A journal, of a young man of Massachusetts, late a surgeon on board an American privateer, who was captured at sea by the British in May, eighteen hundred and thirteen and was confined first, at Melville Island, Halifax, then at Chatham, in England, and last at Dartmoor prison : $b Interspersed with observations, anecdotes and remarks, tending to illustrate the moral and political characters of three nations. To which is added, a correct engraving of Dartmoor prison, representing the massacre ofWaterhouse, Benjamin
History
A journal, of a young man of Massachusetts, late a surgeon on board an American privateer, who was captured at sea by the British in May, eighteen hundred and thirteen and was confined first, at Melville Island, Halifax, then at Chatham, in England, and last at Dartmoor prison : $b Interspersed with observations, anecdotes and remarks, tending to illustrate the moral and political characters of three nations. To which is added, a correct engraving of Dartmoor prison, representing the massacre of
Waterhouse, Benjamin
Dartmoor Prison; United States -- History -- War of 1812 -- Prisoners and prisons
Excepting this pint of oatmeal porridge, we had nothing more to eat or
drink until dinner time; when we were served with a pint of
_pea-water_. Our allowance for the week, for it is difficult to
calculate it by the day, was four and a half pounds of bread, two and
a quarter pounds of beef or pork, one and a quarter pounds of flour,
and the _pea-water_, which they called "_soup_," five days in every
week. Now let any man of knowledge and observation judge, whether the
portion of food here allotted to each man was sufficient to preserve
him from the exquisite tortures of hunger; and perhaps there is no
torture more intolerable to young men not yet arrived to their full
growth. We had been guilty of no crime. We had been engaged in the
service of our dear country, and deserved applause, and not torture.
And be it forever remembered, that the Americans always feed their
prisoners well, and treat them with humanity.
The _Regulus_, for that is the name of the ship we were in, is, if I
mistake not, an old line of battle ship, armed _en flute_, that is,
her lower deck was fitted up with bunks, or births, so large as to
contain six men in a birth. The only passages for light or air were
through the main and fore hatches, which were covered with a grating,
at which stood, day and night, a sentinel. The communication between
our dungeon and the upper deck was only through the main hatch way, by
means of a rope ladder, that could be easily cut away at a moment's
warning, should the half starved American prisoners ever conclude to
rise and take the ship, which the brave British tars seemed constantly
apprehensive of. You may judge of their apprehensions by their
extraordinary precautions--they had a large store of muskets in their
tops to be ready for their marines and crew, should we Yankees drive
them from the hull to seek safety above. They had two carronades
loaded with grape and canister shot on the poop, pointing forward,
with a man at each; and strict orders were given not to hold any
conversation with the Americans, under the penalty of the severest
chastisement. However improbable the thing may appear, we discussed
the matter very seriously and repeatedly among ourselves, and compared
the observations we made when on deck, in our council chamber under
water. It seems that the British are apprized of the daring spirit of
the Americans; they watch them with as much dread as if they were so
many tigers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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