The success attending our privateersmen, and the injury they inflicted on the enemy, gave them such a prominence in the country, that Congress increased as far as possible the inducements to fit out letters of marque, and in 1814 reduced the legal duties on goods captured by privateers thirty-three and a third per cent., and afterwards withdrew all claim of the government to prizes and their cargoes.

Privateersmen had earned all these privileges for themselves by their activity, adroitness, and bravery; they had become the terror of the British commerce, and while England, proud of her naval strength, was blockading our entire coast, they were sweeping down upon her merchantmen in the chops of her own channels.

The names of many of these vessels were very characteristic of the American sailor. "Catch me if you can," "True blooded Yankee," "Right of Search," "Bunker Hill," "Viper," "Rattlesnake," "Scourge," "Spit Fire," and "Teazer," exhibited not only the spirit that animated the commanders, but were well calculated to irritate and enrage the officers of English vessels of war, especially as their conduct corresponded so well with the titles they bore.

In September, about three months after the war was declared, the "Nonsuch" privateer, of Baltimore, carrying only twelve pound carronades and eighty or ninety men, while cruising off Cape Vincent, fell in with an English ship carrying sixteen 18 and 24 pound carronades and two hundred men, and a schooner with six four pounders and 60 men. Notwithstanding this overwhelming disparity of force, the privateer determined to uphold the name she bore, and setting American colors bore gallantly down on the ship. Ranging up within close musket shot, she poured in her broadsides and volleys of musketry for three hours and a half, and maintained the unequal contest till her guns were all disabled and only musketry could be used. The vessels instead of taking advantage of the crippled condition of the ship, to capture her, were so amazed at her audacity and the desperate manner in which she was fought, that they turned and fled. The Nonsuch lost twenty-three killed and wounded in this engagement.

Not long after, in the same waters, the Dolphin, of Baltimore, with only ten guns and sixty men, attacked at the same time a ship of sixteen guns and forty men, and a brig of 10 guns and twenty-five men, and captured them both.

In December of this year the privateer Comet, fourteen guns, started on a cruise southward, and on the 14th of January gave chase to four sail, which were afterwards ascertained to be three English merchantmen, one carrying fourteen and the other two, ten guns, convoyed by a Portuguese brig-of-war mounting twenty thirty-twos, and having a crew of one hundred and sixty-five men. The privateer hailed the Portuguese, when the latter sent a boat aboard with her commander. In the conversation that followed, Captain Boyle, of the privateer, declared he should take those merchantmen if he could. The Portuguese commander replied, he must prevent him, though he should be sorry to have any thing disagreeable happen. The American reciprocated his good wishes, but told him he was afraid something unpleasant might occur if he undertook to interfere with his proceedings.

It was dark when the Portuguese captain withdrew, and the Comet immediately crowded sail for the merchantmen, followed closely by the brig of war. Coming up with them, Captain Boyle began to pour in his broadsides. The vessels keeping heavy head way, firing as their guns bore, he was compelled to fight under a cloud of canvass. Now shooting ahead, he would tack, and come down on the enemy in a blaze of fire. But with every broadside, the Portuguese poured in his own. Captain Boyle, intent on capturing the English vessels, paid no attention to the latter, except occasionally to give him a passing salute. At length he compelled every vessel to strike, and succeeded in taking possession of and manning one. But the moon having gone down, and dark clouds, indicating squalls, rising over the heavens, the vessels got separated, except the privateer and man-of-war, which kept exchanging occasional broadsides till two in the morning. By daylight all succeeded in getting off, though dreadfully cut up, with the exception of the one manned the night before, which was safely brought into port through the squadron blockading the Chesapeake. This bold marauder afterwards engaged a ship of eight hundred tons burthen and carrying twenty-two guns, and maintained the contest for eight hours before he could be beaten off.

