wrote, in his memoir many years after:
      <i>&ldquo;I have since found that the whole world is but one great prison-house
      of guilty, sorrowful, and dying men, who live in pride, envy, and malice,
      hateful, and hating one another.&rdquo;</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      This is one of the most terrible indictments of the human race that was
      ever written. Let us hope that it is not wholly true.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1833 the Rev. Thomas Andros published his recollections under the
      title, &ldquo;The Old Jersey Captive.&rdquo; We will give an abstract of them. He
      begins by saying: &ldquo;I was but in my seventeenth year when the struggle
      commenced. In the summer of 1781 the ship Hannah, a very rich prize, was
      captured and brought into the port of New London. It infatuated great
      numbers of our young men who flocked on board our private armed ships in
      hopes of as great a prize. * * * I entered on board a new Brig called the
      &lsquo;Fair American.&rsquo; She carried sixteen guns. * * * We were captured on the
      27th of August, by the Solebay frigate, and safely stowed away in the Old
      Jersey prison ship at New York, an old, unsightly, rotten hulk.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Her dark and filthy appearance perfectly corresponded with the death and
      despair that reigned within. She was moored three quarters of a mile to
      the eastward of Brooklyn ferry, near a tide-mill on the Long Island shore.
      The nearest distance to land was about twenty rods. No other British ship
      ever proved the means of the destruction of so many human beings.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Andros puts the number of men who perished on board the Jersey as 11,000,
      and continues: &ldquo;After it was known that it was next to certain death to
      confine a prisoner here, the inhumanity and wickedness of doing it was
      about the same as if he had been taken into the city and deliberately shot
      on some public square. * * * Never did any Howard or angel of pity appear
      to inquire into or alleviate our woes. Once or twice a bag of apples was
      hurled into the midst of hundreds of prisoners, crowded together as thick
      as they could stand, and life and limbs were endangered by the scramble.
      This was a cruel sport. When I saw it about to commence I fled to the most
      distant part of the ship.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At night, he says, the prisoners were driven down to darkness between
      decks, secured by iron gratings and an armed soldiery. He thus speaks of
      the tasks imposed upon the prisoners: &ldquo;Around the well-room an armed guard
      were forcing up the prisoners to the winches to clear the ship of water,
      and prevent her sinking; and little could be heard but a roar of mutual
      execrations, reproaches and insults.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  &ldquo;Sights of woe, regions of sorrow, doleful shades;
  Where peace and rest can never dwell
</pre>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When I became an inmate of this abode of suffering, despair, and death,
      there were about 400 on board, but in a short time they were increased to
      1,200.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All the most deadly diseases were pressed into the service of the king of
      terrors, but his prime ministers were dysentery, small pox, and yellow
      fever. The healthy and the diseased were mingled together in the main
      ship.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He says that the two hospital ships were soon overcrowded, and that two
      hundred or more of the prisoners, who soon became sick in consequence of
      the want of room, were lodged in the fore-part of the lower gun-deck,
      where all the prisoners were confined at night.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Utter derangement was a common sympton of yellow fever, and to increase
      the horror of darkness which enshrouded us, for we were allowed no light,
      the voice of warning would be heard, &lsquo;Take care! There&rsquo;s a madman stalking
      through the ship with a knife in his hand!&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Andros says that he sometimes found the man by whose side he had lain all
      night a corpse in the morning. There were many sick with raging fever, and
      their loud cries for water, which could only be obtained on the upper
      deck, mingled with the groans of the dying, and the execrations of the
      tormented sufferers. If they attempted to get water from the upper deck,
      the sentry would push them back with his bayonet. Andros, at one time, had
      a narrow escape with his life, from one of these bayonet thrusts.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the morning the hatches were thrown open and we were allowed to
      ascend. The first object we saw was a boat loaded with dead bodies
      conveying them to the Long Island shore, where they were very slightly
      covered with sand. * * * Let our disease be what it would we were
      abandoned to our fate. No English physician ever came near us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Thirteen of the crew to which Andros belonged were on the Jersey. In a
      short time all but three or four were dead. The healthiest died first.
      They were seized vith yellow fever, which was an epidemic on the ship, and
      died in a few hours. Andros escaped contagion longer than any of his
      companions, with one exception. He says that the prisoners were furnished
      with buckets and brushes to cleanse the ship, and vinegar to sprinkle the
      floors, but that most of them had fallen into a condition of apathy and
      despair, and that they seldom exerted themselves to improve their
      condition.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The encouragement to do so was small. The whole ship was equally
      affected, and contained pestilence enough to desolate a world; disease and
      death were wrought into her very timbers. At the time I left it is to be
      supposed a more filthy, contagious, and deadly abode never existed among a
      Christianized people.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The lower hold and the orlop deck were such a terror that no man would
      venture down into them. * * * Our water was good could we have had enough
      of it: the bread was superlatively bad. I do not recollect seeing any
      which was not full of living vermin, but eat it, worms and all, we must,
      or starve. * * * A secret, prejudicial to a prisoner, revealed to the
      guard, was death. Captain Young of Boston concealed himself in a large
      chest belonging to a sailor going to be exchanged, and was carried on
      board the cartel, and we considered his escape as certain, but the secret
      leaked out, and he was brought back and one Spicer of Providence being
      suspected as the traitor the enraged prisoners were about to cut his
      throat. The guard rushed down and rescued him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I knew no one to be seduced into the British service. They tried to force
      one of our crew into the navy, but he chose rather to die than perform any
      duty, and he was again restored to the prison-ship.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Andros declares that there was no trace of religion exhibited on board the
      Jersey. He also says that the prisoners made a set of rules for themselves
      by which they regulated their conduct towards each other. No one was
      allowed to tyrannize over the weak, and morality was enforced by rules,
      and any infraction of these regulations was severely punished.
    </p>
    <p>
      He speaks of scenes of dreadful suffering which he witnessed:
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  &ldquo;Which things, most worthy of pity, I myself saw,
  And of them was a part.&rdquo;
 </pre>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The prison ship is a blot which a thousand ages cannot eradicate from the
      name of Britian. * * * While on board almost every thought was occupied to
      invent some plan of escape. The time now came when I must be delivered
      from the ship or die. I was seized with yellow fever, and should certainly
      take the small-pox with it, and who does not know that I could not survive
      the operation of both of these diseases at once. * * * I assisted in
      nursing those who had the pox most violently.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The arrival of a cartel and my being exchanged would but render my death
      the more sure.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Yet he endeavored to promote his exchange by stepping up and giving in his
      name among the first, when a list of the prisoners was taken. Andros was
      not strong, and as he himself says, disease often seemed to pass over the
      weak and sickly, and to attack, with deadly result, the prisoners who were
      the healthiest and most vigorous.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was the policy of the English to return for sound and healthy men sent
      from our prisons, such Americans as had but just the breath of life in
      them, sure to die before they reached home. The guard would tell a man
      while in health, &lsquo;You haven&rsquo;t been here long enough, you are too well to
      be exchanged.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There was one more method of getting from the ship,&rdquo; Andros continues,
      &ldquo;and that was at night to steal down through a gun-port which we had
      managed to open unbeknown to the guard, and swim ashore.&rdquo; This, he
      declared, was for him a forlorn hope. Already under the influence of
      yellow fever, and barely able to walk, he was, even when well, unable to
      swim ten rods. Discovery was almost certain, for the guards now kept
      vigilant watch to prevent any one escaping in this manner, and they shot
      all whom they detected in the act of escaping. Yet this poor young man
      trusted in God. He writes: &ldquo;God, who had something more for me to do,
      undertook for me.&rdquo; Mr. Emery, the sailing master, was going ashore for
      water. Andros stepped up to him and asked: &ldquo;Mr. Emery, may I go on shore
      with you after water?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      No such favor had ever been granted a prisoner, and Andros scarcely knew
      what prompted him to prefer such a request. To his immense surprise, the
      sailing master, who must have had a heart after all, replied, &ldquo;Yes, with
      all my heart.&rdquo; He was evidently struck with compassion for the poor,
      apparently dying, young man.
    </p>
    <p>
      Andros, to the astonishment of his companions, immediately descended into
      the boat. Some of them asked: &ldquo;What is that sick man going on shore for?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The British sailors endeavored to dissuade him, thinking that he would
      probably die on the excursion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;So, to put them all to silence, I again ascended on board, for I had
      neglected to take my great-coat. But I put it on, and waited for the
      sailing-master. The boat was pushed off, I attempted to row, but an
      English sailor said, very kindly, &lsquo;Give me the oar. You are too unwell.&rsquo; *
      * * I looked back to the black and unsightly old ship as to an object of
      the greatest horror. * * * We ascended the creek and arrived at the
      spring, and I proposed to the sailors to go in quest of apples.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The sailing-master said to him, &ldquo;This fresh air will be of service to
      you.&rdquo; This emboldened him to ask leave to ascend a bank about thirty feet
      high, and to call at a house near the spring to ask for refreshment. &ldquo;Go,&rdquo;
       said Mr. Emery, &ldquo;but take care not to be out of the way.&rdquo; He replied that
      his state of health was such that nothing was to be feared from him on
      that account. He managed to get into a small orchard that belonged to the
      farmhouse. There he saw a sentinel, who was placed on guard over a pile of
      apples. He soon convinced himself that this man was indifferent to his
      movements, and, watching his opportunity, when the man&rsquo;s back was turned,
      he slipped beyond the orchard, into a dense swamp, covered with a thick
      undergrowth of saplings and bushes. Here there was a huge prostrate log
      twenty feet in length, curtained with a dense tangle of green briar.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lifting up this covering I crept in, close by the log, and rested
      comfortably, defended from the northeast storm which soon commenced.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He heard the boat&rsquo;s crew making inquiries for him but no one discovered
      his hiding-place. One of them declared that he was safe enough, and would
      never live to go a mile. In the middle of the night he left his hiding
      place, and fell into a road which he pursued some distance. When he heard
      approaching footsteps he would creep off the path, roll himself up into a
      ball to look like a bush, and remain perfectly still until the coast was
      clear. He now felt that a wonderful Providence was watching over him. His
      forethought in returning for his overcoat was the means of saving his
      life, as he would undoubtedly have perished from exposure without it. Next
      night he hid in a high stack of hay, suffering greatly. When the storm was
      over he left this hiding place, and entered a deep hollow in the woods
      near by, where he felt secure from observation. Here he took off his
      clothes and spread them in the sun to dry.
    </p>
    <p>
      Returning to the road he was proceeding on his way, when at a bend in the
      road, he came upon two light dragoons, evidently looking for him. What was
      he to do? His mind acted quickly, and, as they approached, he leisurely
      got over a fence into a small corn field, near a cottage by the way-side.
      Here he busied himself as if he were the owner of the cottage, going about
      the field; deliberately picking up ears of corn; righting up the cap sheaf
      of a stack of stalks, and examining each one. He had lost his hat, and had
      a handkerchief around his head, which helped to deceive the dragoons, who
      supposed that he had just come out of the cottage. They eyed him sharply,
      but passed on.
    </p>
    <p>
      After this he dared not show himself, and wandered about, living on apples
      and water. He would lie concealed all day, in barns or hollows of the
      woods. At night he travelled as far as his weakened condition would allow
      He often found unfermented cider at the presses, for it was cider-making
      time.
    </p>
    <p>
      After several days of this wandering life he sought refuge in a barn,
      where he was found by a cross old man, who refused to do anything for him.
      He says that in the course of his wanderings he uniformly found women kind
      and helpful. They gave him food and kept his secret. One night, feeling
      utterly spent, he came to the poor dwelling of an old man and his wife, on
      the east side of Long Island. These good people assisted him by every
      means in their power, as if he were their own son. They took off his
      clothes, giving him another suit until they had baked all his garments in
      the oven to destroy the vermin which tormented him day and night. They
      insisted upon his occupying a clean bed. That night he slept sweetly, rid
      of the intolerable torture of being eaten up alive. He managed to reach
      Sag Harbor, where he found two other escaped prisoners. Soon he was
      smuggled to Connecticut in a whale-boat, and restored to his mother. It
      was late in October when he reached home. He was very ill and delirious
      for a long time, but finally recovered, taught school for some time, and
      finally became a minister of the gospel.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXIV. &mdash; THE NARRATIVE OF CAPTAIN DRING
    </h2>
    <p>
      By far the most complete account of life on board the Old Jersey is
      contained in Captain Dring&rsquo;s Recollections. His nature was hopeful, and
      his constitution strong and enduring. He attempted to make the best of his
      situation, and succeeded in leading as nearly a tolerable life on board
      the prison-ship as was possible. His book is too long for insertion in
      these pages, but we will endeavor to give the reader an abstract of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      This book was published in 1865, having been prepared for the press and
      annotated by Mr. Albert G. Greene, who speaks of Captain Dring as &ldquo;a
      frank, outspoken, and honest seaman.&rdquo; His original manuscript was first
      published in 1829.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dring describes the prison ships as leaky old hulks, condemned as unfit
      for hospitals or store ships, but considered good enough for prisoners
      doomed to speedy annihilation. He says:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is little doubt that the superior officers of the Royal Navy under
      whose exclusive jurisdiction were these ships, intended to insure, as far
      as possible, the good health of those who were confined on board of them;
      there is just as little doubt, however, that the inferior officers, under
      whose control those prisoners were more immediately placed, * * * too
      often frustrated the purposes of their superior officers, and too often
      disgraced humanity, by their wilful disregard of the policy of their
      Government, and of the orders of their superiors, by the uncalled-for
      severity of their treatment of those who were placed in their custody, and
      by their shameless malappropriation of the means of support which were
      placed in their hands for the sustenance of the prisoners.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      However that may be, the superior officers must have known that the prison
      ships were unfit for human habitation; that they were fearfully
      overcrowded; and that the mortality on board of them was unprecedented in
      the annals of prison life.
    </p>
    <p>
      The introduction to Captain Drings&rsquo;s recollections declares, what is well
      known, that General Washington possessed but limited authority; he was the
      Commander-in-Chief of the army, but had nothing to do with the American
      Navy, and still less with the crews of privateers, who made up a very
      large portion of the men on board the Jersey. Yet he did all he could,
      actuated, as he always was, by the purest motives of benevolence and
      humanity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The authority to exchange naval prisoners,&rdquo; to quote from this
      introduction, &ldquo;was not invested in Washington, but in the Financier, and
      as the prisoners on the Jersey freely set forth in their petition, the
      former was comparatively helpless in the premises, although he earnestly
      desired to relieve them from their sufferings.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will be seen from these circumstances that no blame could properly
      attach to General Washington, or the Continental Congress, or the
      Commissary of Prisoners; the blame belonged to those who were engaged in
      privateering, all of whom had been accustomed to release, without parole,
      the crews of the vessels which they captured, or enlist them on other
      privateers; in both cases removing the very means by which alone the
      release of their captive fellow seamen could be properly and safely
      effected.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;From the careful perusal of all the information we possess on this
      interesting subject, the reader will arise with the conviction that, by
      unwarrantable abuses of authority; and unprincipled disregard of the
      purposes of the British Government in some of its agents, great numbers of
      helpless American prisoners were wantonly plunged into the deepest
      distress; exposed to the most severe sufferings, and carried to unhonored
      graves. * * * Enough will remain uncontradicted by competent testimony to
      brand with everlasting infamy all who were immediately concerned in the
      business; and to bring a blush of shame on the cheek of every one who
      feels the least interest in the memory of any one who, no matter how
      remotely, was a party to so mean and yet so horrible an outrage. * * * The
      authors and abettors of the outrages to which reference has been made will
      stand convicted not only of the most heartless criminality against the
      laws of humanity and the laws of God, but of the most flagrant violation
      of the Laws of Nations, and the Law of the Land.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      These extracts are all taken from the Introduction to Captain Dring&rsquo;s
      Recollections, written by Mr. H. B. Dawson, in June, 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Dring was born in Newport, R. I., on the third of August, 1758. He
      died in August, 1825, in Providence, R. I., and was about 67 years of age
      at the time of his death. He was many years in the merchant service, and
      wrote his recollections in 1824.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was first confined on the Good Hope, in the year 1779, then lying in
      the North River opposite the city of New York, but after a confinement of
      more than four months, I succeeded in making my escape to the Jersey
      shore.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Captain Dring is said to have been one of the party who escaped from the
      Good Hope in October, 1779. The New Jersey papers thus described the
      escape.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Chatham, N. J. Last Wednesday morning about one o&rsquo;clock made their escape
      from the Good Hope prison ship in the North River, nine Captains and two
      privates. Among the number was Captain James Prince, who has been confined
      four months, and having no prospect of being exchanged, concerted a plan
      in conjunction with the other gentlemen to make their escape, which they
      effected in the following manner: They confined the Mate, disarmed the
      sentinels, and hoisted out the boat which was on deck; they brought off
      nine stands of arms, one pair of pistols, and a sufficient quantity of
      ammunition, being determined not to be taken alive. They had scarce got
      clear of the ship before the alarm was given, when they were fired on by
      three different ships, but fortunately no person was hurt. Captain Prince
      speaks in the highest terms of Captain Charles Nelson, who commanded the
      prison-ship, using the prisoners with a great deal of humanity,
      particularly himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was again captured in 1782,&rdquo; Dring continues, &ldquo;and conveyed on board
      the Jersey, where * * * I was a witness and partaker of the unspeakable
      sufferings of that wretched class of American prisoners who were there
      taught the utmost extreme of human misery. I am now far advanced in years,
      and am the only survivor, with the exception of two, of a crew of 65 men.
      I often pass the descendant of one of my old companions in captivity, and
      the recollection comes fresh to my mind that his father was my comrade and
      fellow sufferer in prison; that I saw him breathe his last upon the deck
      of the Jersey, and assisted at his interment at the Waleboght; * * *
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In May, 1782, I sailed from Providence, R. I., as Master&rsquo;s-mate, on board
      a privateer called the Chance, commanded by Captain Daniel Aborn, mounting
      12 six-pound cannon, and having a crew of 65 men.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This vessel was captured in a few days by the Belisarius, of 26 guns,
      commanded by Captain Graves. The prisoners were brought to New York and
      the Belisarius dropped her anchor abreast of the city. A large gondola
      soon came alongside, in which was seated David Sproat, the much-hated
      British Commissary of Naval Prisoners. He was an American refugee,
      universally detested for the insolence of his manners, and the cruelty of
      his conduct. The prisoners were ordered into the boats, and told to apply
      themselves to the oars, but declined to exert themselves in that manner,
      whereupon he scowled at them and remarked, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll soon fix you, my lads!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      David Sproat found America too hot for him after the war and died at
      Kirkcudbright, Scotland, in 1799.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dring says: &ldquo;My station in the boat as we hauled alongside, was exactly
      opposite one of the air-ports in the side of the ship. From this aperture
      proceeded a strong current of foul vapor of a kind to which I had been
      before accustomed while confined on board the Good Hope, the peculiar
      disgusting smell of which I then recollected, after a lapse of three
      years. This was, however, far more foul and loathsome than anything which
      I had ever met with on board that ship, and it produced a sensation of
      nausea far beyond my powers of description.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Here, while waiting for orders to ascend on board, we were addressed by
      some of the prisoners from the air-ports * * * after some questions whence
      we came, and respecting the manner of our capture, one of the prisoners
      said that it was a lamentable thing to see so many young men in the prime
      of health and vigor condemned to a living grave.&rdquo; He went on to say that
      Death passed over such human skeletons as himself as unworthy of his
      powers, but that he delighted in making the strong, the youthful, and the
      vigorous, his prey.
    </p>
    <p>
      After the prisoners had been made to descend the hatchways, these were
      then fastened down for the night. Dring says it was impossible for him to
      find one of his companions in the darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Surrounded by I knew not whom, except that they were beings as wretched
      as myself; with dismal sounds meeting my ears from every direction; a
      nauseous and putrid atmosphere filling my lungs at every breath; and a
      stifling and suffocating heat which almost deprived me of sense, even of
      life. Previous to leaving the boat I had put on several articles of
      clothing, for the purpose of security, but I was soon compelled to
      disencumber myself of these. * * * Thoughts of sleep did not enter into my
      mind.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He discovered a gleam of light from one of the port-holes and keeping hold
      of his bag endeavored to make his way to it, but was greeted by curses and
      imprecations from those who were lying on the deck, and whom he disturbed.
      At length he arrived at the desired spot, but found it occupied. In the
      morning he saw himself surrounded by a crowd of forms, with the hues of
      death and famine upon their faces. At eight o&rsquo;clock they were permitted to
      ascend on deck, and he found some of his friends.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pale and meagre, the throng came on deck, to view for a few moments the
      morning sun, and then to descend again, to pass another day of misery and
      wretchedness. I found myself surrounded by a motley crew of wretches, with
      tattered garments and pallid visages. * * * Among them I saw one ruddy and
      heathful countenance, and recognized the features of one of my late
      companions on the Belisarius. But how different did he appear from the
      group around him * * * men who, now shrunken and decayed, had but a short
      time before been as strong, as healthful, and as vigorous as himself. * *
      * During the night I had, in addition to my other sufferings, been
      tormented with what I supposed to be vermin, and on coming upon deck, I
      found that a black silk handkerchief, which I wore around my neck, was
      completely spotted with them. Although this had often been mentioned as
      one of the nuisances of the place, yet as I had never before been in a
      situation to witness anything of the kind, the sight made me shudder, as I
      knew at once that as long as I should remain on board, these loathsome
      creatures would be my constant companions and unceasing tormentors.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The next disgusting object which met my sight was a man suffering from
      small-pox, and in a few minutes I found myself surrounded by many others
      laboring under the same disease in every stage of its progress.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Dring was obliged to inoculate himself, as that was thought to be the
      safest way of taking the disease. He borrowed some virus from a sufferer,
      and scarified the skin of his hand with a pin. He then bound up his hand.
      Next morning he found that it had festered. He took the disease lightly,
      and soon recovered, while a very large proportion of those who contracted
      smallpox in the natural manner died of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      All the prisoners from the Belisarius were obliged to fast for twenty-four
      hours. Dring had some ship biscuit with him, in his bag. These he
      distributed to his companions. They then formed themselves into messes of
      six each, and next morning drew their scanty pittance of food.
    </p>
    <p>
      We have said that Dring and the other officers on board solved the problem
      of living with <i>comparative</i> comfort on board the Jersey. As they
      were officers, the gun-room was given up to their use, and they were not
      so terribly crowded as the common sailors. Also the officers had money to
      supply many of their wants, but all this will appear in the course of the
      narrative.
    </p>
    <p>
      He says that, even on the second day of their confinement, they could not
      obtain their allowance of food in time to cook it. No distinction of rank
      was made by the jailors on the Jersey, but the prisoners themselves agreed
      to allow the officers to occupy the extreme afterpart of the ship, between
      decks, called the gun-room. Dring soon became an inmate of this place, in
      company with the other officers who were already in possession, and these
      tendered him all the little services in their power.
    </p>
    <p>
      The different messes were all numbered. At nine o&rsquo;clock the steward and
      his assistants would take their places at the window in the bulk head in
      the steward&rsquo;s room, and ring a bell. A man from each mess stood ready to
      be in time to answer when his number was called. The rations were all
      prepared ready for delivery. They were on two-thirds allowance. This is
      the full allowance for a British seaman:
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Sunday&mdash;1 lb. biscuit, 1 lb. pork, and half a pint of peas.
  Monday&mdash;1 lb. biscuit, 1 pint oatmeal, 2 oz. butter.
  Tuesday-1 lb. biscuit, and 2 lbs. beef.
  Wednesday&mdash;1-1/2 lbs. flour, and 2 ounces suet.
  Thursday&mdash;Same as Sunday.
  Friday&mdash;Same as Monday.
  Saturday&mdash;Same as Tuesday.
</pre>
    <p>
      Two thirds of this allowance for each man would have been sufficient to
      sustain life, had it been of moderately good quality. They never received
      butter, but a rancid and ill-smelling substance called sweet oil. &ldquo;The
      smell of it, accustomed as we were to everything foul and nauseous, was
      more than we could endure. We, however, always received it, and gave it to
      the poor, half-starved Frenchmen who were on board, who took it
      gratefully, and swallowed it with a little salt and their wormy bread.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Oil had been dealt out to the prisoners on the Good Hope, but there it was
      hoarded carefully, for they were allowed lights until nine P.M., so they
      used it in their lamps. But on the Jersey, Dring declares that neither
      light nor fire was ever allowed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Often their provisions were not dealt out in time to be cooked that day,
      and then they had to fast or eat them raw. The cooking was done in the
      &ldquo;Great Copper&rdquo; under the forecastle. This was a boiler enclosed in
      brick-work about eight feet square. It was large enough to contain two or
      three hogsheads of water. It was square, and divided into two portions. In
      one side peas and oatmeal were boiled in fresh water. On the other side the
      meat was boiled in salt water, and as we have already stated the food was
      poisoned by copperas. This was the cause, it is believed, of many deaths,
      especially as the water was obtained from alongside the ship, and was
      extremely unwholesome.
    </p>
    <p>
      The portion of each mess was designated by a tally fastened to it by a
      string. Hundreds of tallies were to be seen hanging over the sides of the
      brick-work by their strings, each eagerly watched by some member of the
      mess, who waited to receive it.
    </p>
    <p>
      The meat was suffered to remain in the boiler a certain time, then the
      cook&rsquo;s bell was rung, and the pittance of food must be immediately
      removed, whether sufficiently cooked or not. The proportion of peas and
      oatmeal belonging to each mess was measured out of the copper after it was
      boiled.
    </p>
    <p>
      The cook alone seemed to have much flesh on his bones. He had been a
      prisoner, but seeing no prospect of ever being liberated he had offered
      his services, and his mates and scullions were also prisoners who had
      followed his example. The cook was not ill-natured, and although often
      cursed by the prisoners when out of hearing, he really displayed fortitude
      and forbearance far beyond what most men would have been capable of
      showing. &ldquo;At times, when his patience was exhausted, he did, indeed, make
      the hot water fly among us, but a reconciliation was usually effected with
      little difficulty.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Many of the different messes had obtained leave from His Majesty the Cook
      to prepare their own rations, separate from the general mess in the great
      boiler. For this purpose a great many spikes and hooks had been driven
      into the brick-work by which the boiler was enclosed, on which to suspend
      their tin kettles. As soon as we were permitted to go on deck in the
      morning, some one took the tin kettle belonging to the mess, with as much
      water and as many splinters of wood as we had been able to procure during
      the previous day, and carried them to the Galley; and there having
      suspended his kettle on one of the hooks or spikes stood ready to kindle
      his little fire as soon as the Cook or his mates would permit. It required
      but little fire to boil our food in these kettles, for their bottoms were
      made concave, and the fire was applied directly in the centre, and let the
      remaining brands be ever so small they were all carefully quenched; and
      having been conveyed below were kept for use on a future occasion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Much contention often arose through our endeavors to obtain places around
      the brick-work, but these disputes were always promptly decided by the
      Cook, from whose mandate there was no appeal. No sooner had one prisoner
      completed the cooking for his mess, than another supplicant stood ready to
      take his place; and they thus continued to throng the galley, during the
      whole time that the fire was allowed to remain under the Great Copper,
      unless it happened to be the pleasure of the Cook to drive them away.
      *[...] Each man in the mess procured and saved as much water as possible
      during the previous day; as no person was ever allowed to take more than a
      pint at a time from the scuttle-cask in which it was kept. Every
      individual was therefor obliged each day to save a little for the common
      use of the mess on the next morning. By this arrangement the mess to which
      I belonged had always a small quantity of fresh water in store, which we
      carefully kept, with a few other necessaries, in a chest which we used in
      common.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;During the whole period of my confinement I never partook of any food
      which had been prepared in the Great Copper. It is to this fact that I
      have always attributed, under Divine Providence, the degree of health
      which I preserved on board. I was thereby also, at times, enabled to
      procure several necessary and comfortable things, such as tea, sugar, etc.
      so that, wretchedly as I was situated, my condition was far preferable to
      that of most of my fellow sufferers, which has ever been to me a theme of
      sincere and lasting gratitude to Heaven.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But terrible indeed was the condition of most of my fellow captives.
      Memory still brings before me those emaciated beings, moving from the
      Galley with their wretched pittance of meat; each creeping to the spot
      where his mess was assembled, to divide it with a group of haggard and
      sickly creatures, their garments hanging in tatters round their meagre
      limbs, and the hue of death upon their careworn faces. By these it was
      consumed with the scanty remnants of bread, which was often mouldy and
      filled with worms. And even from this vile fare they would rise up in
      torments from the cravings of unsatisfied hunger and thirst.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No vegetables of any description were ever afforded us by our inhuman
      keepers. Good Heaven! what a luxury to us would then have been even a few
      potatoes!&mdash;if but the very leavings of swine. * * *
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  &ldquo;Oh my heart sinks, my pitying eyes o&rsquo;erflow,
  When memory paints the picture of their woe
  Where my poor countrymen in bondage wait
  The slow enfranchisement of lingering fate,
  Greeting with groans the unwelcome night&rsquo;s return,
  While rage and shame their gloomy bosoms burn,
  And chiding, every hour, the slow-paced sun,
  Endure their woes till all his race was run
  No one to mark the sufferers with a tear
  No friend to comfort, and no hope to cheer,
  And like the dull, unpitied brutes repair
  To stalls as wretched, and as coarse a fare;
  Thank Heaven one day of misery was o&rsquo;er,
  And sink to sleep, and wish to wake no more.&rdquo;
 </pre>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXV. &mdash; THE NARRATIVE OF CAPTAIN DRING (CONTINUED)
    </h2>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The quarter-deck of the Jersey covered about one-fourth of the upper
      deck, and the forecastle extended from the stern, about one-eighth part of
      the length of the upper deck. Sentinels were stationed on the gangways on
      each side of the upper deck, leading from the quarter-deck to the
      forecastle. These gangways were about five feet wide; and here the
      prisoners were allowed to pass and repass. The intermediate space from the
      bulkhead of the quarter-deck to the forecastle was filled with long spars
      and booms, and called the spar-deck. The temporary covering afforded by
      the spar-deck was of the greatest benefit to the prisoners, as it served
      to shield us from the rain and the scorching rays of the sun. It was here,
      therefore, that our movables were placed when we were engaged in cleaning
      the lower decks. The spar-deck was also the only place where we were
      allowed to walk, and was crowded through the day by the prisoners on deck.
      Owing to the great number of prisoners, and the small space allowed us by
      the spar-deck, it was our custom to walk in platoons, each facing the same
      way, and turning at the same time. The Derrick for taking in wood, water,
      etc., stood on the starboard side of the spar-deck. On the larboard side
      of the ship was placed the accommodation ladder, leading from the gangway
      to the water. At the head of the ladder a sentinel was also stationed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The head of the accommodation ladder was near the door of the barricade,
      which extended across the front of the quarter-deck, and projected a few
      feet beyond the sides of the ship. The barricade was about ten feet high,
      and was pierced with loop-holes for musketry in order that the prisoners
      might be fired on from behind it, if occasion should require.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The regular crew of the ship consisted of a Captain, two Mates, a
      Steward, a Corporal, and about 12 sailors. The crew of the ship had no
      communication whatever with the prisoners. No person was ever permitted to
      pass through the barricade door, except when it was required that the
      messes should be examined and regulated, in which case each man had to
      pass through, and go between decks, and there remain until the examination
      was completed. None of the guard or of the ship&rsquo;s crew ever came among the
      prisoners while I was on board. I never saw one of her officers or men
      except when there were passengers going in the boat, to or from the
      stern-ladder.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On the two decks below, where we were confined at night, our chests,
      boxes, and bags were arranged in two lines along the decks, about ten feet
      distant from the sides of the ship; thus leaving as wide a space
      unencumbered in the middle of each deck, fore and aft, as our crowded
      situation would admit. Between these tiers of chests, etc., and the sides
      of the ship, was the place where the different messes assembled; and some
      of the messes were also separated from their neighbors by a temporary
      partition of chests, etc. Some individuals of the different messes usually
      slept on the chests, in order to preserve their contents from being
      plundered in the night.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At night the spaces in the middle of the decks were much encumbered with
      hammocks, but these were always removed in the morning. * * * My usual
      place of abode being in the Gunroom, I was never under the necessity of
      descending to the lower dungeon; and during my confinement I had no
      disposition to visit it. It was inhabited by the most wretched in
      appearance of all our miserable company. From the disgusting and squalid
      appearance of the groups which I saw ascending the stairs which led to it,
      it must have been more dismal, if possible, than that part of the hulk
      where I resided. Its occupants appeared to be mostly foreigners, who had
      seen and survived every variety of human suffering. The faces of many of
      them were covered with dirt and filth; their long hair and beards matted
      and foul; clothed in rags, and with scarcely a sufficient supply of these
      to cover their disgusting bodies. Many among them possessed no clothing
      except the remnant of those garments which they wore when first brought on
      board; and were unable to procure even any material for patching these
      together, when they had been worn to tatters by constant use. * * * Some,
      and indeed many of them, had not the means of procuring a razor, or an
      ounce of soap.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Their beards were occasionally reduced by each other with a pair of
      shears or scissors. * * * Their skins were discoloured by continual
      washing in salt water, added to the circumstance that it was impossible
      for them to wash their linen in any other manner than by laying it on the
      deck and stamping on it with their feet, after it had been immersed in
      salt water, their bodies remaining naked during the process.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To men in this situation everything like ordinary cleanliness was
      impossible. Much that was disgusting in their appearance undoubtedly
      originated from neglect, which long confinement had rendered habitual,
      until it created a confirmed indifference to personal appearance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As soon as the gratings had been fastened over the hatchways for the
      night, we usually went to our sleeping places. It was, of course, always
      desirable to obtain a station as near as possible to the side of the ship,
      and, if practicable, in the immediate vicinity of one of the air-ports, as
      this not only afforded us a better air, but also rendered us less liable
      to be trodden upon by those who were moving about the decks during the
      night.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But silence was a stranger to our dark abode. There were continual noises
      during the night. The groans of the sick and the dying; the curses poured
      out by the weary and exhausted upon our inhuman keepers; the restlessness
      caused by the suffocating heat, and the confined and poisonous air,
      mingled with the wild and incoherent ravings of delirium, were the sounds
      which every night were raised around us in every direction. Such was our
      ordinary situation, but at times the consequences of our crowded condition
      were still more terrible, and proved fatal to many of our number in a
      single night.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But, strange as it may appear, notwithstanding all the * * * suffering
      which was there endured I knew many who had been inmates of that abode for
      two years, who were apparently perfectly well. They had, as they expressed
      it, &lsquo;been through the furnace and become seasoned.&rsquo; Most of these,
      however, were foreigners, who appeared to have abandoned all hope of ever
      being exchanged, and had become quite indifferent with regard to the place
      of their abode.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But far different was the condition of that portion of our number who
      were natives of the United States. These formed by far the most numerous
      class of the prisoners. Most of these were young men, * * * who had been
      captured soon after leaving their homes, and during their first voyage.
      After they had been here immured the sudden change in their situation was
      like a sentence of death. Many a one was crushed down beneath the sickness
      of the heart, so well described by the poet:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
          &ldquo;&lsquo;Night and day,
  Brooding on what he had been, what he was,
  &lsquo;Twas more than he could bear, his longing fits
  Thickened upon him. <i>His desire for Home
  Became a madness</i>&rsquo; 
</pre>
    <p>
      &ldquo;These poor creatures had, in many instances, been plundered of their
      wearing apparel by their captors, and here, the dismal and disgusting
      objects by which they were surrounded, the vermin which infested them, the
      vile and loathsome food, and what with <i>them</i> was far from being the
      lightest of their trials, their ceaseless longing after their <i>homes</i>,
      * * * all combined, had a wonderful effect on them. Dejection and anguish
      were soon visible on their countenances. They became dismayed and
      terror-stricken; and many of them absolutely died that most awful of all
      human deaths, the effects of a <i>broken heart</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A custom had long been established that certain labor which it was
      necessary should be performed daily, should be done by a company, usually
      called the &lsquo;Working party.&rsquo; This consisted of about twenty able-bodied men
      chosen from among the prisoners, and was commanded, in daily rotation, by
      those of our number who had formerly been officers of vessels. The
      commander of the party for the day bore the title of Boatswain. The
      members of the Working-party received, as a compensation for their
      services, a full allowance of provisions, and half a pint of rum each,
      with the privilege of going on deck early in the morning, to breathe the
      pure air.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This privilege alone was a sufficient compensation for all the duty which
      was required of them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Their routine of service was to wash down that part of the upper deck and
      gangways where the prisoners were permitted to walk; to spread the awning,
      or to hoist on board the wood, water, and other supplies, from the boats
      in which the same were brought alongside the ship.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When the prisoners ascended to the upper deck in the morning, if the day
      was fair, each carried up his hammock and bedding, which were all placed
      upon the spar-deck, or booms. The Working-party then took the sick and
      disabled who remained below, and placed them in the bunks prepared for
      them upon the centre-deck; they then, if any of the prisoners had died
      during the night, carried up the dead bodies, and laid them upon the
      booms; after which it was their duty to wash down the main decks below;
      during which operation the prisoners remained on the upper deck, except
      such as chose to go below and volunteer their services in the performance
      of this duty.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Around the railing of the hatchway leading from the centre to the lower
      decks, were placed a number of large tubs for the occasional use of the
      prisoners during the night, and as general receptacles of filth. Although
      these were indispensably necessary to us, yet they were highly offensive.
      It was a part of the duty of the Working-party to carry these on deck, at
      the time when the prisoners ascended in the morning, and to return them
      between decks in the afternoon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our beds and clothing were kept on deck until nearly the hour when we
      were to be ordered below for the night. During this interval * * * the
      decks washed and cleared of all incumbrance, except the poor wretches who
      lay in the bunks, it was quite refreshing after the suffocating heat and
      foul vapors of the night to walk between decks. There was then some
      circulation of air through the ship, and, for a few hours, our existence
      was, in some degree, tolerable.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;About two hours before sunset the order was usually issued for the
      prisoners to carry their hammocks, etc., below. After this had been done
      we were all either to retire between decks, or to remain above until
      sunset according to our own pleasure. Everything which we could do
      conducive to cleanliness having then been performed, if we ever felt
      anything like enjoyment in this wretched abode, it was during this brief
      interval, when we breathed the cool air of the approaching night, and felt
      the luxury of our evening pipe. But short indeed was this interval of
      repose. The Working-party was soon ordered to carry the tubs below, and we
      prepared to descend to our gloomy and crowded dungeons. This was no sooner
      done than the gratings were closed over the hatchways, the sentinels
      stationed, and we left to sicken and pine beneath our accumulated
      torments; with our guards above crying aloud, through the long night,
      &lsquo;All&rsquo;s well!&rdquo;&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Dring says that at that time the Jersey was used for seamen alone.
      The average number on board was one thousand. It consisted of the crews of
      vessels of all the nations with which the English were at war. But the
      greater number had been captured on board American vessels.
    </p>
    <p>
      There were three hospital ships in the Wallabout; the Stromboli, the
      Hunter, and the Scorpion. [Footnote: At one time as we have seen, the
      Scorpion was a prison ship, from which Freneau was sent to the Hunter
      hospital ship.] There was not room enough on board these ships for all the
      sick, and a part of the upper deck of the Jersey was therefore prepared
      for their accommodation. These were on the after part of the upper deck,
      on the larboard side, where those who felt the symptoms of approaching
      sickness could lie down, in order to be found by the nurses as soon as
      possible.
    </p>
    <p>
      Few ever returned from the hospital ships to the Jersey. Dring knew but
      three such instances during his imprisonment. He says that &ldquo;the outward
      appearance of these hospitals was disgusting in the highest degree. The
      sight of them was terrible to us. Their appearance was even more shocking
      than that of our own miserable hulk.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On board the Jersey among the prisoners were about half a dozen men known
      by the appellation of nurses. I never learned by whom they were appointed,
      or whether they had any regular appointment at all. But one fact I knew
      well; they were all thieves. They were, however, sometimes useful in
      assisting the sick to ascend from below to the gangway on the upper deck,
      to be examined by the visiting Surgeon who attended from the Hunter every
      day, when the weather was good. If a sick man was pronounced by the
      Surgeon to be a proper subject for one of the hospital ships, he was put
      into the boat waiting alongside; but not without the loss or detention of
      his effects, if he had any, as these were at once taken by the nurses, as
      their own property. * * * I had found Mr. Robert Carver, our Gunner while
      on board the Chance, sick in one of the bunks where those retired who
      wished to be removed. He was without a bed or pillow, and had put on all
      the wearing apparel which he possessed, wishing to preserve it, and being
      sensible of his situation. I found him sitting upright in the bunk, with
      his great-coat on over the rest of his garments, and his hat between his
      knees. The weather was excessively hot, and, in the place where he lay,
      the heat was overpowering. I at once saw that he was delirious, a sure
      presage that the end was near. I took off his great-coat, and having
      folded and placed it under his head for a pillow, I laid him upon it, and
      went immediately to prepare him some tea. I was absent but a few minutes,
      and, on returning, met one of the thievish Nurses with Carver&rsquo;s great-coat
      in his hand. On ordering him to return it his reply was that it was a
      perquisite of the Nurses, and the only one they had; that the man was
      dying, and the great-coat could be of no further use to him. I however,
      took possession of the coat, and on my liberation, returned it to the
      family of the owner. Mr Carver soon after expired where he lay. We
      procured a blanket in which to wrap his body, which was thus prepared for
      interment. Others of the crew of the Chance had died before that time. Mr
      Carver was a man of strong and robust constitution. Such men were subject
      to the most violent attacks of the fever, and were also its most certain
      victims.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXVI. &mdash; THE INTERMENT OF THE DEAD
    </h2>
    <p>
      Captain Dring continues his narrative by describing the manner in which
      the dead were interred in the sand of the Wallabout. Every morning, he
      says, the dead bodies were carried to the upper deck and there laid upon
      the gratings. Any person who could procure, and chose to furnish, a
      blanket, was allowed to sew it around the remains of his departed
      companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The signal being made, a boat was soon seen approaching from the Hunter,
      and if there were any dead on board the other ships, the boat received
      them, on her way to the Jersey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The corpse was laid upon a board, to which some ropes were attached as
      straps; as it was often the case that bodies were sent on shore for
      interment before they had become sufficiently stiff to be lowered into the
      boat by a single strap. Thus prepared a tackle was attached to the board,
      and the remains * * * were hoisted over the side of the ship into the
      boat, without further ceremony. If several bodies were waiting for
      interment, but one of them was lowered into the boat at a time, for the
      sake of decency. The prisoners were always very anxious to be engaged in
      the duty of interment, not so much from a feeling of humanity, or from a
      wish to pay respect to the remains of the dead, for to these feelings they
      had almost become strangers, as from the desire of once more placing their
      feet on the land, if but for a few minutes. A sufficient number of
      prisoners having received permission to assist in this duty, they entered
      the boat accompanied by a guard of soldiers, and put off from the ship.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I obtained leave to assist in the burial of the body of Mr. Carver, * * *
      and after landing at a low wharf which had been built from the shore, we
      first went to a small hut, which stood near the wharf, and was used as a
      place of deposit for the handbarrows and shovels provided for these
      occasions. Having placed the corpses on the barrows, and received our hoes
      and shovels, we proceeded to the side of the bank near the Waleboght. Here
      a vacant space having been selected, we were directed to dig a trench in
      the sand, of a proper length for the reception of the bodies. We continued
      our labor until the guards considered that a sufficient space had been
      excavated. The corpses were then laid in the trench without ceremony, and
      we threw the sand over them. The whole appeared to produce no more effect
      upon our guards than if they were burying the bodies of dead animals,
      instead of men. They scarcely allowed us time to look about us; for no
      sooner had we heaped the earth upon the trench, than we were ordered to
      march. But a single glance was sufficient to show us parts of many bodies
      which were exposed to view, although they had probably been placed there
      with the same mockery of interment but a few days before.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Having thus performed, as well as we were permitted to do it, the last
      duty to the dead, and the guards having stationed themselves on each side
      of us, we began reluctantly to retrace our steps to the boat. We had
      enjoyed the pleasure of breathing for a few minutes the air of our native
      soil; and the thought of return to the crowded prison-ship was terrible in
      the extreme. As we passed by the waterside we implored our guards to allow
      us to bathe, or even to wash ourselves for a few minutes, but this was
      refused us.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was the only person of our party who wore a pair of shoes, and well
      recollect that I took them off for the pleasure of feeling the earth, or
      rather the sand, as we went along. * * * We went by a small patch of turf,
      some pieces of which we tore up from the earth, and obtained permission to
      carry them on board for our comrades to smell them. Circumstances like
      these may appear trifling to the careless reader; but let him be assured
      that they were far from being trifles to men situated as we had been. The
      inflictions which we had endured; the duty which we had just performed;
      the feeling that we must, in a few minutes, re-enter the place of
      suffering, from which, in all probability, we should never return alive;
      all tended to render everything connected with the firm land beneath, and
      the sweet air above us, objects of deep and thrilling interest.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Having arrived at the hut we there deposited our implements, and walked
      to the landing-place, where we prevailed on our guards, who were Hessians,
      to allow us the gratification of remaining nearly half an hour before we
      returned to the boat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Near us stood a house occupied by a miller, and we had been told that a
      tide-mill which he attended was in the immediate vicinity, as a
      landing-place for which the wharf where we stood had been erected. * * *
      It was designated by the prisoners by the appellation of the &lsquo;Old
      Dutchman&rsquo;s,&rsquo; and its very walls were viewed by us with feelings of
      veneration, as we had been told that the amiable daughter of its owner had
      kept an accurate account of the number of bodies that had been brought on
      shore for interment from the Jersey and hospital ships. This could easily
      be done in the house, as its windows commanded a fair view of the landing
      place. We were not, however, gratified by a sight of herself, or of any
      other inmate of the house.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sadly did we approach and re-enter our foul and disgusting place of
      confinement. The pieces of turf which we carried on board were sought for
      by our fellow prisoners, with the greatest avidity, every fragment being
      passed by them from hand to hand, and its smell inhaled as if it had been
      a fragrant rose. * * * The first of the crew of the Chance to die was a
      lad named Palmer, about twelve years of age, and the youngest of our crew.
      When on board the Chance he was a waiter to the officers, and he continued
      in this duty after we were placed on board the Jersey. He had, with many
      others of our crew, been inoculated for the small-pox, immediately after
      our arrival on board. The usual symptoms appeared at the proper time, and
      we supposed the appearance of his disorder favorable, but these soon
      changed, and the yellow hue of his features declared the approach of
      death. * * * The night he died was truly a wretched one for me. I spent
      most of it in total darkness, holding him during his convulsions. * * * I
      had done everything in my power for this poor boy, during his sickness,
      and could render him but one more kind office (after his death). I
      assisted to sew a blanket around his body, which was, with others who had
      died, during the night, conveyed upon deck in the morning, to be at the
      usual hour hurried to the bank at the Walebocht. I regretted that I could
      not assist at his interment, as I was then suffering with the small-pox
      myself, neither am I certain that permission would have been granted me,
      if I had sought it. Our keepers appeared to have no idea that the
      prisoners could feel any regard for each other, but appeared to think us
      as cold-hearted as themselves. If anything like sympathy was ever shown us
      by any of them it was done by the Hessians. * * * The next deaths among
      our company were those of Thomas Mitchell and his son-in-law, Thomas
      Sturmey. It is a singular fact that both of these men died at the same
      time.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      THE GUARDS ON BOARD THE JERSEY
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In addition to the regular officers and seamen of the Jersey, there were
      stationed on board about a dozen old invalid Marines, but our actual guard
      was composed of soldiers from the different regiments quartered on Long
      Island. The number usually on duty on board was about thirty. Each week
      they were relieved by a fresh party. They were English, Hessian, and
      Refugees. We always preferred the Hessians, from whom we received better
      treatment than from the others. As to the English, we did not complain,
      being aware that they merely obeyed their orders, in regard to us; but the
      Refugees * * * were viewed by us with scorn and hatred. I do not
      recollect, however, that a guard of these miscreants was placed over us
      more than three times, during which their presence occasioned much tumult
      and confusion; for the prisoners could not endure the sight of these men,
      and occasionally assailed them with abusive language, while they, in turn,
      treated us with all the severity in their power. We dared not approach
      near them, for fear of their bayonets, and of course could not pass along
      the gangways where they were stationed; but were obliged to crawl along
      upon the booms, in order to get fore and aft, or to go up and down the
      hatchways. They never answered any of our remarks respecting them, but
      would merely point to their uniforms, as much as to say, &lsquo;We are clothed
      by our Sovereign, while you are naked.&rsquo; They were as much gratified by the
      idea of leaving us as we were at seeing them depart.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Many provoking gestures were made by the prisoners as they left the ship,
      and our curses followed them as far as we could make ourselves heard.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A regiment of Refugees, with a green uniform, were then quartered at
      Brooklyn. We were invited to join this Royal band, and to partake of his
      Majesty&rsquo;s pardon and bounty. But the prisoners, in the midst of their
      unbounded sufferings, of their dreadful privations, and consuming anguish,
      spurned the insulting offer. They preferred to linger and to die rather
      than desert their country&rsquo;s cause. During the whole period of my
      confinement I never knew a single instance of enlistment among the
      prisoners of the Jersey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The only duty, to my knowledge, ever performed by the old Marines was to
      guard the water-butt, near which one of them was stationed with a drawn
      cutlass. They were ordered to allow no prisoner to carry away more than
      one pint at once, but we were allowed to drink at the butt as much as we
      pleased, for which purpose two or three copper ladles were chained to the
      cask. Having been long on board and regular in performance of this duty,
      they had become familiar with the faces of the prisoners, and could, in
      many instances, detect the frauds which we practiced upon them in order to
      obtain more fresh water for our cooking than was allowed us by the
      regulations of the ship. Over the water the sailors had no control. The
      daily consumption of water on board was at least equal to 700 gallons. I
      know not whence it was brought, but presume it was from Brooklyn. One
      large gondola, or boat, was kept in constant employment to furnish the
      necessary supply.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So much of the water as was not required on deck for immediate use was
      conducted into butts, placed in the lower hold of the hulk, through a
      leather hose, passing through her side, near the bends. To this water we
      had recourse, when we could procure no other.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When water in any degree fit for use was brought on board, it is
      impossible to describe the struggle which ensued, in consequence of our
      haste and exertions to procure a draught of it. The best which was ever
      afforded us was very brackish, but that from the ship&rsquo;s hold was nauseous
      in the highest degree. This must be evident when the fact is stated that
      the butts for receiving it had never been cleaned since they were put in
      the hold. The quantity of foul sediment which they contained was therefore
      very great, and was disturbed and mixed with the water as often as a new
      supply was poured into them, thereby rendering their whole contents a
      substance of the most disgusting and poisonous nature. I have not the
      least doubt that the use of this vile compound caused the death of
      hundreds of the prisoners, when, to allay their tormenting thirst, they
      were driven by desperation to drink this liquid poison, and to abide the
      consequences.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXVII. &mdash; DAME GRANT AND HER BOAT
    </h2>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One indulgence was allowed us by our keepers, if indulgence it can be
      called. They had given permission for a boat to come alongside the ship,
      with a supply of a few necessary articles, to be sold to such of the
      prisoners as possessed the means of paying for them. This trade was
      carried on by a very corpulent old woman, known among us by the name of
      Dame Grant. Her visits, which were made every other day, were of much
      benefit to us, and, I presume, a source of profit to herself. She brought
      us soft bread and fruit, with various other articles, such as tea, sugar,
      etc., all of which she previously put up into small paper parcels, from
      one ounce to a pound in weight, with the price affixed to each, from which
      she would never deviate. The bulk of the old lady completely filled the
      stern sheets of the boat, where she sat, with her box of goods before her,
      from which she supplied us very expeditiously. Her boat was rowed by two
      boys, who delivered to us the articles we had purchased, the price of
      which we were required first to put into their hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When our guard was not composed of Refugees, we were usually permitted to
      descend to the foot of the Accommodation-ladder, in order to select from
      the boat such articles as we wished. While standing there it was
      distressing to see the faces of hundreds of half-famished wretches,
      looking over the side of the ship into the boat, without the means of
      purchasing the most trifling article before their sight, not even so much
      as a morsel of wholesome bread. None of us possessed the means of
      generosity, nor had any power to afford them relief. Whenever I bought any
      articles from the boat I never enjoyed them; for it was impossible to do
      so in the presence of so many needy wretches, eagerly gazing at my
      purchase, and almost dying for want of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We frequently furnished Dame Grant with a memorandum of such articles as
      we wished her to procure for us, such as pipes, tobacco, needles, thread,
      and combs. These she always faithfully procured and brought to us, never
      omitting the assurance that she afforded them exactly at cost.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Her arrival was always a subject of interest to us; but at length she did
      not make her appearance for several days, and her appearance was awaited
      in extreme anxiety. But, alas! we were no longer to enjoy this little
      gratification. Her traffic was ended. She had taken the fever from the
      hulk, and died * * * leaving a void which was never afterwards filled up.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXVIII. &mdash; THE SUPPLIES FOR THE PRISONERS
    </h2>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After the death of Dame Grant, we were under the necessity of puchasing
      from the Sutler such small supplies as we needed. This man was one of the
      Mates of the ship, and occupied one of the apartments under the
      quarter-deck, through the bulkhead of which an opening had been cut, from
      which he delivered his goods. He here kept for sale a variety of articles,
      among which was usually a supply of ardent spirits, which was not allowed
      to be brought alongside the ship, for sale. It could, therefore, only be
      procured from the Sutler, whose price was two dollars per gallon. Except
      in relation to this article, no regular price was fixed for what he sold
      us. We were first obliged to hand him the money, and he then gave us such
      a quantity as he pleased of the article which we needed; there was on our
      part no bargain to be made, but to be supplied even in this manner was, to
      those of us who had means of payment, a great convenience. * * *
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our own people afforded us no relief. O my country! Why were we thus
      neglected in this hour of our misery, why was not a little food and
      raiment given to the dying martyrs of thy cause?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Although the supplies which some of us were enabled to procure from the
      Sutler were highly conducive to our comfort, yet one most necessary
      article neither himself nor any other person could furnish. This was wood
      for our daily cooking, to procure a sufficient quantity of which was to us
      a source of continual trouble and anxiety. The Cooks would indeed steal
      small quantities, and sell them to us at the hazard of certain punishment
      if detected; but it was not in their power to embezzle a sufficient
      quantity to meet our daily necessities. As the disgust at swallowing any
      food which had been cooked in the Great Copper was universal, each person
      used every exertion to procure as much wood as possible, for the private
      cooking of his own mess.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;During my excursion to the shore to assist in the interment of Mr.
      Carver, it was my good fortune to find a hogshead stave floating in the
      water. This was truly a prize I conveyed the treasure on board, and in the
      economical manner in which it was used, it furnished the mess to which I
      belonged with a supply of fuel for a considerable time.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was also truly fortunate on another occasion. I had, one day, commanded
      the Working-party, which was then employed in taking on board a sloop-load
      of wood for the sailors&rsquo; use. This was carefully conveyed below, under a
      guard, to prevent embezzlement. I nevertheless found means, with the
      assistance of my associates, to convey a cleft of it into the Gunroom,
      where it was immediately secreted. Our mess was thereby supplied with a
      sufficient quantity for a long time, and its members were considered by
      far the most wealthy persons in all this republic of misery. We had enough
      for our own use, and were enabled, occasionally, to supply our neighbors
      with a few splinters.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our mode of preparing the wood was to cut it with a jack-knife into
      pieces about four inches long. This labor occupied much of our time, and
      was performed by the different members of our mess in rotation, which
      employment was to us a source of no little pleasure.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After a sufficient quantity had been thus prepared for the next day&rsquo;s
      use, it was deposited in the chest. The main stock was guarded by day and
      night, with the most scrupulous and anxious care. We kept it at night
      within our enclosure, and by day it was always watched by some one of its
      proprietors. So highly did we value it that we went into mathematical
      calculation to ascertain how long it would supply us, if a given quantity
      was each day consumed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      OUR BY-LAWS
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Soon after the Jersey was first used as a place of confinement a code of
      by-laws had been established by the prisoners, for their own regulation
      and government; to which a willing submission was paid, so far as
      circumstances would permit. I much regret my inability to give these rules
      verbatim, but I cannot at this distant period of time recollect them with
      a sufficient degree of distinctness. They were chiefly directed to the
      preservation of personal cleanliness, and the prevention of immorality.
      For a refusal to comply with any of them, the refractory person was
      subjected to a stated punishment. It is an astonishing fact that any
      rules, thus made, should have so long existed and been enforced among a
      multitude of men situated as we were, so numerous and composed of that
      class of human beings who are not easily controlled, and usually not the
      most ardent supporters of good order. There were many foreigners among our
      number, over whom we had no control, except so far as they chose,
      voluntarily, to submit to our regulations, which they cheerfully did, in
      almost every instance, so far as their condition would allow. Among our
      rules were the following. That personal cleanliness should be preserved,
      as far as was practicable; that profane language should be avoided; that
      drunkenness should not be allowed; that theft should be severely punished,
      and that no smoking should be permitted between decks, by day or night, on
      account of the annoyance which it caused the sick.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A due observance of the Sabbath was also strongly enjoined; and it was
      recommended to every individual to appear cleanly shaved on Sunday
      morning, and to refrain from all recreation during the day.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This rule was particularly recommended to the attention of the officers,
      and the remainder of the prisoners were desired to follow their example.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our By-laws were occasionally read to the assembled prisoners, and always
      whenever any person was to be punished for their violation. Theft or fraud
      upon the allowance of a fellow prisoner was always punished, and the
      infliction was always approved by the whole company. On these occasions
      the oldest officer among the prisoners presided as Judge. It required much
      exertion for many of us to comply with the law prohibiting smoking between
      decks. Being myself much addicted to the habit of smoking, it would have
      been a great privilege to have enjoyed the liberty of thus indulging it,
      particularly during the night, while sitting by one of the air-ports; but
      as this was inadmissible, I of course submitted to the prohibition. * * *
      We were not allowed means of striking a fire, and were obliged to procure
      it from the Cook employed for the ship&rsquo;s officers, through a small window
      in the bulkhead, near the caboose. After one had thus procured fire the
      rest were also soon supplied, and our pipes were all in full operation in
      the course of a few minutes. The smoke which rose around us appeared to
      purify the pestilent air by which we were surrounded; and I attribute the
      preservation of my health, in a great degree, to the exercise of this
      habit. Our greatest difficulty was to procure tobacco. This, to some of
      the prisoners, was impossible, and it must have been an aggravation to
      their sufferings to see us apparently puffing away our sorrows, while they
      had no means of procuring the enjoyment of a similar gratification.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We dared not often apply at this Cook&rsquo;s caboose for fire, and the surly
      wretch would not willingly repeat the supply. One morning I went to the
      window of his den, and requested leave to light my pipe, and the
      miscreant, without making any reply, threw a shovel full of burning
      cinders in my face. I was almost blinded by the pain; and several days
      elapsed before I fully regained my sight. My feelings on this occasion may
      be imagined, but redress was impossible, as we were allowed no means of
      even seeking it. I mention this occurrence to show to what a wretched
      condition we were reduced.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      THE ORATOR OF THE JERSEY
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;During the period of my confinement the Jersey was never visited by any
      regular clergyman, nor was Divine service ever performed on board, and
      among the whole multitude of prisoners there was but one individual who
      ever attempted to deliver a set speech, or to exhort his fellow sufferers.
      This individual was a young man named Cooper, whose station in life was
      apparently that of a common sailor. He evidently possessed talents of a
      very high order. His manners were pleasing, and he had every appearance of
      having received an excellent education. He was a Virginian; but I never
      learned the exact place of his nativity. He told us that he had been a
      very unmanageable youth, and that he had left his family, contrary to
      their wishes and advice; that he had been often assured by them that the
      Old Jersey would bring him up at last, and the Waleboght be his place of
      burial. &lsquo;The first of these predictions,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;has been verified; and
      I care not how soon the second proves equally true, for I am prepared for
      the event. Death, for me, has lost its terrors, for with them I have been
      too long familiar.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On several Sunday mornings Cooper harangued the prisoners in a very
      forcible yet pleasing manner, which, together with his language, made a
      lasting impression upon my memory. On one of these occasions, having
      mounted upon a temporary elevation upon the Spar-deck, he, in an audible
      voice, requested the attention of the prisoners, who having immediately
      gathered around him in silence, he commenced his discourse.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He began by saying that he hoped no one would suppose he had taken that
      station by way of derision or mockery of the holy day, for that such was
      not his object; on the contrary he was pleased to find that the good
      regulations established by the former prisoners, obliged us to refrain
      even from recreation on the Sabbath; that his object, however, was not to
      preach to us, nor to discourse upon any sacred subject; he wished to read
      us our By-laws, a copy of which he held in his hand, the framers of which
      were then, in all probability, sleeping in death, beneath the sand of the
      shore before our eyes. That these laws had been framed in wisdom, and were
      well fitted to preserve order and decorum in a community like ours: that
      his present object was to impress upon our minds the absolute necessity of
      a strict adherence to those wholesome regulations; that he should briefly
      comment upon each article, which might be thus considered as the
      particular text of that part of his discourse.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He proceeded to point out the extreme necessity of a full observance of
      these Rules of Conduct, and portrayed the evil consequences which would
      inevitably result to us if we neglected or suffered them to fall into
      disuse. He enforced the necessity of our unremitting attention to personal
      cleanliness, and to the duties of morality; he dwelt upon the degradation
      and sin of drunkeness; described the meanness and atrocity of theft; and
      the high degree of caution against temptation necessary for men who were
      perhaps standing on the very brink of the grave; and added that, in his
      opinion, even sailors might as well refrain from profane language, while
      they were actually suffering in Purgatory.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He said that our present torments, in that abode of misery, were a proper
      retribution for our former sins and transgressions; that Satan had been
      permitted to send out his messengers and inferior demons in every
      direction to collect us together, and that among the most active of these
      infernal agents was David Sproat, Commissary of Prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He then made some just and suitable observations on the fortitude with
      which we had sustained the weight of our accumulated miseries; of our
      firmness in refusing to accept the bribes of our invaders, and desert the
      banners of our country. During this part of his discourse the sentinels on
      the gangways occasionally stopped and listened attentively. We much feared
      that by some imprudent remark, he might expose himself to their
      resentment, and cautioned him not to proceed too far. He replied our
      keepers could do nothing more, unless they should put him to the torture,
      and that he should proceed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He touched on the fact that no clergyman had ever visited us; that this
      was probably owing to the fear of contagion; but it was much to be
      regretted that no one had ever come to afford a ray of hope, or to
      administer the Word of Life in that terrific abode; that if any Minister
      of the Gospel desired to do so, there could be no obstacles in the way,
      for that even David Sproat himself, bad as he was, would not dare to
      oppose it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He closed with a merited tribute to the memory of our fellow-sufferers,
      who had already passed away. &lsquo;The time,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;will come when their
      bones will be collected, when their rites of sepulchre will be performed,
      and a monument erected over the remains of those who have here suffered,
      the victims of barbarity, and who have died in vindication of the rights
      of man.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The remarks of our Orator were well adapted to our situation, and
      produced much effect on the prisoners, who at length began to accost him
      as Elder or Parson Cooper. But this he would not allow; and told us, if we
      would insist on giving him a title, we might call him Doctor, by which
      name he was ever afterwards saluted, so long as he remained among us.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He had been a prisoner for about the period of three months when one day
      the Commissary of Prisoners came on board, accompanied by a stranger, and
      inquired for Cooper, who having made his appearance, a letter was put in
      his hand, which he perused, and immediately after left the ship, without
      even going below for his clothing. While in the boat he waived his hand,
      and bade us be of good cheer. We could only return a mute farewell; and in
      a few minutes the boat had left the ship, and was on its way to New York.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thus we lost our Orator, for whom I had a very high regard, at the time,
      and whose character and manners have, ever since, been to me a subject of
      pleasing recollection.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Various were the conjectures which the sudden manner of his departure
      caused on board. Some asserted that poor Cooper had drawn upon himself the
      vengeance of old Sproat, and that he had been carried on shore to be
      punished. No certain information was ever received respecting him, but I
      have always thought that he was a member of some highly influential and
      respectable family, and that his release had been effected through the
      agency of his friends. This was often done by the influence of the
      Royalists or Refugees of New York, who were sometimes the connections or
      personal friends of those who applied for their assistance in procuring
      the liberation of a son or a brother from captivity. Such kind offices
      were thus frequently rendered to those who had chosen opposite sides in
      the great revolutionary contest, and to whom, though directly opposed to
      themselves in political proceedings, they were willing to render every
      personal service in their power.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
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      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXIX. &mdash; FOURTH OF JULY ON THE JERSEY
    </h2>
    <p>
      A few days before the fourth of July we had made such preparations as our
      circumstances would admit for an observance of the anniversary of American
      Independence. We had procured some supplies with which to make ourselves
      merry on the occasion, and intended to spend the day in such innocent
      pastimes as our situation would afford, not dreaming that our proceeding
      would give umbrage to our keepers, as it was far from our intention to
      trouble or insult them. We thought that, though prisoners, we had a right,
      on that day at least, to sing and be merry. As soon as we were permitted
      to go on deck in the morning thirteen little national flags were displayed
      in a row on the boom. We were soon ordered by the guards to take them
      away; and as we neglected to obey the command, they triumphantly
      demolished, and trampled them under foot. Unfortunately for us our guards
      at that time were Scotch, who, next to the Refugees, were the objects of
      our greatest hatred; but their destruction of our flags was merely viewed
      in silence, with the contempt which it merited.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;During the time we remained on deck several patriotic songs were sung,
      and choruses repeated; but not a word was intentionally spoken to give
      offence to our guards. They were, nevertheless, evidently dissatisfied
      with our proceedings, as will soon appear. Their moroseness was a prelude
      to what was to follow. We were, in a short time, forbidden to pass along
      the common gangway, and every attempt to do so was repelled by the
      bayonet. Although thus incommoded our mirth still continued. Songs were
      still sung, accompanied by occasional cheers. Things thus proceeded until
      about four o&rsquo;clock; when the guards were ordered out, and we received
      orders to descend between decks, where we were immediately driven, at the
      point of the bayonet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After being thus sent below in the greatest confusion, at that early and
      unusual hour, and having heard the gratings closed and fastened above us,
      we supposed that the barbarous resentment of our guards was fully
      satisfied; but we were mistaken, for they had further vengeance in store,
      and merely waited for an opportunity to make us feel its weight.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The prisoners continued their singing between decks, and were, of course,
      more noisy than usual, but forbore even under their existing temptations,
      to utter any insulting or aggravating expressions. At least, I heard
      nothing of the kind, unless our patriotic songs could be thus constructed.
      In the course of the evening we were ordered to desist from making any
      further noise. This order not being fully complied with, at about nine
      o&rsquo;clock the gratings were removed, and the guards descended among us, with
      lanterns and drawn cutlasses in their hands. The poor, helpless prisoners
      retreated from the hatchways, as far as their crowded situation would
      permit, while their cowardly assailants followed as far as they dared,
      cutting and wounding every one within reach, and then ascended to the
      upper deck, exulting in the gratification of their revenge.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Many of the prisoners were wounded, but from the total darkness, neither
      their number, nor their situation could be ascertained; and, if this had
      been possible, it was not in the power of their compatriots to afford them
      the least relief. During the whole of that tragic night, their groans and
      lamentations were dreadful in the extreme. Being in the Gun-room I was at
      some distance from the immediate scene of this bloody outrage, but the
      distance was by no means far enough to prevent my hearing their continual
      cries from the extremity of pain, their appeals for assistance, and their
      curses upon the heads of their brutal assailants.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It had been the usual custom for each person to carry below, when he
      descended at sunset, a pint of water, to quench his thirst during the
      night. But, on this occasion, we had thus been driven to our dungeon three
      hours before the setting of the sun, and without our usual supply of
      water.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of this night I cannot describe the horror. The day had been sultry, and
      the heat was extreme throughout the ship. The unusual number of hours
      during which we had been crowded together between decks; the foul
      atmosphere and sickening heat; the additional excitement and restlessness
      caused by the unwonted wanton attack which had been made; above all, the
      want of water, not a drop of which could be obtained during the whole
      night, to cool our parched lips; the imprecations of those who were half
      distracted with their burning thirst; the shrieks and wails of the
      wounded; the struggles and groans of the dying; together formed a
      combination of horrors which no pen can describe.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the agonies of their sufferings the prisoners invited, and even
      challenged their inhuman guards to descend once more among them, but this
      they were prudent enough not to attempt.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Their cries and supplications for water were terrible, and were of
      themselves sufficient to render sleep impossible. Oppressed with the heat,
      I found my way to the grating of the main hatchway, where on former nights
      I had frequently passed some time, for the benefit of the little current
      of air which circulated through the bars. I obtained a place on the
      larboard side of the hatchway, where I stood facing the East, and
      endeavored, as much as possible, to withdraw my attention from the
      terrible sounds below me, by watching, through the grating, the progress
      of the stars. I there spent hour after hour, in following with my eyes the
      motion of a particular star, as it rose and ascended until it passed over
      beyond my sight.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How I longed for the day to dawn! At length the morning light began to
      appear, but still our torments were increasing every moment. As the usual
      hour for us to ascend to the upper deck approached, the Working-party were
      mustered near the hatchway, and we were all anxiously waiting for the
      opportunity to cool our weary frames, to breathe for awhile the pure air,
      and, above all, to procure water to quench our intolerable thirst. The
      time arrived, but still the gratings were not removed. Hour after hour
      passed on, and still we were not released. Our minds were at length seized
      with horror, suspicious that our tyrants had determined to make a
      finishing stroke of their cruelty, and rid themselves of us altogether.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was not until ten o&rsquo;clock in the forenoon that the gratings were at
      last removed. We hurried on deck and thronged to the water cask, which was
      completely exhausted before our thirst was allayed. So great was the
      struggle around the cask that the guards were again turned out to disperse
      the crowd.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In a few hours, however, we received a new supply of water, but it seemed
      impossible to allay our thirst, and the applications at the cask were
      incessant until sunset. Our rations were delivered to us, but of course
      long after the usual hour. During the whole day, however, no fire was
      kindled for cooking in the galley. All the food which we consumed that day
      we were obliged to swallow raw. Everything, indeed, had been entirely
      deranged by the events of the past night, and several days elapsed before
      order was restored. This was at last obtained by a change of the guard,
      who, to our great joy, were relieved by a party of Hessians. The average
      number who died during a period of 24 hours on board the Jersey was about
      six, [Footnote: This was in 1782. The mortality had been much greater in
      former years.] but on the morning of the fifth of July eight or ten
      corpses were found below. Many had been badly wounded, to whom, in the
      total darkness of the night, it was impossible for their companions to
      render any assistance; and even during the next day they received no
      attention, except that which was afforded by their fellow prisoners, who
      had nothing to administer to their companions, not even bandages for their
      wounds. I was not personally acquainted with any of those who died or were
      wounded on that night. No equal number had ever died in the same period of
      time since my confinement. This unusual mortality was of course caused by
      the increased sufferings of the night. Since that time I have often, while
      standing on the deck of a good ship under my command, and viewing the
      rising stars, thought upon the horrors of that night, when I stood
      watching their progress through the gratings of the Old Jersey, and when I
      now contrast my former wretchedness with my present situation, in the full
      enjoyment of liberty, health, and every earthly comfort, I cannot but muse
      upon the contrast, and bless the good and great Being from whom my
      comforts have been derived. I do not now regret my capture nor my
      sufferings, for the recollection of them has ever taught me how to enjoy
      my after life with a greater degree of contentment than I should, perhaps,
      have otherwise ever experienced.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XL. &mdash; AN ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE
    </h2>
    <p>
      It had been for some time in contemplation among a few inmates of the
      Gun-room to make a desperate attempt to escape, by cutting a hole through
      the stern or counter of the ship. In order that their operations might
      proceed with even the least probability of success, it was absolutely
      necessary that but few of the prisoners should be admitted to the secret.
      At the same time it was impossible for them to make any progress in their
      labor unless they first confided their plan to all the other occupants of
      the Gun-room, which was accordingly done. In this part of the ship each
      mess was on terms of more or less intimacy with those whose little
      sleeping enclosures were immediately adjacent to their own, and the
      members of each mess frequently interchanged good offices with those in
      their vicinity, and borrowed or lent such little articles as they
      possessed, like the good housewives of a sociable neighborhood. I never
      knew any contention in this apartment, during the whole period of my
      confinement. Each individual in the Gun-room therefore was willing to
      assist his comrades, as far as he had the power to do so. When the
      proposed plan for escape was laid before us, although it met the
      disapprobation of by far the greater number, still we were all perfectly
      ready to assist those who thought it practicable. We, however, described
      to them the difficulties and dangers which must unavoidably attend their
      undertaking; the prospect of detection while making the aperture in the
      immediate vicinity of such a multitude of idle men, crowded together, a
      large proportion of whom were always kept awake by their restlessness and
      sufferings during the night; the little probability that they would be
      able to travel, undiscovered, on Long Island, even should they succeed in
      reaching the shore in safety; and above all, the almost absolute
      impossibility of obtaining food for their subsistence, as an application
      for that to our keepers would certainly lead to detection. But,
      notwithstanding all our arguments, a few of them remained determined to
      make the attempt. Their only reply to our reasoning was, that they must
      die if they remained, and that nothing worse could befall them if they
      failed in their undertaking.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One of the most sanguine among the adventurers was a young man named
      Lawrence, the mate of a ship from Philadelphia. He was a member of the
      mess next to my own, and I had formed with him a very intimate
      acquaintance. He frequently explained his plans to me; and dwelt much on
      his hopes. But ardently as I desired to obtain my liberty, and great as
      were the exertions I could have made, had I seen any probability of
      gaining it, yet it was not my intention to join in this attempt. I
      nevertheless agreed to assist in the labor of cutting through the planks,
      and heartily wished, although I had no hope, that the enterprise might
      prove successful.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The work was accordingly commenced, and the laborers concealed, by
      placing a blanket between them and the prisoners without. The counter of
      the ship was covered with hard oak plank, four inches thick; and through
      this we undertook to cut an opening sufficiently large for a man to
      descend; and to do this with no other tools than our jack knives and a
      single gimlet. All the occupants of the Gun-room assisted in this labor in
      rotation; some in confidence that the plan was practicable, and the rest
      for amusement, or for the sake of being employed. Some one of our number
      was constantly at work, and we thus continued, wearing a hole through the
      hard planks, from seam to seam, until at length the solid oak was worn
      away piecemeal, and nothing remained but a thin sheathing on the outside
      which could be cut away at any time in a few minutes, whenever a suitable
      opportunity should occur for making the bold attempt to leave the ship.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It had been previously agreed that those who should descend through the
      aperture should drop into the water, and there remain until all those
      among the inmates of the Gun-room who chose to make the attempt could join
      them; and that the whole band of adventurers should then swim together to
      the shore, which was about a quarter of a mile from the ship.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A proper time at length arrived. On a very dark and rainy night, the
      exterior sheathing was cut away; and at midnight four of our number having
      disencumbered themselves of their clothes and tied them across their
      shoulders, were assisted through the opening, and dropped one after
      another into the water.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ill-fated men! Our guards had long been acquainted with the enterprise.
      But instead of taking any measures to prevent it, they had permitted us to
      go on with our labor, keeping a vigilant watch for the moment of our
      projected escape, in order to gratify their bloodthirsty wishes. No other
      motive than this could have prompted them to the course which they
      pursued. A boat was in waiting under the ship&rsquo;s quarter, manned with
      rowers and a party of the guards. They maintained a profound silence after
      hearing the prisoners drop from the opening, until having ascertained that
      no more would probably descend, they pursued the swimmers, whose course
      they could easily follow by the sparkling of the water,&mdash;an effect
      always produced by the agitation of the waves in a stormy night.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We were all profoundly silent in the Gun-room, after the departure of our
      companions, and in anxious suspense as to the issue of the adventure. In a
      few minutes we were startled by the report of a gun, which was instantly
      succeeded by a quick and scattering fire of musketry. In the darkness of
      the night, we could not see the unfortunate victims, but could distinctly
      hear their shrieks and cries for mercy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The noise of the firing had alarmed the prisoners generally, and the
      report of the attempted escape and its defeat ran like wildfire through
      the gloomy and crowded dungeons of the hulk, and produced much commotion
      among the whole body of prisoners. In a few moments, the gratings were
      raised, and the guards descended, bearing a naked and bleeding man, whom
      they placed in one of the bunks, and having left a piece of burning candle
      by his side, they again ascended to the deck, and secured the gratings.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Information of this circumstance soon reached the Gun-room; and myself,
      with several others of our number, succeeded in making our way through the
      crowd to the bunks. The wounded man was my friend, Lawrence. He was
      severely injured in many places, and one of his arms had been nearly
      severed from his body by the stroke of a cutlass. This, he said, was done
      in wanton barbarity, while he was crying for mercy, with his hand on the
      gunwale of the boat. He was too much exhausted to answer any of our
      questions; and uttered nothing further, except a single inquiry respecting
      the fate of Nelson, one of his fellow adventurers. This we could not
      answer. Indeed, what became of the rest we never knew. They were probably
      all murdered in the water. This was the first time that I had ever seen a
      light between decks. The piece of candle had been left by the side of the
      bunk, in order to produce an additional effect upon the prisoners. Many
      had been suddenly awakened from their slumbers, and had crowded round the
      bunk where the sufferer lay. The effect of the partial light upon his
      bleeding and naked limbs, and upon the pale and haggard countenances, and
      tattered garments of the wild and crowded groups by whom he was
      surrounded, was horrid beyond description. We could render the sufferer
      but little assistance, being only able to furnish him with a few articles
      of apparel, and to bind a handkerchief around his head. His body was
      completely covered, and his hair filled with clotted blood; we had not the
      means of washing the gore from his wounds during the night. We had seen
      many die, but to view this wretched man expire in that situation, where he
      had been placed beyond the reach of surgical aid, merely to strike us with
      terror, was dreadful.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The gratings were not removed at the usual hour in the morning, but we
      were all kept below until ten o&rsquo;clock. This mode of punishment had now
      become habitual with our keepers, and we were all frequently detained
      between decks until a late hour in the day, in revenge for the most
      trifling occasion. This cruelty never failed to produce the torments
      arising from heat and thirst, with all their attendant miseries.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The immediate purpose of our tyrants having been answered by leaving Mr.
      Lawrence below in that situation they promised in the morning that he
      should have the assistance of a surgeon, but that promise was not
      fulfilled. The prisoners rendered him every attention in their power, but
      in vain. Mortification soon commenced; he became delirious and died.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No inquiry was made by our keepers respecting his situation. They
      evidently left him thus to suffer, in order that the sight of his agonies
      might deter the rest of the prisoners from following his example.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We received not the least reprimand for this transaction. The aperture
      was again filled up with plank and made perfectly secure, and no similar
      attempt to escape was made,&mdash;at least so long as I remained on board.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was always in our power to knock down the guards and throw them
      overboard, but this would have been of no avail. If we had done so, and
      had effected our escape to Long Island, it would have been next to
      impossible for us to have proceeded any further among the number of troops
      there quartered. Of these there were several regiments, and among them the
      regiment of Refugees before mentioned, who were vigilant in the highest
      degree, and would have been delighted at the opportunity of apprehending
      and returning us to our dungeons.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There were, however, several instances of individuals making their
      escape. One in particular, I well recollect,&mdash;James Pitcher, one of
      the crew of the Chance, was placed on the sick list and conveyed to
      Blackwell&rsquo;s Island. He effected his escape from thence to Long Island;
      from whence, after having used the greatest precaution, he contrived to
      cross the Sound, and arrived safe at home. He is now one of the three
      survivors of the crew of the Chance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLI. &mdash; THE MEMORIAL TO GENERAL WASHINGTON
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  &ldquo;The body maddened by the spirit&rsquo;s pain;
  The wild, wild working of the breast and brain;
  The haggard eye, that, horror widened, sees
  Death take the start of hunger and disease.
  Here, such were seen and heard;&mdash;so close at hand,
  A cable&rsquo;s length had reached them from the land;
  Yet farther off than ocean ever bore;&mdash;
  Eternity between them and the shore!&rdquo;
   &mdash;W. Read.
</pre>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Notwithstanding the destroying pestilence which was now raging to a
      degree hitherto unknown on board, new companies of victims were
      continually arriving; so that, although the mortality was very great, our
      numbers were increasing daily. Thus situated, and seeing no prospect of
      our liberty by exchange, we began to despair, and to believe that our
      certain fate was rapidly approaching.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One expedient was at length proposed among us and adopted. We petitioned
      General Clinton, who was then in command of the British forces at New
      York, for leave to transmit a Memorial to General Washington, describing
      our deplorable situation, and requesting his interference in our behalf.
      We further desired that our Memorial might be examined by the British
      General, and, if approved by him, that it might be carried by one of our
      own number to General Washington. Our petition was laid before the British
      commander and was granted by the Commissary of Prisoners. We received
      permission to choose three from our number, to whom was promised a
      pass-port, with leave to proceed immediately on their embassy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our choice was accordingly made, and I had the satisfaction to find that
      two of those elected were from among the former officers of the Chance,
      Captain Aborn and our Surgeon, Mr. Joseph Bowen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Memorial was soon completed and signed in the name of all the
      prisoners, by a Committee appointed for that purpose. It contained an
      account of the extreme wretchedness of our condition, and stated that
      although we were sensible that the subject was one over which General
      Washington had no direct control, as it was not usual for soldiers to be
      exchanged for seamen, and his authority not extending to the Marine
      Department of the American service; yet still, although it might not be in
      his power to effect an exchange, we hoped he would be able to devise some
      means to lighten or relieve our sufferings.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our messengers were further charged with a verbal commission to General
      Washington, which, for obvious reasons, was not included in the written
      Memorial. They were directed to state, in a manner more circumstantial
      than we had dared to write, the peculiar horrors of our situation; to
      discover the miserable food and putrid water on which we were doomed to
      subsist; and finally to assure the General that in case he could effect
      our release, we would agree to enter the American service as soldiers, and
      remain during the war. Thus instructed our messengers departed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We waited in alternate hope and fear, the event of their mission. Most of
      our number, who were natives of the Eastern States, were strongly
      impressed with the idea that some means would be devised for our relief,
      after such a representation of our condition should be made. This class of
      the prisoners, indeed, felt most interested in the success of the
      application; for many of the sufferers appeared to give themselves but
      little trouble respecting it, and some among the foreigners did not
      commonly know that such an appeal had been made, or that it had even been
      in contemplation. The long endurance of their privations had rendered them
      almost indifferent to their fate, and they appeared to look forward to
      death as the only probable termination of their captivity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In a few days our messengers returned to New York, with a letter from
      General Washington, addressed to the Committee of Prisoners who had signed
      the Memorial. The prisoners were all summoned to the Spar-deck where this
      letter was read. Its purport was as follows:&mdash;That he had perused our
      communication, and had received, with due consideration, the account which
      our messengers had laid before him; that he viewed our situation with a
      high degree of interest, and that although our application, as we had
      stated, was made in relation to a subject over which he had no direct
      control, yet that it was his intention to lay our Memorial before
      Congress; and that, in the mean time, we might be assured that no
      exertions on his part should be spared which could tend to a mitigation of
      our sufferings.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He observed to our messengers, during their interview, that our long
      detention in confinement was owing to a combination of circumstances,
      against which it was very difficult, if not impossible, to provide. That,
      in the first place, but little exertion was made on the part of our
      countrymen to secure and detain their British prisoners for the sake of
      exchange, many of the British seamen being captured by privateers, on
      board which, he understood, it was a common practice for them to enter as
      seamen; and that when this was not the case, they were usually set at
      liberty as soon as the privateers arrived in port; as neither the owners,
      nor the town or State where they were landed, would be at the expense of
      their confinement and maintenance; and that the officers of the General
      Government only took charge of those seamen who were captured by the
      vessels in public service. All which circumstances combined to render the
      number of prisoners, at all times, by far too small for a regular and
      equal exchange.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;General Washington also transmitted to our Committee copies of letters
      which he had sent to General Clinton and to the Commissary of Prisoners,
      which were also read to us. He therein expressed an ardent desire that a
      general exchange of prisoners might be effected; and if this could not be
      accomplished, he wished that something might be done to lessen the weight
      of our sufferings, that, if it was absolutely necessary that we should be
      confined on the water, he desired that we might at least be removed to
      clean ships. He added if the Americans should be driven to the necessity
      of placing the British prisoners in situations similar to our own, similar
      effects must be the inevitable results; and that he therefore hoped they
      would afford us better treatment from motives of humanity. He concluded by
      saying, that as a correspondence on the subject had thus begun between
      them, he ardently wished it might eventually result in the liberation of
      the unfortunate men whose situation had called for its commencement.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our three messengers did not return on board as prisoners, but were all
      to remain on parole at Flatbush, on Long Island.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We soon found an improvement in our fare. The bread which we received was
      of a better quality, and we were furnished with butter, instead of rancid
      oil. An awning was provided, and a wind-sail furnished to conduct fresh
      air between the decks during the day. But of this we were always deprived
      at night, when we most needed it, as the gratings must always be fastened
      over the hatchway and I presume that our keepers were fearful if it was
      allowed to run, we might use it as a means of escape.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We were, however, obliged to submit to all our privations, consoling
      ourselves only with the faint hope that the favorable change in our
      situation, which we had observed for the last few days, might lead to
      something still more beneficial, although we saw little prospect of escape
      from the raging pestilence, except through the immediate interposition of
      divine Providence, or by a removal from the scene of contagion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <i>Note</i>. From the <i>New Jersey Gazette</i>, July 24th, 1782. &ldquo;New
      London. July 21st. We are informed that Sir Guy Carleton has visited all
      the prison ships at New York, minutely examined into the situation of the
      prisoners, and expressed his intention of having them better provided for.
      That they were to be landed on Blackwell&rsquo;s Island, in New York harbour, in
      the daytime, during the hot season.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLII. &mdash; THE EXCHANGE
    </h2>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Soon after Captain Aborn had been permitted to go to Long Island on his
      parole, he sent a message on board the Jersey, informing us that his
      parole had been extended so far as to allow him to return home, but that
      he should visit us previous to his departure. He requested our First
      Lieutenant, Mr. John Tillinghast, to provide a list of the names of those
      captured in the Chance who had died, and also a list of the survivors,
      noting where each survivor was then confined, whether on board the Jersey,
      or one of the Hospital ships.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He also requested that those of our number who wished to write to their
      friends at home, would have their letters ready for delivery to him,
      whenever he should come on board. The occupants of the Gun-room, and such
      of the other prisoners as could procure the necessary materials were,
      therefore, soon busily engaged in writing as particular descriptions of
      our situation as they thought it prudent to do, without the risk of the
      destruction of the letters; as we were always obliged to submit our
      writing for inspection previous to its being allowed to pass from the
      ship. We, however, afterwards regretted that on this occasion our
      descriptions were not more minute, as these letters were not examined.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The next day Captain Aborn came on board, accompanied by several other
      persons, who had also been liberated on parole; but they came no nearer to
      the prisoners than the head of the gangway-ladder, and passed through the
      door of the barricade to the Quarter-deck. This was perhaps a necessary
      precaution against the contagion, as they were more liable to be affected
      by it than if they had always remained on board; but we were much
      disappointed at not having an opportunity to speak to them. Our letters
      were delivered to Captain Aborn by our Lieutenant, through whom he sent us
      assurances of his determination to do everything in his power for our
      relief, and that if a sufficient number of British prisoners could be
      procured, every survivor of his vessel&rsquo;s crew should be exchanged; and if
      this could not be effected we might depend upon receiving clothing and
      such other necessary articles as could be sent for our use.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;About this time some of the sick were sent on shore on Blackwell&rsquo;s
      Island. This was considered a great indulgence. I endeavored to obtain
      leave to join them by feigning sickness, but did not succeed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The removal of the sick was a great relief to us, as the air was less
      foul between decks, and we had more room for motion. Some of the bunks
      were removed, and the sick were carried on shore as soon as their
      condition was known. Still, however, the pestilence did not abate on
      board, as the weather was extremely warm. In the daytime the heat was
      excessive, but at night it was intolerable.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But we lived on hope, knowing that, in all probability, our friends at
      home had ere then been apprised of our condition, and that some relief
      might perhaps be soon afforded us.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Such was our situation when, one day, a short time before sunset, we
      described a sloop approaching us, with a white flag at her mast-head, and
      knew, by that signal, that she was a Cartel, and from the direction in
      which she came supposed her to be from some of the Eastern States. She did
      not approach near enough to satisfy our curiosity, until we were ordered
      below for the night.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Long were the hours of the night to the survivors of our crew. Slight as
      was the foundation on which our hopes had been raised, we had clung to
      them as our last resource. No sooner were the gratings removed in the
      morning than we were all upon deck, gazing at the Cartel. Her deck was
      crowded with men, whom we supposed to be British prisoners. In a few
      moments they began to enter the Commissary&rsquo;s boats, and proceeded to New
      York.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the afternoon a boat from the Cartel came alongside the hulk, having
      on board the Commissary of Prisoners, and by his side sat our townsman,
      Captain William Corey, who came on board with the joyful information that
      the sloop was from Providence with English prisoners to be exchanged for
      the crew of the Chance. The number which she had brought was forty, being
      more than sufficient to redeem every survivor of our crew then on board
      the Jersey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I immediately began to prepare for my departure. Having placed the few
      articles of clothing which I possessed in a bag (for, by one of our
      By-laws, no prisoner, when liberated, could remove his chest) I proceeded
      to dispose of my other property on board, and after having made sundry
      small donations of less value, I concluded by giving my tin kettle to one
      of my friends, and to another the remnant of my cleft of firewood.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I then hurried to the upper deck, in order to be ready to answer to my
      name, well knowing that I should hear no second call, and that no delay
      would be allowed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Commissary and Captain Corey were standing together on the
      Quarter-deck; and as the list of names was read, our Lieutenant, Mr.
      Tillinghast, was directed to say whether the person called was one of the
      crew of the Chance. As soon as this assurance was given, the individual
      was ordered to pass down the Accommodation ladder into the boat.
      Cheerfully was the word &lsquo;Here!&rsquo; responded by each survivor as his name was
      called. My own turn at length came, and the Commissary pointed to the
      boat. I never moved with a lighter step, for that moment was the happiest
      of my life. In the excess and overflowing of my joy, I even forgot, for
      awhile, the detestable character of the Commissary himself, and even,
      Heaven forgive me! bestowed a bow upon him as I passed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We took our stations in the boat in silence. No congratulations were
      heard among us. Our feelings were too deep for utterance. For my own part,
      I could not refrain from bursting into tears of joy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Still there were moments when it seemed impossible that we were in
      reality without the limits of the Old Jersey. We dreaded the idea that
      some unforeseen event might still detain us; and shuddered with the
      apprehension that we might yet be returned to our dungeons.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When the Cartel arrived the surviving number of our crew on board the Old
      Jersey was but thirty-five. This fact being well known to Mr. Tillinghast,
      and finding that the Cartel had brought forty prisoners, he allowed five
      of our comrades in the Gun-room to answer to the names of the same number
      of our crew who had died; and having disguised them in the garb of common
      seamen, they passed unsuspected.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was nearly sunset when we had all arrived on board the Cartel. No
      sooner had the exchange been completed than the Commissary left us, with
      our prayers that we might never behold him more. I then cast my eyes
      towards the hulk, as the horizontal rays of the sunset glanced on her
      polluted sides, where, from the bend upwards, filth of every description
      had been permitted to accumulate for years; and the feeling of disgust
      which the sight occasioned was indescribable. The multitude on her
      Spar-deck and Fore-castle were in motion, and in the act of descending for
      the night; presenting the same appearance that met my sight when, nearly
      five months before, I had, at the same hour, approached her as a
      prisoner.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It appears that many other seamen on board the Jersey and the Hospital
      ships were exchanged as a good result of the Memorial addressed to General
      Washington. An issue of the <i>Royal Gazette</i> of New York, published on
      the 17th of July, 1782, contains the following statement:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The following is a Statement of the Navy Prisoners who have, within the
      last few days, been exchanged and brought to this city, viz:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;From Boston, 102 British Seamen. &ldquo;From Rhode Island, 40 British Seamen.
      &ldquo;From New London, Conn., 84 British Seamen. &ldquo;From Baltimore, Md, 23
      British Seamen. &ldquo;Total 249.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The exertions of those American Captains who published to the world in
      this <i>Gazette</i>, dated July 3rd, the real state and condition of their
      countrymen, prisoners here, and the true cause of their durance and
      sufferings, we are informed was greatly conducive to the bringing this
      exchange into a happy effect. We have only to lament that the endeavors of
      those who went, for the same laudable purpose, to Philadelphia, have not
      hitherto been so fortunate.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This was published before the release of Captain Dring and the crew of the
      Chance, and shows that they were not the only prisoners who were so happy
      as to be exchanged that summer. It is possible that the crew of the Chance
      is referred to in this extract from the <i>Pennsylvania Packet</i>,
      Philadelphia, Thursday, August 15th, 1782: &ldquo;Providence, July 27th. Sunday
      last a flag of truce returned here from New York, and brought 39
      prisoners.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLIII. &mdash; THE CARTEL&mdash;CAPTAIN DRING&rsquo;S NARRATIVE
      (CONTINUED)
    </h2>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On his arrival in Providence Captain Aborn had lost no time in making the
      details of our sufferings publicly known; and a feeling of deep
      commiseration was excited among our fellow citizens. Messrs. Clarke and
      Nightingale, the former owners of the Chance, in conjunction with other
      gentlemen, expressed their determination to spare no exertion or expense
      necessary to procure our liberty. It was found that forty British
      prisoners were at that time in Boston. These were immediately procured,
      and marched to Providence, where a sloop owned and commanded by a Captain
      Gladding of Bristol was chartered, to proceed with the prisoners forthwith
      to New York, that they might be exchanged for an equal number of our crew.
      Captain Corey was appointed as an Agent to effect the exchange, and to
      receive us from the Jersey; and having taken on board a supply of good
      provisions and water, he hastened to our relief. He received much
      assistance in effecting his object from our townsman, Mr. John Creed, at
      that time Deputy Commissary of Prisoners. I do not recollect the exact day
      of our deliverance, but think it was early in the month of October * * *
      We were obliged to pass near the shore of Blackwell&rsquo;s Island, where were
      several of our crew, who had been sent on shore among the sick. They had
      learned that the Cartel had arrived from Providence for the purpose of
      redeeming the crew of the Chance, and expected to be taken on board.
      Seeing us approaching they had, in order to cause no delay, prepared for
      their departure, and stood together on the shore, with their bundles in
      their hands; but, to their unutterable disappointment and dismay, they saw
      us pass by. We knew them and bitterly did we lament the necessity of
      leaving them behind. We could only wave our hands as we passed; but they
      could not return the salutation, and stood as if petrified with horror,
      like statues fixed immovably to the earth, until we had vanished from
      their sight.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have since seen and conversed with one of these unfortunate men, who
      afterwards made his escape. He informed me that their removal from the
      Jersey to the Island was productive of the most beneficial effects upon
      their health, and that they had been exulting at the improvement of their
      condition; but their terrible disappointment overwhelmed them with
      despair. They then considered their fate inevitable, believing that in a
      few days they must again be conveyed on board the hulk; there to undergo
      all the agonies of a second death. * * * Several of our crew were sick
      when we entered the Cartel, and the sudden change of air and diet caused
      some new cases of fever. One of our number, thus seized by the fever, was
      a young man named Bicknell of Barrington, R. I. He was unwell when we left
      the Jersey, and his symptoms indicated the approaching fever; and when we
      entered Narragansett Bay, he was apparently dying. Being informed that we
      were in the Bay he begged to be taken on deck, or at least to the
      hatchway, that he might look once more upon his native land. He said that
      he was sensible of his condition; that the hand of death was upon him; but
      that he was consoled by the thought that he should be decently interred,
      and be suffered to rest among his friends and kindred. I was astonished at
      the degree of resignation and composure with which he spoke. He pointed to
      his father&rsquo;s house, as we approached it, and said it contained all that
      was dear to him upon earth. He requested to be put on shore.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our Captain was intimately acquainted with the family of the sufferer;
      and as the wind was light we dropped our anchor, and complied with his
      request. He was placed in the boat, where I took a seat by his side; in
      order to support him; and, with two boys at the oars, we left the sloop.
      In a few minutes his strength began rapidly to fail. He laid his fainting
      head upon my shoulder, and said he was going to the shore to be buried
      with his ancestors; that this had long been his ardent desire, and that
      God had heard his prayers. No sooner had we touched the shore than one of
      the boys was sent to inform his family of the event. They hastened to the
      boat to receive their long lost son and brother, but we could only give
      them his yet warm and lifeless corpse.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      OUR ARRIVAL HOME
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After remaining a few moments with the friends of our deceased comrade we
      returned to the sloop and proceeded up the river. It was about eight
      o&rsquo;clock in the evening when we reached Providence. There were no
      quarantine regulations to detain us; but, as the yellow fever was raging
      among us, we took the precaution to anchor in the middle of the stream. It
      was a beautiful moonlit evening, and the intelligence of our arrival
      having spread through the town, the nearest wharf was in a short time
      crowded with people drawn together by curiosity, and a desire for
      information relative to the fate of their friends and connections.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Continual inquiries were made from the anxious crowd on the land
      respecting the condition of several different individuals on board. At
      length the information was given that some of our number were below, sick
      with the yellow fever. No sooner was this fact announced than the wharf
      was totally deserted, and in a few moments not a human being remained in
      sight. The Old Jersey fever as it was called, was well known throughout
      the whole country. All were acquainted with its terrible effects; and it
      was shunned as if its presence were certain destruction.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After the departure of the crowd, the sloop was brought alongside the
      wharf, and every one who could walk immediately sprang on shore. So great
      was the dread of the pestilence, and so squalid and emaciated were the
      figures which we presented, that those among us whose families did not
      reside in Providence found it almost impossible to gain admittance into
      any dwelling. There being at that time no hospital in or near the town,
      and no preparations having been made for the reception of the sick, they
      were abandoned for that night. They were, however, supplied in a few hours
      with many small articles necessary for their immediate comfort, by the
      humane people in the vicinity of the wharf. The friends of the sick who
      belonged in the vicinity of the town were immediately informed of our
      arrival, and in the course of the following day these were removed from
      the vessel. For the remainder of the sufferers ample provision was made
      through the generous exertions of Messrs. Clarke and Nightingale.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Solemn indeed are the reflections which crowd upon my mind as I review
      the events which are here recorded. Forty-two years have passed away since
      this remnant of our ill-fated crew were thus liberated from their wasting
      captivity. In that time what changes have taken place! Of their whole
      number but three are now alive. James Pitcher, Dr. Joseph Bowen, and
      myself, are the sole survivors. Of the officers I alone remain.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLIV. &mdash; CORRESPONDENCE OF WASHINGTON AND OTHERS
    </h2>
    <p>
      General Washington cannot with justice be blamed for any part of the
      sufferings inflicted upon the naval prisoners on board the prison ships.
      Although he had nothing whatever to do with the American Navy, or the
      crews of privateers captured by the British, yet he exerted himself in
      every way open to him to endeavor to obtain their exchange, or, at least,
      a mitigation of their sufferings, and this in spite of the immense weight
      of cares and anxieties that devolved upon him in his conduct of the war.
      Much of his correspondence on the subject of these unfortunate prisoners
      has been given to the world. We deem it necessary, in a work of this
      character, to reproduce some of it here, not only because this
      correspondence is his most perfect vindication from the charge of neglect
      that has been brought against him, but also because it has much to do with
      the proper understanding of this chronicle.
    </p>
    <p>
      One of the first of the letters from which we shall quote was written by
      Washington from his headquarters to Admiral Arbuthnot, then stationed at
      New York, on the 25th of January 1781.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir:
    </p>
    <p>
      Through a variety of channels, representations of too serious a nature to
      be disregarded have come to us, that the American naval prisoners in the
      harbor of New York are suffering all the extremity of distress, from a too
      crowded and in all respects disagreeable and unwholesome situation, on
      board the Prison-ships, and from the want of food and other necessaries.
      The picture given us of their sufferings is truly calamitous and
      deplorable. If just, it is the obvious interest of both parties, omitting
      the plea of humanity, that the causes should be without delay inquired
      into and removed; and if false, it is equally desirable that effectual
      measures should be taken to obviate misapprehensions. This can only be
      done by permitting an officer, of confidence on both sides, to visit the
      prisoners in their respective confinements, and to examine into their true
      condition. This will either at once satisfy you that by some abuse of
      trust in the persons immediately charged with the care of the prisoners,
      their treatment is really such as has been described to us and requires a
      change; or it will convince us that the clamors are ill-grounded. A
      disposition to aggravate the miseries of captivity is too illiberal to be
      imputed to any but those subordinate characters, who, in every service,
      are too often remiss and unprincipled. This reflection assures me that you
      will acquiesce in the mode proposed for ascertaining the truth and
      detecting delinquency on one side, or falsehood on the other. The
      discussions and asperities which have had too much place on the subject of
      prisoners are so irksome in themselves, and have had so many ill
      consequences, that it is infinitely to be wished that there may be no room
      given for reviving them. The mode I have suggested appears to me
      calculated to bring the present case to a fair, direct, and satisfactory
      issue. I am not sensible of any inconvenience it can be attended with, and
      I therefore hope for your concurrence.
    </p>
    <p>
      I should be glad, as soon as possible, to hear from you on the subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have the honor to be, etc., George Washington.
    </p>
    <p>
      To this letter, written in January, Admiral Arbuthnot did not reply until
      the latter part of April. He then wrote:
    </p>
    <p>
      Royal Oak Office April 2lst. 1781.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir:
    </p>
    <p>
      If I had not been very busy when I received your letter dated the 25 of
      Jan. last, complaining of the treatment of the naval prisoners at this
      place, I certainly should have answered it before this time; and,
      notwithstanding that I then thought, as I now do, that my own testimony
      would have been sufficient to put the truth past a doubt, I ordered the
      strictest scrutiny to be made into the condition of all parties concerned
      in the victualling and treatment of those unfortunate people. Their
      several testimonies you must have seen, and I give you my honor that the
      transaction was conducted with such strict care and impartiality that you
      may rely on its validity.
    </p>
    <p>
      Permit me now, Sir, to request that you will take the proper steps to
      cause Mr. Bradford, your Commissary, and the Jailor at Philadelphia, to
      abate the inhumanity which they exercise indiscriminately upon all people
      who are so unfortunate as to be carried into that place.
    </p>
    <p>
      I will not trouble you, Sir, with a catalogue of grievances, further than
      to request that the unfortunate may feel as little of the severities of
      war as the circumstances of the time will permit, that in future they may
      not be fed in winter with salted clams, and that they may be afforded a
      sufficiency of fuel.
    </p>
    <p>
      I am, Sir, your most obdt and hble srvt M. Arbuthnot.
    </p>
    <p>
      Probably the American prisoners would have been glad to eat salted clams,
      rather than diseased pork, and, as has been shown, they were sometimes
      frozen to death on board the prison ships, where no fire except for
      cooking purposes seems ever to have been allowed.
    </p>
    <p>
      In August, 1781, a committee appointed by Congress to examine into the
      condition of naval prisoners reported among other things as follows: &ldquo;The
      Committee consisting of Mr. Boudinot, Mr. Sharpe, Mr. Clymer, appointed to
      take into consideration the state of the American prisoners in the power
      of the enemy report:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That they have collected together and cursorily looked into various
      evidences of the treatment our unhappy fellow-citizens, prisoners with the
      enemy, have heretofore and do still meet with, and find the subject of so
      important and serious a nature as to demand much greater attention, and
      fuller consideration than the present distant situation of those confined
      on board the Prison-ships at New York will now admit of, wherefor they beg
      leave to make a partial representation, and desire leave to sit again. * *
      *&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      PART OF THE REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A very large number of marine prisoners and citizens of these United
      States taken by the enemy, are now closely confined on board Prison-ships
      in the harbor of New York.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That the said Prison-ships are so unequal in size to the number of
      prisoners, as not to admit of a possibility of preserving life in this
      warm season of the year, they being crowded together in such a manner as
      to be in danger of suffocation, as well as exposed to every kind of
      putrid, pestilential disorder:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That no circumstances of the enemy&rsquo;s particular situation can justify
      this outrage on humanity, it being contrary to the usage and customs of
      civilizations, thus deliberately to murder their captives in cold blood,
      as the enemy will not assert that Prison-ships, equal to the number of
      prisoners, cannot be obtained so as to afford room sufficient for the
      necessary purposes of life:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That the enemy do daily improve these distresses to enlist and compel
      many of our citizens to enter on board their ships of war, and thus to
      fight against their fellow citizens, and dearest connections.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That the said Marine prisoners, until they can be exchanged should be
      supplied with such necessaries of clothing and provisions as can be
      obtained to mitigate their present sufferings.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That, therefor, the Commander-in-chief be and he is hereby instructed to
      remonstrate to the proper officer within the enemy&rsquo;s lines, on the said
      unjustifiable treatment of our Marine prisoners, and demand, in the most
      express terms, to know the reasons of this unnecessary severity towards
      them; and that the Commander-in-chief transmit such answer as may be
      received thereon to Congress, that decided measures for due retaliation
      may be adopted, if a redress of these evils be not immediately given.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That the Commander-in-chief be and he is hereby also instructed to direct
      to supply the said prisoners with such provisions and light clothing for
      their present more comfortable subsistence as may be in his power to
      obtain, and in such manner as he may judge most advantageous for the
      United States.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Accordingly Washington wrote to the officer then commanding at New York,
      Commodore Affleck, as follows:
    </p>
    <p>
      Headquarters, August 21 1781
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir:
    </p>
    <p>
      The almost daily complaints of the severities exercised towards the
      American marine prisoners in New York have induced the Hon. the Congress
      of the United States to direct me to remonstrate to the commanding officer
      of his British Majesty&rsquo;s ships of war in the harbor upon the subject; and
      to report to them his answer. The principal complaint now is, the
      inadequacy of the room in the Prison-ships to the number of prisoners,
      confined on board of them, which causes the death of many, and is the
      occasion of most intolerable inconvenience and distresses to those who
      survive. This line of conduct is the more aggravating, as the want of a
      greater number of Prison-ships, or of sufficient room on shore, can hardly
      be pleaded in excuse.
    </p>
    <p>
      As a bare denial of what has been asserted by so many individuals who have
      unfortunately experienced the miseries I have mentioned, will not be
      satisfactory, I have to propose that our Commissary-general of prisoners,
      or any other officer, who shall be agreed upon, shall have liberty to
      visit the ships, inspect the situation of the prisoners, and make a
      report, from an exact survey of the situation in which they may be found,
      whether, in his opinion, there has been any just cause of complaint.
    </p>
    <p>
      I shall be glad to be favored with an answer as soon as convenient.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have the honor to be yr most obdt srvt George Washington
    </p>
    <p>
      AFFLECK&rsquo;S REPLY
    </p>
    <p>
      New York 30 August 1781
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir:
    </p>
    <p>
      I intend not either to deny or to assert, for it will neither facilitate
      business, nor alleviate distress. The subject of your letter seems to turn
      on two points, namely the inconvenience and distresses which the American
      prisoners suffer from the inadequacy of room in the Prison-ships, which
      occasions the death of many of them, as you are told; and that a
      Commissary-general of prisoners from you should have liberty to visit the
      ships, inspect the situation of the prisoners, and make a report from an
      actual survey. I take leave to assure you that I feel for the distresses
      of mankind as much as any man; and since my commission to the naval
      command of the department, one of my principal endeavors has been to
      regulate the Prison and hospital ships.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Government having made no other provision for naval prisoners than
      shipping, it is impossible that the greater inconvenience which people
      confined on board ships experience beyond those confined on shore can be
      avoided, and a sudden accumulation of people often aggravates the evil.
    </p>
    <p>
      But I assure you that every attention is shown that is possible, and that
      the Prison-ships are under the very same Regulations here that have been
      constantly observed towards the prisoners of all nations in Europe. Tables
      of diet are publicly affixed; officers visit every week, redress and
      report grievances, and the numbers are thinned as they can provide
      shipping, and no attention has been wanting.
    </p>
    <p>
      The latter point cannot be admitted to its full extent; but if you think
      fit to send an officer of character to the lines for that purpose, he will
      be conducted to me, and he shall be accompanied by an officer, and become
      a witness to the manner in which we treat the prisoners, and I shall
      expect to have my officer visit the prisoners detained in your jails and
      dungeons in like manner, as well as in the mines, where I am informed many
      an unhappy victim languishes out his days. I must remark, had Congress
      ever been inclined, they might have contributed to relieve the distress of
      those whom we are under the necessity of holding as prisoners, by sending
      in all in their possession towards the payment of the large debt they owe
      us on that head, which might have been an inducement towards liberating
      many now in captivity. I have the honor to be, Sir, with due respect, etc,
    </p>
    <p>
      Edmund Affleck
    </p>
    <p>
      Much correspondence passed between the English and American Commissaries
      of Prisoners, as well as between Washington and the commanding officer at
      New York on the subject of the naval prisoners, but little good seems to
      have been effected thereby until late in the war, when negotiations for
      peace had almost progressed to a finish. We have seen that, in the summer
      of 1782, the hard conditions on board the prison ships were in some
      measure mitigated, and that the sick were sent to Blackwell&rsquo;s Island,
      where they had a chance for life. We might go on presenting much more of
      the correspondence on both sides, and detail all the squabbles about the
      number of prisoners exchanged; their treatment while in prison; and other
      subjects of dispute, but the conclusion of the whole matter was eloquently
      written in the sands of the Wallabout, where the corpses of thousands of
      victims to British cruelty lay for so many years. We will therefore give
      only a few further extracts from the correspondence and reports on the
      subject, as so much of it was tedious and barren of any good result.
    </p>
    <p>
      In December of the year 1781 Washington, on whom the duty devolved of
      writing so many of the letters, and receiving so many insulting replies,
      wrote to the President of Congress as follows:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have taken the liberty of enclosing the copies of two letters from the
      Commissary-general of Prisoners setting forth the debt which is due from
      us on account of naval prisoners; the number remaining in captivity, their
      miserable situation, and the little probability there is of procuring
      their release for the want of proper subjects in our hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Before we proceed into an inquiry into the measures that ought to be
      adopted to enable us to pay our debt, and to affect the exchange of those
      who still remain in captivity, a matter which it may take some time to
      determine, humanity and policy point out the necessity of administering to
      the pressing wants of a number of the most valuable subjects of the
      republic.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Had they been taken in the Continental service, I should have thought
      myself authorized in conjunction with the Minister of War to apply a
      remedy, but as the greater part of them were not thus taken, as appears by
      Mr. Skinner&rsquo;s representation, I must await the decision of Congress upon
      the subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Had a system, some time ago planned by Congress and recommended to the
      several States, been adopted and carried fully into execution, I mean that
      of obliging all Captains of private vessels to deliver over their
      prisoners to the Continental Commissioners upon certain conditions, I am
      persuaded that the numbers taken and brought into the many ports of the
      United States would have amounted to a sufficiency to have exchanged those
      taken from us; but instead of that, it is to be feared, that few in
      proportion were secured, and that the few who are sent in, are so
      partially applied, that it creates great disgust in those remaining. The
      consequence of which is, that conceiving themselves neglected, and seeing
      no prospect of relief, many of them entered into the enemy&rsquo;s service, to
      the very great loss of our trading interest. Congress will, therefore, I
      hope, see the necessity of renewing their former, or making some similar
      recommendation to the States.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In addition to the motives above mentioned, for wishing that the whole
      business of prisoners of war might be brought under one general
      regulation, there is another of no small consideration, which is, that it
      would probably put a stop to those mutual complaints of ill treatment
      which are frequently urged on each part. For it is a fact that, for above
      two years, we have had no occasion to complain of the treatment of the
      Continental land prisoners in New York, neither have we been charged with
      any improper conduct towards those in our hands. I consider the sufferings
      of the seamen, for some time past, as arising in great measure from the
      want of that general regulation which has been spoken of, and without
      which there will constantly be a great number remaining in the hands of
      the enemy. * * *&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Again in February of the year 1782 Washington wrote to Congress from
      Philadelphia as follows:
    </p>
    <p>
      Feb. 18, 1782.
    </p>
    <p>
      * * * &ldquo;Mr. Sproat&rsquo;s proposition of the exchange of British soldiers for
      American seamen, if acceded to, will immediately give the enemy a very
      considerable re-enforcement, and will be a constant draft hereafter upon
      the prisoners of war in our hands. It ought also to be considered that few
      or none of the Continental naval prisoners in New York or elsewhere belong
      to the Continental service. I, however, feel for the situation of these
      unfortunate people, and wish to see them relieved by any mode, which will
      not materially affect the public good. In some former letters upon this
      subject I have mentioned a plan, by which I am certain they might be
      liberated nearly as fast as they are captured. It is by obliging the
      Captains of all armed vessels, both public and private, to throw their
      prisoners into common stock, under the direction of the Commissary-general
      of prisoners. By this means they would be taken care of, and regularly
      applied to the exchange of those in the hands of the enemy. Now the
      greater part are dissipated, and the few that remain are applied
      partially. * * *&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      James Rivington edited a paper in New York during the Revolution, and, in
      1782, the American prisoners on board the Jersey addressed a letter to him
      for publication, which is given below.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On Board the Prison-ship Jersey, June 11, 1782.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir:
    </p>
    <p>
      Enclosed are five letters, which if you will give a place in your
      newspaper will greatly oblige a number of poor prisoners who seem to be
      deserted by our own countrymen, who has it in their power, and will not
      exchange us. In behalf of the whole we beg leave to subscribe ourselves,
      Sir, yr much obliged srvts,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;John Cooper &ldquo;John Sheffield &ldquo;William Chad &ldquo;Richard Eccleston &ldquo;John Baas&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      ENCLOSURES OF THE FOREGOING LETTER
    </p>
    <p>
      David Sproat, Commissary of Prisoners, to the prisoners on board the
      Jersey, New York.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;June 11 1782
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This will be handed you by Captain Daniel Aborn, and Dr, Joseph Bowen,
      who, agreeable to your petition to his Excellency, Rear-Admiral Digby,
      have been permitted to go out, and are now returned from General
      Washington&rsquo;s Head-quarters, where they delivered your petition to him,
      representing your disagreeable situation at this extreme hot season of the
      year, and in your names solicited his Excellency to grant your speedy
      relief, by exchanging you for a part of the British <i>soldiers</i> in his
      hands, the only possible means in his power to effect it. Mr. Aborn and
      the Doctor waits on you with his answer, which I am sorry to say is a flat
      denial.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Enclosed I send you copies of three letters which have passed between Mr.
      Skinner and me, on the occasion, which will convince you that everything
      has been done on the part of Admiral Digby, to bring about a fair and
      general exchange of prisoners on both sides. I am
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;your most hble Srvt, &ldquo;David Sproat &ldquo;Comm. Gen. for Naval Prisoners.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      ENCLOSURES SENT BY D. SPROAT
    </p>
    <p>
      David Sproat to Abraham Skinner, American Commissary of Prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      New York lst June 1782
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When I last saw you at Elizabeth Town I mentioned the bad consequences
      which, in all probability, would take place in the hot weather if an
      exchange of prisoners was not agreed to by the commissioners on the part
      of General Washington. His Excellency Rear-Admiral Digby has ordered me to
      inform you, that the very great increase of prisoners and heat of the
      weather now baffles all our care and attention to keep them healthy. Five
      ships have been taken up for their reception, to prevent being crowded,
      and a great number permitted to go on parole.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In Winter, and during the cold weather, they lived comfortably, being
      fully supplied with warm cloathing, blankets, etc, purchased with the
      money which I collected from the charitable people of this city; but now
      the weather requires a fresh supply&mdash;something light and suitable for
      the season&mdash;for which you will be pleased to make the necessary
      provision, as it is impossible for them to be healthy in the rags they now
      wear, without a single shift of cloathing to keep themselves clean.
      Humanity, sympathy, my duty and orders obliges me to trouble you again on
      this disagreeable subject, to request you will lose no time in laying
      their situation before his Excellency General Washington, who, I hope,
      will listen to the cries of a distressed people, and grant them, (as well
      as the British prisoners in his hands) relief, by consenting to a general
      and immediate exchange.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am, sir, etc, &ldquo;David Sproat.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It is scarcely necessary to point out to the intelligent reader the
      inconsistencies in this letter. The comfortable prisoners, abundantly
      supplied with blankets and clothing in the winter by the charity of the
      citizens of New York, were so inconsiderate as to go on starving and
      freezing to death throughout that season. Not only so, but their abundant
      supply of clothing was reduced to tattered rags in a surprisingly short
      time, and they were unable to be healthy, &ldquo;without a single shift of
      clothing to keep themselves clean.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      We have already seen to what straits they were in reality reduced, in
      spite of the private charity of the citizens of New York. We do not doubt
      that the few blankets and other new clothing, if any such were ever sent
      on board the Jersey, were the gifts of private charity, and not the
      donation of the British Government.
    </p>
    <p>
      No one, we believe, can blame General Washington for his unwillingness to
      add to the British forces arrayed against his country by exchanging the
      captured troops in the hands of the Americans for the crews of American
      privateers, who were not in the Continental service. As we have already
      seen, the blame does not rest with that great commander, whose compassion
      never blinded his judgment, but with the captains and owners of American
      privateers themselves, and often with the towns of New England, who were
      unwilling to burden themselves with prisoners taken on the ocean.
    </p>
    <p>
      The next letter we will quote is the answer of Commissary Skinner to David
      Sproat:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New York June 9th. 1782
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir:
    </p>
    <p>
      From the present situation of the American naval prisoners on board your
      prison-ships, I am induced to propose to you the exchange of as many as I
      can give you British naval prisoners for, leaving the balance already due
      you to be paid when in our power. I could wish this to be represented to
      his Excellency, Rear Admiral Digby, and that the proposal could be acceded
      to, as it would relieve many of these distrest men and be consistent with
      the humane purposes of our office.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will admit that we are unable at present to give you seaman for seaman,
      and thereby relieve the prison-ships of their dreadful burthen, but it
      ought to be remembered there is a large balance of British soldiers due to
      the United States, since February last, and that as we have it in our
      power we may be disposed to place the British soldiers who are now in our
      possession in as disagreeable a situation as those men are on board the
      prison ships.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am yr obdt hble srvt &ldquo;Abraham Skinner&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      COMMISSARY SPROAT&rsquo;S REPLY
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New York June 9th 1782
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have received your letter of this date and laid it before his
      Excellency Rear Admiral Digby, Commander in charge, etc, who has directed
      me to give for answer that the balance of prisoners, owing to the British
      having proceeded, from lenity and humanity, on the part of himself and
      those who commanded before his arrival, is surprized you have not been
      induced to offer to exchange them first; and until this is done can&rsquo;t
      consent to your proposal of a partial exchange, leaving the remainder as
      well as the British prisoners in your hands, to linger in confinement.
      Conscious of the American prisoners under my direction, being in every
      respect taken as good care of as their situation and ours will admit. You
      must not believe that Admiral Digby will depart from the justice of this
      measure because you have it in your power to make the British prisoners
      with you more miserable than there is any necessity for. I am, Sir,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;yr hble servt &ldquo;David Sproat.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The prisoners on board the Jersey published in the <i>Royal Gazette</i>
      the following
    </p>
    <p>
      ADDRESS TO THEIR COUNTRYMEN
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Prison Ship Jersey, June 11th 1782
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Friends and Fellow Citizens of America:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You may bid a final adieu to all your friends and relatives who are now
      on board the Jersey prison ships at New York, unless you rouse the
      government to comply with the just and honorable proposals, which has
      already been done on the part of Britons, but alas! it is with pain we
      inform you, that our petition to his Excellency General Washington,
      offering our services to the country during the present campaign, if he
      would send soldiers in exchange for us, is frankly denied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is to be done? Are we to lie here and share the fate of our unhappy
      brothers who are dying daily? No, unless you relieve us immediately, we
      shall be under the necessity of leaving our country, in preservation of
      our lives.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Signed in behalf of prisoners
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;John Cooper &ldquo;John Sheffield &ldquo;William Chad &ldquo;Richard Eccleston &ldquo;George
      Wanton &ldquo;John Baas.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To Mr James Rivington, Printer N. Y.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This address was reproduced in Hugh Gaines&rsquo;s <i>New York Gazette</i>, June
      17, 1782.
    </p>
    <p>
      Whether the John Cooper who signed his name to this address is the Mr.
      Cooper mentioned by Dring as the orator of the Jersey we do not know, but
      it is not improbable. Nine Coopers are included in the list, given in the
      appendix to this volume, of prisoners on the Jersey, but no John Cooper is
      among them. The list is exceedingly imperfect. Of the other signers of the
      address only two, George Wanton and John Sheffield, can be found within
      its pages. It is very certain that it is incomplete, and it probably does
      not contain more than half the names of the prisoners who suffered on
      board that dreadful place. David Sproat won the hatred and contempt of all
      the American prisoners who had anything to do with him. One of his most
      dastardly acts was the paper which he drew up in June, 1782, and submitted
      to a number of American sea captains for their signature, which he
      obtained from them by threats of taking away their parole in case of their
      refusal, and sending them back to a captivity worse than death. This
      paper, <i>which they signed without reading</i> was to the following
      effect:
    </p>
    <p>
      LETTER PURPORTING TO BE FROM A COMMITTEE OF CAPTAINS, NAVAL PRISONERS OF
      WAR TO J. RIVINGTON, WITH A REPRESENTATION OF A COMMITTEE ON THE CONDITION
      OF THE PRISONERS ON BOARD THE JERSEY
    </p>
    <p>
      New York, June 22, 1782.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir:
    </p>
    <p>
      We beg you will be pleased to give the inclosed Report and Resolve of a
      number of Masters of American Vessels, a place in your next Newspaper, for
      the information of the public. In order to undeceive numbers of our
      countrymen without the British lines, who have not had an opportunity of
      seeing the state and situation of the prisoners of New York as we have
      done. We are, Sir,
    </p>
    <p>
      yr most obdt, hble srvts,
    </p>
    <p>
      Robert Harris, Captain of the sloop Industry John Chace Charles Collins,
      Captain of the Sword-fish Philemon Haskell Jonathan Carnes
    </p>
    <p>
      REPORT
    </p>
    <p>
      We whose names are hereunto subscribed, late Masters of American vessels,
      which have been captured by the British cruisers and brought into this
      port, having obtained the enlargement of our paroles from Admiral Digby,
      to return to our respective homes, being anxious before our departure to
      know the true state and situation of the prisoners confined on board the
      prison ships and hospital ships for that purpose, have requested and
      appointed six of our number, viz, R. Harris, J. Chace, Ch. Collins, P.
      Haskell, J. Carnes and Christopher Smith, to go on board the said prison
      ships for that purpose and the said six officers aforesaid having gone on
      board five of the vessels, attended by Mr. D. Sproat, Com. Gen. for Naval
      Prisoners, and Mr. George Rutherford, Surgeon to the hospital ships, do
      report to us that they have found them in as comfortable a situation as it
      is possible for prisoners to be on board of ships at this season of the
      year, and much more so than they had any idea of, and that anything said
      to the contrary is false and without foundation. That they inspected their
      beef, pork, flour, bread, oatmeal, pease, butter, liquors, and indeed
      every species of provisions which is issued on board his British Majesty&rsquo;s
      ships of war, and found them all good of their kind, which survey being
      made before the prisoners, they acknowledged the same and declared they
      had no complaint to make but the want of cloaths and a speedy exchange. We
      therefore from this report and what we have all seen and known, <i>Do
      Declare</i> that great commendation is due to his Excellency Rear Admiral
      Digby, for his humane disposition and indulgence to his prisoners, and
      also to those he entrusts the care of them to; viz: To the Captain and
      officers of his Majesty&rsquo;s prison-ship Jersey, for their attention in
      preserving good order, having the ship kept clean and awnings spread over
      <i>the whole</i> of her, fore and aft: To Dr Rutherford, and the Gentlemen
      acting under him * * *, for their constant care and attendance on the
      sick, whom we found in wholesome, clean sheets, also covered with awnings,
      fore and aft, every man furnished with a cradle, bed, and sheets, made of
      good Russia linen, to lay in; the best of fresh provisions, vegetables,
      wine, rice, barley, etc, which was served out to them. And we further do
      declare in justice to Mr. Sproat, and the gentlemen acting under him in
      his department, that they conscientiously do their duty with great
      humanity and indulgence to the prisoners, and reputation to themselves;
      And we unanimously do agree that nothing is wanting to preserve the lives
      and health of those unfortunate prisoners but clean cloaths and a speedy
      exchange, which testimony we freely give without restriction and covenant
      each with the other to endeavor to effect their exchange as soon as
      possible:
    </p>
    <p>
      For the remembrance of this our engagement we have furnished ourselves
      with copies of this instrument of writing. Given under our hands in New
      York the 22 of June, 1782.
    </p>
    <p>
      Signed:
    </p>
    <p>
      Robert Harris John Chace Charles Collins Philemon Haskell ]. Carnes
      Christopher Smith James Gaston John Tanner Daniel Aborn Richard Mumford
      Robert Clifton John McKeever Dr. J. Bowen.
    </p>
    <p>
      The publication of this infamously false circular roused much indignation
      among patriotic Americans, and no one believed it a trustworthy statement.
      The <i>Independent Chronicle</i>, in its issue for August, 1782, had the
      following refutation: [Footnote: This letter is said to have been written
      by Captain Manly, <i>five times</i> a prisoner during the Revolution.]
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr Printer:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Happening to be at Mr. Bracket&rsquo;s tavern last Saturday, and hearing two
      gentlemen conversing on the surprising alteration in regard to the
      treatment our prisoners met with in New York, and as I have had the
      misfortune to be more than once a prisoner in England, and in different
      prison-ships in New York, and having suffered everything but death, I
      cannot help giving all attention to anything I hear or read relative to
      the treatment our brave countrymen met with on board the prison-ships of
      New York. One of the gentlemen observed that the treatment of our
      prisoners must certainly be much better, as so many of our commanders had
      signed a paper that was wrote by Mr. David Sproat, the commissary of naval
      prisoners in New York. The other gentleman answered and told him he could
      satisfy him in regard to the matter, having seen and conversed with
      several of the Captains that signed Mr. Sproat&rsquo;s paper, who told him that,
      although they had put their names to the paper that Mr. Sproat sent them
      on Long Island, where they were upon parole, yet it was upon these
      conditions they did it: in order to have leave to go home to their wives
      and families, and not be sent on board the prison-ships, as Mr. Sproat had
      threatened to do if they refused to sign the paper that he sent them.
      These captains further said, that they did not read the paper nor hear it
      read. The gentleman then asked them how they could sign their names to a
      paper they did not read; they said it was because they might go home upon
      parole. He asked one of them why he did not contradict it since it had
      appeared in the public papers, and was false: he said he dare not at
      present, for fear of being recalled and sent on board the prison-ship, and
      there end his days: but as soon as he was exchanged he would do it. If
      this gentleman, through fear, dare not contradict such a piece of
      falsehood, I dare, and if I was again confined on board the prison-ship in
      New York, dare again take the boat and make my escape, although at the
      risk of my life.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Some of the captains went on board the prison-ship with Mr. Sproat, a few
      moments, but did not go off the deck.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In justice to myself and country I am obliged to publish the above.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Captain Rover.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Besides this refutation of Sproat&rsquo;s shameful trick there were many others.
      The <i>Pennsylvania Packet</i> of Tuesday, Sept. 10, 1782, published an
      affidavit of John Kitts, a former prisoner on board the Jersey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The voluntary affidavit of John Kitts, of the city of Phila., late mate
      of the sloop Industry, commanded by Robert Harris, taken before the
      subscriber, chief justice of the commonwealth of Pa., the 16th day of
      July, 1782.&mdash;This deponent saith, that in the month of November last
      he was walking in Front St. with the said Harris and saw in his hand a
      paper, which he told the deponent that he had received from a certain
      Captain Kuhn, who had been lately from New York, where he had been a
      prisoner, and that this deponent understood and believed it was a
      permission or pass to go to New York with any vessel, as it was blank and
      subscribed by Admiral Arbuthnot: that he does not know that the said
      Robert Harris ever made any improper use of said paper.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      AFFIDAVIT OF JOHN COCHRAN, DENYING THE TRUTH OF THE STATEMENTS CONTAINED
      IN THE REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE OF CAPTAINS
    </p>
    <p>
      From the <i>Pennsylvania Packet</i>, Phila., Tuesday, Sept. 10, 1782.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The voluntary Affidavit of John Cochran, of the city of Phila., late mate
      of the ship, Admiral Youtman, of Phila., taken before the subscriber, the
      16 day of July, 1782.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The said deponent saith, that he was taken prisoner on board the
      aforesaid ship on the 12 of March last by the ship Garland, belonging to
      the king of Great Britain, and carried into the city of New York, on the
      15 of the same month, when he was immediately put on board the prison-ship
      Jersey, with the whole crew of the Admiral Youtman, and was close confined
      there until the first day of this month, when he made his escape; that the
      people on board the said prison-ship were very sickly insomuch that he is
      firmly persuaded, out of near 1000 persons, perfectly healthy when put on
      board the same ship, during the time of his confinement on board, there
      are not more than but three or four hundred now alive; that when he made
      his escape there were not three hundred men well on board, but upward of
      140 very sick, as he understood and was informed by the physicians: that
      there were five or six men buried daily under a bank on the shore, without
      coffins; that all the larboard side of the said ship was made use of as a
      hospital for the sick, and was so offensive that he was obliged constantly
      to hold his nose as he passed from the gun-room up the hatchway; that he
      seen maggots creeping out of a wound of one Sullivan&rsquo;s shoulder, who was
      the mate of a vessel out of Virginia; and that his wound remained
      undressed for several days together; that every man was put into the hold
      a little after sundown every night, and the hatches put over him; and that
      the tubs which were kept for the use of the sick * * * were placed under
      the ladder from the hatchway to the hold, and so offensive day and night,
      that they were almost intolerable, and increased the number of the sick
      daily. The deponent further saith, that the bilge water was very injurious
      in the hold, was muddy and dirty, and never was changed or sweetened
      during the whole time he was there, nor, as he was informed and believes
      to be true, for many years before; for fear, as it was reported, the
      provisions might be injured thereby; that the sick in the hospital part of
      the said ship Jersey, had no sheets of Russia, or any other linen, nor
      beds nor bedding furnished them; and those who had no beds of their own,
      of whom there were great numbers, were not even allowed a hammock, but
      were obliged to lie on the planks; that he was on board the said prison
      ship when Captain Robert Harris and others, with David Sproat, the
      commissary of prisoners, came on board her, and that none of them went or
      attempted to go below decks, in said ship, to see the situation of the
      prisoners, nor did they ask a single question respecting the matter, to
      this deponent&rsquo;s knowledge or belief; for that he was present the whole
      time they were on board, and further the deponent saith not.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;John Cochran&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Theodore McKean C. J.
    </p>
    <p>
      It seems singular that Sproat should have resorted to such a contemptible
      trick, which deceived few if any persons, for the reputation of the Jersey
      was too notorious for such a refutation to carry weight on either side.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the meantime the mortality on board continued, and, by a moderate
      computation, two-thirds of her wretched occupants died and were buried on
      the shore, their places being taken by fresh victims, from the many
      privateers that were captured by the British almost daily.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLV. &mdash; GENERAL WASHINGTON AND REAR ADMIRAL DIGBY&mdash;COMMISSARIES
      SPROAT AND
    </h2>
    <p>
      SKINNER
    </p>
    <p>
      Washington&rsquo;s best vindication against the charge of undue neglect of
      American prisoners is found in the correspondence on the subject. We will
      therefore give his letter to Rear Admiral Digby, after his interview with
      the committee of three sent from the Jersey to complain of their treatment
      by the British, and to endeavor to negotiate an exchange.
    </p>
    <p>
      GENERAL WASHINGTON TO REAR ADMIRAL DIGBY
    </p>
    <p>
      Head-Quarters, June 5 1782
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir:
    </p>
    <p>
      By a parole, granted to two gentlemen, Messrs. Aborn and Bowen, I perceive
      that your Excellency granted them permission to come to me with a
      representation of the sufferings of the American prisoners at New York. As
      I have no agency on Naval matters, this application to me is made on
      mistaken grounds. But curiosity leading me to enquire into the nature and
      cause of their sufferings, I am informed that the prime complaint is that
      of their being crowded, especially at this season, in great numbers on
      board of foul and infected prison ships, where disease and death are
      almost inevitable. This circumstance I am persuaded needs only to be
      mentioned to your Excellency to obtain that redress which is in your power
      <i>only</i> to afford, and which humanity so strongly prompts.
    </p>
    <p>
      If the fortune of war, Sir, has thrown a number of these miserable people
      into your hands, I am certain your Excellency&rsquo;s feelings for fellowmen
      must induce you to proportion the ships (if they <i>must</i> be confined
      on board ships), to their accommodation and comfort, and not, by crowding
      them together in a few, bring on disorders which consign them, by half a
      dozen a day, to the grave.
    </p>
    <p>
      The soldiers of his British Majesty, prisoners with us, were they (which
      might be the case), to be equally crowded together in close and confined
      prisons, at this season, would be exposed to equal loss and misery. I have
      the honor to be, Sir
    </p>
    <p>
      Yr Excellency&rsquo;s most obt Hble srvt George Washington
    </p>
    <p>
      REAR-ADMIRAL DIGBY&rsquo;S ANSWER
    </p>
    <p>
      N. Y. June 8 1782
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir:
    </p>
    <p>
      My feelings prompted me to grant Messrs. Aborn and Bowen permission to
      wait on your Excellency to represent their miserable situation, and if
      your Excellency&rsquo;s feelings on this occasion are like mine, you will not
      hesitate one moment in relieving both the British and Americans suffering
      under confinement.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have the Honor to be your Excellency&rsquo;s Very obdt Srvt
    </p>
    <p>
      R. Digby
    </p>
    <p>
      FROM COMMISSARY SKINNER TO COMMISSARY SPROAT
    </p>
    <p>
      Camp Highlands, June 24th 1782
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir:
    </p>
    <p>
      As I perceive by a New York paper of the 12 inst, the last letters which
      passed between us on the subject of naval prisoners have been committed to
      print, I must request the same to be done with this which is intended to
      contain some animadversions on those publications.
    </p>
    <p>
      The principles and policy which appear to actuate your superiors in their
      conduct towards the American seamen who unfortunately fall into their
      power, are too apparent to admit of a doubt or misapprehension. I am sorry
      to observe, Sir, that notwithstanding the affectation of candour and
      fairness on your part, from the universal tenor of behaviour on your side
      of the lines, it is obvious that the designs of the British is, by
      misrepresenting the state of facts with regard to exchanges, to excite
      jealousy in the minds of our unfortunate seamen, that they are neglected
      by their countrymen, and by attempting to make them believe that all the
      miseries they are now suffering in consequence of a pestilential sickness
      arise from want of inclination in General Washington to exchange them when
      he has it in his power to do it; in hopes of being able by this
      insinuation and by the unrelenting severity you make use of in confining
      them in the contaminated holds of prison-ships, to compel them, in order
      to avoid the dreadful alternative of almost inevitable death, to enter the
      service of the King of Great Britain.
    </p>
    <p>
      To show that these observations are just and well grounded, I think it
      necessary to inform you of some facts which have happened within my
      immediate notice, and to put you in mind of others which you cannot deny.
      I was myself present at the time when Captain Aborn and Dr. Bowen * * *
      waited on his Excellency General Washington, and know perfectly well the
      answer his Excellency gave to that application: he informed them in the
      first place that he was not directly or indirectly invested with any power
      of inference respecting the exchange of naval prisoners; that this
      business was formerly under the direction of the Board of Admiralty, that
      upon the annihilation of that Board Congress had committed it to the
      Financier (who has in charge all our naval prisoners) and he to the
      Secretary at war. That (the General) was notwithstanding disposed to do
      everything in his power for their assistance and relief: that as
      exchanging seamen for soldiers was contrary to the original agreement for
      the exchange of prisoners,&mdash;which specified that officers should be
      exchanged for officers, soldiers for soldiers, citizens for citizens, and
      seamen for seamen; as it was contrary to the custom and practice of other
      nations, and as it would be, in his opinion, contrary to the soundest
      policy, by giving the enemy a great and permanent strength for which we
      could receive no compensation, or at best but a partial and temporary one,
      he did not think it would be admissible: but as it appeared to him, from a
      variety of well authenticated information, the present misery and
      mortality which prevailed among the naval prisoners were almost entirely,
      if not altogether produced by the <i>mode of their confinement</i>, being
      closely crowded together in infected prison-ships, where the very air is
      pregnant with disease, and the ships themselves (never having been cleaned
      in the course of many years), a mere mass of putrefaction, he would
      therefor, from motives of humanity, write to Rear-Admiral Digby, in whose
      power it was to remedy this great evil, by confining them on shore, or
      having a sufficient number of prison-ships provided for that purpose, for,
      he observed, it was as preposterously cruel to confine 800 men, at this
      sultry season, on board the Jersey prison-ship, as it would be to shut up
      the whole army of Lord Cornwallis to perish in the New Goal of
      Philadelphia, but if more commodious and healthy accommodations were not
      afforded we had the means of retaliation in our hands, which he should not
      hesitate, in that case, to make use of, by confining the land prisoners
      with as much severity as our seamen were held.&mdash;The Gentlemen of the
      Committee appeared to be sensible of the force of these reasons, however
      repugnant they might be to the feelings and wishes of the men who had
      destruction and death staring them in the face.
    </p>
    <p>
      His Excellency was further pleased to suffer me to go to New York to
      examine into the grounds of the suffering of the prisoners, and to devise,
      if possible, some way or another, for their liberation or relief. With
      this permission I went into your lines: and in consequence of the
      authority I had been previously invested with, from the Secretary at War,
      I made the proposition contained in my letter of the ninth instant.
      Although I could not claim this as a matter of right I flattered myself it
      would have been granted from the principles of humanity, as well as other
      motives. There had been a balance of 495 land prisoners due to us ever
      since the month of February last, when a settlement was made; besides
      which, to the best of my belief, 400 have been sent in, (this is the true
      state of the fact, though it differs widely from the account of 250 men,
      which is falsely stated in the note annexed to my letter in the New York
      paper:) notwithstanding this balance, I was then about sending into your
      lines a number of land prisoners, as an equivalent for ours, who were then
      confined in the Sugar House, without which (though the debt was
      acknowledged, I could not make interest to have them liberated), this
      business has since been actually negotiated, and we glory in having our
      conduct, such as will bear the strictest scrutiny, and be found consonant
      to the dictates of reason, liberality, and justice. But, Sir, since you
      would not agree to the proposals I made, since I was refused being
      permitted to visit the prison-ships: (for which I conclude no other reason
      can be produced than your being ashamed or afraid of having those graves
      of our seamen seen by one who dared to represent the horrors of them to
      his countrymen,) Since the commissioners from your side, at their late
      meeting, would not enter into an adjustment of the accounts for supplying
      your naval and land prisoners, on which there are large sums due us; and
      since your superiors will neither make provision for the support of your
      prisoners in our hands, nor accommodation for the mere existence of ours,
      who are now languishing in your prison-ships, it becomes my duty, Sir, to
      state these pointed facts to you, that the imputations may recoil where
      they are deserved, and to report to those, under whose authority I have
      the honor to act, that such measures as they deem proper may be adopted.
    </p>
    <p>
      And now, Sir, I will conclude this long letter with observing that not
      having a sufficient number of British seamen in our possession we are not
      able to release urs by exchange:&mdash;this is our misfortune, but it is
      not a crime, and ought not to operate as a mortal punishment against the
      unfortunate&mdash;we ask no favour, we claim nothing but common justice
      and humanity, while we assert to the whole world, as a notorious fact,
      that the unprecedented inhumanity in the <i>mode</i> of confining our
      naval prisoners, to the amount of 800 in one old hulk, which has been made
      use of as a prison-ship for more than three years, without ever having
      been once purified, has been the real and sole cause of the deaths of
      hundreds of brave Americans, who would not have perished in that untimely
      and barbarous manner, had they, (when prisoners,) been suffered to breathe
      a purer air, and to enjoy more liberal and convenient accommodations
      agreeably to the practice of civilized nations when at war, (and) the
      example which has always been set you by the Americans. You may say, and I
      shall admit, that if they were placed on islands, and more liberty given
      them, that some might desert; but is not this the case with your prisoners
      in our hands? And could we not avoid this also, if we were to adopt the
      same rigid and inhuman mode of confinement you do?
    </p>
    <p>
      I beg, Sir, you will be pleased to consider this as addressed to you
      officially, as the principal executive officer in the department of naval
      prisoners, and not personally, and that you will attribute any uncommon
      warmth of style that I may have been led into to my feeling and animation
      on a subject with which I find myself so much interested, both from the
      principles of humanity and the duties of office. I am, Sir,
    </p>
    <p>
      yr most obdt Srvt Abraham Skinner
    </p>
    <p>
      Letters full of recriminations continued to pass between the commissaries
      on both sides. In Sproat&rsquo;s reply to the letter we have just quoted, he
      enclosed a copy of the paper which he had induced the thirteen sea
      captains and other officers to sign, obtained as we have seen, in such a
      dastardly manner.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the meantime the naval prisoners continued to die in great numbers on
      board the prison and hospital-ships. We have already described the
      cleansing of the Jersey, on which occasion the prisoners were sent on
      board of other vessels and exposed to cold and damp in addition to their
      other sufferings. And while negotiations for peace were pending some
      relaxation in severity appears to have taken place.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLVI. &mdash; SOME OF THE PRISONERS ON BOARD THE JERSEY
    </h2>
    <p>
      We have seen that the crew of the Chance was exchanged in the fall of
      1782. A few of the men who composed this crew were ill at the time that
      the exchange was affected, and had been sent to Blackwell&rsquo;s Island. Among
      these unfortunate sufferers was the sailing-master of the Chance, whose
      name was Sylvester Rhodes.
    </p>
    <p>
      This gentleman was born at Warwick, R. I., November 21, 1745. He married
      Mary Aborn, youngest sister of Captain Daniel Aborn, and entered the
      service of his country, in the early part of the war, sometimes on land,
      and sometimes as a seaman. He was with Commodore Whipple on his first
      cruise, and as prize-master carried into Boston the first prize captured
      by that officer. He also served in a Rhode Island regiment.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the crew of the Jersey was exchanged and he was not among the number,
      his brother-in-law, Captain Aborn, endeavored to obtain his release, but,
      as he had been an officer in the army as well as on the privateer, the
      British refused to release him as a seaman. His father, however, through
      the influence of some prominent Tories with whom he was connected, finally
      secured his parole, and Captain Aborn went to New York to bring him home.
      But it was too late. He had become greatly enfeebled by disease, and died
      on board the cartel, while on her passage through the Sound, on the 3rd of
      November, 1782, leaving a widow and five children. Mary Aborn Rhodes lived
      to be 98, dying in 1852, one of the last survivors of the stirring times
      of the Revolution.
    </p>
    <p>
      WILLIAM DROWNE
    </p>
    <p>
      One of the most adventurous of American seamen was William Drowne, who was
      taken prisoner more than once. He was born in Providence, R. I., in April
      1755. After many adventures he sailed on the 18th of May, 1780, in the
      General Washington, owned by Mr. John Brown of Providence. In a Journal
      kept by Mr. Drowne on board of this ship, he writes:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The cruise is for two months and a half, though should New York fetch us
      up again, the time may be protracted, but it is not in the bargain to pay
      that potent city a visit <i>this bout</i>. It may easily be imagined what
      a <i>sensible mortification</i> it must be to dispense with the delicious
      sweets of a Prison-ship. But though the Washington is deemed a prime
      sailor, and is well armed, I will not be too sanguine in the prospect of
      escape, as &lsquo;the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the
      strong.&rsquo; But, as I said before, it is not in the articles to go there this
      time, especially as it is said the prisoners are very much crowded there
      already, and it would be a piece of unfeeling inhumanity to be adding to
      their unavoidable inconvenience by our presence. Nor could we, in such a
      case, by any means expect that Madam Fortune would deign to smile so
      propitiously as she did before, in the promotion of an exchange so much
      sooner than our most sanguine expectations flattered us with, as &lsquo;tis said
      to be with no small difficulty that a parole can be obtained, much more an
      exchange.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This cruise resulted in the capture by the Washington of several vessels,
      among them the Robust, Lord Sandwich, Barrington, and the Spitfire, a
      British privateer.
    </p>
    <p>
      In May, 1781, Mr. Drowne sailed on board the Belisarius, commanded by
      Captain James Munro, which vessel was captured on the 26th of July and
      brought into the port of New York. Browne and the other officers were sent
      to the Jersey, where close confinement and all the horrors of the place
      soon impaired his vigorous constitution. Although he was, through the
      influence of his friends, allowed to visit Newport on parole in November,
      1781, he was returned to the prison ship, and was not released until some
      time in 1783. His brother, who was a physician, nursed him faithfully, but
      he died on the 9th of August, 1786. Letters written on board the Jersey
      have a melancholy interest to the student of history, and this one,
      written by William Drowne to a Mrs. Johnston, of New York, is taken from
      the appendix to the &ldquo;Recollections of Captain Dring.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Jersey Prison Ship Sep. 25 1781
    </p>
    <p>
      Madam:
    </p>
    <p>
      Your letter to Captain Joshua Sawyer of the 23d Inst, came on board this
      moment, which I being requested to answer, take the freedom to do, and
      with sensible regret, as it announces the dissolution of the good man. It
      was an event very unexpected. Tis true he had been for some days very ill,
      but a turn in his favor cancel&rsquo;d all further apprehension of his being
      dangerous, and but yesterday he was able without assistance to go upon
      deck; said he felt much better, and without any further Complaints, at the
      usual time turned into his Hammock, and as was supposed went to sleep.
      Judge of our Surprise and Astonishment this morning at being informed of
      his being found a lifeless Corpse.
    </p>
    <p>
      Could anything nourishing or comfortable have been procured for him during
      his illness, &lsquo;tis possible He might now have been a well man. But Heaven
      thought proper to take him to itself, and we must not repine.
    </p>
    <p>
      A Coffin would have been procured in case it could be done seasonably, but
      his situation render&rsquo;d a speedy Interment unavoidable. Agreeably to which
      10 or 12 Gentlemen of his acquaintance presented a petition to the
      Commanding Officer on board, requesting the favor that they might be
      permitted, under the Inspection of a file of Soldiers, to pay the last sad
      duties to a Gentleman of merit; which he humanely granted, and in the
      Afternoon his remains were taken on shore, and committed to their native
      dust in as decent a manner as our situation would admit. Myself, in room
      of a better, officiated in the sacred office of a Chaplain and read
      prayers over the Corpse previous to its final close in its gloomy mansion.
      I have given you these particulars, Madam, as I was sensible it must give
      you great satisfaction to hear he had some friends on board. Your
      benevolent and good intentions to him shall, (if Heaven permits my return)
      be safely delivered to his afflicted wife, to give her the sensible
      Consolation that her late much esteemed and affectionate Husband was not
      destitute of a Friend, who had wish&rsquo;d to do him all the good offices in
      his power, had not the hand of fate prevented.
    </p>
    <p>
      If you wish to know anything relative to myself&mdash;if you will give
      Yourself the trouble to call on Mrs. James Selhrig, she will inform You,
      or Jos. Aplin, Esqre.
    </p>
    <p>
      You will please to excuse the Liberty I have taken being an entire
      stranger. I have no Views in it but those of giving, as I said before,
      satisfaction to one who took a friendly part towards a Gentleman
      decease&rsquo;d, whom I very much esteemed. Your goodness will not look with a
      critical eye over the numerous Imperfections of this Epistle.
    </p>
    <p>
      I am, Madam, with every sentiment of respect
    </p>
    <p>
      yr most Obdt Servt
    </p>
    <p>
      Wm. Drowne
    </p>
    <p>
      The next letter we will give was written by Dr. Solomon Drowne to his
      sister Sally. This gentleman was making every effort to obtain his
      brother&rsquo;s release from captivity.
    </p>
    <p>
      Providence, Oct. 17 1781
    </p>
    <p>
      Dear Sally:
    </p>
    <p>
      We have not forgot you;&mdash;but if we think strongly on other objects
      the memory of you returns, more grateful than the airs which fan the
      Summer, or all the golden products of ye Autumn. The Cartel is still
      detained, for what reason is not fully known. Perhaps they meditate an
      attack upon some unguarded, unsuspecting quarter, and already in idea glut
      their eyes, with the smoke of burning Towns and Villages, and are soothed
      by the sounds of deep distress. Forbid it Guardian of America!&mdash;and
      rather let the reason be their fear that we should know the state of their
      shattered Navy and declining affairs&mdash;However, Bill is yet a
      Prisoner, and still must feel, if not for himself, yet what a mind like
      his will ever feel for others. In a letter I received from him about three
      weeks since he mentioned that having a letter to Mr. George Deblois, he
      sent it, accompanied with one he wrote requesting his influence towards
      effecting his return the next Flag,&mdash;that Mr. Deblois being
      indisposed, his cousin Captain William Deblois, taken by Monro last year,
      came on board to see him, with a present from Mr. Deblois of some Tea,
      Sugar, Wine, Rum, etc, and the offer of any other Civilities that lay in
      the power of either:&mdash;This was beneficence and true Urbanity,&mdash;that
      he was not destitute of Cash, that best friend in Adversity, except some
      other best friends,&mdash;that as long as he had health, he should, he had
      like to have said, be happy. In a word he bears up with his wonted
      fortitude and good spirits, as we say, nor discovers the least repining at
      his fate. But you and I who sleep on beds of down and inhale the
      untainted, cherishing air, surrounded by most endeared connexions, know
      that his cannot be the most delectable of situations: therefor with
      impatience we look for his happy return to the Circle of his Friends.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yr aff Bro.
    </p>
    <p>
      Solomon Drowne
    </p>
    <p>
      DR. S. DROWNE TO MRS. MARCY DROWNE
    </p>
    <p>
      Newport Nov. 14 1781
    </p>
    <p>
      Respected Mother,
    </p>
    <p>
      I found Billy much better than I expected, the account we received of his
      situation having been considerably exaggerated: However we ought to be
      thankful we were not deceived by a too favorable account, and so left him
      to the care of strangers, when he might most need the soothing aid of
      close relatives. He is very weak yet, and as a second relapse might
      endanger his reduced, tottering system, think it advisable not to set off
      for home with him till the wind is favorable. He is impatient, for the
      moment of its shifting, as he is anxious to see you all.
    </p>
    <p>
      The boat is just going, Adieu, yr aff son
    </p>
    <p>
      Solomon Drowne
    </p>
    <p>
      We have already quoted from the Recollections of Jeremiah Johnson who
      lived on the banks of Wallabout Bay during the Revolution. He further
      says: &ldquo;The prisoners confined in the Jersey had secretly obtained a
      crow-bar which was kept concealed in the berth of some confidential
      officer among the prisoners. The bar was used to break off the <i>port</i>
      gratings. This was done, in windy nights, when good swimmers were ready to
      leave the ship for the land. In this way a number escaped.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Captain Doughty, a friend of the writer, had charge of the bar when he
      was a prisoner on board of the Jersey, and effected his escape by its
      means. When he left the ship he gave the bar to a confidant to be used for
      the relief of others. Very few who left the ship were retaken. They knew
      where to find friends to conceal them, and to help them beyond pursuit.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A singularly daring and successful escape was effected from the Jersey
      about 4 o&rsquo;clock one afternoon in the beginning of Dec. 1780. The best boat
      of the ship had returned from New York between 3 &amp; 4 o&rsquo;clock, and was
      left fast at the gangway, with the oars on board. The afternoon was
      stormy, the wind blew from the north-east, and the tide ran flood. A
      watchword was given, and a number of prisoners placed themselves
      carelessly between the ship&rsquo;s waist and the sentinel. At this juncture
      four Eastern Captains got on board the boat, which was cast off by their
      friends. The boat passed close under the bows of the ship, and was a
      considerable distance from her before the sentinel in the fo&rsquo;castle gave
      the alarm, and fired at her. The second boat was manned for a chase; she
      pursued in vain; one man from her bow fired several shots at the boat, and
      a few guns were fired at her from the Bushwick shore; but all to no
      effect,&mdash;and the boat passed Hell-gate in the evening, and arrived
      safe in Connecticut next morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A spring of the writer was a favorite watering-place for the British
      shipping. The water-boat of the Jersey watered from this spring daily when
      it could be done; four prisoners were generally brought on shore to fill
      the casks, attended by a guard. The prisoners were frequently permitted to
      come to the (Johnstons&rsquo;) house to get milk and food; and often brought
      letters privately from the prisoners. From these the sufferings on board
      were revealed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Supplies of vegetables were frequently collected by Mr. Remsen (the
      benevolent owner of the mill,) for the prisoners; and small sums of money
      were sent on board by the writer&rsquo;s father to his friends by means of these
      watering parties.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      AN ESCAPE FROM THE JERSEY
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was one of 850 souls confined in the Jersey in the summer of 1781, and
      witnessed several daring attempts to escape. They generally ended
      tragically. They were always undertaken in the night, after wrenching or
      filing the bar off the port-holes. Having been on board several weeks, and
      goaded to death in various ways, four of us concluded to run the hazard.
      We set to work and got the bars off, and waited impatiently for a dark
      night. We lay in front of Mr. Remsen&rsquo;s door, inside of the pier head and
      not more that 20 yards distant. There were several guard sloops, one on
      our bow, and the other off our quarter a short distance from us. The dark
      night came, the first two were lowered quietly into the water; and the
      third made some rumbling. I was the fourth that descended, but had not
      struck off from the vessel before the guards were alarmed, and fired upon
      us. The alarm became general, and I was immediately hauled on board (by
      the other prisoners).
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They manned their boats, and with their lights and implements of death
      were quick in pursuit of the unfortunates, cursing and swearing, and
      bellowing and firing. It was awful to witness this deed of blood. It
      lasted about an hour,&mdash;all on board trembling for our shipmates.
      These desperadoes returned to their different vessels rejoicing that they
      had killed three damned rebels.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;About three years after this I saw a gentleman in John St., near Nassau,
      who accosted me thus: &lsquo;Manley, how do you do?&rsquo; I could not recollect him.
      &lsquo;Is it possible you don&rsquo;t know me? Recollect the Old Jersey?&rsquo; And he
      opened his vest and bared his breast. I immediately said to him&mdash;&lsquo;You
      are James McClain.&rsquo; &lsquo;I am,&rsquo; said he. We both stepped into Mariner&rsquo;s public
      house, at the corner, and he related his marvellous escape to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;They pursued me:&mdash;I frequently dived to avoid them, and when I came
      up they fired on me. I caught my breath, and immediately dived again, and
      held my breath till I crawled along the mud. They no doubt thought they
      killed me. I however, with much exertion, though weak and wounded, made
      out to reach the shore, and got into a barn, not far from the ship, a
      little north of Mr. Remsen&rsquo;s house. The farmer, the next morning, came
      into his barn,&mdash;saw me lying on the floor, and ran out in a fright. I
      begged him to come to me, and he did, I gave an account of myself, where I
      was from, how I was pursued, with several others. He saw my wounds, took
      pity on me; sent for his wife, and bound up my wounds, and kept me in the
      barn until night-fall,&mdash;took me into his house, nursed me secretly,
      and then furnished me with clothing, etc., and when I was restored, he
      took me with him, into his market-boat to this city, and went with me to
      the west part of the city, provided me with a passage over to Bergen, and
      I landed somewhere in Communipaw. Some friends helped me across Newark
      Bay, and then I worked my way, until I reached Baltimore, to the great joy
      of all my friends.&rdquo; [Footnote: &ldquo;Recollections of Captain Manley&rdquo;.]
    </p>
    <p>
      Just what proportion of captives died on board of the Jersey it is now
      impossible to determine. No doubt there were many escapes of which it is
      impossible to obtain the particulars. The winter of 1779-80 was
      excessively cold, and the Wallabout Bay was frozen over. One night a
      number of prisoners took advantage of this to make their escape by
      lowering themselves from a port hole on to the ice. It is recorded that
      the cold was so excessive that one man was frozen to death, that the
      British pursued the party and brought a few of them back, but that a
      number succeeded in making their escape to New Jersey. Who these men were
      we have been unable to discover. Tradition also states that while
      Wallabout Bay was thus frozen over the Long Island market women skated
      across it, with supplies of vegetables in large hampers attached to their
      backs, and that some of them came near enough to throw some of their
      supplies to the half-famished prisoners on board the Jersey.
    </p>
    <p>
      It would appear that these poor sufferers had warm friends in the farmers
      who lived on the shores of the Wallabout. Of these Mr. A. Remsen, who
      owned a mill at the mouth of a creek which empties into the Bay, was one
      of the most benevolent, and it was his daughter who is said to have kept a
      list of the number of bodies that were interred in the sand in the
      neighborhood of the mill and house. In 1780 Mr Remsen hid an escaped
      prisoner, Major H. Wyckoff, for several days in one of his upper rooms,
      while at the same time the young lieutenant of the guard of the Jersey was
      quartered in the house. Remsen also lent Captain Wyckoff as much money as
      he needed, and finally, one dark night, safely conveyed him in a sleigh to
      Cow Neck. From thence he crossed to Poughkeepsie.
    </p>
    <p>
      Although little mention is made by those prisoners who have left accounts
      of their experiences while on board the Jersey, of any aid received by
      them from the American government the following passage from a Connecticut
      paper would seem to indicate that such aid was tendered them at least for
      a time. It is possible that Congress sent some provisions to the
      prison-ships for her imprisoned soldiers, or marines, but made no
      provision for the crews of privateers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New London. September 1st. 1779. D. Stanton testifies that he was taken
      June 5th, and put in the Jersey prison ship. An allowance from Congress
      was sent on board. About three or four weeks past we were removed on board
      the Good Hope, where we found many sick. There is now a hospital ship
      provided, to which they are removed and good attention paid.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The next extract that we will quote probably refers to the escape of
      prisoners on the ice referred to above.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New London. Conn. Feb. 16th. 1780. Fifteen prisoners arrived here who
      three weeks ago escaped from the prison-ship in the East River. A number
      of others escaped about the same time from the same ship, some of whom
      being frost-bitten and unable to endure the cold, were taken up and
      carried back, one frozen to death before he reached the shore.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;<i>Rivington&rsquo;s Gazette</i>, Dec. 19th 1780. George Batterman, who had
      been a prisoner on board the prison ship at New York, deposes that he had
      had eight ounces of condemned bread per day; and eight ounces of meat. He
      was afterwards put on board the Jersey, where were, as was supposed, 1,100
      prisoners; recruiting officers came on board and finding that the American
      officers persuaded the men not to enlist, removed them, as he was told, to
      the Provost. The prisoners were tempted to enlist to free themselves from
      confinement, hopeless of exchange. * * * The prisoners had a pint of water
      per day:&mdash;the sick were not sent to the hospitals until they were so
      weak and ill that they often expired before they got out of the Jersey.
      The commanding officer said his orders were that if the ship took fire we
      should all be turned below, and left to perish in the flames. By accident
      the ship took fire in the steward&rsquo;s room, when the Hessian guards were
      ordered to drive the prisoners below, and fire among them if they resisted
      or got in the water.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Talbot in his Memoirs stated that: &ldquo;When the weather became cool and dry
      in the fall and the nights frosty the number of deaths on board the Jersey
      was <i>reduced</i> to an average of ten per day! which was <i>small</i>
      compared with the mortality for three months before. The human bones and
      skulls yet bleaching on the shore of Long Island, and exposed by the
      falling down of the high bank, on which the prisoners were buried, is a
      shocking sight.&rdquo; (Talbot, page 106.)
    </p>
    <p>
      In May, 1808, one William Burke of New York testified that &ldquo;He was a
      prisoner in the Jersey 14 months, has known many American prisoners put to
      death by the bayonet. It was the custom for but one prisoner at a time to
      go on deck. One night while many prisoners were assembled at the grate, at
      the hatchway to obtain fresh air, and waiting their turn to go on deck, a
      sentinel thrust his bayonet down among them, and 25 next morning were
      found to be dead. This was the case several mornings, when sometimes six,
      and sometimes eight or ten were found dead by wounds thus received.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A Connecticut paper, some time in May, 1781, stated that. &ldquo;Eleven hundred
      French and American prisoners died in New York last winter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A paper published in Philadelphia, on the 20th of February, 1782, says:
      &ldquo;Many of our unfortunate prisoners on board the prison ships in the East
      River have perished during the late extreme weather, for want of fuel and
      other necessaries.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;New London. May 3rd. 1782. One thousand of our seamen remain in prison
      ships in New York, a great part in close confinement for six months past,
      and in a most deplorable condition. Five hundred have died during the past
      five or six months, three hundred are sick; many seeing no prospect of
      release are entering the British service to elude the contagion with which
      the prison ships are fraught.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Joel Barlow in his Columbiad says that Mr. Elias Boudinot told him that in
      the Jersey 1,100 prisoners died in eighteen months, almost the whole of
      them from the barbarous treatment of being stifled in a crowded hold with
      infected air; and poisoned with unwholesome food, and Mr Barlow adds that
      the cruelties exercised by the British armies on American prisoners during
      the first years of the war were unexampled among civilized nations.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_CONC" id="link2H_CONC"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CONCLUSION
    </h2>
    <p>
      Such of the prisoners as escaped after months of suffering with health
      sufficient for future usefulness in the field often re-enlisted, burning
      for revenge.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Scharf, in his &ldquo;History of Western Maryland,&rdquo; speaks of Colonel
      William Kunkel, who had served in Prussia, and emigrated to America about
      the year 1732. He first settled in Lancaster, Pa., but afterwards moved to
      Western Maryland. He had six sons in the Revolution. One of these sons
      entered the American army at the age of eighteen. Taken prisoner he was
      sent on board the Jersey, where his sufferings were terrible. On his
      return home after his exchange he vowed to his father that he would return
      to the army and fight until the last redcoat was driven out of the
      country. He did return, and from that time, says Mr Scharf, his family
      never heard from him again.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Crimmins in his &ldquo;Irish-American Historical Miscellany,&rdquo; says: &ldquo;An
      especially affecting incident is told regarding one prisoner who died on
      the Jersey. Two young men, brothers, belonging to a rifle corps were made
      prisoners, and sent on board the ship. The elder took the fever, and in a
      few days became delirious. One night as his end was fast approaching, he
      became calm and sensible, and lamenting his hard fate, and the absence of
      his mother, begged for a little water. His brother with tears, entreated
      the guard to give him some, but in vain. The sick youth was soon in his
      last struggles, when his brother offered the guard a guinea for an inch of
      candle, only that he might see him die. Even this was denied.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The young rifleman died in the dark.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; said his brother, drying his tears, &ldquo;if it please God that I ever
      regain my liberty, I&rsquo;ll be a most bitter enemy!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He was exchanged, rejoined the army, and when the war ended he is said to
      have had eight large and one hundred and twenty-seven small notches on his
      rifle stock. The inference is that he made a notch every time he killed or
      wounded a British soldier, a large notch for an officer, and a small one
      for a private.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Lecky, the English historian, thus speaks of American prisoners: &ldquo;The
      American prisoners who had been confined in New York after the battle of
      Long Island were so emaciated and broken down by scandalous neglect or ill
      usage that Washington refused to receive them in exchange for an equal
      number of healthy British and Hessian troops. * * * It is but justice to
      the Americans to add that their conduct during the war appears to have
      been almost uniformly humane. No charges of neglect of prisoners, like
      those which were brought, apparently with too good reason, against the
      English, were substantiated against them. The conduct of Washington was
      marked by a careful and steady humanity, and Franklin, also, appears to
      have done much to mitigate the war.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Our task is now concluded. We have concerned ourselves with the prisoners
      themselves, not much with the history of the negotiations carried on to
      effect exchange, but have left this part of the subject to some abler
      hand. Only a very small part of the story has been told in this volume,
      and there is much room for future investigations. It is highly probable
      that if a systematic search is made many unpublished accounts may be
      discovered, and a great deal of light shed upon the horrors of the British
      prisons. If we have awakened interest in the sad fate of so many of our
      brave countrymen, and aroused some readers to a feeling of compassion for
      their misfortunes, and admiration for their heroism, our task has not been
      in vain.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_APPE" id="link2H_APPE"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      APPENDIX A
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_LIST" id="link2H_LIST"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      LIST OF 8000 MEN WHO WERE PRISONERS ON BOARD THE OLD JERSEY
    </h2>
    <p>
      PRINTED BY PERMISSION OF THE SOCIETY OF OLD BROOKLYNITES
    </p>
    <p>
      This list of names was copied from the papers of the British War
      Department. There is nothing to indicate what became of any of these
      prisoners, whether they died, escaped, or were exchanged. The list seems
      to have been carelessly kept, and is full of obvious mistakes in spelling
      the names. Yet it shall be given just as it is, except that the names are
      arranged differently, for easier reference. This list of prisoners is the
      only one that could be found in the British War Department. What became of
      the lists of prisoners on the many other prison ships, and prisons, used
      by the English in America, we do not know.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Garret Aarons
     John Aarons (2)
     Alexander Abbett
     John Abbett
     James Abben
     John Abbott
     Daniel Abbott
     Abel Abel
     George Abel
     Jacob Aberry
     Jabez Abett
     Philip Abing
     Thomas Abington
     Christopher Abois
     William Aboms
     Daniel Abrams
     Don Meegl (Miguel) Abusure
     Gansio Acito
     Abel Adams
     Amos Adams
     Benjamin Adams
     David Adams
     Isaac Adams
     John Adams (4)
     Lawrence Adams
     Moses Adams
     Nathaniel Adams
     Pisco Adams
     Richard Adams
     Stephen Adams
     Thomas Adams
     Warren Adams
     Amos Addams
     Thomas Addett
     Benjamin Addison
     David Addon
     John Adlott
     Robert Admistad
     Noah Administer
     Wm Adamson (2)
     John Adobon
     James Adovie
     Sebastian de Aedora
     Jean Aenbie
     Michael Aessinis
     Frances Affille
     Joseph Antonio Aguirra
     Thomas Aguynoble
     John Aires
     Robert Aitken
     Thomas Aiz
     Manuel Ajote
     Jacob Akins
     Joseph Aker (2)
     Richard Akerson
     Charles Albert
     Piere Albert
     Robert Albion
     Joachin Alconan
     Joseph de Alcorta
     Juan Ignacid Alcorta
     Pedro Aldaronda
     Humphrey Alden
     Fred Aldkin
     George Aldridge
     Jacob Alehipike
     Jean Aleslure
     Archibald Alexander
     John Alexander (2)
     Lehle Alexander
     William Alexander
     Thomas Alger
     Christopher Aliet
     Joseph Aliev
     George Alignott
     Joseph Allah
     Gideon Allan
     Hugh Allan
     Francis Allegree
     Baeknel Allen
     Bancke Allen
     Benjamin Allen
     Bucknell Allen
     Ebeneser Allen
     George Allen
     Gideon Allen
     Isaac Allen
     John Allen (5)
     Josiah Allen
     Murgo Allen
     Richard Allen (2)
     Samuel Allen (7)
     Squire Allen
     Thomas Allen (3)
     William Allen (4)
     Jean Allin
     Caleb Allis
     Bradby Allison
     Bradey Allison
     James Allison
     Frances Alment
     Arrohan Almon
     Aceth Almond
     William Alpin
     Jacob Alsfrugh
     Jacob Alsough
     Jacob Alstright
     Jacob Alsworth
     Thomas Alvarey
     Miguel Alveras
     Don Ambrose Alverd
     Joseph Alvey
     James Alwhite
     George Alwood
     James Alwood
     Charles Amey
     Anthony Amingo
     Manuel Amizarma
     Nathaniel Anabel
     Austin Anaga
     Jean Ancette
     Charles Anderson
     Joseph Anderson
     Robert Anderson
     William Anderson (3)
     George Andre
     Benjamin Andrews
     Charles Andrews
     Dollar Andrews
     Ebeneser Andrews
     Francis Andrews
     Frederick Andrews
     Jerediah Andrews
     John Andrews (4)
     Jonathan Andrews
     Pascal Andrews
     Philany Andrews
     Thomas Andrews
     William Andrews
     Guillion Andrie
     Pashal Andrie
     Dominique Angola
     Andre D. C. Annapolen
     Joseph Anrandes
     John Anson
     William Anster
     David Anthony
     Davis Anthony
     Samuel Anthony
     Pierre Antien
     Jacques Antiqua
     Jean Anton
     Francis Antonf
     John Antonio
     Daniel Appell
     Daniel Apple
     Thomas Appleby
     Samuel Appleton
     Joseph Aquirse
     &mdash;&mdash; Arbay
     Abraham Archer
     James Archer
     John Archer
     Stephen Archer
     Thomas Arcos
     Richard Ariel
     Asencid Arismane
     Ezekiel Arme
     Jean Armised
     James Armitage
     Elijah Armsby
     Christian Armstrong
     William Armstrong
     Samuel Arnibald
     Amos Arnold
     Ash Arnold
     Samuel Arnold
     Charles Arnolds
     Samuel Arnolds
     Thomas Arnold
     Andres Arral
     Manuel de Artol
     Don Pedro Asevasuo
     Hosea Asevalado
     James Ash
     Henry Ash
     John Ashbey
     John Ashburn
     Peter Ashburn
     John Ashby
     Warren Ashby
     John Ashley
     Andrew Askill
     Francis Aspuro
     John Athan
     George Atkins
     John Atkins
     Silas Atkins
     John Atkinson
     Robert Atkinson
     William Atkinson
     James Atlin
     Duke Attera
     Jean Pierre Atton
     John Atwood
     Henry Auchinlaup
     Joseph Audit
     Anthony Aiguillia
     Igarz Baboo Augusion
     Peter Augusta
     Thomas Augustine
     Laurie Aujit
     George Austin
     Job Avery
     Benjamin Avmey
     Francis Ayres
     Don Pedro Azoala
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     B