The Governor Tompkins was another daring and successful cruiser, inflicting heavy damages on the English commerce. Her log book would read like a romance. Jan. 1, 1813. One morning as the sun rose over the sea, Captain Shaler saw in the distance three vessels and immediately gave chase. The wind was light and he approached slowly, examining the strangers narrowly. One of them appeared to be a large transport, so heavy that he was questioning the propriety of attacking her, especially as the other two were evidently determined to stand by her. Boats were rapidly passing to and fro, filled with men, and though the large vessel lay to, quietly waiting the approach of the privateer, she had studding-sail booms out as if prepared for a running fight. Her conduct looked suspicious, and while the captain of the Tompkins was deliberating whether to engage or haul off, a sudden squall struck his vessel carrying her directly under the guns of the stranger, which to his amazement he discovered to be a frigate. He had English colors flying, but instead of endeavoring with them to deceive the enemy till he could claw off, he hauled them down, and setting three American ensigns, poured a broadside into the man-of-war. The latter returned it with stunning effect, his balls crashing through the timbers, blowing up cartridges, tube boxes, etc., and strewing the quarter-deck with ruin. The Tompkins not daring to tack in the squall, kept on before the wind, passing the frigate and receiving its fire as she flew on. The frigate pursued, and sailing nearly as fast as the privateer, for a time made the water foam about him. But the latter by throwing over shot, lumber, etc., gradually drew ahead, and the wind dying away, Captain Boyle, with the aid of sweeps, got at dark beyond reach of the shot.

About the same time the Globe had a desperate engagement off Madeira with two brigs, one of eighteen and the other of sixteen guns, compelling one to strike, though she afterwards made her escape.

In August of this year, a gallant action was fought between the privateer Decatur, Capt. Diron, and a war schooner of the British navy. The Decatur had six twelve-pound carronades and one eighteen-pounder, and mustered 103 men. The schooner was thoroughly appointed, carrying twelve twelve-pound carronades, two long sixes, a brass four, a thirty-two pound carronade and eighty-eight men. She, therefore, had but fifteen men less than her antagonist, while she threw more than twice the weight of metal. But, notwithstanding this overwhelming superiority of force, and though a packet accompanied the schooner whose conduct in the engagement could not be foretold, Captain Diron hoisted American colors to the peak, and closed at once and fiercely with the enemy. He knew from the outset that in a broadside to broadside engagement the Dominica, from her great superiority in metal, would soon sink him, and he determined to board her. The latter detected his purpose and bore away, pouring in her broadsides. Both commanders exhibited great skill in manœuvering their ships; one to board, the other to foil the attempt. The schooner succeeded in firing three broadsides before the privateer could close. Captain Diron, who had previously got up all the ammunition, etc. which he wanted from below, and fastened down the hatches, the moment he saw from his course that the schooner could not avoid a collision, ordered the drums to beat the charge. Loud cheers followed, and the next moment the two vessels came together with a crash, the jib-boom of the Decatur piercing the main-sail of the enemy. In an instant they were lashed together. The fire from the artillery and musketry at this time was terrible. In the midst of it the crew of the Decatur sprang with shouts on the enemy's decks, when it became a hand-to-hand fight with pistols and cutlasses. The crew of the latter fought desperately, but at length, every officer being killed or wounded, with the exception of one midshipman and the surgeon, and only twenty-eight out of the eighty-eight left standing, the colors were hauled down. The combat, which lasted an hour, was one of the most bloody, in proportion to the number engaged, that occurred during the war.

The privateer Neufchatel was another lucky ship. Once getting becalmed off Gray Head, within sight of the Endymion, she was attacked by the boats and launches of the latter containing over a hundred men. The Neufchatel carried 17 guns, but had at the time of the attack only thirty-three men and officers included. Although it was dark the captain observed the approach of the boats, five in number, and opened his fire upon them. They, however, steadily advanced till they reached the ship, when they attempted to board on bows, sides, and stern simultaneously.

The action lasted twenty minutes, when one boat having sunk, another being emptied of its crew, and the others drifting away, apparently without men, the firing ceased. At its close the privateer found on her deck more prisoners than she had men in the combat. But few of the assailants ever reached the frigate again.