     Franklin Babcock
     William Babcock
     James Babel
     Jeremiah Babell
     Jean Babier
     Abel Baboard
     Vascilla Babtreause
     Francis Bachelier
     Jonathan Bachelor
     Antonio Backalong
     Francis Backay
     Benjamin Bacon
     Esau Bacon
     Judah Bacon
     Stephen Badante
     Laurence Badeno
     William Badick
     Jonathan Baddock
     John Baggar
     Barnett Bagges
     Adam Bagley
     Joseph Bahamony
     John Bailey (2)
     William Bailey
     Moses Baird
     Joseph Baisolus
     William Baison
     William Batho
     Christopher Baker
     Ebenezer Baker
     John Baker (2)
     Joseph Baker
     Judah Baker
     Lemuel Baker
     Nathaniel Baker
     Pamberton Baker
     Pemberton Baker
     Pembleton Baker
     Thomas Baker (3)
     David Baldwin
     James Baldwin
     John Baldwin
     Nathaniel Baldwin
     Ralph Baldwin
     Thomas Ball
     Benjamin Ballard
     John Ballast
     Joseph Balumatigua
     Ralf Bamford
     Jacob Bamper
     Peter Banaby
     James Bandel
     Augustine Bandine
     Pierre Bandine
     John Banister (2)
     Matthew Bank
     James Banker
     John Banks
     Matthew Banks
     Jean Rio Bapbsta
     Jean Baptista
     Gale Baptist
     Jean Baptist
     John Barber
     Gilbert Barber
     John Barden
     William Barenoft
     Walter Bargeman
     Joseph Bargeron
     Charles Bargo
     Mabas Bark
     Benjamin Barker
     Edward Barker
     Jacom Barker
     John Barker
     Peter Barker
     Thomas Barker
     Benjamin Barkly
     Joseph Barkump
     John Barley
     James Barman
     Ethiem Barnell
     Charles Barnes
     Henry Barnes
     Wooding Barnes
     John Barnett
     Henry Barney
     Mons Barney
     Samuel Barney
     William Barnhouse
     James Barracks
     Pierre Barratt
     Abner Barre
     Dennis Barrett
     Enoch Barrett
     Francis Barrett
     Samuel Barrett
     William Barrett
     Robert Barrol
     Bernard Barron
     Enoch Barrott
     Francis Barsidge
     William Bartlet
     Joseph Bartley
     Charles Barthalemerd
     Charles Bartholemew
     Joseph Bartholomew
     &mdash;&mdash; Bartholomew
     Benjamin Bartholoyd
     Petrus Bartlemie
     Michael Bartol
     Thomas Barton
     John Basker
     William Bason
     Donnor Bass
     Juvery Bastin
     Michael Bastin
     Louis Baston
     Asa Batcheler
     Benjamin Bate
     Benjamin Bates
     Henry Bates
     James Bates
     William Batt
     John Battersley
     John Battesker
     Adah Batterman
     Adam Batterman
     George Batterman (2)
     Joseph Batterman
     &mdash;&mdash; Baumos
     Thomas Bausto
     Benjamin Bavedon
     George Baxter
     Malachi Baxter
     Richard Bayan
     Joseph Bayde
     Thomas Bayess
     John Bayley
     Joseph Baynes
     Jean Baxula
     John Bazee
     Daniel Beal
     Samuel Beal
     Joseph Beane
     James Beankey
     James Bearbank
     Jesse Bearbank
     Morgan Beard
     Moses Beard
     Daniel Beatty
     Benjamin Beasel
     Joseph Beaufort
     Perri Beaumont
     Andrew Beck
     Thomas Beck
     William Beckett
     Jonathan Beckwith
     Francis Bedell
     Frederick Bedford
     Joseph Bedford
     Thomas Bedford
     Benjamin Beebe
     Elias Beebe
     Joshua Beebe
     Benjamin Beeford
     James Beekman
     Walter Beekwith
     Lewis Begand
     Joseph Begley
     Joseph Belcher
     John Belding
     Pierre Belgard
     Aaron Bell
     Charles Bell
     Robert Bell
     Uriah Bell
     Alexander Bellard
     Joseph Belter
     Julian Belugh
     Jean Bengier
     Joseph Benloyde
     John Benn
     George Bennett
     John Bennett
     Joseph Bennett
     Peter Bennett
     Pierre Bennett
     Anthony Benson
     Stizer Benson
     David Benton
     John Benton
     Peter Bentler
     Nathaniel Bentley (2)
     Peter Bentley
     William Bentley
     Joshua M Berason
     Joseoh Berean
     Julian Berger
     Lewis Bernall
     Francis Bernardus
     Francis Bercoute
     Jean Juquacid Berra
     Abner Berry
     Alexander Berry
     Benjamin Berry
     Daniel Berry
     Dennis Berry
     Edward Berry
     John Berry
     Peter Berry (2)
     Philip Berry
     Simon Berry
     William Berry (3)
     Philip Berrycruise
     William Berryman
     Jean Bertine
     Martin Bertrand
     John Bertram
     Andrew Besin
     Jean Beshire
     John Beszick
     James Bett
     Samuel Bevan
     Jean Bevin
     Benjamin Beverley
     Robert Bibbistone
     John Bice
     Andrew Bick
     John Bickety
     Charles Bierd
     David Bierd
     Joshua Bievey
     Benjamin Bigelow
     Oliver Bigelow
     Thomas Biggs
     Jean Bilarie
     Charles Bill (2)
     Garden Bill
     John Bill (2)
     Pierre Bill
     John Billard
     James Biller
     Samuel Billing
     Benjamin Billings
     Bradford Billings
     Ezekiel Billings
     Robert Billings
     David Billows
     Frarey Binnen
     Cirretto Biola
     Pierre Biran
     Alexander Birch
     Nathaniel Birch
     Joseph Bird
     Weldon Bird
     Thomas Birket
     Samuel Birmingham
     Ezekiel Bishop
     Israel Bishop
     John Bishop (2)
     John Bissell
     Jack Bissick
     Osee Bissole
     Pierre Bitgayse
     Peter Bitton
     Daniel Black
     James Black (3)
     John Black
     Joseph Black
     Robert N Black
     Samuel Black (2)
     Timothy Black
     William Black
     John Blackburn
     Alexander Blackhunt
     William Blackpond
     V C Blaine
     John Blair
     Charles Blake
     Increase Blake
     James Blake
     Samuel Blake
     Valentine Blake
     David Blanch
     Robert Blanch
     Joseph Blancher
     William Blanchet
     John Blanney
     Gideon Blambo
     Jesse Blacque
     Joseph Blateley
     Lubal Blaynald
     Asa Blayner
     Edward Blevin
     Benjamin Blimbey
     William Blimbey
     Joseph Blinde
     William Bliss
     Samuel Blissread
     Juan Blodgett
     Seth Blodgett
     John Blond
     Lewis Blone
     Louis Blong
     Peter Bloome (2)
     Samuel Bloomfield
     Jomes Blossom
     James Blowen
     John Bloxand
     William Bluard
     George Blumbarg
     George Blunt (4)
     William Blythe
     Matthew Boar
     John Bobier
     John Bobgier
     Joseph Bobham
     Jonathan Bocross
     Lewis Bodin
     Peter Bodwayne
     John Boelourne
     Christopher Boen
     Purdon Boen
     Roper Bogat
     James Boggart
     Ralph Bogle
     Nicholas Boiad
     Pierre Boilon
     William Boine
     Jacques Bollier
     William Bolt
     William Bolts
     Bartholomew Bonavist
     Henry Bone
     Anthony Bonea
     Jeremiah Boneafoy
     James Boney
     Thomas Bong
     Barnabus Bonus
     James Bools
     William Books
     John Booth
     Joseph Borda
     Charles Borden
     John Borman
     James Borrall
     Joseph Bortushes
     Daniel Borus (2)
     Joseph Bosey
     Pierre Bosiere
     Jacques Bosse
     Ebenezer Boswell
     Gustavus Boswell
     Lewis Bothal
     Charles Bottis
     James Bottom
     Walter Bottom
     Augustin Boudery
     Augustus Boudery
     Anthony Bouea
     Theophilus Boulding
     Pierre Bounet
     Lewis Bourge
     John Boursbo
     Lawrence Bourshe
     Jean Boutilla
     Lewis Bouton
     Edward Boven
     Elijah Bowden
     Arden Bowen
     Elijah Bowen
     Ezekiel Bowen
     Paldon Bowen
     Thomas Bowen (3)
     William Bowen
     Willis Bowen
     James Bowers
     Thomas Bowers
     Fulbur Bowes
     James Bowles
     Daniel Bowman
     Benjamin Bowman
     Elijah Bowman (2)
     John Bowman
     Michael Bowner
     John Bowrie
     P I Bowree
     Jean Bowseas
     John Boyau
     Thomas Boyd
     John Boyde
     David Boyeau
     Francis Boyer
     Joseph Boyne
     Thomas Bradbridge
     Samuel Bradbury
     William Braden
     James Brader
     Samuel Bradfield
     William Bradford
     Abijah Bradley
     Alijah Bradley
     Daniel Bradley
     James Bradley
     Abraham Bradley
     John Brady
     James Bradyon
     Ebenezer Bragg (2)
     William Bragley
     Nathaniel Braily
     Zacheus Brainard
     Joseph Bramer
     Zachary Bramer
     William Bramber
     James Branart
     Aholibah Branch
     William Brand
     Ralf Brandford
     Charles Branel
     William Bransdale
     David Branson
     Peter Braswan
     Peter Brays (2)
     Burden Brayton
     Peter Brayton
     John Bredford
     James Brehard
     Elijah Bremward
     Pierre Brene
     George Brent
     Pierre Bretton
     John Brewer
     Samuel Brewer
     Joseph Brewett
     James Brewster (2)
     Seabury Brewster
     John Brice
     Thomas Bridges
     Glond Briges
     Cabot Briggs
     Alexander Bright
     Henry Brim
     Peter Brinkley
     Ephraim Brion
     Louis Brire
     Thomas Brisk
     Simon Bristo
     Jalaher C Briton
     Peter Britton
     Thomas Britton
     Ephraim Broad (3)
     Ossia Broadley
     Joseph Broaker
     Joshua Brocton
     Philip Broderick
     William Broderick (2)
     Joseph Broge
     William Brooker
     Charles Brooks (2)
     Henry Brooks
     Paul Brooks
     Samuel Brooks (2)
     Thomas Brooks
     Benjamin Brown
     Christopher Brown
     David Brown (2)
     Francis Brown
     Gustavus Brown (3)
     Hugh Brown (2)
     Jacob Brown
     James Brown (3)
     Jonathan Brown
     John Brown (12)
     Joseph Brown (3)
     Michael Brown
     Nathaniel Brown
     Patrick Brown
     Peter Brown
     Samuel Brown (3)
     William Brown (5)
     W. Brown
     William Boogs Brown
     Willis Brown
     Essick Brownhill
     Wanton Brownhill
     Charles Brownwell
     Gardner Brownwell
     Pierre Brows
     James Bruding
     Lewis Brun
     Daniel Bruton
     Edward Bryan
     John Bryan
     Matthew Bryan
     Nathaniel Bryan
     William Bryan
     Benjamin Bryand
     Ephraim Bryand
     James Bryant
     William Bryant
     Nicholas Bryard
     Francis Bryean
     Richard Bryen
     Berr Bryon
     Thomas Bryon
     Simon Buas
     Thomas Buchan
     Francis Buchanan
     Elias Buck
     Elisha Buck
     John Buck
     Joseph Bucklein
     Philip Buckler
     Cornelius Buckley
     Daniel Buckley (2)
     Francis Buckley
     Jacob Buckley
     John Buckley (3)
     Daniel Bucklin (2)
     Samuel Buckwith
     David Buckworth
     Benjamin Bud
     Nicholas Budd
     Jonathan Buddington
     Oliver Buddington
     Waller Buddington
     William Budgid
     John Budica
     Joshua Buffins
     Lawrence Buffoot
     John Bugger
     Silas Bugg
     John Buldings
     Jonathan Bulgedo
     Benjamin Bullock
     Thomas Bullock
     Benjamin Bumbley
     Lewis Bunce
     Norman Bunce
     Thomas Bunch
     Antonio Bund
     Obadiah Bunke
     Jonathan Bunker
     Timothy Bunker
     William Bunker
     Richard Bunson (2)
     Murdock Buntine
     Frederick Bunwell
     Thomas Burch
     Michael Burd
     Jeremiah Burden
     Joseph Burden
     William Burden
     Jason Burdis
     Daniel Burdit
     Bleck Burdock
     Robert Burdock
     Vincent Burdock
     Henry Burgess
     Theophilus Burgess
     Barnard Burgh
     Prosper Burgo
     Jean Burham
     James Burke
     Thomas Burke
     William Burke
     Michael Burkman
     William Burn
     Frederick Burnett
     James Burney
     James Burnham
     Daniel Burnhill
     Archibald Burns
     Edward Burns (2)
     Henry Burns
     John Burns
     Thomas Burns
     Stephen Burr
     Pierre Burra
     Francis Burrage
     John Burrell
     Lewis Burrell
     Isaac Burrester
     Jonathan Burries
     Nathaniel Burris
     John Burroughs
     Edward Burrow
     James Burton
     John Burton
     Jessee Byanslow
     Bartholomew Byi
     John Bylight
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     C

     Abel Cable
     Louis Cadat
     Louis Pierre Cadate
     Michael Cadate
     John Caddington
     Nathan Caddock
     Jean Cado
     John Cahoon
     Jonathan Cahoone
     Thomas Caile
     David Cain (2)
     Thomas Cain
     Samuel Caird
     Joseph Caivins
     Pierre Cajole
     Thomas Calbourne
     James Calder
     Caplin Calfiere
     Nathaniel Calhoun
     Charles Call
     Barnaby Callagham
     Daniel Callaghan
     William Callehan
     James Callingham
     Andrew Caiman
     Francis Calon
     Parpi Calve
     Nicholas Calwell
     Joseph Cambridge
     Edward Cameron
     Simon Came
     Oseas Camp
     Alexander Campbell
     Frederick Campbell
     James Campbell
     Jesse Campbell
     John Campbell (2)
     Joseph Campbell
     Philip Campbell (2)
     Robert Campbell
     Thomas Campbell (2)
     James Canady
     Joseph Canana
     Satarus Candie
     Jacob Canes
     Richard Caney
     Jacob Canmer
     William Cannady
     William Canner
     Charles Cannon
     Francis Cannon
     John Cannon
     Joseph Cannon
     Samuel Cannon
     Jean Canute
     Francis Cape
     Timothy Cape
     Daniel Capnell
     William Caransame
     Robert Carbury
     Juan Fernin Cardends
     Joseph Carea
     Isaac Carelton
     Joseph Carender
     Ezekiel Carew
     Daniel Carey
     John Carey (4)
     Joshua Carey
     Richard Carey
     William Cargall
     Joseph Cariviot
     Edward Garland
     Antonio Carles
     William Carles
     Jean Carlton
     Thomas Carlton
     John Carlisle
     Justan Carlsrun
     Benjamin Carman
     Benjamin Carmell
     William Carmenell
     Edward Carmody
     Anthony Carney
     Hugh Carney
     David Carns
     Jean Carolin
     Pierre Carowan
     John Carpenter
     Miles Carpenter
     Richards Carpenter
     Edward Carr
     Isaac Carr
     John Carr (2)
     Philip Carr
     William Carr
     Robert Carrall
     &mdash;&mdash; Carret
     Thomas Carrington
     Jean Carrllo
     James Carroll
     John Carroll
     Michael Carroll
     Perance Carroll
     William Carrollton
     John Carrow
     Peter Carroway
     Avil Carson
     Batterson Carson
     Israel Carson
     James Carson
     Robert Carson (2)
     Samuel Carson
     William Carson
     Levi Carter
     Thomas Carter
     William Carter (2)
     John Carvell
     Joseph Casan
     Joseph Casanova
     John Case
     Thomas Case
     Thomas Casewell
     Edward Casey
     John Casey
     William Casey
     Stephen Cash
     Jacob Cashier
     Jean Cashwell
     Gosper Cassian
     Samuel Casson
     John Casp
     Anthony Casper
     Michael Cassey
     John Castel
     Joseph Castile
     Thomas Castle (2)
     John Caswell (3)
     Baptist Cavalier
     Francis Cavalier
     George Cavalier
     James Cavalier
     Thomas Cavalier
     Joseph Augustus Cavell
     Gasnito Cavensa
     Thomas Caveral
     Pierre Cawan
     John Cawrier
     John Cawrse
     Edward Cayman
     Anthony Cayner
     Oliver Cayaran
     John Cerbantin
     &mdash;&mdash; Chabbott
     Perrie Chalier
     Samuel Chalkeley
     Hurbin Challigne
     John Challoner
     William Challoner
     Pierre Chalore
     Benjamin Chamberlain
     Bird Chamberlain
     Charles Chamberland
     Nancy Chambers
     Dore Champion
     Lines Champion
     Thomas Champion
     Clerk Champlin
     Isaac Champlin
     James Chapin
     Joseph Chapley
     Joseph Chaplin
     Josiah Chaplin
     Lodowick Chaplin
     Daniel Chapman
     James Chapman
     Jeremiah Chapman
     John Chapman (2)
     Lion Chapman
     Samuel Chapman
     Charles Chappel
     Frederick Chappell
     John Chappell
     John Charbein
     Ichabod Chard
     William Charfill
     James Charles
     John Charles
     Jean Charoner
     Aaron Chase
     Augustus Chase (2)
     Earl Chase (2)
     George Chase (2)
     Lonie Chase
     Samuel Chase
     Jean Chatfield
     Jovis Chaurine
     John Cheavelin
     Christopher Chenaur
     Louis Chenet
     Andrew Cheesebrook
     David Cheesebrook
     James Cheesebrook
     Pierre Cheesebrook
     Samuel Cheesebrook
     Britton Cheeseman
     James Cheevers
     Christopher Chenaur
     Benjamin Chencey
     Louis Chenet
     John Cherry
     William Cherry
     John Chese
     Hiram Chester
     Benjamin Chevalier
     John Chevalier
     Jean Gea Chevalier
     Julian Chevalier
     Edward Cheveland
     Lasar Chien
     Silas Childs
     Cadet Chiller
     Thomas Chilling
     Abel Chimney
     David Chinks
     Leshers Chipley
     William Christan
     Henry Christian
     John Christian (2)
     James Christie
     Benjamin Chittington
     Bartholomew Chivers
     Benjamin Chopman
     Matthew Chubb
     David Chueehook
     Benjamin Church (2)
     Israel Church
     Thomas Church
     John Churchill
     Pierre Clabe
     Edward Clamron
     Benjamin Clannan
     Edward Clanwell
     Supply Clap (2)
     Supply Twing Clap
     Edward Claring
     Charles Clark
     Church Clark
     James Clark (2)
     John Clark
     Jubal Clark
     William Clark (2)
     Emanuel Clarke
     Daniel Clarke
     Jacob Clarke
     James Clarke
     Joshua Clarke
     Lewis Clarke
     Nicholas Clarke
     Noel Clarke
     Stephen Clarke
     Theodore Clarke
     Timothy Clarke
     William Clarke (2)
     Samuel Clarkson
     Samuel Claypole
     Edward Clayton
     William Clayton
     David Cleaveland
     Michel Clemence
     Clement Clements
     Alexander Clerk
     Gambaton Clerk
     Isaac Clerk
     Jacob Clerk
     Jonathan Clerk
     John Clerk (3)
     Lardner Clerk
     Nathaniel Clerk
     Peleg Clerk
     Thomas Clerk (3)
     Tully Clerk
     William Clerk
     Thomas Clever
     Jean Clineseau
     David Clinton
     Philip Clire
     John Cloud
     John Coarsin
     Christian Cobb
     Christopher Cobb
     Francis Cobb
     John Cobb
     Jonathan Cobb
     Nathaniel Cobb
     Richard Cobb
     Thomas Cobb
     Christopher Cobbs
     Raymond Cobbs
     Timothy Cobley
     Moses Cobnan
     Eliphas Coburn
     James Cochran
     John Cochran (2)
     Richard Cochran
     John Cocker
     John Cocklin
     Equatius Code
     Lewis Codean
     Christopher Codman
     James Codner
     Abel Coffin
     Edward Coffin
     Elias Coffin
     Elisha Coffin (2)
     Obadiah Coffin (2)
     Richard Coffin
     Simon Coffin (2)
     Zechariah Coffin
     William Cogeshall
     John Coggeshall
     Robert Coghill
     John Cohlen
     David Coisten
     Guilliam Cokill
     James Colbert
     Abial Cole
     Benjamin Cole (2)
     John Cole (2)
     Joshua Cole
     Rilhard Cole
     Thomas Cole (2)
     Waller Cole
     David Coleman
     James Coleman
     Nicholas Coleman
     Stephen Coleman
     James Colford
     Miles Colhoon
     Lewis Colinett
     Alexander Colley
     Basquito Colley
     Septor en Collie
     Candal Collier
     John Collings
     Joseph Collingwood
     Doan Collins
     James Collins (2)
     John Collins (3)
     Joseph Collins
     Powell Collins
     William Collins
     Daniel Collohan
     Thomas Collough
     Joseph Colloy
     Elisha Colman
     John Colney
     Frederick Colson
     James Colting
     Julian Columb
     Julian Colver
     David Colvich
     Nathaniel Colwell
     Nathaniel Combick
     Joseph Combs
     Matthew Combs
     Joseph Comby
     Gilbert Comick
     Patrick Condon
     Stafford Condon
     Philip Cong
     Strantly Congdon
     Muller Congle
     John Connell
     John Connelly
     George Conner
     James Conner
     John Conner (2)
     Robert Conner
     Patrick Connelly
     Samuel Connelly
     John Connor
     William Connor
     George Conrad
     Frederick Contaney
     William Convass
     John Conway
     Thomas Conway
     Robert Conwell
     Amos Cook
     Anthony Cook
     Benjamin Cook
     Eashak Cook
     Esbric Cook
     Ezekiel Cook (2)
     Frederick Cook
     George Cook
     James Cook (3)
     John Cook (4)
     Joseph Cook
     Richard Cook
     Samuel Cooke
     Stephen Cooke
     Abraham Cooper
     Ezekiel Cooper
     Matthew Cooper (2)
     Mot Cooper
     Nathaniel Cooper (3)
     Richard Cooper
     Warren Cooper
     William Cooper
     Aaron Cooping
     Joseph Copeland
     Andrew Cord
     Joseph Cornean
     Peter Cornelius
     John Cornell
     Matthew Cornell
     James Corner
     Benjamin Corning
     Robert Cornwell
     William Cornwell
     Bernard Corrigan
     John Corrigan
     John Corroll
     Battson Corson
     Pomeus Corson
     Lewis Cortland
     Robert Corwell
     Joseph de Costa
     Antonio Costo
     Noel Cotis
     Anghel Cotter
     David Cotteral
     David Cottrill
     James Couch
     John Couch
     Thomas Coudon
     John Coughin
     Pierre Coulanson
     Nathaniel Connan
     Francis Connie
     Perrie Coupra
     Jean de Course
     Leonard Courtney
     Louis Couset
     Joseph Cousins
     Frances Cousnant
     Jean Couster
     John Coutt
     Vizenteausean Covazensa
     John Coventry
     John Coverley
     Peter Covet
     Zechariah Coward
     James Cowbran
     James Cowen
     John Cowins
     Edward Cownovan
     Enoch Cox
     Jacob Cox
     John Cox
     Joseph Cox (2)
     Portsmouth Cox
     William Cox
     Thurmal Coxen
     Asesen Craft
     Joseph Craft
     Matthias Craft (2)
     James Craig
     Thomas Craig
     Henry Crandall
     Oliver Crane
     Philip Crane
     Samuel Crane
     William Cranston
     Abel Crape (2)
     Thomas Craton (2)
     Joshua Cratterbrook
     Alias Crawford
     Benjamin Crawford
     John Crawford (4)
     Richard Crawford
     Samuel Crawford
     William Crawford
     Basil Crawley
     Cornelius Crawley
     Isaac Crayton (2)
     James Crayton
     Amos Creasey
     Richard Creech
     Thomas Creepman
     William Cresean
     William Cresley
     Henry Cressouson
     Michael Crider
     John Crim
     Others Cringea
     William Crispin (2)
     George Cristin
     Benjamin Crocker
     James Crocker
     John Crocker
     Joshua Crocker (2)
     John Croix
     Oliver Cromell
     Oliver Cromwell (4)
     Richmond Cromwell
     Robert Cromwell
     Hugh Crookt
     John Croppen
     Bunsby Crorker
     Peter Crosbury
     Daniel Crosby (3)
     William Crosley
     Joseph Cross
     Thomas Crough
     Christian Crowdy
     Matthew Crow
     Bissell Crowell
     Seth Crowell
     William Crowell
     George Crown
     Michael Crowyar
     William Crozier
     Janeise Cubalod
     Benjamin Cuffey
     Philip Cuish
     Thomas Culbarth
     Daniel Culbert
     William Cullen (2)
     David Cullett
     Willis Culpper
     Levi Culver
     Samuel Culvin
     Josea Comnano
     Cornelius Cumstock
     Isaac Cuningham
     James Cunican
     Barnabas Cunningham
     Cornelius Cunningham
     John Cunningham
     Jacob Currel
     Anthony Curry
     Augustine Curry
     Robert Curry
     Daniel Curtis
     Frederick Curtis
     Joseph Curtis
     Henry Curtis
     Joseph Cushing
     Robert Cushing
     Eimnan Cushing
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     D