In November of this year the Kemp privateer sailed out of Wilmington and two days after was attacked by a fleet of six small vessels, carrying in all forty-six guns and a hundred and thirty-four men. Enveloped in the fire of six vessels this gallant privateer maintained the unequal combat for half an hour, and finally succeeded in scattering them, when she fell on them in detail and carried three by boarding. She then ranged alongside the largest brig and poured in her broadsides and volleys of musketry. In fifteen minutes the latter struck. In an hour and a half the whole were taken, but while the prizes were being secured two hoisted sail and got away. The other four were secured and brought into port, the result of a six days' cruise.

But the most desperate engagement probably during the war took place this year, between the privateer brig, General Armstrong, and the crews of an English squadron in the port of Fayal. This brig, carrying only seven guns and ninety men, entered that port to obtain water, and her commander, Captain Reid, seeing no sail on the horizon, dropped his anchor. A few hours after, the British brig Carnation came in and anchored near her. Soon after the Plantaganet, 74, and the Rota frigate arrived. Captain Reid, knowing how little regard English officers paid to the laws of neutrality, became very solicitous about the safety of his ship, and applied to the authorities of the place to know what course he should pursue. They told him he need entertain no fear, as the English officers knew the rights of a neutral port too well to molest him. Captain Reid, however, suspected it would be otherwise, and kept a close watch on the movements of the enemy. About nine o'clock in the evening, it being broad moonlight on the bay and not a breath of air breaking its glittering surface, he saw four boats rowing rapidly and silently towards him. When they came within hail he called out to know their purpose. The latter making no reply and keeping steadily on, he bade them stand off. They paid no heed to his repeated orders, and were about to board when he gave the command to fire. After a short but fierce contest the assailants were driven off and returned to their vessels. The news soon spread, and the inhabitants with the governor gathered on the shore to see the battle. About midnight fourteen launches, filled with four hundred men, were seen to put off and steer straight for the privateer. Captain Reid, who, in the mean time, had cut his cable and moored close in shore, knew he could not save his vessel; but indignant at this violation of the laws of neutrality he determined the enemy should pay dear for the conquest, and the moment the boats came within range opened a tremendous fire upon them. They staggered under it, but returning it with spirit continued to press on. But as they got nearer, the carnage became awful. Every gun on board that privateer seemed aimed with the precision of a rifle, and the discharges were so rapid and incessant that it was with the utmost efforts the boats could be pushed on at all. The dead cumbered the living, and the oars were continually dropping from the hands of the slain, crippling and confusing all the movements. At length, however, they succeeded in reaching the brig, and cheered on by their officers, shouting "no quarter," began to ascend the sides of the ship. In a moment its black hull was a sheet of flame rolling on the foe.

Shrieks and cries, mingled with oaths and execrations, and sharp volleys of musketry rang out on the night air, turning that moonlight bay into a scene of indescribable terror. The bright waters were loaded with black forms, as they floated or struggled around the boats. The Americans fought with the ferocity of tigers and the desperation of mad men. Leaping into the boats they literally massacred all within. Several drifted ashore full of dead bodies—not a soul being left alive of all the crew—others were sunk. Some were left with one or two to row them. Overwhelmed, crushed and discomfitted, the remainder abandoned the attempt and pulled slowly back to the ships, marking their course by the groans and cries of the wounded that floated back over the bay. Only three officers, out of the whole, escaped, while scarce a hundred and fifty of the four hundred returned unwounded to their vessels. A hundred and twenty were killed outright. The loss could scarcely have been greater had the enemy fought a squadron equal to their own.

Our Consul, after this, dropped a note to the Governor, who immediately sent a remonstrance to Van Lloyd, commander of the Plantagenet, saying that the American vessel was under the guns of the castle and entitled to Portuguese protection. To this Van Lloyd replied, that he was resolved on the destruction of the vessel, and if the fort undertook to protect her, he would not leave a house standing on shore.