     Guilliam Dabuican
     Jean Dabuican
     John Daccarmell
     Isaac Dade (2)
     Jean Dadica
     Silas Daggott
     John Dagure
     Benjamin Dail
     James Daily (2)
     Patrick Daily
     Robert Daily
     Samuel Daily (2)
     William Daily
     James Dalcahide
     Jeremiah Dalley
     Reuben Damon
     Thomas Danby
     Christopher Daniel
     John Daniel (3)
     Samuel Daniss
     Benjamin Dannison
     William Dannison
     William Dannivan
     Benjamin Darby
     William Darby
     W Darcey
     Thomas Darley
     Henry Darling (2)
     Richard Darling
     William Darling
     Charles Darrough
     Robert Dart
     Samuel Daun
     Basteen Davan
     James Daveick
     Lot Davenport
     Christopher Davids
     John Davidson
     Samuel Davidson
     Pierre Davie
     Benjamin Davies (2)
     Christopher Davies
     Edward Davies
     Eliga Davies
     Elijah Davies
     Felton Davies
     John Davies (9)
     Henry Davies
     Lewis Davies
     Richard Davies (2)
     Samuel Davies (3)
     Thomas Davies (3)
     William Davies (3)
     Benjamin Davies (2)
     Charles Davis
     Christopher Davis
     Curtis Davis
     Henry Davis
     Isaac Davis
     James Davis
     John Davis (2)
     Lewis Davis
     Samuel Davis
     Thomas Davis
     William Davis
     Thomas Dawn
     Henry Dawne
     Samuel Dawson
     John Day
     Joseph Day
     Michael Day
     Thomas Day (2)
     William Day
     Joseph Days
     William Dayton
     Demond Deaboney
     Jonathan Deakons
     Isaac Deal
     John Deal
     Elias Deale (2)
     Daniel Dealing
     Benjamin Deamond
     Benjamin Dean
     Levi Dean
     Lewis Dean
     Orlando Dean
     Philip Dean
     Archibald Deane
     George Deane
     Joseph Deane
     Thomas Deane
     Michael Debong
     James Debland
     Peter Deboy
     Benorey Deck
     Joseph de Costa
     Jean de Course
     Francis Dedd
     &mdash;&mdash; Defourgue
     Jean Degle
     Pierre Degoniere
     Pierre Guiseppe Degue
     William Degue
     Louis Degune
     Pratus Dehango
     Jacob Dehart
     Jasper Deinay
     Domingo Delace
     Zabulon Delano
     Gare Delare
     Gaspin Delary
     Anthony Delas
     Amos Delavan
     Pierre Delavas
     Joseph Delcosta
     Francis Delgada
     Henry Delone
     Anthony Delore
     James Demay
     David Demeny
     Israel Deming
     Josiah Demmay
     Element Demen
     Jean Demolot
     Richard Dempsey
     Avery Denauf
     Daniel Denica
     Beebe Denison
     Deverick Dennis
     James Dennis
     John Dennis (3)
     Jonas Dennis
     Joseph Dennis (2)
     Moses Dennis
     Paine Dennis
     Lemuel Dennison
     John Denoc
     David Denroron
     John Denronons
     Lewis Depue
     Manuel Deralia
     John Derboise
     Daniel Deroro
     Daniel Derry
     William Derry
     Louis Deshea
     John Desiter
     Jacob Dessino
     Jeane Devaratte
     Isaac Devay
     Gabriel Devay
     James Devereux
     Robert Devereux
     James Deverick
     John Devericks
     Honor Devey
     Joseph Deville
     Frances Devise
     Daniel Devoe
     Thomas Devoy
     Aaron Dexter
     Benjamin Dexter
     Simon Dexter
     Elerouant Diabery
     Jonah Diah
     David Diber
     Archibald Dick
     Benjamin Dickenson
     Benjamin Dickinson
     Edward Dickinson
     Ichabod Dickinson
     John Dickinson
     Edward Dickerson
     Joseph Diers
     Thomas Diggenson
     Rone Digon
     Joseph Dillons
     John Dillow
     Benjamin Dimon
     Charles Dimon
     James Dimon
     Robert Dingee
     Elisha Dingo
     John Dingo
     Pierre Disaablan
     Mitchael Dissell
     John Diver
     Victoire Divie
     Christian Dixon
     Christopher Dixon
     Daniel Dixon
     James Dixon (2)
     John Dixon
     Nicholas Dixon
     Robert Dixon (2)
     William Dixon
     Etamin Dluice
     John Doan
     Joseph Dobbs
     John Dobiee
     Henry Docherty
     Hugh Docherty
     William Dodd (2)
     James Dodge
     George Doget
     Matthew Doggett
     Samuel Doggett (2)
     Timothy Doggle
     John Doherty (2)
     Thomas Doherty
     Josiah Dohn
     Samuel Dohn
     Robert Doin
     Frances Doisu
     John Dolbear
     Elisha Dolbuy
     John Dole
     Elisha Doleby
     Nathaniel Dolloway
     Pierre Dominica
     Jean Domrean
     Barton Donald
     Anthony Donalds
     Daniel Donaldson
     Mc Donalm
     Solomon Donan
     John Dongan
     Peter C Dongue
     Anthony Dongues
     Benjamin Donham
     Devereux Donies
     George Donkin
     Francis Dora
     John McDora Dora
     Nathaniel Dorcey
     Patrick Dorgan (3)
     Timothy Dorgan
     Joseph Dority
     Paul Paulding Dorson
     Joseph Doscemer
     Jay Doudney
     Francis Douglas
     Robert Douglass
     William Douglass
     Iseno Douting
     Thomas Douval
     James Dowdey
     William Dowden
     Hezekiah Dowen (2)
     John Dower
     Henry Dowling
     Francis Downenroux
     Henry Dowling
     John Downey
     John Downing
     Peter Downing
     John Dowray
     James Doxbury
     Peter Doyle
     Murray Drabb
     Thomas Drake
     Jean Draullard
     James Drawberry
     Samuel Drawere
     James Drayton
     William Dredge
     Abadiah Drew
     John Drew (2)
     Thomas Drewry
     John Driver
     Simeon Drown
     William Drown
     Jean Dubison
     Tames Dublands
     Thomas Dubois
     Henry Dubtoe
     Michael Duchaee
     Archibald Ducker
     Jean Duckie
     Martin Ducloy
     Abner Dudley
     Doulram Duffey
     Ezekiel Duffey
     Thomas Duffield
     Michael Duffin
     Thomas Duffy
     Jacques Duforte
     Franes Dugree
     Chemuel Duke
     John Duke
     William Duke
     Isaac Dukerson
     Michael Duless
     Terrence Dumraven
     James Dunbar
     George Duncan
     John Duncan
     James Duncan
     William Duncan
     Thomas Dung
     John Dunhire
     John Dunison
     James Dunkin
     Pierre Dunkwater
     Thomas Dunlope
     John Dunlope
     Thomas Dunlope
     Archibald Dunlopp
     Allan Dunlot
     John Dunmerhay
     Arthur Dunn
     Joseph Dunn
     Peter Dunn
     Sylvester Dunnam
     John Dunning
     Peter Dunning
     Thomas Dunnon
     Edene Dunreas
     Allen Dunslope
     William Dunton
     Stephen Dunwell
     Ehenne Dupee
     Thomas Duphane
     Francis Duplessis
     France Dupue
     Charles Duran
     Henry Duran
     Lewis Duran
     Glase Durand
     Jacques Durant
     Sylvester Durham
     Israel Durphey
     Jonathan J Durvana
     Robert Duscasson
     Anthony Duskin
     Andrew Duss
     William Dussell
     Raoul Dutchell
     James Duverick
     Timothy Dwier
     William Dwine
     John Dwyer
     Timothy Dwyer (2)
     William Dwyman
     Alexander Dyer
     Fitch Dyer
     Hat Dyer
     Hubert Dyer
     Jonathan Dyer
     Nathan Dyer
     Patrick Dyer
     Robert Dyer
     Roger Dyer
     Samuel Dyer
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     E

     David Each
     Simon Eachforsh
     David Eadoe
     Benjamin Earle
     Isaac Earle
     Lewis Earle
     Pardon Earle (2)
     Michael Eason
     Amos Easterbrook
     Charles Easterbrook
     John Eaves
     Joseph Ebben
     John Ebbinstone
     Avico Ecbeveste
     Joseph Echangueid
     Francis Echauegud
     Amorois Echave
     Lorendo Echerauid
     Francis Echesevria
     Ignatius Echesevria
     Manuel de Echeverale
     Fermin Echeuarria
     Joseph Nicola Echoa
     Thoman Ecley &mdash; Edbron
     Thomas Eddison
     William Ede
     Butler Edelin
     Jessie Edgar
     John Edgar
     Thomas Edgar
     William Edgar (2)
     James Edgarton
     Philip Edgarton
     Doum Edmondo
     Henry Edmund
     John Edmund
     Alexander Edwards
     Charles Edwards
     Daniel Edwards
     Edward Edwards
     Henry Edwards
     James Edwards
     John Edwards
     Michael Edwards
     Rollo Edwards
     Thomas Edwards
     William Edwards (2)
     James Eggleston
     Samuel Eggleston
     James Egrant
     James Ekkleston
     Jonathan Elbridge
     Nathan Elder
     Luther Elderkin
     Daniel Elderton
     Aldub Eldred
     Daniel Eldridge (2)
     Ezra Eldridge
     James Eldridge
     Thomas Eldridge
     William Eldridge
     William Eleves
     Richard Elgin
     John Eli
     Benjamin Elias
     Benjamin Elith
     James Elkins
     Nicholas Ellery
     Cornelius Elliott
     Daniel Elliott
     John Elliott
     Joseph Elliott
     Nathaniel Elliott
     Jonathan Ellis
     John Ellison (2)
     Theodore Ellsworth
     Stephen Elns
     Nathaniel Elridge
     Isaac Elwell
     John Elwell
     Samuel Elwell (3)
     James Emanuel (2)
     George Emery
     Jean Emilgon
     John Engrum
     John Eoon
     Samuel Epworth
     John Erexson
     Ignaus Ergua
     Martin Eronte
     James Esk
     Walford Eskridge
     Antony Esward
     Anthony Eticore
     Joseph Eton
     Francis Eugalind
     Joseph Eugalind
     Nicholas Euston
     Alias Evans
     Pierre Evans
     Francis Eveane
     Lewis Eveane
     Lewis Even
     Peni Evena
     Pierre Evena
     Even Evens
     William Evens
     Jeremiah Everett
     Ebenezer Everall
     Robert Everley
     George Everson
     John Everson
     Benjamin Eves
     David Evins
     John Evins
     Peter Ewen
     Thomas Ewell
     William Ewell
     Peter Ewen
     Thomas Ewen
     James Ewing
     Thomas Ewing
     Juan Vicente Expassa
     Christian Eyes
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     F