The next day the Carnation hauled in alongside and opened her broadsides on the privateer. Reid, still grimly clinging to his vessel, returned the fire, and in a short time so cut up his antagonist that he hauled off to repair. That little brig, half a wreck, lying under the walls of the castle fighting that hopeless gallant battle, vindicating her rights against such fearful odds, with none who dare help her, presented a sublime spectacle.

At length his guns being dismounted, Captain Reid ordered his men to cut away the masts of the ship, blow a hole through her bottom, and taking out their arms and clothing, go ashore. Soon after the British advanced and set her on fire. Van Lloyd then made a demand on the Governor for Captain Reid and his crew, threatening in case of refusal to send an armed force and take them. Fearing that the Governor would not be able to prevent their arrest, this gallant band retired to an old convent, knocked away the drawbridge, determined to defend themselves to the last. The English commander had no desire to place his crews again under the deadly aim of those daring men, and abandoned the project.

The American loss in this engagement was only two killed and seven wounded. Thus dearly did England pay for this violation of the laws of a neutral port. That brig, cruising successfully to the close of the war, could not have inflicted so heavy damage on the enemy as she caused in her capture.

The gallant bearing and patriotic feeling that marked these little cruisers are worthy of record, while the hair-breadth escapes—the tricks employed to entice merchantmen within their reach—the wit and humor exhibited in hailing and answering the hails of vessels—the saucy and irritating acts committed on purpose to provoke—the good-natured jokes they cracked on those they had first outwitted, then conquered, would make a most characteristic and amusing chapter in American history.

Captain Boyle, of the Chasseur, took great delight in provoking frigates to chase him, and when they abandoned the pursuit as hopeless, he would affect to chase in turn, teazing and insulting his formidable adversaries, who tried in vain to cut some spar out of the winged thing in order to lessen her fleetness. Cruising along the English coast, this vessel had some very narrow escapes. While here the captain overhauled a cartel, and sent by it a proclamation with orders to have it stuck up in Lloyd's coffee house, declaring the whole British Empire in a state of blockade, and that he considered the force under him sufficient to maintain it.

This was probably one of the finest private armed vessels afloat during the war. Buoyant as a sea-gull, she sat so lightly and gracefully on the water, that it seemed as if she might, at will, rise and fly. Fleet as the wind, she was handled with such ease that the enemy gazed on her movements with admiration.

Her last exploit was the capture of his majesty's schooner St. Lawrence, carrying fifteen guns. The latter was on her way to New Orleans, with some soldiers, marines, and gentlemen of the navy as passengers. The Chasseur had only six twelve-pounders and eight short nine pound carronades, having been compelled a short time before, when hard pressed by an English frigate, to throw over nearly all her twelve pound carronades. Captain Boyle had no suspicion of the true character of the vessel when he gave chase, for her ports had been closed on purpose to deceive him. He therefore stood boldly on till he got within pistol-shot, when the schooner suddenly opened ten ports on a side and poured in a destructive fire. At the same time the men who had been concealed under the bulwarks leaped up and delivered a volley of musketry. Captain Boyle, discovering what a trap he had been beguiled into, determined at once to stay in it, and ranging alongside within ten yards, opened a tremendous fire with his batteries and musketry. The vessels were so near each other that the voices of officers and men could be distinctly heard, even amid the crashing cannonade. That little privateer exhibited a skill and practice in gunnery unsurpassed by any frigate, and superior to any vessel in the English navy. The enemy was completely stunned by the rapidity and destructive effect of her fire, and in eleven minutes was a perfect wreck. Captain Boyle then gave the command to board, when the flag was struck. In this short space of time the Chasseur had strewed the deck of that schooner with nearly half of her crew, killed and wounded.

Our privateers had greatly the advantage of the English, not only in artillery but in musketry—our men firing with much surer aim than theirs.

It would be impossible to give the names and details of all the vessels and their engagements; but, independent of the vast number of merchantmen captured by them, they took eight national vessels of the enemy, in single combat. They seemed to vie with each other in daring and the venturous exploits they would undertake. One of these vessels would shoot out of port within sight of a blockading squadron, start alone on a cruise, and scouring thirty or forty thousand miles of the ocean, return with a fleet of prizes. The commanders were almost, invariably humane men, treating their prisoners with vastly more kindness than British admirals and commodores did those Americans who fell in their hands. Many acts of kindness and generosity were performed, and a nobleness of spirit exhibited towards a fallen foe, which has ever been, and it is to be hoped ever will be, a distinguished trait in the American character. On one occasion a privateer captured in the channel a Welch vessel from Cardigan, freighted with corn. As the captain went on board he saw a small box with a hole in the top, in the cabin, marked "Missionary box." "What is this?" said he, touching it with a stick. "Oh," replied the Cambrian, "the truth is, my poor fellows here have been accustomed every Monday morning to drop a penny each into that box, for the purpose of sending out missionaries to preach the gospel to the heathen; but it's all over now." "Indeed," said the captain, and reflecting a moment, he added, "Captain, I'll not hurt a hair of your head nor touch your vessel," and immediately returned to his own ship, leaving him unmolested.

Such conduct appears the more striking when contrasted with that of British officers. The murder of Mr. Sigourney, of the Alp, whose brains were beaten out; though when his vessel was taken possession of not a soul but himself was found on board—the confinement of Capt. Upton and his officers of the privateer Hunter, for three months in a filthy prison, and their after transfer to a prison ship—the cruelty shown to Capt. Nichols, who, after enjoying his parole for two months, was without the least reason thrown into a prison-ship and kept for more than a month in a room four feet by seven, and many other cases of extreme cruelty, were well known, for the facts had been sworn to and placed on record as state papers. Rumor aggravated all these a hundred fold, yet the English government can offset them with no retaliatory acts substantiated before courts of inquiry.

CHAPTER XIV.
DARTMOOR PRISON.

Impressed Americans made prisoners of war — Treatment of prisoners — Prison Ships — Dartmoor prison — Neglect of American prisoners — Their sufferings — Fourth of July in Dartmoor — Brutal attack of the French prisoners — Fresh arrivals — Joy at the news of our naval victories — Sufferings of the prisoners in winter — American Government allows them three cents per diem — Moral effect of this notice of Government — Napoleon's downfall — Increased allowance of Government — Industry of prisoners — Attempts to escape — Extraordinary adventure of a lieutenant of a privateer — Number of prisoners increased — A riot to obtain bread — Dartmoor massacre — Messrs. King and L'Arpent appointed commissioners to investigate it — Decision — The end.

A short chapter is due to those who, though not engaged in battle, suffered equally for their country, and despite the oppression and want which drove them well nigh to despair, refused to be faithless to the land that had nurtured them. The conduct of the land and naval officers to a vanquished enemy, did not present a more striking contrast than that of the two governments towards prisoners who had never taken up arms. Those placed in confinement by us were never allowed to suffer through want of clothing or food, while a barbarity characterized the treatment of American citizens that reflects the deepest disgrace on the British empire.