     Jean Paul Fabalue
     John Faber
     Ashan Fairfield
     Benjamin Fairfield
     John Fairfield (2)
     William Faithful
     Henry Falam
     Ephraim Falkender
     George Falker
     Robert Fall
     Thomas Fallen
     Henry Falls
     Francis Fanch
     Jean Fanum
     John Farland
     William Farmer
     John Faroe
     Michael Farrean
     William Farrow
     Thomas Fary
     Henry Fatem
     Jacob Faulke
     Robert Fauntroy
     Joseph Feebe
     Martin Feller
     James Fellows
     Nathaniel Fellows
     John Felpig
     Peter Felpig
     Benjamin Felt
     David Felter
     Thomas Fennall
     Cable Fennell
     John Fenton
     Cable Fenwell
     Joseph Ferarld
     Domigo Ferbon
     David Fere
     Matthew Fergoe
     Pierre Fermang
     Noah Fernal
     Francis Fernanda
     Thomas Fernandis
     Matthew Fernay
     Ephraim Fernon
     Fountain Fernray
     Ehemre Ferote
     Joseph Ferre
     Lewis Ferret
     Toseph Ferria
     Kennedy Ferril
     Conway Ferris
     Paul Ferris
     William Fester
     Elisha Fettian
     Manuel Fevmandez
     Frederick Fiarde
     John Ficket
     Charles Field
     John Fielding
     W Fielding
     William Fielding
     John Fife
     Edwin Fifer
     Nathaniel Figg
     Benjamin Files
     Jean Francis Fillear
     Patrick Filler
     Ward Filton
     John Fimsey
     Bartholomew Finagan
     David Finch
     John Fincher
     George Finer
     Dennis Finesy
     Francis Finley
     James Finley
     Dennis Finn
     John Finn
     Jeremiah Finner
     Jonathan Finney (3)
     Seth Finney
     Thomas Finney
     Robert Firmie
     Joseph Firth
     Asel Fish
     Daniel Fish
     Ezekiel Fish
     John Fish
     Nathaniel Fish (2)
     John Fisham
     Abraham Fisher
     Archibald Fisher
     Isaac Fisher
     Jonathan Fisher
     Nathan Fisher
     Robert Fisher (3)
     Simon Fisher
     William Fisher (2)
     William Fisk
     John Fist
     Solomon Fist
     Ebenezer Fitch
     Jedeiah Fitch
     Josiah Fitch
     Peter Fitch
     Theopilus Fitch
     Timothy Fitch
     Henry Fitchett
     William Fithin
     Cristopher Fitts
     Patrick Faroh Fitz
     Edward Fitzgerald
     Patrick Fitzgerald
     Thomas Fleet
     John Fletcher
     John Fling
     William Fling
     John Flinn
     Berry Floyd
     Michael Fluort
     Thomas Fogg
     Francis Follard
     Jonathan Follett
     Stephen Follows
     John Folsom
     John Folston
     Joseph Fomster
     Louis Fongue
     Daniel Foot
     Samuel Foot
     Zakiel Foot
     John Footman
     Peter Forbes
     Bartholomew Ford (3)
     Daniel Ford
     George Ford (2)
     John Ford
     Philip Ford
     William Ford
     Benjamin Fordham
     Daniel Fore
     Hugh Foresyth
     Vancom Forque
     Matthew Forgough
     George Forket
     Samuel Forquer
     Nathaniel Forrest
     Francis Forster
     Timothy Forsythe
     John Fort
     Anthony Fortash
     Emanuel Fortaud
     Tohn Fortune
     Thomas Fosdick
     Andrew Foster
     Asa Foster
     Boston Foster
     Conrad Foster
     Edward Foster
     Ephraim Poster
     Henry Foster (2)
     George Foster
     Jacob Foster
     Jebediah Foster
     Josiah Foster (2)
     John Foster (6)
     Nathaniel Foster
     Nicholas Foster
     William Foster
     Ephraim Fostman
     John Fouber
     Francis Foubert
     William Foulyer
     Edward Fousler
     Pruden Fouvnary
     Gideon Fowler
     James Fowler (2)
     John Fowler (2)
     Joseph Fowler
     Michael Fowler
     John Butler Foy
     William Foy
     Jared Foyer
     Ebenezer Fox
     William Fox (3)
     Jacob Frailey (2)
     Fortain Frances
     John Frances
     Joseph Frances
     Scobud Frances
     John Francis
     Thomas Francis (2)
     William Francis
     Manuel Francisco
     Jean Franco
     Jean Francois
     Anthony Frankie
     Pernell Franklin
     Christopher Franks
     Michael Franks
     John Frasier
     Thomas Frasier
     Nathaniel Frask
     John F Fravers
     John Fravi
     William Frey
     Andrew Frazer
     Thomas Frazier
     Pierre Freasi
     Iman Frebel
     William Freebal
     Charles Freeman
     David Freeman
     Henry Freeman
     Humphrey Freeman
     John Freeman
     Thomas Freeman (2)
     Zebediah Freeman
     James French
     Jonathan French
     Michael French
     Josias Frett
     John Fretto
     Juban Freway
     Anthony Frick
     Post Friend
     Shadrach Friend
     James Frieris
     Ebenezer Frisby
     Isaac Frisby
     Josiah Frith
     John Frost
     Joseph Frost (2)
     Peter Frume
     James Fry (2)
     Robert Fry
     Abijah Fryske
     Joseph Fubre
     Joseph Fuganey
     Joshua Fulger
     Reuben Fulger
     Stephen Fulger
     Benjamin Fuller
     James Fuller
     Joseph Fuller
     Thaddeus Fuller
     Thomas Fuller (2)
     George Fullum
     James Fulton
     Thomas Fulton
     Abner Furguson
     Samuel Furguson
     John Furse
     John Fury
     Iman Futter
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     G

     Eudrid Gabria
     Francis Gabriel
     Franes Gabriel
     Hernan Gage
     Isaac Gage
     Matthew Gage
     Stephen Gage
     Jonas Gale
     Joseph Galina
     Andrew Gallager
     John Gallard
     John Gallaspie
     Richard Galley
     William Gallway
     Anthony Gallys
     James Gamband
     James Gamble
     Joseph Gamble
     Peter Gambo
     Pierre Ganart
     William Gandee
     William Gandel
     Francis Gandway
     John Gandy
     Hosea Garards
     Antony Gardil
     Silas Gardiner
     William Gardiner
     Alexander Gardner (3)
     Dominic Gardner
     James Gardner (3)
     Joseph Gardner (5)
     Larry Gardner
     Robert Gardner
     Samuel Gardner
     Silas Gardner
     Thomas Gardner
     Uriah Gardner
     William Gardner
     Dominico Gardon
     John Garey
     Manolet Garico
     James Garish
     Paul Garish
     John Garland (2)
     Barney Garlena
     Joseph Garley
     &mdash;&mdash; Garner
     Silas Garner
     John Garnet
     Sylvester Garnett
     Isaac Garret
     Michael Garret
     John Garretson
     Antonio Garrett
     Jacques Garrett
     Richard Garrett
     William Garrett
     Louis C. Garrier
     Jacob Garrison (2)
     Joseph Garrison (3)
     Joseph Garrit
     Thomas Garriway
     Jean Garrow
     Roman Garsea
     William Garty
     Job Gascin
     Daniel Gasett
     Jacob Gasker
     Simon Gason (2)
     Manot Gasse
     John Gassers
     Francis Gater
     Charles Gates
     Peter Gaypey
     John Gault
     Paul Gaur
     Thomas Gaurmon
     Thomas Gawner
     Solomon Gay
     William Gay
     Charles Gayford
     John Gaylor
     Robert Geddes
     George George (2)
     George Georgean
     Hooper Gerard
     Riviere de Ggoslin
     George Gill
     John Gibbens
     Edward Gibbertson
     John Gibbons
     Charles Gibbs (3)
     John Gibbs (2)
     Andrew Gibson
     Benjamin Gibson
     George Gibson
     James Gibson
     William Gibson
     Stephen Giddron
     Archibald Gifford
     George Gilbert
     Timothy Gilbert
     George Gilchrist
     Robert Gilchrist
     John Giles
     Samuel Giles (2)
     Thomas Giles
     William Giles
     John Gill
     Philip Gill
     William Gill
     John Gilladen
     Jean B. Gillen
     Richard Gilleny
     William Gillespie
     John Gillis
     John Gillison
     David Gillispie
     David Gillot
     Toby Gilmay
     John Gilmont
     Nathaniel Gilson
     Thomas Gimray
     Peter Ginnis
     Jean Ginnow
     Baptist Giraud
     Joseph Girca
     William Gisburn
     Francis Gissia
     Jean Glaied
     Charles Glates
     Jean Glease
     Jean Gleasie
     Gabriel Glenn
     Thomas Glerner
     William Glesson
     James Gloacque
     William Glorman
     Edward Gloss
     Michael Glosses
     Daniel Gloud
     Jonathan Glover
     William Glover
     Thomas Goat
     Ebenezer Goddard
     Nicholas Goddard
     Thomas Goddard
     Joseph Godfrey
     Nathaniel Godfrey
     Samuel Godfrey
     Simon Godfrey
     Thomas Godfrey
     William Godfrey (4)
     Francis Godfry
     Pierre Godt
     Vincent Goertin
     Patrick Goff
     John Going
     Ebenezer Gold
     John Golston
     William Golston
     Robert Gomer
     Pierre Goodall
     George Goodby
     Simon Goodfrey
     Eli Goodfry
     Lemuel Gooding
     George Goodley
     Francis Goodman
     Eli Goodnow
     Elizer Goodrich
     Jesse Goodrich
     Solomon Goodrich
     James Goodwick
     Charles Goodwin
     Daniel Goodwin
     George Goodwin
     Gideon Goodwin
     Ozeas Goodwin
     Abel Goose
     James Gootman
     Abel Goove
     &mdash;&mdash; Goquie
     Jonathan Goram (2)
     John Gord
     Andrew Gordan
     Andrew Gordon
     James Gordon (2)
     Peter Gordon
     Stephen Gordon
     Jesse Gore
     Jonathan Goreham
     James Gorham
     Jonathan Gorham
     Shubert Gorham
     Joseph Gormia
     Christian Goson
     William Goss
     Jean Gotea
     George Gothe
     Charles Gotson
     Francis Goudin
     Lewis Gouire
     Augustus Goute
     Francis Goutiere
     Joseph Goveir
     Sylverter Govell
     George Gowell (2)
     Henry Gowyall
     Jean Goyear
     Matthew Grace
     William Grafton
     Alexander Graham
     Robert Graham
     Samuel Graham
     David Graines
     Robert Grame
     L. A. Granada
     William Granby
     Adam Grandell
     Alexander Grant
     Thomas Grant
     William Grant
     Thomas Grassing
     William Gratton
     Ebenezer Graub
     Dingley Gray
     Franes Gray
     Joseph Gray (2)
     James Gray
     Samuel Gray
     Simeon Gray
     Simon Gray
     William Gray
     Isaac Greeman
     Allen Green
     Elijah Green (2)
     Elisha Green
     Henry Green
     John Green (9)
     Joseph Green (2)
     Robert Green
     Rufus Green
     William Green (3)
     Green Greenbury
     Enoch Greencafe
     James Greene (3)
     John Greene (4)
     Samuel Greene
     John Greenes
     Richard Greenfield
     Abner Greenleaf
     John Greenoth
     William Greenville
     Barton Greenville
     Malum Greenwell
     Robert Greenwold
     Jacob Greenwood
     David Gregory
     Stephen Gregory (2)
     Ebenezer Grenach
     William Grennis
     Ebenezer Grenyard
     Samuel Grey
     Charles Grier
     Isaac Grier
     Mather Grier
     William Grierson
     Moses Griffen
     Alexander Griffin
     Daniel Griffin
     Elias Griffin
     James Griffin (2)
     Jasper Griffin
     Joseph Griffin
     Moses Griffin (2)
     Peter Griffin
     Rosetta Griffin
     James Griffith
     William Griffith
     James Grig
     John Griggs
     Thomas Grilley
     Peter Grinn
     Philip Griskin
     Edward Grissell
     Elijah Griswold
     Jotun Griswold
     John Grogan
     Joseph Grogan
     Josiah Grose
     Peter Grosper
     Benjamin Gross
     Michael Gross
     Simon P. Gross
     Tonos Gross
     Peleg Grotfield
     John Grothon
     Andrew Grottis
     Joseph Grouan
     Michael Grout
     Stephen Grove
     Thomas Grover (2)
     John Gruba
     Samuel Grudge
     Peter Gruin
     George Grymes
     John Guae
     Cyrus Guan
     Elisha Guarde
     John Guason
     John Guay
     Bense Guenar
     Nathaniel Gugg
     Pierre Guilber
     John Guilley
     Peter Guin
     William Guinep
     Joseph Guiness
     Joseph Guinet
     William Gulirant
     Joseph Gullion
     Souran Gult
     Jean Gumeuse
     Antonio Gundas
     Julian Gunder
     William Gunnup
     Jean Gunteer
     Pierre Gurad
     Anthony Gurdell
     Franes Gusboro
     George Guster
     Jean Joseph Guthand
     Francis Guvare
     William Gwinnup
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     H

     Samuel Hacker
     John Hackett
     Benjamin Haddock
     Caraway Hagan
     Anthony de la Hage
     James Haggarty
     John Haglus
     Ebenezer Hail
     David Halbort
     William Haldron
     Matthew Hales
     Aaron Hall
     Ebenezer Hall
     Isaac Hall
     James Hall
     John Hall (3)
     Joseph Hall
     London Hall
     Lyman Hall
     Millen Hall
     Moses Hall
     Nathan Hall
     Samuel Hall
     Spence Hall
     Thomas Hall (3)
     William Hall
     Willis Hall
     Thomas Hallahan
     James Hallaughan
     Benjamin Hallett (2)
     James Hallett (2)
     Ephraim Halley
     John Halley
     Joseph Halley (2)
     Samuel Halley
     Richard Halley
     Charles Hallwell
     Henry Halman
     William Halsey
     Moses Halton
     Jesse Halts
     Byron Halway
     Benjamin Halwell
     James Ham
     Levi Ham
     Reuben Hambell
     William Hamber
     Empsen Hamilton
     Henry Hamilton (2)
     John Hamilton (2)
     William Hamilton (2)
     Flint Hammer
     Charles Hammond
     Elijah Hammond
     Homer Hammond
     James Hammond
     Joseph Hammond
     Thomas Hamsby
     James Hanagan
     Stephen Hanagan
     Henry Hance
     Abraham Hancock
     Samuel Hancock
     Elias Hand
     Elijah Hand
     Gideon Hand
     Joseph Hand (2)
     Thomas Hand
     William Hand
     Levi Handy
     Thomas Handy (3)
     John Hanegan
     Josiah Hanes
     Patrick Hanes
     Samuel Hanes
     John Haney
     Gideon Hanfield
     Peter Hankley
     Every Hanks
     John Hannings
     Hugh Hanson
     James Hanwagon
     Jonathan Hanwood
     John Hanwright
     Neil Harbert
     John Harbine
     Daniel Harbley
     Augustus Harborough
     Peter Harcourt
     Jean Hard
     Lewis Harden
     Richard Harden
     William Harden
     Turner Hardin
     Frances Harding
     Nathaniel Harding (2)
     George Hardy
     James Hardy
     Joseph Hardy (2)
     Thomas Harens
     John Harfun
     Joel Hargeshonor
     Jacob Hargous
     Abraham Hargus
     Thomas Harkasy
     John Harket
     Solomon Harkey
     Thomas Harkins
     Charles Harlin
     Selden Harley
     Solomon Harley
     Byron Harlow
     John Harman
     Richard Harman
     John Harmon
     Joseph Harner
     William Harragall
     John Harragall
     Lewis Harrett
     Bartholomew Harrington
     Daniel Harrington
     Charles Harris
     Edward Harris
     Francis Harris
     George Harris
     Hugh Harris
     James Harris (2)
     John Harris (2)
     Joseph Harris
     Nathaniel Harris (2)
     Robert Harris
     William Harris
     Charles Harrison
     Elijah Harrison
     Gilbert Harrison
     John Harrison
     William Harron
     Charles Harroon
     Cornelius Hart
     Jacob de Hart
     John Hart
     Samuel Hartley
     Jacob Hartman
     James Hartshorne
     Thomas Hartus
     John Harwood
     John Harvey
     Peter Haselton
     Michael Hashley
     Philip Hashton
     John Hasker
     Jacob Hassa
     John Hassett
     John Hassey
     Benjamin Hatam
     Charles Hatbor
     Edward Hatch
     Jason Hatch
     Nailor Hatch
     Prince Hatch
     Reuben Hatch
     William Hatch
     Edward Hatchway
     Burton Hathaway
     Jacob Hathaway
     Russell Hathaway
     Woolsey Hathaway
     Andrew Hatt
     Shadrach Hatway
     Michael Haupe
     Jacob Hauser
     William Hawke
     Jacob Hawker
     John Hawker
     John Hawkin
     Christopher Hawkins
     Jabez Hawkins
     John Hawkins (2)
     Thomas Hawkins
     Jacob Hawstick
     John Hawston
     George Haybud
     Benjamin Hayden
     Nicholas Hayman
     David Hayne
     Joseph Haynes
     Peter Haynes (2)
     Thomas Haynes
     William Haynes
     David Hays
     Patrick Hays
     Thomas Hays
     William Hays
     William Haysford
     Benjamin Hazard
     John Hazard
     Samuel Heageork
     Gilbert Heart
     Samuel Heart
     Joseph Hearth
     Charles Heath
     Joseph Heath
     Seren Heath
     Seson Heath
     Jack Hebell
     Heraclus Hedges
     George Heft
     Edmund Helbow
     Matthias Hellman
     Lacy Helman
     Thomas Helman
     Odera Hemana
     Daniel Hemdy
     Jared Hemingway
     Alexander Henderson
     Ephraim Henderson
     Joseph Henderson
     Michael Henderson
     Robert Henderson
     William Henderson
     Archibald Hendray
     Robert Hengry
     Leeman Henley
     Butler Henry
     James Henry
     John Henry (3)
     Joseph Henry
     Michael Henry (2)
     William Henry (2)
     John Hensby
     Patrick Hensey (2)
     Enos Henumway
     Dennis Henyard
     Samson Herart
     Thomas Herbert
     Philip Herewux
     Ephraim Herrick
     John Herrick (2)
     William Herrick
     Michael Herring
     William Herring
     Robert Herrow
     Robert Herson
     Robert Hertson
     Augustin Hertros
     Stephen Heskils
     John Hetherington
     John Hewengs
     Lewis Hewit
     William Heysham
     Diah Hibbett
     John Hibell
     Michael Hick
     Daniel Hickey
     Baptist Hicks
     Benjamin Hicks
     John Hicks
     Isaac Higgano
     George Higgins
     Ichabod Higgins
     Samuel Higgins
     Stoutly Higgins
     William Higgins (3)
     Henry Highlander
     John Highlenede
     John Hill (2)
     James Hill
     Joshua Hill (2)
     Thomas Hill (2)
     Edward Hilley
     James Hilliard
     Joseph Hilliard
     Nicholas Hillory
     Hale Hilton
     Nathaniel Hilton
     Benjamin Himsley
     Peter Hinch
     James Hines
     William Hinley
     Aaron Hinman
     William Hinman
     Nathaniel Hinnran
     Jonathan Hint
     John Hirich
     Christian Hiris
     Samuel Hiron
     John Hisburn
     Nathaniel Hise
     Samuel Hiskman
     John Hislop
     Philip Hiss
     Loren Hitch
     Robert Hitch
     Joseph Hitchband
     Edward Hitchcock
     Robert Hitcher
     John Hitching
     Arthur Hives
     Willis Hoag
     Edwin Hoane
     Henry Hobbs
     William Hobbs
     Jacob Hobby
     Nathaniel Hobby
     Joseph Hockless
     Hugh Hodge
     Hercules Hodges (2)
     Benjamin Hodgkinson
     Samuel Hodgson
     Conrad Hoffman
     Cornelius Hoffman
     Roger Hogan
     Stephen Hogan
     Stephen Hoggan
     Alexander Hogsart
     Jacob Hogworthy
     Ephraim Hoist
     Humphrey Hoites
     Lemuel Hokey
     William Hold
     William Holden
     Thomas Holdridge
     John Holland
     Michael Holland
     William Holland (2)
     Nicholas Hollen
     William Holliday
     Michael Holloway
     Myburn Holloway
     Grandless Holly
     Henry Holman
     Isaac Holmes
     James Holmes
     Joseph Holmes
     Nathaniel Holmes
     Thomas Holmes (3)
     George Holmstead
     Charles Hole
     Samuel Holt
     James Home
     Jacob Homer
     William Homer
     William Honeyman
     Simon Hong
     Warren Honlap
     Daniel Hood (2)
     Nicholas Hoogland (2)
     George Hook
     John Hook (2)
     George Hooker
     Ezekiel Hooper
     John Hooper (3)
     Michael Hooper (3)
     Sweet Hooper
     Caleb Hopkins
     Christopher Hopkins
     John Hopkins
     Michael Hopkins
     Stephen Hopkins
     William Hopkins
     Edward Hopper
     John Hopper
     Richard Hopping
     Levi Hoppins
     Joseph Horn (2)
     Jacob Horne
     John Horne
     Ralph Horne
     Samuel Horne
     Augusta Horns
     Michael Horoe
     Charles Horsine
     Ephraim Hort
     Jean Hosea
     John Hosey
     Jean Hoskins
     James Hottahon
     Ebenezer Hough
     Enos House
     Seren House
     Noah Hovard
     Joseph Hovey
     John Howe
     Absalom Howard
     Ebenezer Howard
     John Howard
     Richard Howard
     Thomas Howard
     William Howard (3)
     James Howburn
     Edward Howe
     John Howe
     Thomas Howe
     Ebenezer Howell
     Jesse Howell
     Jonathan Howell
     John Howell
     Luke Howell
     Michael Howell
     Thomas Howell
     Waller Howell
     William Howell
     Daniel Howland
     Joseph Howman
     Benjamin Hoyde
     Dolphin Hubbard
     Jacob Hubbard
     James Hubbard
     Joel Hubbard
     Moses Hubbard
     William Hubbard
     Abel Hubbell
     William Huddle
     John Hudman
     Fawrons Hudson
     John Hudson
     Phineas Hudson
     John Huet
     Conrad Huffman
     Stephen Huggand
     John Huggins
     Abraham Hughes
     Felix Hughes
     Greenberry Hughes
     Greenord Hughes
     Jesse Hughes
     John Hughes
     Peter Hughes
     Thomas Hughes
     Pierre Hujuon
     Richard Humphrey
     Clement Humphries
     W W Humphries
     Ephraim Hunn
     Cephas Hunt
     John Hunt (2)
     Robert Hunt
     Alexander Hunter
     Ezekiel Hunter
     George Hunter
     Robert Hunter
     Turtle Hunter
     Rechariah Hunter
     Elisha Huntington
     Joseph Harand
     Benjamin Hurd
     Joseph Hurd
     Simon Hurd
     Asa Hurlbut
     George Husband
     John Husband
     Negro Huson
     Charles Huss
     Isaac Huss
     Jesse Hussey
     James Huston
     Zechariah Hutchins
     Esau Hutchinson
     John Hutchison
     Abraham Smith Hyde
     Vincent Hyer
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     I. &mdash;      Joseph Ignacis
     Ivede Sousis Illiumbe
     Benjamin Indecot
     Isaac Indegon
     John Ingersall
     Henry Ingersoll (2)
     John Ingraham
     Joseph Ingraham
     Joshua Ingraham
     Philip Ignissita
     Joseph Irasetto
     David Ireland
     James Ireland
     Joseph Ireland
     Michael Irvin
     George Irwin
     Michael Irwin
     Isaac Isaacs
     George Ismay
     Gospar Israel
     James Ivans
     John Ivington
     Francis D Izoguirre
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     J

     Michael Jacen
     Black Jack
     John Jack (2)
     John Jacks (2)
     Frederick Jacks (2)
     George Jacks (2)
     Henry Jacks
     John Jacks
     John Jackson
     James Jackson
     Josiah Jackson
     Nathaniel Jackson
     Peter Jackson
     Robert Jackson
     Jean Jacobs
     Bella Jacobs
     Joseph Jacobs
     Wilson Jacobs
     Andrew Jacobus
     Guitman Jacques
     Guitner Jacques
     Lewis Jacques
     Peter Jadan
     John Jaikes
     Benjamin James
     John James (2)
     Ryan James
     William James
     Daniel Jamison
     Josiah Janes
     Jean Jardin
     Francis Jarnan
     Edward Jarvis
     Petuna Jarvis
     Negro Jask
     John Jassey
     Francis Jatiel
     Clement Jean
     Joseph Jean
     William Jean
     Benjamin Jeanesary
     Roswell Jeffers
     Samuel Jeffers
     James Jeffrey
     John Jeffries
     Joseph Jeffries
     Philip Jeffries
     George Jemrey
     Pierre Jengoux
     David Jenkin
     Enoch Jenkins
     George Jenkins
     Solomon Jenkins
     George Jenney
     John Jenney
     Langdon Jenney
     Langhorn Jenney
     Nathaniel Jennings
     Thomas Jennings
     William Jennings
     John Jenny
     Langhorn Jenny
     Frances Jerun
     Abel Jesbank
     Oliver Jethsam
     Germain Jeune
     Silas Jiles
     Nathan Jinks
     Moses Jinney
     Verd Joamra
     Manuel Joaquire
     Robert Job
     &mdash;&mdash; Joe
     Thomas Joel
     Elias Johnson (2)
     Francis Johnson
     George Johnson
     James Johnson (3)
     John Johnson (3)
     Joseph Johnson
     Major Johnson
     Samuel Johnson
     Stephen Johnson
     William Johnson (8)
     Ebenezer Johnston
     Edward Johnston
     George Johnston
     John Johnston (2)
     Joseph Johnston
     Major Johnston
     Michael Johnston
     Miller Johnston
     Paul Johnston
     Peter Johnston
     Robert Johnston (3)
     Samuel Johnston
     Simon Johnston
     Stephen Johnston
     William Johnston (8)
     William B. Johnston
     James Johnstone
     John Joie
     Thomas Joil
     Adam Jolt
     &mdash;&mdash; Joan
     Benjamin Jonas
     Abraham Jones
     Alexander Jones
     Benjamin Jones (3)
     Beal Jones
     Clayton Jones
     Darl Jones
     Edward Jones (2)
     James Jones
     Jib Jones
     John Jones (7)
     Thomas Jones (2)
     Richard Jones (2)
     Samuel Jones (3)
     William Jones (10)
     Jean Jordan
     John Jordan
     Philip Jordan
     Nicholas Jordon (2)
     Anthony Joseph
     Antonio Joseph
     Emanuel Joseph
     Thomas Joseph
     William Joslitt
     Antonio Jouest
     Thomas Joulet
     Jean Jourdana
     Mousa Jousegh
     Jean Jowe
     Thomas Jowe
     Curtis Joy
     Josiah Joy
     Peter Joy (2)
     Samuel Joy
     Samuel Joyce
     Conrad Joycelin
     Randon Jucba
     Manuel Joseph Jucerria
     Peter Julian
     Henry Junas
     Henry Junus (2)
     Jacques Jurdant
     George Juster
     Samuel Justice
     Simeon Justive
     George Justus
     Philip Justus
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     K

     Mark Kadoody
     Jonn Kam
     Lewis Kale
     Barney Kane
     Edward Kane
     John Kane
     Patrick Kane
     Thomas Kane
     Sprague Kean
     Thomas Kean
     Nathaniel Keard
     William Keary
     Tuson Keath
     Daniel Keaton
     Samuel Kelbey
     Samuel Kelby
     John Keller
     Abner Kelley
     John Kelley (5)
     Michael Kelley (2)
     Oliver Kelley
     Patrick Kelley
     Samuel Kelley
     William Kelley
     Roy Kellrey
     Abner Kelly (2)
     Hugh Kelly
     James Kelly
     John Kelly
     Roger Kelly
     Seth Kelly
     Timothy Kelly
     Nehemiah Kelivan
     Olgas Kilter
     William Kemplin
     Simon Kenim
     Charles Kenneday
     James Kenneday
     Jonathan Kenneday
     Nathaniel Kenneday
     Robert Kenneday (2)
     Thomas Kenneday
     William Kenneday (2)
     David Kennedy
     James Kennedy
     John Kenney (2)
     William Kensey
     Elisha Kenyon
     Joson Ker
     John Kerril
     William Kersey (2)
     Edward Ketcham
     Samuel Ketcham
     William Keyborn
     Anthony Keys
     John Keys
     Michael Keys
     Jean Kiblano
     James Kickson
     George Kidd
     John Kidd
     James Kidney
     Manuel Kidtona
     Thomas Kilbourne
     John Kilby
     Lewis Kildare
     John Kilfundy
     Samuel Killen
     William Killenhouse
     Samuel Killer
     Charles Killis
     Gustavus Killman
     Daniel Kilray
     John Kilts
     Nathaniel Kimberell
     Charles King
     Gilbert King
     Jonathan King
     John King (4)
     Joseph King (4)
     Michael King
     Richard King
     William King
     Nathaniel Kingsbury
     William Kingsley
     Samuel Kinney
     Josiah Kinsland
     Benjamin Kinsman
     Charles Kirby
     John Kirk
     William Kirk
     Jacob Kisler
     Edward Kitchen
     John Kitler
     Ebenezer Knapp
     James Knapp
     Benjamin Knight (2)
     Job Knight
     Reuben Knight
     Thomas Knight (2)
     James Knowles (2)
     Nathaniel Knowles
     James Knowls
     Edward Knowlton
     William Knowlton
     Jeremiah Knox (2)
     John Knox
     Ezekiel Kuthoopen
     Louis Kyer
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     L

     Basil Laban
     Pierre Labon
     Francois Labone
     Deman Labordas
     Fortne Laborde
     Frederick Laborde
     Anton Laca
     Michael La Casawyne
     John Lack
     Christopher Lacon
     Oliver Lacope
     Guilham La Coque
     Anthony Lafart
     Dennis Lafferty
     Pierre La Fille
     Anthony Lagarvet
     Jeff Laggolf
     Samuel Laighton
     Thomas Laigue
     Peter Lain
     Christopher Laird (3)
     John Laird (2)
     Simon Lake
     Thomas Lake
     Nathan Lakeman
     Thomas Laley
     Samson Lalley
     John Lalour
     David Lamb
     William Lamb
     Pierre Lambert
     Richard Lambert (2)
     Cayelland Lambra
     Thomas Lambuda
     Evena Lame
     Thomas Lame
     Jean Lameari
     Michael Lameova
     Alexander Lamere (2)
     Roque Lamie
     Henry Land
     Stephen Landart
     George Landon
     Peter Landon
     William Lane
     John Langdon
     Jonathan Langer
     Darius Langford
     William Langford
     John Langler
     Obadiah Langley
     Thomas Langley (2)
     James Langlord
     Joseph Langola
     Andrew Langolle
     Thomas Langstaff
     Franes Langum
     Francois Lan Hubere
     Samuel Lanman
     Nicholas Lanmand
     William Lanvath
     David Lapham
     Bundirk Laplaine
     Joseph La Plan
     James Lapthorn
     Pierre Laquise
     Francis Larada
     Matthew La Raison
     Charles Larbys
     Thomas Larkin
     James Larkins
     Gillian Laroache
     Bundirk Larplairne
     Pierre Larquan
     Benjamin Larrick
     Lewis Larsolan
     Guillemot Lascope
     Julian Lascope
     Joseph Laselieve
     John Lasheity
     William Lasken
     Jachery Lasoca
     David Lassan
     Michael Lassly
     Pierre Lastio
     David Latham
     Edward Latham
     James Latham
     Thomas Latham
     Elisha Lathrop
     John Lathrop
     Hezekiah Lathrop
     Solomon Lathrop
     James Latover
     Lorenzo Lattam
     Peter Lattimer
     Thomas Lattimer
     William Lattimer
     William Lattimore
     Frederick Lasker
     William Lathmore
     Samuel Laura
     John Laureny
     Homer Laury
     Michael Lased
     Daniel Lavet
     Pierre Lavigne
     Michael Lavona
     Ezekiel Law (2)
     John Law
     Richard Law
     Thomas Law
     Michael Lawbridge
     Thomas Lawrance
     Antonio Lawrence
     Isaac Lawrence
     James Lawrence
     John Lawrence (2)
     Joseph Lawrence
     Michael Lawrence
     Robert Lawrence
     Samuel Lawrence (3)
     Thomas Lawrence
     William Lawrence (2)
     John Lawrie
     Andrew Lawson
     Joseph Lawson
     Joseph Lawton
     Edward Lay
     Lenolen Layfield
     William Layne
     John Layons
     Colsie Layton
     Jessie Layton
     Anthonv Layzar
     Ezekiel Leach
     Thomas Leach (3)
     William Leach
     William Leachs
     John Leafeat
     Cornelius Leary
     John Leasear
     John Leatherby
     Louis Leblanc
     Philip Le Caq
     William Le Cose
     Baptist Le Cour
     Benjamin Lecraft
     Joseph Lecree
     Aaron Lee
     Adam Lee
     David Lee
     Henry Lee
     James Lee
     John Lee
     Josiah Lee
     Peter Lee
     Richard Lee (3)
     Stephen Lee
     Thomas Lee (3)
     James Leech
     John Leech (2)
     George Leechman
     Jack Leeme
     Joseph Leera
     Jean Lefant
     &mdash;&mdash; Le Fargue
     Michael Lefen
     Samuel Le Fever
     Nathaniel Le Fevere
     Alexander Le Fongue
     Jean Le Ford
     Hezekiah Legrange
     Thomas Legrange
     Joseph Legro
     Samuel Legro
     George Lehman
     Gerge Lehman
     George Leish
     Jacob Lelande
     Jeremiah Leman
     John Lemee
     Rothe Lemee
     Abraham Lemon
     Peter Lernonas
     Pierre Lemons
     John Lemont
     Powell Lemosk
     John Lemot
     James Lenard
     Joseph Lenard
     John Lenham
     Tuft Lenock
     Joseph Lenoze
     John Leonard
     Simon Leonard
     Louis Le Pach
     Joshua Le Poore
     Pierre Le Port
     Francis Lepord
     Pierre Lepord
     Pierre Lerandier
     Jean Le Rean
     Joseph Peccanti Lescimia
     John Lessington
     John Lessell
     Christian Lester
     Henry Lester
     Lion Lesteren
     Ezekiel Letts (2)
     James Leuard
     Anthony Levanden
     Thomas Leverett
     John Leversey
     Joseph Levett
     Nathaniel Levi
     Bineva Levzie
     Jean Baptiste Leynac
     Nicholas L&rsquo;Herox
     Pierre Liar
     John Lidman
     George Lichmond
     Charles Liekerada
     Charles Liekeradan
     Louis Light
     John Lightwell
     Homer Ligond
     Joseph Lilihorn
     Jonathan Lillabridge
     Joseph Lillehorn
     Thomas Lilliabridge
     Armistead Lillie
     John Lilling
     John Limberick
     Christopher Limbourne (2)
     Lewis Lincoln
     Samuel Lindsay
     James Lindsey
     Matthew Lindsley
     William Lindsley
     Lamb Lines
     Charles Linn
     Lewis Linot
     Richard Linthorn
     Nicholas Linva
     Samuel Linzey
     William Linzey
     Jesse Lipp
     Henry Lisby
     Francis Little
     George Little
     John Little (3)
     Philip Little
     Thomas Little
     Thomas Littlejohn
     William Littleton
     Thomas Livet
     Licomi Lizarn
     James Lloyd
     Simon Lloyd
     William Lloyd
     Lones Lochare
     John Logan
     Patrick Logard
     Eve Logoff
     Samuel Lombard
     John London
     Richard London
     Adam Lone
     Christian Long
     Enoch Long
     Jeremiah Long
     William Long
     Martin Longue
     Emanuel Loper
     Joseph Lopez
     Daniel Loran
     John Lorand
     Nathaniel Lord
     William Loreman
     Francis Loring
     John Lort
     Thomas Lorton
     Jean Lossett
     William Lott
     David Louis
     John Love (2)
     Stephen Love
     Thomas Love
     John Loveberry
     William Loverin
     James Lovett
     Thomas Lovett (2)
     James Low
     William Low
     John Lowe
     Abner Lowell (2)
     Israel Lowell
     Jonathan Lowell
     John Lowering
     Jacob Lowerre
     Robert Lowerre (2)
     Robert Lowerry
     John Lowery
     Philip Lowett
     John Lowring
     Pierre Lozalie
     Jacques Lubard
     James Lucas
     Lucian Lucas
     Jean Lucie
     William Lucker
     William Luckey (2)
     W. Ludds
     Samuel Luder
     David Ludwith
     Peter Lumbard
     Francois Lumbrick
     Joseph Lunt (3)
     Skipper Lunt
     Philip Lute
     Nehemiah Luther
     Reuben Luther
     Benjamin Luyster
     Augustin Luzard
     Alexander Lyelar
     Charles Lyle
     Witsby Linbick
     Jean Lynton
     Peter Lyon
     Samuel Lyon
     Archibald Lyons
     Daniel Lyons
     Ephraim Lyons
     Ezekiel Lyons
     Jonathan Lyons
     Samuel Lyons
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     M

     Jean Franco Mabugera
     John Macay
     Nicholas McCant
     John Mace
     Anthony Macguire
     Pierre Marker
     William Macgneol
     Romulus Mackroy
     John Madding (2)
     Peter Madding
     Peter Maggot
     John Maginon
     Stringe Mahlan
     Peter Mahrin
     Jean Maikser
     William Main
     Joseph Mainwright
     Simon Majo
     Pierre Malaque
     John Maleon
     Lewis Malcom
     Maurice Malcom
     John Male
     William Malen
     Francis Maler
     Matthew Malkellan
     Enoch Mall
     Daniel Malleby
     Thomas Malleby
     Frederick Malleneux
     John Mallet
     Daniel Mallory
     John Malone
     Paul Malory
     Thomas Makend
     Nathaniel Mamford
     &mdash;&mdash; Mamney
     Peter Manaford
     Josiah Manars
     John Manchester
     Silas Manchester
     Thaddeus Manchester
     Edward Mand
     Edward Manda
     Jonathan Mandevineur
     Sylvester Manein
     Pierre Maneit
     Etien Manett
     George Manett
     George Mangoose
     John Manhee
     William Manilla
     Anthony Mankan
     Jacob Manlore
     William Manlove
     John Manly
     James Mann
     John Manor
     Isaac Mans
     Benjamin Mansfield
     Hemas Mansfield
     William Mansfield
     Joseph Mantsea
     Jonathan Maples
     Jean Mapson
     Auree Marand
     &mdash;&mdash; Marbinnea
     Mary Marblyn
     Etom Marcais
     James Marcey
     Jean Margabta
     Jean Marguie
     Timothy Mariarty
     John Mariner (2)
     Hercules Mariner (2)
     Elias Markham
     Thomas Marle
     James Marley
     Jean Marlgan
     Francis Marmilla
     David Marney
     James Marriott
     Zachary Marrall
     William Marran
     James Marriott
     Alexander Marse
     Jarnes Marsh
     Benjamin Marshall
     James Marshall
     John Marshall
     Joseph Marshall
     Samuel Marshall
     Thomas Marshall
     Timothy Marson
     Thomas Marston
     Adam Martellus
     Antonio Marti
     Ananias Martin
     Damon Martin
     Daniel Martin
     Daniel F. Martin
     Emanuel Martin
     Embey Martin
     Francis Martin
     George Martin
     Gilow Martin
     Jacob Martin
     James Martin
     Jesse Martin
     John Martin (4)
     Joseph Martin (3)
     Lewis Martin
     Martin Martin
     Michael Martin
     Peter Martin
     Philip Martin
     Samuel Martin (2)
     Simon Martin
     Thomas Martin (2)
     William Martin (3)
     Jose Martine (2)
     Thomas Martine
     Pierre Martinett
     Philip Marting
     Martin Martins
     Oliver Marton
     John Marton
     Baptist Marvellon
     Anthony Marwin
     Andrew Masar
     Thomas Mash
     Matthew Maskillon
     Thomas Masley
     Jean Maso
     Augustus Mason
     Francis Mason
     Gerard B. Mason
     Halbert Mason
     James Mason
     Louis Mason
     Charles Massaa
     James Massey
     James Maston
     Pierre Mathamice
     James Mathes
     Jeffrey Mathews
     John Mathews
     Joseph Mathews (2)
     Josiah Mathews
     Richard Mathews (2)
     Robert Mathews
     Thomas Mathews
     William Mathews (2)
     Thomas Mathewson
     Robert Mathias
     Joseph Matre
     James Matson
     William Matterga
     George Matthews
     Joseph Matthews
     Josiah Matthews
     Richard Matthias
     Thomas Maun
     James Maurice
     John Mawdole
     Patrick Maxfield
     Daniel Maxwell
     David Maxwell
     George Maxwell
     James Maxwell (6)
     John Maxwell (3)
     William Maxwell (5)
     George May
     John Maye (3)
     John Maygehan
     Pierre Maywer (3)
     Parick McAllister
     Charles McArthur
     John McArthur
     Peter McCalpan
     Nathaniel McCampsey
     William McCanery
     Edward McCann
     Daniel McCape (2)
     Andrew McCarty
     Cornelius McCarty
     William McCarty
     John M. McCash
     Francis McClain
     James McClanagan
     Daniel McClary
     Henry McCleaf
     Patrick McClemens
     John McClesh
     Patrick McCloskey
     Murphy McCloud
     Peter McCloud
     James McClure
     William McClure
     Johnston McCollister
     James McComb
     Paul McCome
     James McConnell
     Hugh McCormac
     James McCormick
     William McCowan
     Donald McCoy
     George McCoy
     Peter McCoy
     Samuel McCoy
     John McCrady
     Gilbert McCray
     John McCray
     Roderick McCrea
     Patrick McCuila
     Francis McCullam
     William McCullock
     Daniel McCullough
     William McCullough
     Patrick McCullum
     Caleb McCully
     Archibald McCunn
     James McDaniel (3)
     John McDaniel
     John McDavid
     William McDermott
     Alexander McDonald
     Donald McDonald
     John McDonald
     Petre McDonald
     William McDonald (2)
     Patrick McDonough (2)
     William McDougall
     Ebenezer McEntire
     John McEvan
     John McFaggins
     James McFall
     Bradford McFarlan
     Daniel McFarland
     William McFarland (2)
     Bradford McFarling
     Bushford McFarling
     John McFamon
     William McGandy
     John McGee (2)
     Andrew McGelpin (3)
     James McGeer
     John McGey (3)
     Arthur McGill
     James McGill
     Henry McGinness
     James McGinniss
     John McGoggin
     Robert McGonnegray
     James McGowan
     John McGoy
     Barnaby McHenry
     Duncan Mclntire
     Patrick McKay
     Matthew McKellum
     Barnaby McKenry
     John McKensie
     Thomas McKeon
     Patrick McKey
     James McKinney (2)
     John McKinsey
     George McKinsle
     William McKinsley
     Benjamin McLachlan
     Edward McLain
     Lewis McLain
     Philip McLaughlin
     Daniel McLayne
     James McMichael
     Philip McMonough
     Francis McName
     John McNauch
     Archibald McNeal
     John McNeal
     James McNeil
     William McNeil
     John McNish
     Molcolm McPherman
     William McQueen
     Charles McQuillian
     Samuel McWaters
     Samuel Mecury
     John Medaff
     John Mede
     Joshua Medisabel
     Joseph Meack
     John Meak
     Usell Meechen
     Abraham Meek
     Joseph Meek
     Timothy Meek
     John Mego
     Springale Meins
     William Melch
     Joseph Mellins
     Harvey Mellville
     William Melone
     Adam Meltward
     George Melvin
     Lewis Meneal
     John Menelick
     Jean Baptist Menlich
     William Mellwood
     John Mercaten
     James Mercer
     Robert Mercer (2)
     Jean Merchant (2)
     John Merchant
     Peter Merchant
     William Merchant
     John Merchaud
     Sylvester Mercy
     Bistin Mereff
     Jean Meritwell
     Francis Merlin
     John Merlin
     Augustus Merrick
     John Merrick
     Joseph Merrick
     Samuel Merrick
     Nimrod Merrill
     John Merritt
     John Merry
     John Mersean
     Clifton Merser
     John Mersey
     Abner Mersick
     William Messdone
     Thomas Messell
     George Messingburg
     George Messmong
     Thomas Metsard
     Job Meyrick
     Roger Mickey
     Thomas Migill
     James Migley
     Jean Milcher
     John Miles (2)
     Segur Miles
     Thomas Miles
     Timothy Miles
     George Mildred
     James Millbown
     Robert Millburn
     John Millen
     Christopher Miller
     David Miller
     Ebenezer Miller
     Elijah Miller (2)
     George Miller
     Jacob Miller
     John Miller (3)
     John James Miller
     Jonathan Miller
     Michael Miller
     Peter Miller
     Samuel Miller (2)
     William Miller (2)
     Maurice Millet
     Thomas Millet
     Francis Mills
     John Mills (2)
     William Mills
     Dirk Miners
     John Mink
     Renard Mink
     Lawrence Minnharm
     Arnold Minow
     Kiele Mires
     Koel Mires
     Anthony Mitchell
     Benjamin Mitchell
     James Mitchell
     Jean Mitchell
     John Mitchell (2)
     Joseph Mitchell
     David P. Mite
     Elijah Mix
     Joseph Mix
     Paul Mix
     James Moet
     William Moffat
     David Moffet
     Emanuel Moguera
     Peter Moizan
     Joseph Molisan
     Alexander Molla
     Mark Mollian
     Ethkin Mollinas
     Bartholomew Molling
     Daniel Mollond
     James Molloy
     John Molny
     Gilman Molose
     Enoch Molton
     George Molton
     Isaac Money
     Perry Mongender
     William Monrass
     James Monro
     Abraham Monroe
     John Monroe
     Thomas Monroe
     David Montague
     Norman Montague
     William Montague
     Lewis Montaire
     Matthew Morgan
     Francis Montesdague
     George Montgomery (2)
     James Montgomery (3)
     John Montgomery (2)
     James Moody
     Silas Moody
     Hugh Mooney
     Abraham Moore (2)
     Adam Moore
     Frederick Moore
     Henry Moore
     Israel Moore
     James Moore
     John Moore (2)
     Joseph Moore
     Nathaniel Moore
     Patrick Moore
     Ralph Moore
     Richard Moore
     Samuel Moore
     Stephen Moore
     Thomas Moore (6)
     Wardman Moore
     William Moore (6)
     Charles Moosey
     John Mooton
     Acri Morana
     John Morant
     Adam Morare
     John Baptist Moraw
     W. Morce
     Gilmot Morea
     Toby Morean
     Joseph Morehand
     Abel Morehouse (2)
     Grosseo Moreo
     Jonathan Morey
     Lewis Morey
     Louis Morey
     Abel Morgan
     Henry Morgan
     John Morgan (3)
     Joseph Morgan
     Matthew Morgan
     John Moride
     Edward Moritz
     William Morein
     James Morley
     John Morrell
     Osborne Morrell
     Robert Morrell (3)
     Francis Morrice
     Andrew Morris (2)
     Daniel Morris
     David Morris
     Easins Morris
     Edward Morris
     Foster Morris
     Gouverneur Morris
     John Morris (3)
     Matthew Morris
     Philip Morris
     Robert Morris
     W Morris
     William Morris
     Hugh Morrisin
     James Morrison
     Murdock Morrison
     Norman Morrison
     Samuel Morrison
     Richard Morse
     Sheren Morselander
     William Morselander
     Benjamin Mortimer
     Robert Mortimer (2)
     Abner Morton (2)
     George Morton
     James Morton
     Philip Morton (2)
     Robert Morton
     Samuel Morton
     Philip Mortong
     Simon Morzin
     Negro Moses
     Daniel Mosiah
     Sharon Moslander
     William Moslander
     John Moss (2)
     Alexander Motley
     William Motley
     Elkinar Mothe
     Enoch Motion
     Benjamin Motte
     Francis Moucan
     Jean Moucan
     George Moulton
     John Moulton
     Richard Mount
     John Muanbet
     Hezekiah Muck
     Jacob Muckleroy
     Philip Muckleroy (2)
     Jacob Mullen
     Eleme Mullent
     Jean Muller
     Leonard Muller
     Robert Muller
     Abraham Mullet
     Jonathan Mullin
     Leonard Mullin
     Jonathan Mullin
     Robert Mullin
     William Mullin
     Edward Mulloy (2)
     Francis Mulloy
     Richard Mumford
     Timothy Mumford
     Michael Mungen
     John Mungon
     John Munro
     Henry Munrow
     Royal Munrow
     Thomas Munthbowk
     Hosea Munul
     James Murdock (2)
     John Murdock
     Peter Murlow
     Daniel Murphy (2)
     John Murphy
     Nicholas Murphy
     Patrick Murphy
     Thomas Murphy (2)
     Bryan Murray
     Charles Murray
     Daniel Murray (2)
     John Murray (4)
     Silas Murray
     Thomas Murray
     William Murray
     Antonio Murria (2)
     David Murrow
     John Murrow
     Samuel Murrow
     Adam Murtilus
     Richard Murus
     Antonio Musqui
     Ebenezer Mutter
     Jean Myatt
     Adam Myers (2)
     George Myles
     Henry Myres
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     N

     Ebenezer Nabb
     Dippen Nack
     Archibald Nailer
     Thomas Nandiva
     Hosea Nandus
     Richard Nash
     Jean Natalt
     Benjamin Nathan
     Joseph Nathan
     John Nathey (2)
     Nathaniel Naval
     Simon Navane
     Francis Navas
     Pierre Navey
     David Neal (2)
     George Neal
     William Nealson
     Ebenezer Neating
     Gideon Necar
     Joseph Negbel
     Michael Negg
     John Negis
     James Neglee
     Frank Negroe
     James Negroe
     James Negus
     Thomas Negus
     Abraham Neilson
     Alexander Neilson
     James Neilson
     Joseph Neilson
     Alexander Nelson
     Andrew Nelson
     John Nelson (2)
     Joseph Nelson
     Thomas Nelson (2)
     William Nelson
     Thomas Nesbitt
     Bartholomew Nestora
     Francis Neville
     Jean Neville
     Michael Neville
     Ebenezer Newall
     Sucreason Newall
     William Neward
     Elisha Newbury
     Andrew Newcomb
     John Newcomb
     Andrew Newell
     Amos Newell
     Joseph Newell
     Nathaniel Newell
     Robert Newell
     Nicholas Newgal
     Joseph Newhall
     Joseph Newille
     Francis Newman
     Moses Newman
     Nathaniel Newman
     Samuel Newman
     Thomas Newman (4)
     Adam Newton (2)
     John Newton
     William Newton
     Adam Newtown
     William Newtown
     John Niester
     James Nigley
     Richard Nich
     Thomas Nicher
     Martin Nichets
     Richard Nicholas
     Allen Nichols
     George Nichols
     James Nichols
     John Nichols
     Richard Nichols
     Alexander Nicholson
     George Nicholson
     Samuel Nicholson
     Thomas Nicholson
     George Nicks
     Gideon Nigh
     William Nightingale
     James Nigley
     Frank Niles
     Robert Nixon
     Jean Noblat
     Arnox Noble
     James Noble
     John Mary Noblet
     John Nocker
     William Noel
     William Nore
     John Norfleet
     Proper Norgand
     John Norie
     James Norman
     John Norman
     Joseph Norman
     Peter Norman
     Joseph Normay
     Henry Norris
     Anfield North
     Daniel Northron
     Harris Northrup
     William Northrup
     Elijah Norton
     Jacob Norton
     John Norton (3)
     Nicholas Norton
     Peter Norton
     William Norton
     Jacques Norva (2)
     William Nourse
     Nathaniel Nowell
     Joseph Noyes
     William Nurse
     Pierre Nutern
     David Nutter (2)
     Joseph Nutter
     John Nuttin (2)
     Ebenezer Nutting
     Robert Nyles
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     O

     Charles Oakford
     Solomon Oakley
     John Oakman
     Israel Oat
     Joseph Oates
     John Obey (2)
     Cornelius O&rsquo;Brien
     Edward O&rsquo;Brien
     John O&rsquo;Brien
     William O&rsquo;Bryan
     Daniel Obourne
     Samuel Oderon
     Samuel Odiron
     Pierre Ogee
     John Ogillon
     Richard Ogner
     Patrick O&rsquo;Hara
     Robert O&rsquo;Hara
     Patrick O&rsquo;Harra
     Daniel Olbro
     George Oldham
     John Oldsmith
     Raymond O&rsquo;Larra
     Devoe Olaya
     Zebulon Olaya
     Don R. Antonio Olive
     Anthony Oliver
     James Oliver (5)
     Zebulon Oliver
     Ebenezer Onsware
     Allan Ord
     John Ord
     John Orgall
     Sebastian Orman
     Edward Ormunde
     William Orr
     John Orrock
     Emanuel Orseat
     Patrick Orsley
     John Osborn
     Joseph Osbourne
     John Oseglass
     Stephen Osena
     John Osgood
     Gabriel Oshire
     Jean Oshire
     Louis Oshire
     John Osman
     Henry Oswald
     Gregorian Othes
     Andre Otine (2)
     Samuel Otis
     Benjamin Otter
     John Oubler
     Charles Ousanon
     Samuel Ousey
     William Ousey
     Jay Outon
     John Outton
     Jonathan Ovans
     Samuel Ovell
     Vincent Overatt
     Samuel Overgorm
     Lewis Owal
     John Owen
     Anthony Owens
     Archibald Owens
     Barnick Owens
     James Owens
     John Owens
     Samuel Owens
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     P

     Jean Packet
     Abel Paddock
     Joseph Paddock
     Silas Paddock
     Daniel Paddock
     Journey Padouan
     B. Pain
     Jacob Painter
     Henry Painter
     John Palicut
     Daniel Palmer
     Elisha Palmer
     Gay Palmer
     George Palmer
     James Palmer
     John Palmer
     Jonas Palmer
     Joshua Palmer
     Lemuel Palmer
     Matthew Palmer
     Moses Palmer
     Philip Palmer
     William Palmer (4)
     Peter Palot
     Moses Palot
     Nicholas Pamphillion
     Emea Panier
     Anthony Panks
     Joseph Parde
     Christopher Pardindes
     Jacob Pardley
     John Parish
     George Park
     John Parkard
     Thomas Parkard
     George L. Parke
     Joseph Parkens
     Amos Parker
     Ebenezer Parker
     Edward Parker
     George Parker (2)
     John Parker (4)
     Luther Parker (2)
     Peter Parker
     Samuel Parker (2)
     Thaddeus Parker
     Timothy Parker
     George Parks
     Richard Parks
     Thomas Parkson
     Joseph Parlot
     Thomas Parnell
     Jean Parol
     Sebastian Parong
     Dominick Parpot
     Gabriel Parrie
     Francis Parshall
     James Parsons (3)
     Jeremiah Parsons
     John Parsons
     Joseph Parsons
     Samuel Parsons
     Stephen Parsons
     William Parsons (2)
     James Partridge
     Roman Pascan
     Edmund Paschal
     Leroy Pasehall
     Richard Pass
     William Pass
     Israel Patch
     Joseph Patrick
     David Patridge
     Edward Patterson
     Hance Patterson
     John Patterson (2)
     Peter Patterson
     W. Patterson
     William Patterson
     William Paul
     Pierre Payatt
     James Payne
     Josiah Payne
     Oliver Payne
     Thomas Payne (3)
     William Payne (2)
     William Payton
     John Peacock
     Benjamin Peade
     Benjamin Peal
     Samuel Pealer
     William Peals
     John Pear
     Amos Pearce
     Benjamin Pearce
     John Pearce
     Jonathan Pearce
     Edward Pearsol
     John Pearson
     George Peasood
     Elisha Pease
     Estrant Pease
     Guliel Pechin
     Andrew Peck (2)
     Benjamin Peck
     James Peck
     Joseph Peck (2)
     Simon Peck
     William Peck
     Benjamin Pecke
     Gardner Peckham
     John Peckworth
     Zachary Peddlefoot
     Solomon Pedgore
     Edward Pedlock
     Alexander Pees
     John Pees
     Silas Pegget
     Jean Pegit
     John Pelit
     Pierre Pelit
     Samuel Pell
     Sebastian Pelle
     Jacques Peloneuse
     &mdash;&mdash; Pelrice
     Gothard Pelrice
     John Pelvert
     Amos Pemberton (2)
     Thomas Pemberton
     William Pemberton
     John Pendleton
     Sylvester Pendleton (2)
     &mdash;&mdash; Penfield
     Peter Penoy
     James Penwell
     John Baptist Peomond
     Alfred Peose
     Michael Pepper
     Thomas Perall
     James Peril
     Charles Perinell
     Peter Perieu
     Charles Perkinell
     Charles Perkmell
     Jabez Perkins
     Jonathan Perkins
     Joseph Perkins
     William Perkins
     Antonio Permanouf
     Peter Perons
     Peter Perora
     Pierre Perout
     John Perry
     Joseph Perry
     Raymond Perry
     Richard Perry
     William Perry (7)
     Manuel Person
     Jabez Pervis
     Jean Peshire
     John Peterkin (2)
     Francis Peters
     John Peters (2)
     Aaron Peterson
     Hance Peterson
     Joseph Peterson (2)
     James Petre
     William Pett
     Daniel Pettis
     Ephraim Pettis
     Nathan Pettis
     Isaac Pettit
     Joseph Antonio Pezes
     Thomas Philbrook
     John Philip (2)
     Joseph Philip
     Lewis Philip
     Pierre Philip
     John Philips
     Lewin Philips
     Nathan Philips
     Thomas Philips
     Edward Phillips
     John Phillips (2)
     Samuel Phillips
     James Phimmer
     Joseph Phipise
     Nathaniel Phippin
     Thomas Phippin
     Jean Picher
     Juan Picko
     Pierre Pickolet
     Richard Pierce (2)
     Stephen Pierce
     Jeremiah Pierel
     Jean Pierre
     Jesse Pierre
     Jucah Pierre
     Joseph Pierson
     Amos Pike
     John Pike
     George Pill
     Joseph Pillion
     Truston Pilsbury
     John Pimelton
     Simeon Pimelton
     James Pine (2)
     Charles Pinkel
     Jonathan Pinkman
     Robert Pinkman
     Augustus Pion
     Henry Pipon
     Jean Pisung
     Elias Pitchcock
     Sele Pitkins
     John Pitman
     Jonathan Pitman (2)
     Thomas Pitt
     John Pittman
     W. Pitts
     Nathaniel Plachores
     Elton Planet
     Etena Planett
     John Platte
     William Plemate
     Francis Plenty
     John Ploughman
     Thomas Plunkett
     James Plumer
     John Plumstead
     Thomas Plunkett
     Motthew Poble
     Henry Pogan
     Daniel Poges
     Salvador Pogsin
     Michael Poinchet
     Gilman Poirant
     William Poke
     John Poland
     John Pollard
     Peter Pollard
     Jonathas Pollin
     Elham Poloski
     Samuel Polse
     William Polse
     Charles Pond
     Pennell Pond
     Peter Pond
     Culman Poni
     Fancis Ponsard
     Hosea Pontar
     Joseph Pontesty
     Robert Pool
     David Poole
     Hosea Poole
     John Poole
     Richard Poole
     Robert Poole
     Morris Poor
     Thomas Poor
     Henry Poore
     Morris Poore
     William Poore
     Alexander Pope
     John Pope
     Etienne Porlacu
     Nathaniel Porson
     Anthony Port
     Charles Porter (3)
     David Porter (3)
     Edward Porter
     Frederick Porter
     Howard Porter
     John Porter (2)
     Thomas Porter
     William Porter
     Frank Portois
     Seren Poseter
     Jeremiah Post
     Jean Postian
     Edward Posture
     Thomas Posture
     Thomas Poteer
     Abijah Potter
     Charles Potter
     Ephraim Potter
     Rufus Potter
     Mark Pouchett
     Jean Poullain
     Mark B Poullam
     William Powder
     John Powell
     Thomas Powell
     William Powder
     Patrick Power
     Richard Powers
     Stephen Powers
     Nicholas Prande (2)
     Benjamin Prate
     James Prate
     Ebenezer Pratt
     Ezra Pratt (2)
     Andre Preno
     Nathaniel Prentiss
     Robert Prentiss
     Stanton Prentiss
     Andrew Presson
     Isaac Presson
     Benjamin Prettyman
     John Pribble (2)
     Edward Price (2)
     Joseph Price
     Nathaniel Price
     Reason Price (2)
     Richard Price
     Samuel Price
     William Price
     John Prichard
     Jonathan Pride
     William Priel
     Henry Primm
     Edward Primus
     Charles Prince
     Negro Prince
     Nicholas Priston
     James Proby
     James Proctor
     Joseph Proctor
     Samuel Proctor
     Claud Provost
     Paul Provost
     John Proud (2)
     Joseph Proud
     Joseph Prought
     Lewis de Pue
     James Pullet
     Pierre Punce
     Peter Purlett
     William Purnell
     Edward Pursell
     Abraham Putnam
     Creece Putnam
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Q

     James Quality (3)
     Joseph Quality
     Josiah Quality
     Samuel Quamer
     Thomas Quand
     Louis Quelgrise
     Duncan Quigg (2)
     James Quinch
     Samuel Quinn
     Charles Quiot
     Samuel Quomer
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     R

     Thomas Race
     Antonio Rackalong
     Patrick Rafferty
     Daniel Raiden
     Michael Raingul
     Richard Rainham
     Thomas Rainiot
     George Rambert
     Peter Ramlies
     Joseph Ramsdale
     Abner Ramsden
     Jean C. Ran
     Benjamin Randall
     Charles Randall
     Edward Randall
     Jesse Randall
     Joseph Randall
     Nathaniel Randall (2)
     Thomas Randall
     William Randall (2)
     Dolly Randel
     Paul Randell
     Joseph Randell (2)
     Joses Randell
     George Randell
     Paul Randell
     George Randels
     Nathaniel Randol
     Jean Baptiste Rano
     Benjamin Ranshaw
     James Rant
     Norman Rathbun
     Roger Rathbun
     Peter Rathburn
     Samuel Rathburn
     Rogers Rathburne
     Peter Rattan
     Arthur Rawson
     Francis Rawson
     James Rawson
     Alexander Ray
     John Ray
     Nathaniel Ray
     Nathaniel Raye
     George Raymond
     James Raymond
     William Raymond
     William Raymons
     Jean Raynor
     Benjamin Read
     Oliver Reade
     Jeremiah Reardon
     Lewis Recour
     John Red
     James Redfield
     Edward Redick
     Benjamin Redman
     Andre Read
     Barnard Reed
     Christian Reed
     Curtis Reed
     Eliphaz Reed
     George Reed
     Jeremiah Reed
     Job Reed
     John Reed (2)
     Jonathan Reed
     Joseph Reed
     Levi Reed
     Thomas Reed (2)
     William Reed (2)
     John Reef
     Nicholas Reen
     Thomas Reeves
     Jacques Refitter
     Julian Regan
     Hugh Reid
     Jacob Reiton
     Jean Remong
     Jean Nosta Renan
     Louis Renand
     John Renean
     Pierre Renear
     Thomas Renee
     Thomas Rennick
     Frederick Reno
     Jean Renovil
     Michael Renow
     Jean Reo
     Barton Repent
     Jean Requal
     Jesse Rester
     Louis Rewof
     Thomas Reynelds
     Elisha Reynolds
     Nathaniel Reynolds
     Richard Reynolds (2)
     Thomas Reynolds
     Thomas Reyzick
     Sylvester Rhodes
     Thomas de Ribas
     George Ribble
     Benjamin Rice
     Edward Rice
     James Rice
     John Rice (2)
     Nathaniel Rice
     Noah Rice
     William Rice
     Elisha Rich
     Freeman Rich
     John Rich
     Matthew Rich
     Nathan Rich
     Benjamin Richard
     Diah Richards
     Gilbert Richards
     James Richards
     John Richards
     Oliver Richards
     Pierre Richards
     William Richards
     David Richardson
     John Richardson
     Pierre Richardson
     William Richardson
     Cussing Richman
     Ebenezer Richman
     Benjamin Richmond
     Seth Richmond
     Clement Ricker
     John Rickett
     Nathaniel Rickman
     Lewis Ridden
     Isaac Riddler
     Lewis Rider
     John Riders
     John Ridge
     John Ridgway
     Isaac Ridler
     Amos Ridley
     Thomas Ridley
     David Rieve
     Israel Rieves
     Jacob Right
     James Rigmorse
     Joseph Rigo
     Henry Riker
     R. Riker
     James Riley
     Philip Riley
     Philip Rilly
     Pierre Ringurd
     John Rion
     Daniel Riordan
     Paul Ripley
     Ramble Ripley
     Thomas Ripley
     Ebenezer Ritch
     John River
     Joseph River
     Paul Rivers
     Thomas Rivers
     John Rivington
     Joseph Roach
     Lawrence Roach
     William Roas
     Thomas Robb
     James Robehaird
     Arthur Robert
     John Robert
     Julian Robert
     Aaron Roberts (2)
     Edward Roberts
     Epaphras Roberts
     James Roberts (2)
     Joseph Roberts
     Moses Roberts (2)
     William Roberts (4)
     Charles Robertson (2)
     Elisha Robertson
     Esau Robertson
     George Robertson
     James Robertson (3)
     Jeremiah Robertson
     John Robertson (6)
     Joseph Robertson
     Samuel Robertson
     Thomas Robertson
     Daniel Robins
     Enoch Robins
     James Robins
     William Robins
     Anthony Robinson
     Ebenezer Robinson
     Enoch Robinson
     James Robinson (2)
     Jehu Robinson
     John Robinson (3)
     Joseph Robinson
     Mark Robinson
     Nathaniel Robinson
     Thomas Robinson
     William Robinson
     John Rockway
     Daniel Rockwell
     Jabez Rockwell
     Elisha Rockwood
     Anthony Roderick
     Jean Raptist Rodent
     James Rodgers
     Michael Rodieu
     Francis Rodrigo
     Franco Rogeas
     Robert Roger
     Dudson Rogers
     Ebenezer Rogers
     Emanuel Rogers
     George Rogers (3)
     John Rogers (5)
     Nicholas Rogers
     Paul Rogers
     Thomas Rogers
     William Rogers
     John Rogert
     Joseph Roget
     Jean Rogue
     John Francis Rogue
     John Roke
     John Rollin
     Paul Rollins
     Toby Rollins
     Francis Roman
     Petre Romary
     Diego Romeria
     Benjamin Romulus
     Lewis Ronder
     Jack Rone
     Paul Ropeley
     Bartram Ropper
     Gideon Rose (2)
     John Rose (2)
     Philip Rose
     Prosper Rose
     Jean Rosea
     Augustus Roseau
     Guilliam Roseau
     Jean Baptist Rosua
     William Rose
     Andrew Ross
     Archibald Ross
     Daniel Ross (3)
     David Ross
     James Ross
     Malone Ross
     Thomas Ross
     William Ross (3)
     Bostion Roteslar
     John Roth
     Samuel Rothburn
     Benjamin Rothers
     Jean Baptist Rouge
     Jean James Rouge
     Charles Roulong
     Hampton Round
     John Round
     Nathan Round
     Samuel Round
     Andrew Rouse
     Claud Rouse
     Daniel Roush
     Hampton Rowe
     John Rowe
     William Rowe
     George Rowen
     George Rowing
     Patrick Rowland
     John Rowley
     Shter Rowley
     John Frederick Rowlin
     William Rowsery
     James Rowson
     Augustus Royen
     John Royster
     Richard Royster
     Blost Rozea
     Lawrence Rozis
     Peter Ruban
     Ebenezer Rube
     Thomas Rubin
     Eden Ruddock
     Ezekiel Rude
     John Ruffeway
     Lewis Ruffie
     Henry Rumsower
     Joseph Runyan
     Nathaniel Ruper
     John Rupper
     Daniel Ruse
     Daniel Rush
     Edward Russell
     Jacob Russell
     Pierre Russell
     Samuel Russell
     Valentine Russell
     William Russell
     John Rust
     William Rust (2)
     John Ruth (2)
     Pompey Rutley
     Pierre Ryer
     Jacob Ryan
     Frank Ryan
     Michael Ryan
     Peter Ryan
     Thomas Ryan
     Renee Ryon
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     S

     Francisco Sablong
     John Sachel
     Jonathan Sachell
     George Sadden
     George Saddler
     John Sadens
     Abraham Sage
     Edward Sailly
     John Saint
     Elena Saldat
     Gilbert Salinstall
     Luther Salisbury
     Michael Sallibie
     John Salmon
     John Salter
     Thomas Salter
     Edward Same
     Pierre Samleigh
     Jacob Sammian
     Stephen Sampson (2)
     Charles Sand
     Henry Sanders
     Manuel Sandovah
     Ewing Sands
     Stephen Sands
     Daniel Sanford
     Anthony Santis
     Thomas Sarbett
     Louis Sarde
     Peter Sarfe
     Juan Sassett
     David Sasson
     Jonathan Satchell
     William Saterly
     Johns Sathele
     Joseph Satton
     Edward Sauce
     Augustus Saunders
     Daniel Saunders
     John Saunders
     Allen Savage
     Belias Savage
     Nathaniel Savage(2)
     Joseph Savot
     Benjamin Sawyer
     Daniel Sawyer
     Ephraim Sawyer(3)
     James Sawyer
     Jeremiah Sawyer
     John Sawyer
     Peter Sawyer
     Thomas Sawyer
     William Sawyer
     Cuffy Savers
     Joseph Sayers
     Henry Scees
     Peter Schafer
     Melchior Scheldorope
     Peter Schwoob
     Julian Scope
     Christopher Scott
     George Scott
     James Scott
     John Scott (4)
     Robert Scott
     Thomas Scott
     William Scott
     Daniel Scovell
     David Scudder
     Nutchell Scull
     Lamb Seabury
     Samuel Seabury
     Adam Seager
     George Seager
     Thomas Sealey (2)
     Robert Seares
     George Seaton
     Antonio Sebasta
     Benjamin Secraft
     Thomas Seeley
     Jean Baptist Sego
     Elias Seldon
     Edward Sellers
     Anthony Selwind
     William Semell
     John Senior
     Adam Sentelume
     Abraham Sentilier
     Leonard Sepolo
     Emanuel Seerus
     Anthony Serals
     James Seramo
     John Serant
     Francis Seratte
     Francis Sergeant
     Thomas Sergeant
     Joel Serles
     Sebastian Serrea
     William Service
     Jonathan Setchell
     Otis Sevethith
     Francis Seyeant
     Solomon Shad
     Matthew Shappo
     Elisha Share
     John Sharke
     Philip Sharp
     Peter Sharpe
     Philip Sharper
     John Sharpley
     Joseph Sharpley
     Joseph Shatille
     Joseph Shatillier
     Archibald Shaver
     Jacob Shaver
     Abner Shaw
     Daniel Shaw
     James Shaw
     Jeremiah Shaw
     Joseph Shaw
     Samuel Shaw
     Thomas Shaw (3)
     William Shaw
     Patrick Shea
     Jean Shean
     Brittle Sheans
     Gideon Shearman
     Henry Shearman
     Stephen Shearman
     Philip Shebzain
     John Sheffield
     William Sheilds
     Nicholas Sheilow
     Jeremiah Shell
     Benjamin Shelton
     James Shepherd
     John Shepherd (4)
     Robert Shepherd (3)
     Thomas Sherburn
     William Sherburne
     Gilbert Sherer
     James Sheridan
     John Sheridan
     John Sherman
     Samuel Sherman (3)
     Andrew Sherns
     Andrew Sherre
     George Shetline
     John Shewin
     Jacob Shibley
     George Shiffen
     Louis de Shille
     Jack Shilling
     Jacob Shindle
     Frederick Shiner (2)
     John Shirkley
     Joseph Shoakley (2)
     Edward Shoemaker
     James Shoemaker
     Samuel Shokley
     John Short (2)
     Joseph Short
     Thomas Short
     Enoch Shout
     Christopher Shoving
     Jacob Shroak
     James Shuckley
     Thomas Shuman
     Francis Shun
     Enoch Shulte
     John Shute
     Richard Sickes
     Francis Silver
     James Simes
     Chapman Simmons
     David Simmons
     Hilldoves Simmons
     John Simmons
     Joshua Simms
     James Simon
     William Simon
     Francis Simonds
     Boswell Simons
     Champion Simons
     Elijah Simons
     Francis Simons
     Joseph Simons
     Nathaniel Simons
     Nero Simons
     Samuel Simons
     William Simpkins
     Benjamin Simpson
     Charles Simpson
     Thomas Simpson
     John Sindee
     John Singer
     John Sitchell
     John Skay
     John Skelton
     Samuel Skinner (2)
     Richard Skinner
     Peter Skull (2)
     David Slac
     Benjamin Slade
     Thomas Slager
     John Slane
     Jean Louis Slarick
     Measer Slater
     Matthew Slaughter
     John Slee
     Thomas Slewman
     Samuel Slide
     Joseph Slight
     Josiah Slikes
     Christopher Sloakum
     Edward Sloan
     Timothy Sloan
     Andrew Sloeman
     Thomas Slough
     Ebenezer Slow
     Isaac Slowell
     William Slown
     Henry Sluddard
     Samuel Slyde
     Richard Slykes
     William Smack
     Joseph Small
     Robert Smallpiece
     John Smallwood (2)
     Peter Smart
     John Smight
     William Smiley
     Abraham Smith
     Alexander Smith
     Allan Smith
     Andrew Smith (2)
     Anthony Smith
     Archibald Smith
     Basil Smith
     Benjamin Smith (2)
     Burrell Smith
     Buskin Smith
     Charles Smith
     Clement Smith
     Clemont Smith
     Daniel Smith (3)
     David Smith
     Easoph Smith
     Edward Smith
     Eleazar Smith
     Enoch Smith
     Epaphras Smith
     Ezekiel Smith
     George Smith
     Gideon Smith
     Haymond Smith
     Henry Smith
     Hugh Smith
     Jack Smith
     James Smith (7)
     Jasper Smith
     John Smith (12)
     Jonathan Smith (5}
     Joshua Smith
     Joseph Smith (3)
     Laban Smith
     Martin Smith
     Richard Smith (3)
     Rockwell Smith
     Roger Smith (2)
     Samuel Smith (6)
     Stephen Smith
     Sullivan Smith
     Thomas Smith (8)
     Walter Smith
     William Smith (4)
     Zebediah Smith
     Thomas Smithson
     Peter Smothers
     Samuel Snare
     John Snellin
     John Sneyders
     Peter Snider
     William Snider
     Ebenezer Snow
     Seth Snow
     Sylvanus Snow
     Abraham Soft
     Raymond Sogue
     Assia Sole
     Nathan Solley
     Ebenezer Solomon
     Thomas Solomon
     James Sooper
     Christian Soudower
     Moses Soul
     Nathaniel Southam
     William Southard
     Henry Space
     Enoch Spalding
     Joshua Spaner
     Charles Sparefoot
     James Sparrows
     John Speake
     Martin Speakl
     James Spear
     Eliphaz Speck
     Elchie Spellman
     William Spellman
     James Spencer
     Joseph Spencer
     Nicholas Spencer
     Thomas Spencer
     Solomon Spenser
     Henry Spice
     John Spicer (2)
     Lancaster Spicewood
     John Spier (2)
     Richard Spigeman
     John Spinks
     Caleb Spooner
     David Spooner
     Shubab Spooner
     William Spooner
     Jonathan Sprague
     Simon Sprague
     Philip Spratt
     Charles Spring
     Richard Springer
     John Spriggs
     Joshua Spriggs
     Thomas Spriggs
     William Springer
     Alexander Sproat
     Thomas Sproat
     Gideon Spry
     Long Sprywood
     Nathaniel Spur
     Joshua Squibb
     David Squire
     John St. Clair
     Francisco St. Domingo
     John St. Thomas
     John Staagers
     Thomas Stacy
     Thomas Stacey
     Christian Stafford
     Conrad Stagger
     Edward Stagger
     Samuel Stalkweather
     John Standard
     Lemuel Standard
     Butler Stanford
     Richard Stanford
     Robert Stanford
     John Stanhope
     William Stannard
     Daniel Stanton
     Nathaniel Stanton (2)
     William Stanton
     Joseph Stanley
     Peter Stanley
     Starkweather Stanley
     W Stanley
     William Stanley
     Abijah Stapler
     Timothy Star
     Samuel Starke
     Benjamin Starks
     Woodbury Starkweather
     John Stearns
     William Stearny
     Daniel Stedham
     Thomas Steele
     James Steelman
     John Steer
     Stephen Sleevman
     John Stephen
     Benjamin Stephens
     John Stephens (2)
     Henry Stephens
     William Stephens (3)
     David Stephenson
     John Stephenson
     John Sterns
     William Sterry
     David Stevens
     James Stevens
     Joseph Stevens
     Levert Stevens
     William Stevens
     Robert Stevenson
     Charles Steward
     Joseph Steward
     Lewis Steward
     Samuel Steward
     Daniel Stewart
     Edward Stewart (2)
     Elijah Stewart
     Hugh Stewart
     Jabez Stewart (2)
     John Stewart
     Samuel Stewart
     Stephen Stewart
     Thomas Stewart
     William Stewart
     John Stiger
     John Stikes
     Daniel Stiles
     Israel Stiles
     John Stiles
     Joshua Stiles
     Josiah Stiles
     Ashley Stillman
     Theodore Stillman
     Enoch Stillwell
     John Stillwell
     Jacob Stober
     Hugh Stocker
     William Stocker
     Simeon Stockwell
     Israel Stoddard
     Noah Stoddard
     Thomas Stoddard
     Edward Stoddart
     Israel Stoddart
     Nathaniel Stoey
     Abney Stone
     Amos Stone
     Donald Stone
     Elijah Stone
     Richard Stone
     Thomas Stone (5)
     William Stone
     Boston Stoneford
     Job Stones
     John Stones
     Matthew Stoney
     Jonathan Stott
     Seren Stott
     John Stoughton
     Daniel Stout
     George Stout
     William Stout
     Andrew Stowers
     Blair Stove
     Joseph Strand
     James Strange
     Joshua Bla Stratia
     James Stridges
     John Stringe
     John Stringer
     Joseph Stroad
     Samuel Stroller
     Joseph Stroud
     Benjamin Stubbe
     John Sturtivant
     Smith Stutson
     James Suabilty
     Benjamin Subbs
     Jacquer Suffaraire
     Manuel Sugasta
     Miles Suldan
     Parks Sullevan
     Dennis Sullivan
     Patrick Sullivan
     Thomas Sullivan
     George Summers
     Rufus Sumner
     Amos Sunderland
     Edward Sunderland (3)
     Francis Suneneau
     John Suneneaux
     Andre Surado
     Godfrey Suret
     Jack C. Surf
     Francis Surronto
     Hugh Surtes
     John Surtevant
     John Sussett
     Franco Deo Suttegraz
     Louis John Sutterwis
     George Sutton
     John Sutton
     Thomas Sutton
     Jacob Snyder
     Roman Suyker
     Simon Swaine
     Zacharias Swaine
     Thomas Swapple
     Absolom Swate
     James Swayne
     Isaac Swean
     Peter Swean (2)
     Enoch Sweat
     John Sweeney (2)
     Benjamin Sweet
     Godfrey Sweet (2)
     Nathaniel Sweeting
     Joshua Swellings
     Daniel Swery
     Martin Swift
     William Swire
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     T