When the declaration of war was made, the English vessels had a vast number of American seamen on board, most of them impressed, who flatly refused to fight against their country. Many of these, without having received the pay due them, were then sent to England as prisoners of war. Captures at sea swelled the number rapidly, which in the end amounted to nearly six thousand men. Officers of privateersmen and merchantmen on parole, were sent to Devonshire or Berkshire, where on thirty-three and a quarter cents per diem, they were allowed to subsist in comparative comfort; but the common sailors and merchant captains were scattered about in different prisons, the most, however, being collected and placed on board two old line-of-battle-ships in Portsmouth harbor. Hence, after a short imprisonment, characterized by a brutality not often found among half-civilized nations, they were transferred to Dartmoor prison, seventeen miles inland. This dreaded prison was situated high up on the side of a barren mountain, overlooking a bleak and desolate moor. It consisted of seven buildings, surrounded by two walls, the first a mile in extent and sixteen feet high; the second, thirty feet from the first, and surmounted by guards overlooking the spaces within. Each prison had but one apartment on a floor, around which, in tiers, six on a side, the hammocks were slung. Into one of these large cold apartments, nearly five hundred American prisoners were crowded during the year 1813. Their own Government had not then provided any thing towards their expenses, and they were dependent entirely on the allowance of the British officials. The garments they brought with them, at length wearing out, they were reduced to the most miserable shifts to cover their persons. As soon as it was dark, this half-famished multitude was turned into their prison, and left without a light to pass the long and dreary winter nights. Filthy, ragged, covered with vermin, they strolled around the yard in the day time, or lay basking in the sun to obtain a little warmth, and moody and despairing, gradually sank, through degrading companionship and the demoralization of want and suffering, lower and lower in the scale of humanity. A single bucket, only, containing the food, was allowed to a mess, around which they gathered with the avidity of starving men, and each with his wooden spoon struggled to eat fastest and most. To add to their sufferings the small-pox broke out among them, carrying many to their graves. Faint and far echoes from home would now and then rekindle hope in their bosoms, to be succeeded only by blank despair.

The better portion strove manfully to arrest the tendency around them to degradation, and constituted themselves a court to try offenders. When theft was proved on one, a punishment of twenty-seven lashes was inflicted. They also used every inducement to prevent the sailors from enlisting in the British service, to which last resort many were driven, to escape the horrors of that gloomy prison.

When the 4th of July arrived, they determined to celebrate the national anniversary in their own prison, and so having by some means obtained two American standards, they placed them at the two ends of the building, outside the walls, and forming into two columns marched up and down the yard, singing patriotic songs, whistling patriotic tunes, and cheering the flag of their country. The keeper, hearing of it, ordered the turnkeys to take away the flags; but the prisoners sent to him, requesting as a particular favor that they might be allowed to celebrate the anniversary of their country's independence, adding if he insisted on attacking their colors he must take the consequences. The guards were then ordered in, when a scuffle ensued, in which one flag was taken, but the prisoners bore the other off in triumph to their room. At evening, when the guards came as usual to shut them up, a great deal of severe language and opprobrious epithets were used, stigmatizing the pitiful revenge in taking away their flags as mean and contemptible. Retorts followed, blows succeeded, and finally the guard fired on the crowd, wounding two men. Thus ended the 4th of July, 1813, in Dartmoor.

In the apartments above the Americans, were crowded nearly a thousand French prisoners, miserable outcasts, with scarcely any thing left of our common humanity but the form. Many of them were entirely naked, and slept on the stone floor, stretched out like so many swine. The moment clothing was given them they would gamble it away. These wretches formed a conspiracy to murder all the Americans. Arming themselves with whatever weapon they could lay hands on, they contrived one morning to get into the yard before the latter, and as the first group of Americans, a hundred and fifty in number, emerged into the open air, fell upon them with the ferocity of fiends. Passing between them and the prison, they blocked the entrance to prevent the others from coming to the rescue. A wild scene of confusion and tumult followed. The French succeeded in stabbing and knocking down and mangling nearly every American, and would doubtless have beaten the whole to death had not the guard, attracted by the cries for help and shrieks of murder, rushed in, and by a bayonet charge ended the fray. A great number of the Americans were more or less injured and twenty shockingly mangled.

The succeeding months passed drearily away, with nothing occurring to break the weary monotony of life, except at long intervals the arrival of a fresh squad of prisoners. This was an event in their existence, and replaced them once more in communication with the outward world. The new comers were lions for the time. Eager groups gathered around each one, impatiently asking after the news, and how the war got on. The triumphs of our navy made them forget, for awhile, the gloom of their dismal abode. Every action had to be described over and over again, losing nothing by Jack's embellishments—the narration ever and anon interrupted with huzzas and acclamations. They would lie for hours awake in their hammocks, listening to the recital of the marvellous sea-fights in which "free trade and sailors' rights" were gallantly maintained, and cheers would burst out of the darkness, ringing down through the tiers of cots that lined the walls.