     Anthony Tabee
     John Taber (2)
     Thomas Taber
     Samuel Table
     John Tabor
     Pelack Tabor
     Ebenezer Tabowl
     Ebenezer Talbot
     Silas Talbott
     Ebenezer Talbott
     Wilham Talbut
     James Talketon
     Archibald Talley
     John Tankason
     Caspar Tanner
     John Tanner
     William Tant
     Thomas Tantis
     Samuel Tapley
     Isaac Tappin
     Antonio Tarbour
     Townsend Tarena
     Edward Target
     John Tarrant
     Lewis Tarret
     Domingo Taugin
     Edward Tayender
     Samuel Taybor
     Alexander Taylor
     Andrew Taylor (2)
     Gabriel Taylor
     Hezekiah Taylor
     Isaac Taylor
     Jacob Taylor (3)
     John Taylor (8)
     Captain John Taylor
     Joseph Taylor (3)
     Major Taylor
     Noadiah Taylor
     Peter Taylor
     Robert Taylor (3)
     Tobias Taylor
     William Taylor (3)
     George Teather
     Thomas Tebard
     John Teller
     Jean Temare
     John Templing
     Philip Temver
     Gilbert Tennant
     Thomas Tenny
     Henry Teppett
     Governe Terrene
     Joshua Ternewe
     Thomas Terrett
     William Terrett
     John Terry
     Samuel Terry
     William Terry
     Joshua Teruewe
     Zerlan Tesbard
     Jean Tessier
     Freeborn Thandick
     Lewis Thaxter
     Seren Thaxter
     John Thelston
     Robert Therey
     Simon Thimagun
     Thurdick Thintle
     &mdash;&mdash; Thomas
     Abner Thomas
     Andrew Thomas
     Cornelius Thomas
     Ebenezer Thomas (2)
     Edward Thomas
     Green Thomas
     Herod Thomas
     Jacques Thomas (2)
     James Thomas (2)
     Jean Supli Thomas
     Jesse Thomas (2)
     John Thomas (8)
     Joseph Thomas
     Thomas Thomas
     Urias Thomas
     William Thomas
     Abraham Thompson
     Andrew Thompson (3)
     Bartholomew Thompson
     Benjamin Thompson (2)
     Charles Thompson
     Eli Thompson
     George Thompson
     Harvey Thompson
     Isaac Thompson
     Israel Thompson
     John Thompson (8)
     Joseph Thompson (2)
     Lawrence Thompson
     Patrick Thompson
     Robert Thompson (3)
     Seth Thompson (2)
     William Thompson (6)
     John Thorian
     William Thorner
     James Thornhill
     Christian Thornton
     Christopher Thornton
     Jesse Thornton
     Samuel Thornton
     Thomas Thornton
     William Thorpe
     Gideon Threwit
     Sedon Thurley
     Benjamin Thurston
     Samuel Thurston
     Samuel Tibbards
     Richard Tibbet
     George Tibbs
     Henry Ticket
     Harvey Tiffman
     Andrew Tillen
     Jacob Tillen
     Peter Tillender
     Thomas Tillinghast
     David Tilmouse
     John Tilson
     Nicholas Tilson
     Grale Timcent
     George Timford
     Jeremiah Timrer
     Alexander Tindell
     James Tinker
     William Tinley
     Joseph Tinleys
     Anthony Tioffe
     Samuel Tippen
     Jean Tirve
     Stephen Tissina
     Michael Titcomb
     Moses Titcomb
     James Tobin
     Thomas Tobin (2)
     John Todd
     William Todd
     Thomas Tolley
     Francis Tollings
     Henry Tollmot
     Thomas Tomay
     James Tomkins
     Charles Tomped
     Benjamin Tompkins
     William Tompkins
     Thomas Thompson
     Henry Too
     Andrew Toombs
     Rufus Toppin
     Christopher Torpin
     Francis Torrent
     Michael Tosa
     Daniel Totton
     Pierre Touleau
     Robert Toulger
     Sylvanus Toulger
     Dominic Tour
     Jean Tournie
     Francis Tovell
     Joseph Towbridge
     John Towin
     Samuel Townhend
     James Townley
     Samuel Towns
     Elwell Townsend
     Jacob Townsend
     Jeremiah Townsend
     William Townsend
     Jille Towrand
     James Towser
     Thomas Toy
     Benjamin Tracy
     Jesse Tracy
     Nathaniel Tracy
     Jacob Trailey
     William Traine
     Thomas Trampe
     Nathaniel Trask (2)
     Richard Traveno
     Christopher Traverse
     Solomon Treat
     James Treby
     James Tredwell
     William Treen
     Andrew Trefair
     Thomas Trenchard
     William Trendley
     Thomas W Trescott
     Andre Treasemas
     Edward Trevett
     Job Trevo
     John Trevor
     Thomas Trip
     Richard Tripp
     Thomas Tripp
     Jacob Tripps
     John Tritton
     Ebenezer Trivet
     Jabez Trop
     John Trot
     John Troth
     William Trout
     John Trow
     Benjamin Trowbridge
     David Trowbridge
     Stephen Trowbridge
     Thomas Trowbridge
     Joseph Truck
     Peter Truck
     William Trunks
     Joseph Trust
     Robert Trustin
     George Trusty
     Edward Tryan
     Moses Tryon
     Saphn Tubbs
     Thomas Tubby
     John Tucke
     Francis Tucker
     John Tucker (4)
     Joseph Tucker (2)
     Nathan Tucker
     Nathaniel Tucker
     Paul Tucker
     Robert Tucker (2)
     Seth Tucker
     Solomon Tucker
     George Tuden
     Charles Tully
     Casper Tumner
     Charles Tunkard
     Charles Turad
     Elias Turk
     Joseph Turk
     Caleb Turner
     Caspar Turner
     Francis Turner
     George Turner
     James Turner
     John Turner (3)
     Philip Turner
     Thomas Turner (4)
     William Turner (2)
     Lisby Turpin (2)
     Peter Turrine
     John Tutten
     Daniel Twigg
     Charles Twine
     Joseph Twogood
     Daily Twoomey
     Thomas Tyerill
     Jean Tyrant
     John Tyse
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     U

     Urson Ullaby
     Thomas Umthank
     Benjamin Uncers
     Joseph Union
     Obadiah Upton
     John Usher
     Andre Utinett
     Abirnelech Uuncer
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     V. &mdash;      Peter Vaidel
     Pierre Valem
     Joseph Valentine
     George Vallance
     David Vallet
     John Valpen
     Nathan Vamp
     William Vance
     Thomas Vandegrist
     Francis Vandegrist
     Patrick Vandon
     John Vandross
     Eleazar Van Dyke
     John Van Dyke
     Nathaniel Van Horn
     William Van Horn
     Christain Vann
     Jean Van Orse
     James Vanoster
     Barnabus Varley
     Patrick Vasse
     Richard Vaugh
     Aaron Vaughan
     Andrew Vaughan
     Christian Vaughan
     David Veale
     Elisha Veale
     Toser Vegier
     Bruno Velis
     David Velow
     William Venable
     Moses Ventis
     Samuel Ventis
     Joseph Verdela
     Julian Verna
     Peter Vesseco
     Justin Vestine
     Pierre Vettelet
     John Vial
     Jean Viauf
     William Vibert
     Anare Vic
     John Vickery
     Roger Victory
     David Viegra
     Daniel Viero
     William Vierse
     Jean Vigo
     John Vilvee
     Lange Vin
     Peter Vinane
     Francis Vincent
     William Vinnal
     Robert Virnon
     Jean Vissenbouf
     Andrew Vitena
     Joseph Vitewell
     Juan Albert Vixeaire
     John Voe
     John Vonkett
     William Von Won
     Nicholas Vookly
     John Vorus
     Henry Voss
     George Vossery
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     W

     Christian Wadde
     Benjamin Wade
     Thomas Wade (2)
     Christopher Wadler
     Richard Wagstaff
     Joseph Wainwright
     Jacob Wainscott
     Matthew Wainscott
     Charles Waistcoott
     Ezekiel Waistcoat
     Jabez Waistcoat
     Jacob Waistcoat
     John Waistcoat
     Joseph Waiterly
     Joseph Wakefield
     Joseph Walcot
     Asa Walden
     George Walding
     John Waldrick
     Ephraim Wales
     Samuel Wales
     Baldwin Walker
     Daniel Walker
     Ezekiel Walker
     George Walker
     Hezekiah Walker
     John Walker
     Joseph Walker
     Michael Walker (4)
     Nathaniel Walker (4)
     Richard Walker
     Samuel Walker (2)
     Thomas Walker (2)
     William Walker (3)
     James Wall
     Bartholomew Wallace
     John Wallace
     Joseph Wallace
     Thomas Wallace (2)
     Ebenezer Wallar
     Joseph Wallen
     Caleb Waller
     George Wallesly
     Anthony Wallis
     Benjamin Wallis
     Ezekiel Wallis
     George Wallis
     Hugh Wallis
     James Wallis
     John Wallis
     Jonathan Wallis
     John Wallore
     Edward Walls
     William Wallsey
     William Walmer
     Robert Walpole
     John Walsey
     Patrick Walsh
     George Walter
     John Walter
     Joseph Walter
     Jonathan Walters
     Roger Walters
     Henry Walton
     John Walton
     Jonathan Walton
     John Wandall
     Ezekiel Wannell
     Powers Wansley
     Michael Wanstead
     George Wanton
     Benjamin Ward
     Charles Ward
     Christenton Ward
     David Ward
     Joseph Ward
     Simon Ward
     Thomas Ward
     William Ward
     John Warde
     Benjamin Wardell
     John Wardell
     James Wardling
     Elijah Wareman
     William Warf
     Unit Warky
     Joseph Warley
     Joseph Warmesley
     William Taylor Warn
     Christopher Warne
     Andrew Warner
     Amos Warner
     Berry Warner
     John Warner
     Obadiah Warner
     Samuel Warner (2)
     Thomas Warner
     Robert Warnock
     Christopher Warrell
     Benjamin Warren
     Jonathan Warren
     Obadiah Warren
     Richard Warringham
     William Warrington
     Thomas Warsell
     Lloyd Warton
     Joseph Wartridge
     Townsend Washington
     Asher Waterman (2)
     Azariah Waterman
     Calvin Waterman
     John Waterman
     Samuel Waterman
     Thomas Waterman
     William Waterman (3)
     Henry Waters
     John Waters
     Thomas Waters
     John Watkins
     Thomas Watkins (4)
     Edward Watson
     Joseph Watson
     Henry Watson (2)
     John Watson (5)
     Nathaniel Watson
     Robert Watson
     Thomas Watson (5)
     William Watson
     John Watt
     William Wattle
     Henry Wattles
     Joseph Watts
     Samuel Watts
     Thomas Watts
     Andrew Waymore
     James Wear
     Jacob Weatherall
     Joseph Weatherox
     Thomas Weaver
     Jacob Webb
     James Webb
     John Webb (3)
     Jonathan Webb
     Michael Webb
     Nathaniel Webb
     Oliver Webb
     Thomas Webb (2)
     William Webb (2)
     Joseph Webber
     William Webber (2)
     George Webby
     Francis Webster
     William Wedden
     John Wedger
     David Wedon
     William Weekman
     Francis Weeks (2)
     James Weeks
     Seth Weeks
     Thomas Weeks
     John Welanck
     Ezekiel Welch
     George Welch
     Isaac Welch
     James Welch (5)
     Matthew Welch
     Moses Welch
     Philip Welch
     Joseph Wenthoff
     Nellum Welk
     John Wellis
     John Wellman
     Matthew Wellman
     Timothy Wellman
     Cornelius Wells
     Ezra Wells
     Gideon Wells
     Joseph Wells
     Peter Wells
     Richard Wells
     William Wells
     Joseph Welpley
     David Welsh
     John Welsh
     Patrick Wen
     Isaac Wendell
     Robert Wentworth
     Joseph Wessel
     William Wessel
     John Wessells
     Benjamin West
     Edward West
     Jabez West (3)
     Richard West (2)
     Samuel Wester
     Henry Weston
     Simon Weston
     William Weston
     Philip Westward
     Jesse Wetherby
     Thomas Whade
     John Wharfe
     Lloyd Wharton
     Michael Whater
     Jesse Wheaton
     Joseph Wheaton
     Henry Wheeler
     Michael Wheeler
     Morrison Wheeler
     William Wheeler (2)
     Michael Whelan
     Michael Whellan
     James Whellan
     Jesse Whelton
     John Whelton
     Horatio Whethase
     John Whila
     Benjamin Whipple (2)
     Samuel Whipple
     Stephen Whipple
     Christopher Whippley
     Benjamin White (2)
     Ephraim White
     Ichabod White
     James White
     John White (7)
     Lemuel White
     Joseph White
     Lemuel White
     Richard White
     Robert White
     Sampson White (2)
     Samuel White (2)
     Thomas White (2)
     Timothy White
     Watson White
     William White (3)
     Jacob Whitehead
     Enoch Whitehouse
     Harmon Whiteman
     Luther Whitemore
     William Whitepair
     Card Way Whithousen
     George Whiting (2)
     James Whiting
     William Whiting
     John Whitlock
     Joseph Whitlock
     William Whitlock
     Samuel Whitmolk
     George Whitney
     Isaac Whitney
     James Whitney
     John Whitney
     Peter Whitney
     Joseph Whittaker
     Jacob Whittemore
     Felix Wibert
     Conrad Wickery
     Joseph Wickman
     Samuel Wickward
     Leron Widgon
     John Wier (2)
     John Wigglesworth
     Irwin Wigley
     Michael Wiglott
     Stephen Wigman
     John Wigmore
     Edward Wilcox (2)
     Isaac Wilcox
     Obadiah Wilcox
     Pardon Wilcox
     Robert Wilderidger
     Charles Wilkins
     Amos Wilkinson
     William Wilkinson
     George Willard
     John Willard
     Julian Willard
     John Willeman
     Benjamin Willeroon
     James Willet
     Conway Willhouse
     Amos Williams
     Barley Williams
     Benjamin Williams
     Cato Williams
     Charles Williams
     Dodd Williams
     Edward Williams
     Ephraim Williams
     Ethkin Williams
     George Williams (3)
     Henry Williams (2)
     Isaac Williams (2)
     James Williams (4)
     Jeffrey Williams
     John Williams (9)
     Jonathan Williams (2)
     Moses Williams
     Nathaniel Williams
     Nicholas Williams
     Peter Williams
     Richard Williams
     Samuel Williams (2)
     William Williams (2)
     William Williamson
     John Foster Willian
     John Williman
     Day Willin
     Abel Willis
     Frederick Willis
     John Willis (2)
     Jesse Willis
     Abraham Williston
     Joseph Willman
     Abraham Willor
     Guy Willoson
     Benjamin Willshe
     Benjamin Willson
     Francis Willson
     James Willson (2)
     John Willson
     Martin Willson
     Thomas Willson
     Timothy Willson
     W. Willson
     William Willson
     Samuel Wilmarth
     Luke Wilmot
     Benjamin Wilson (2)
     Edward Wilson
     George Wilson
     John Wilson
     Lawrence Wilson
     Nathaniel Wilson
     Patrick Wilson
     William Wilson
     George Wiltis
     Vinrest Wimondesola
     Guilliam Wind
     Edward Windgate
     Joseph Windsor
     Stephen Wing
     Jacob Wingman
     Samuel Winn
     Jacob Winnemore
     Seth Winslow
     Charles Winter
     George Winter
     Joseph Winters
     David Wire
     John Wise
     Thomas Witham
     John Witherley
     Solomon Witherton
     William Withpane
     William Witless
     Robert Wittington
     W. Wittle
     John Woesin
     Henry Woist
     Henry Wolf
     John Wolf
     Simon de Wolf
     Stephen de Wolf
     Champion Wood
     Charles Wood (3)
     Daniel Wood (4)
     Edward Wood (2)
     George Wood
     Jabez Wood
     John Wood
     Jonathan Wood
     Joseph Wood (2)
     Justus Wood
     Matthew Wood
     Samuel Wood (2)
     William Wood
     Herbert Woodbury (3)
     Jacob Woodbury
     Luke Woodbury
     Nathaniel Woodbury
     Robert Woodbury
     William Woodbury
     Thomas Woodfall
     David Woodhull
     Henry Woodly
     Nathaniel Woodman
     James Woodson
     Joseph Woodward
     Gideon Woodwell
     Abel Woodworth
     Edward Woody
     John Woody
     Michael Woolock
     Michael Woomstead
     James Woop
     William Wooten
     James Worthy
     John Wright
     Robert Wright
     Benjamin Wyatt
     John Wyatt (2)
     Gordon Wyax
     Reuben Wyckoff
     William Wyer
     Henry Wylie
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     X. &mdash;      John Xmens
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Y

     Joseph Yalkington
     Joseph Yanger
     Joseph Yard
     Thomas Yates
     Francis Yduchare
     Adam Yeager
     Jacob Yeason
     Jacob Yeaston
     Pender Yedrab
     George Yoannet
     Edward Yorke
     Peter Yose
     Alexander Young
     Archibald Young
     Charles Young
     George Young
     Ichabod Young
     Jacob Young
     John Young (2)
     Marquis Young (2)
     Seth Young
     William Young
     Charles Youngans
     Louis Younger
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Z

     Jean Peter Zamiel
     Pierre Zuran
</pre>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_APPE2" id="link2H_APPE2"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      APPENDIX B
    </h2>
    <p>
      THE PRISON SHIP MARTYRS OF THE REVOLUTION, AND AN UNPUBLISHED DIARY OF ONE
      OF THEM, WILLIAM SLADE, NEW CANAAN, CONN., LATER OF CORNWALL, VT.
    </p>
    <p>
      The following extremely interesting article on the prisoners and prison
      ships of the Revolution was written by Dr. Longworthy of the United States
      Department of agriculture for a patriotic society. Through his courtesy I
      am allowed to publish it here. I am sorry I did not receive it in time to
      embody it in the first part of this book.
    </p>
    <p>
      D D
    </p>
    <p>
      Doubtless all of us are more or less familiar with the prison ship chapter
      of Revolutionary history, as this is one of the greatest, if not the
      greatest, tragedies of the struggle for independence. At the beginning of
      the hostilities the British had in New York Harbor a number of transports
      on which cattle and stores had been brought over in 1776. These vessels
      lay in Gravesend Bay and later were taken up the East River and anchored
      in Wallabout Bay, and to their number were added from time to time vessels
      in such condition that they were of no use except as prisons for American
      troops The names of many of these infamous ships have been preserved, the
      Whitby, the Good Hope, the Hunter, Prince of Wales, and others, and worst
      of all, the Jersey.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was proposed to confine captured American seamen in these ships, but
      they also served as prisons for thousands of patriot soldiers taken in the
      land engagements in and about New York. The men were crowded in these
      small vessels under conditions which pass belief. They suffered untold
      misery and died by hundreds from lack of food, from exposure, smallpox and
      other dreadful diseases, and from the cruelty of their captors. The
      average death rate on the Jersey alone was ten per night. A conservative
      estimate places the total number of victims at 11,500. The dead were
      carried ashore and thrown into shallow graves or trenches of sand and
      these conditions of horror continued from the beginning of the war until
      after peace was declared. Few prisoners escaped and not many were
      exchanged, for their conditions were such that commanding officers
      hesitated to exchange healthy British prisoners in fine condition for the
      wasted, worn-out, human wrecks from the prison ships. A very large
      proportion of the total number of these prisoners perished. Of the
      survivors, many never fully recovered from their sufferings.
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1808, it was said of the prison ship martyrs: &ldquo;Dreadful, beyond
      description, was the condition of these unfortunate prisoners of war.
      Their sufferings and their sorrows were great, and unbounded was their
      fortitude. Under every privation and every anguish of life, they firmly
      encountered the terrors of death, rather than desert the cause of their
      country. * * *
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There was no morsel of wholesome food, nor one drop of pure water. In
      these black abodes of wretchedness and woe, the grief worn prisoner lay,
      without a bed to rest his weary limbs, without a pillow to support his
      aching head&mdash;the tattered garment torn from his meager frame, and
      vermin preying on his flesh&mdash;his food was carrion, and his drink foul
      as the bilge water&mdash;there was no balm for his wounds, no cordial to
      revive his fainting spirits, no friend to comfort his heart, nor the soft
      hand of affection to close his dying eyes&mdash;heaped amongst the dead,
      while yet the spark of life lingered in his frame, and hurried to the
      grave before the cold arms of death had embraced him. * * *
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;But,&rsquo; you will ask, &lsquo;was there no relief for these victims of misery?&rsquo; 
      No&mdash;there was no relief&mdash;their astonishing sufferings were
      concealed from the view of the world&mdash;and it was only from the few
      witnesses of the scene who afterwards lived to tell the cruelties they had
      endured, that our country became acquainted with their deplorable
      condition. The grim sentinels, faithful to their charge as the fiends of
      the nether world, barred the doors against the hand of charity, and
      godlike benevolence never entered there&mdash;compassion had fled from
      these mansions of despair, and pity wept over other woes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Numerous accounts of survivors of the prison ships have been preserved and
      some of them have been published. So great was popular sympathy for them
      that immediately after the close of the Revolutionary War an attempt was
      made to gather the testimony of the survivors and to provide a fitting
      memorial for those who had perished. So far as I have been able to learn
      most of the diaries and journals and other testimony of the prison ship
      victims relates to the later years of the war and particularly to the
      Jersey, the largest, most conspicuous, and most horrible of all the prison
      ships.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have been so fortunate as to have access to a journal or diary kept by
      William Slade, of New Canaan, Conn, a young New Englander, who early
      responded to the call of his country and was captured by the British in
      1776, shortly after his enlistment, and confined on one of the prison
      ships, the Grovner (or Grovesner). From internal evidence it would appear
      that this was the first or one of the first vessels used for the purpose
      and that Slade and the other prisoners with him were the first of the
      American soldiers thus confined. At any rate, throughout his diary he
      makes no mention of other bands of prisoners in the same condition The few
      small pages of this little diary, which was always kept in the possession
      of his family until it was deposited in the Sheldon Museum, of Middlebury,
      Vt, contain a plain record of every-day life throughout a period of great
      suffering. They do not discuss questions of State and policy, but they do
      seem to me to bring clearly before the mind&rsquo;s eye conditions as they
      existed, and perhaps more clearly than elaborate treatises to give a
      picture of the sufferings of soldiers and sailors who preferred to endure
      all privations, hardships, and death itself rather than to renounce their
      allegiance to their country and enlist under the British flag.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first entry in the Slade diary was made November 16, 1776, and the
      last January 28, 1777, so it covers about ten weeks.
    </p>
    <p>
      The entries were as follows:
    </p>
    <p>
      Fort Washington the 16th day November A.D. 1776. This day I, William Slade
      was taken with 2,800 more. We was allowed honours of War. We then marched
      to Harlem under guard, where we were turned into a barn. We got little
      rest that night being verry much crowded, as some trouble [illegible]. * *
      *
    </p>
    <p>
      Sunday 17th. Such a Sabbath I never saw. We spent it in sorrow and hunger,
      having no mercy showd.
    </p>
    <p>
      Munday 18th. We were called out while it was still dark, but was soon
      marchd to New York, four deep, verry much frownd upon by all we saw. We
      was called Yankey Rebbels a going to the gallows. We got to York at 9
      o&rsquo;clock, were paraded, counted off and marched to the North Church, where
      we were confind under guard.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tuesday 19th. Still confind without provisions till almost night, when we
      got a little mouldy bisd [biscuit] about four per man. These four days we
      spent in hunger and sorrow being derided by everry one and calld Rebs.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wednesday, 20th. We was reinforsd by 300 more. We had 500 before. This
      causd a continual noise and verry big huddle. Jest at night drawd 6 oz of
      pork per man. This we eat alone and raw.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thursday, 21st. We passd the day in sorrow haveing nothing to eat or drink
      but pump water.
    </p>
    <p>
      Friday, 22nd. We drawd 3/4 lb of pork, 3/4 lb of bisd, one gil of peas, a
      little rice and some kittels to cook in. Wet and cold.
    </p>
    <p>
      Saturday, 23rd. We had camps stews plenty, it being all we had. We had now
      spent one week under confinement. Sad condition.
    </p>
    <p>
      Munday, 25th. We drawd 1/2 lb of pork a man, 3/4 of bisd, a little peas
      and rice, and butter now plenty but not of the right kind.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tuesday, 26th. We spent in cooking for wood was scarce and the church was
      verry well broke when done, but verry little to eat.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wednesday, 27th. Was spent in hunger. We are now dirty as hogs, lying any
      and every whare. Joys gone, sorrows increase.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thursday, 28th. Drawd 2 lbs of bread per man, 3/4 lb of pork. A little
      butter, rice and peas. This we cooked and eat with sorrow and sadness.
    </p>
    <p>
      Friday, 29th. We bussd [busied] ourselves with trifels haveing but little
      to do, time spent in vain.
    </p>
    <p>
      Saturday, 30th. We drawd 1 lb of bread, 1/2 lb of pork, a little butter,
      rice and peas. This we eat with sorrow, discouragd.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sunday, 1st of Decembere 1776. About 300 men was took out and carried on
      board the shipping. Sunday spent in vain.
    </p>
    <p>
      Munday, 2nd. Early in the morning we was calld out and stood in the cold,
      about one hour and then marchd to the North River and went on board The
      Grovnor transport ship. Their was now 500 men on board, this made much
      confusion. We had to go to bed without supper. This night was verry long,
      hunger prevaild much. Sorrow more.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tuesday, 3rd. The whole was made in six men messes. Our mess drawd 4 lb of
      bisd, 4 oz of butter. Short allow. We now begin to feel like prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wednesday, 4th. We drawd 4 lb of bisd. After noon drawd 2 quarts of peas
      and broth without salt, verry weak.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thursday, 5th. We drawd 4 lb of bisd at noon, a little meat at night. Some
      pea broth, about one mouthful per man. We now feel like prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      Friday, 6th. of Decr. 1776. We drawd 1/2 of bisd, 4 oz of butter at noon
      and 2 quarts of provinder. Called burgo, poor stuff indeed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Saturday, 7th. We drawd 4 lb of bisd at noon, a piece of meat and rice.
      This day drawd 2 bisd per man for back allowance (viz) for last Saturday
      at the church. This day the ships crew weighd anchor and fell down the
      river below Govnors Island and saild up the East River to Turcle Bay
      [Turtle Bay is at the foot of 23rd street], and cast anchor for winter
      months.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sunday, 8th. This day we were almost discouraged, but considered that
      would not do. Cast off such thoughts. We drawd our bread and eat with
      sadness. At noon drawd meat and peas. We spent the day reading and in
      meditation, hopeing for good news.
    </p>
    <p>
      Munday, 9th. We drawd bisd and butter at noon, burgo [a kind of porrige]
      the poorest trade ever man eat. Not so good as provinder or swill.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tuesday, 10th. We drawd bisd at noon, a little meat and rice. Good news.
      We hear we are to be exchangd soon. Corpl. Hawl verry bad with small pox.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wednesday, 11th. We drawd bisd. Last night Corpl Hawl died and this
      morning is buryd. At noon drawd peas, I mean broth. Still in hopes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thursday, 12th. We drawd bisd. This morning is the first time we see snow.
      At noon drawd a little meat and pea broth. Verry thin. We almost despair
      of being exchangd.
    </p>
    <p>
      Friday, 13th of Decr. 1776. We drawd bisd and butter. A little water
      broth. We now see nothing but the mercy of God to intercede for us.
      Sorrowful times, all faces look pale, discouraged, discouraged.
    </p>
    <p>
      Saturday, 14th. We drawd bisd, times look dark. Deaths prevail among us,
      also hunger and naked. We almost conclude (that we will have) to stay all
      winter At noon drawd meat and rice. Cold increases. At night suffer with
      cold and hunger. Nights verry long and tiresome, weakness prevails.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sunday, 15th. Drawd bisd, paleness attends all faces, the melancholyst day
      I ever saw. At noon drawd meat and peas. Sunday gone and comfort. As
      sorrowfull times as I ever saw.
    </p>
    <p>
      Munday, 16th of Decr. 1776. Drawd bisd and butter at noon. *Burgo poor.
      Sorrow increases. The tender mercys of men are cruelty.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tuesday, 17th. Drawd bisd. At noon meat and rice No fire. Suffer with cold
      and hunger. We are treated worse than cattle and hogs.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wednesday, 18th. Drawd bisd and butter. At noon peas. I went and got a
      bole of peas for 4. Cole increases Hunger prevails. Sorrow comes on.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thursday, 19th., Drawd bisd the ship halld in for winter quarters. At noon
      drawd meat and peas. People grow sick verry fast. Prisoners verry much
      frownd upon by all
    </p>
    <p>
      Friday, 20th. of Decr. 1776. Drawd bisd and butter this morn. Snow and
      cold. 2 persons dead on deck. Last night verry long and tiresom. At noon
      drawd burgo Prisoners hang their heads and look pale. No comfort. All
      sorrow.
    </p>
    <p>
      Saturday, 31st. Drawd bisd. Last night one of our regt got on shore but
      got catched. Troubles come on comfort gone. At noon drawd meat and rice.
      Verry cold Soldiers and sailors verry cross. Such melancholy times I never
      saw.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sunday, 22nd. Last night nothing but grones all night of sick and dying.
      Men amazeing to behold. Such hardness, sickness prevails fast. Deaths
      multiply. Drawd bisd. At noon meat and peas. Weather cold. Sunday gone and
      no comfort. Had nothing but sorrow and sadness. All faces sad.
    </p>
    <p>
      Munday, 23rd. Drawd bisd and butter. This morning Sergt Kieth, Job March
      and several others broke out with the small pox. About 20 gone from here
      today that listed in the king&rsquo;s service. Times look verry dark. But we are
      in hopes of an exchange. One dies almost every day. Cold but pleasant.
      Burgo for dinner. People gone bad with the pox.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tuesday, 24th. Last night verry long and tiresom. Bisd. At noon rice and
      cornmeal. About 30 sick. (They) Were carried to town. Cold but pleasant.
      No news. All faces gro pale and sad.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wednesday, 25th. Lastnight was a sorrowful night. Nothing but grones and
      cries all night. Drawd bisd and butter. At noon peas. Capt Benedict, Leiut
      Clark and Ensn Smith come on board and brought money for the prisoners.
      Sad times.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thursday, 26th. Last night was spent in dying grones and cries. I now gro
      poorly. Terrible storm as ever I saw. High wind. Drawd bisd. At noon meat
      and peas. Verry cold and stormey.
    </p>
    <p>
      Friday, 27th. Three men of our battalion died last night. The most
      malencholyest night I ever saw. Small pox increases fast. This day I was
      blooded. Drawd bisd and butter. Stomach all gone. At noon, burgo. Basset
      is verry sick. Not like to live I think.
    </p>
    <p>
      Saturday 28th. Drawd bisd. This morning about 10 cl Josiah Basset died.
      Ensn Smith come here about noon with orders to take me a shore. We got to
      shore about sunset. I now feel glad. Coffee and bread and cheese.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sunday, 29th. Cof. and bread and cheese. This day washed my blanket and
      bkd my cloathes. The small pox now begins to come out.
    </p>
    <p>
      Munday, 30th. Nothing but bread to eat and coffee to drink. This day got a
      glass of wine and drinkd. Got some gingerbread and appels to eat.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tuesday, 31st. Nothing good for breakt. At noon verry good. I grow
      something poorly all day. No fire and tis cold. Pox comes out verry full
      for the time. The folks being gone I went into another house and got the
      man of the same to go and call my brother. When he came he said I wanted
      looking after. The man concluded to let me stay at his house.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wednesday 1st of Jany 1777. Pox come out almost full. About this time Job
      March and Daniel Smith died with the small pox.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thursday, 2nd. Ensn Smith lookd about and got something to ly on and in. A
      good deal poorly, but I endeavourd to keep up a good heart, considering
      that I should have it (the small pox) light for it was verry thin and
      almost full.
    </p>
    <p>
      Friday 3d. This morning the pox looks black in my face. This day Robert
      Arnold and Joshua Hurd died with the small pox. This day Ensn Smith got
      liberty to go home next morning, but omitted going till Sunday on account
      of the prisoners going home.
    </p>
    <p>
      Saturday, 4th. Felt more poor than common. This day the prisoners come on
      shore so many as was able to travel which was not near all.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sunday, 5th. This morning Ensn Smith and about 150 prisoners were set out
      for home. The prisoners lookd verry thin and poor.
    </p>
    <p>
      Monday 6th. Pox turnd a good deal but I was very poorly, eat but litte.
      Drink much. Something vapery. Coughd all night.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tuesday 7th. Nothing reml [remarkable] to write. No stomach to eat at all.
      Got some bacon.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wednesday, 8th. Feel better. This day I went out of doors twice. Nothing
      remarkl to write.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thursday, 9th. Tryd to git some salts to take but could not. Begin to eat
      a little better.
    </p>
    <p>
      Friday, 10th. Took a portion of salts. Eat water porrage. Gain in strength
      fast.
    </p>
    <p>
      Saturday, 11th. Walk out. Went and see our Connecticut officers. Travld
      round. Felt a good deal better.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sunday, 12th. Went and bought a pint of milk for bread. Verry good dinner.
      Gain strength fast. Verry fine weather Went and see the small-pox men and
      Samll.
    </p>
    <p>
      Munday, 13th. Feel better. Went and see the officer. Talk about going
      home.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tuesday, 14th. Went to Fulton market and spent seven coppers for cakes.
      Eat them up. Washd my blanket.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wednesday 15. Cleand up all my cloathes. Left Mr. Fenixes and went to the
      widow Schuylers. Board myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thursday, 16th. Went to Commesary Loring. Have incouragement of going
      home. Signd the parole.
    </p>
    <p>
      Friday, 17th. In expectation of going out a Sunday. Verry cold. Buy milk
      and make milk porrage. Verry good liveing. Had my dinner give.
    </p>
    <p>
      Saturday, 18t. Verry cold. Went to see Katy and got my dinner. Went to Mr.
      Loring. Some encouragement of going hom a Munday, to have an answer
      tomorrow morning. Bought suppawn (some corn?) meal and Yankey.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sunday, 19th. Went to Mr. Lorings. He sd we should go out in 2 or 3 days.
      The reason of not going out now is they are a fighting at Kingsbridge.
      Went to Phenixes and got my dinner. Almost discouraged about going home.
      To have answer tomorrow.
    </p>
    <p>
      Munday, 20th. Nothing remarkable. Mr. Loring sd we should have an answer
      tomorrow. An old story.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tuesday, 21st. Still follow going to Mr. Lorings. No success. He keeps a
      saying come tomorrow. Nothing remarkable.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wednesday, 22. Mr. Loring says we should have a guard tomorrow, but it
      fell through. The word is we shall go out in 2 or 3 days.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thursday, 23d. Nothing remarkl. Almost conclude to stay all winter.
    </p>
    <p>
      Friday, 24th. Encouragement. Mr. Loring say that we shall go tomorrow. We
      must parade at his quaters tomorrow by 8 oclok.
    </p>
    <p>
      Saturday, 25th. We paraded at Mr. Lorings by 8 or 9 oclk. Marchd off about
      10 oclk. Marchd about 6 miles and the officers got a waggon and 4 or 5 of
      us rid about 4 miles, then travl&rsquo;d about 1-1/2, then the offr got a waggon
      and broght us to the lines. We were blindfolded when we come by Fort
      Independency. Come about 4/5 of a mile whare we stay all night. Lay on the
      floor in our cloathes but little rest.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sunday, 26th. We marchd by sun rise. March but 8 miles whare we got supper
      and lodging on free cost. This day gave 18 pence for breekft, 19 pence for
      dinner.
    </p>
    <p>
      Munday, 27th. Marchd 2 miles. Got breekft cost 19 pence. Travld 2 or 3
      miles and a waggon overtook us a going to Stamford. We now got chance to
      ride. Our dinner cost 11 count lawful. About 3 oclok met with Capt Hinmans
      company. See Judea folks and heard from home. This day come 13 miles to
      Horse neck. Supper cost 16. Lodging free.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tuesday, 28th. Breekft cost 11. Rode to Stamford. Dinner 16. Travld 3
      miles, supr and lodg free.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here the diary ends when Slade was within a few miles of his home at New
      Canaan, Conn., which he reached next day.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Perhaps a few words of his future life are not without interest. He was
      one of the early settlers who went from Connecticut to Vermont and made a
      home in what was then a frontier settlement. He lived and died at
      Cornwall, Vt., and was successful and respected in the community. From
      1801 to 1810 he was sheriff of Addison County. Of his sons, one, William,
      was especially conspicuous among the men of his generation for his
      abilities and attainments. After graduation from Middlebury College in
      1810, he studied law, was admitted to the bar, and filled many offices in
      his town and county. After some business reverses he secured a position in
      the State Department in Washington in 1821. He was on the wrong side
      politically in General Jackson&rsquo;s campaign for the presidency, being like
      most Vermonters a supporter of John Quincy Adams. Some time after
      Jackson&rsquo;s inauguration, Slade was removed from his position in the State
      Department and this so incensed his friends in Vermont that as soon as a
      vacancy arose he was elected as Representative to Congress, where he
      remained from 1831 to 1843. On his return from Washington he was elected
      Governor of Vermont in 1844, and in his later years was corresponding
      secretary and general agent of the Board of National and Popular
      Education, for which he did most valuable work. He was a distinguished
      speaker and an author of note, his Vermont State Papers being still a
      standard reference work.
    </p>
    <p>
      To revert to the prison ship martyrs, their suffering was so great and
      their bravery so conspicuous that immediately after the War a popular
      attempt was made in 1792 and 1798 to provide a proper resting place for
      the bones of the victims, which were scattered in the sands about
      Wallabout Bay. This effort did not progress very rapidly and it was not
      until the matter was taken up by the Tammany Society that anything
      definite was really accomplished. Owing to the efforts of this
      organization a vault covered by a small building was erected in 1808 and
      the bones were collected and placed in the vault in thirteen large
      coffins, one for each of the thirteen colonies, the interment being
      accompanied by imposing ceremonies. In time the vault was neglected, and
      it was preserved only by the efforts of a survivor, Benjamin Romaine, who
      bought the plot of ground on which the monument stood, when it was sold
      for taxes, and preserved it. He died at an advanced age and was, by his
      own request, buried in the vault with these Revolutionary heroes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Early in the last century an attempt was made to interest Congress in a
      project to erect a suitable monument for the prison ship martyrs but
      without success. The project has, however, never been abandoned by
      patriotic and public spirited citizens and the Prison Ship Martyrs&rsquo; 
      Society of the present time is a lineal descendant in spirit and purpose
      of the Tammany Club effort, which first honored these Revolutionary
      heroes. The efforts of the Prison Ship Martyrs&rsquo; Association have proved
      successful and a beautiful monument, designed by Stanford White, will soon
      mark the resting place of these prison ship martyrs.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_APPE3" id="link2H_APPE3"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      APPENDIX C
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_BIBL" id="link2H_BIBL"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      BIBLIOGRAPHY
    </h2>
    <p>
      The writer of this volume has been very much assisted in her task by Mr.
      Frank Moore&rsquo;s Diary of the Revolution, a collection of extracts from the
      periodicals of the day. This valuable compilation has saved much time and
      trouble. Other books that have been useful are the following.
    </p>
    <p>
      Adventures of Christopher Hawkins.
    </p>
    <p>
      Adventures of Ebenezer Fox. Published in Boston, by Charles Fox, in 1848.
    </p>
    <p>
      History of Brooklyn by Stiles.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bolton&rsquo;s Private Soldier of the Revolution.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bigelow&rsquo;s Life of B. Franklin, vol II, pages 403 to 411.
    </p>
    <p>
      Account of Interment of Remains of American Prisoners. Reprint, by Rev.
      Henry R. Stiles.
    </p>
    <p>
      Elias Boudinot&rsquo;s Journal and Historical Recollections.
    </p>
    <p>
      Watson&rsquo;s Annals.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thomas Dring&rsquo;s Recollections of the Jersey Prison Ship, re-edited by H. B.
      Dawson, 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thomas Andros&rsquo;s Old Jersey Captive, Boston, 1833.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lossing&rsquo;s Field Book of the Revolution.
    </p>
    <p>
      Memoirs of Ethan Allen, written by himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Journal of Dr. Elias Cornelius.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dunlap&rsquo;s New York.
    </p>
    <p>
      Narrative of Nathaniel Fanning.
    </p>
    <p>
      Narrative of Jabez Fitch.
    </p>
    <p>
      Valentine&rsquo;s Manual of New York.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Old Martyrs&rsquo; Prison. A pamphlet.
    </p>
    <p>
      Jones&rsquo;s New York.
    </p>
    <p>
      Poems of Philip Freneau.
    </p>
    <p>
      Prison Ship Martyrs, by Rev. Henry R. Stiles.
    </p>
    <p>
      A Relic of the Revolution, by Rev. R. Livesey, Published by G. C. Rand,
      Boston, 1854.
    </p>
    <p>
      Memoirs of Alexander Graydon.
    </p>
    <p>
      Memoir of Eli Bickford.
    </p>
    <p>
      Martyrs of the Revolution, by George Taylor, 1820.
    </p>
    <p>
      Memoirs of Andrew Sherburne.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Ellet&rsquo;s Domestic History of the Revolution, pages 106-116.
    </p>
    <p>
      Irving&rsquo;s Life of Washington, vol. III, p. 19.
    </p>
    <p>
      Experiences of Levi Handford. C. I. Bushnell, New York, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      Onderdonk&rsquo;s Suffolk and King&rsquo;s Counties, New York.
    </p>
    <p>
      Philbrook&rsquo;s Narrative in Rhode Island Historical Society&rsquo;s Proceedings,
      1874 and 1875.
    </p>
    <p>
      Harper&rsquo;s Monthly, vol. XXXVII.
    </p>
    <p>
      Historical Magazine, vol. VI, p. 147.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Lamb&rsquo;s New York.
    </p>
    <p>
      Jeremiah Johnson&rsquo;s Recollections of Brooklyn and New York.
    </p>
    <p>
      Life of Silas Talbot, by Tuckerman.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ramsey&rsquo;s History of the Revolution, vol. II, p. 9.
    </p>
    <p>
      Narrative of John Blatchford, edited by Charles I, Bushnell, 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      Irish-American Hist. Miscellany, published by the author, 1906, by Mr.
      John D. Crimmins.
    </p>
    <div style="height: 6em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>







<pre>





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