During the autumn of 1813, a fresh arrival of prisoners brought the news of Perry's victory on Lake Erie, and the capture of the Boxer by the Enterprise. These were the occasion of great rejoicing, and while the more intelligent and respectable portion of the captives discussed the victories calmly, the hundreds of common seamen shook the prison walls with their uproarious mirth and unbounded exultation.

The sufferings of the prisoners were the greatest during this winter. They were allowed no fire and no light, although the windows were not glazed; and locked within the cold damp stone walls at the close of the short winter days, were compelled to spend the long winter evenings in darkness, whiling away the time in telling stories—keeping warm by huddling together, or creeping to their hammocks with but a single tattered blanket to protect them from the cold. To make their wretchedness complete, the winter set in with a severity not felt before for half a century, and which has had no parallel since. The mountain on which the prison stood was covered with snow to the depth of from two to four feet. The stream running through the prison yard, and the buckets of water in the prisoners' room were frozen solid. Most of the prisoners being protected only by rags, and destitute of shoes, they could not go out into the yard at all, for it was covered with snow, but lay crouched in their hammocks all day and all night. The strong were bowed in gloom and despair, and the weak perished in protracted agonies. To fill up the measure of their sufferings, the commanding officer issued an order compelling them to turn out at nine o'clock in the morning, and stand in the yard till the guard counted them. This took nearly an hour, during which time the poor fellows stood barefoot in the snow, benumbed by the cold and pierced by the bleak December blasts that swept the desolate mountain, and hurled the snow in clouds through the air. Unable to bear this dreadful exposure, the prisoners cut up their bedding and made garments and socks for their feet to protect them from the frost, and slept on the cold floor. Morning after morning, hardy men overcome by the cold, fell lifeless in presence of their keepers, and were carried to the hospital, where they were resuscitated, only to be sent back to shiver and suffer on the icy floor of their prison. The better class remonstrated against this useless cruelty, but without effect.

At length, in the latter part of the month, the agent was removed, and Captain Shortland took his place, who immediately revoked the order requiring the prisoners to be counted—represented strongly to the board of transport the condition they were in, and used all the means in his power to alleviate their sufferings and ameliorate the horrors of their confinement. Still, no clothing was furnished, and the cold was intense. The camp distemper also broke out, and many were not sorry to take it, in order to get in the more comfortable quarters of the hospital.

Mr. Beasely was agent for American prisoners of war in England, to whom those at Dartmoor constantly appealed for help. Receiving no answers to their repeated appeals, they denounced him as unfeeling and indifferent to their distress. At last, enraged at the neglect of their own Government, as represented in Mr. Beasely, and maddened by suffering, they drew up a paper and sent it to him, in which they declared that unless relief was granted they would offer, en masse, their services to the British Government. To this no answer was received for about a month, when a letter arrived, announcing that the United States would allow them about three cents a day to buy soap and tobacco with. Slight as this relief was, it shed sunshine through that prison. True, it was not sufficient to purchase them clothing; it did more, however; it showed that they were recognized by their Government—they were no longer disowned, forgotten men, but stood once more in communication with the land of their birth, and acknowledged to be American citizens. The moral effect of this consciousness was wonderful, and notwithstanding their nakedness and forlorn appearance, the prisoners felt at once a new dignity. A committee was appointed to suppress gambling, and a petition got up to separate them from the blacks, who were irredeemably given over to thieving. Previous to this ninety-five had entered the British service; now every one spurned the thought. They never would desert the country that owned them as sons.

In the spring the rigorous restrictions laid on them were relaxed, and they were allowed the privilege of the French prisoners. Free access to the other prisoners and to the market were given, and they established a coffee-house in their prison, selling coffee at a penny a pint. From French officers they learned the news of the day. The world was thus again thrown open to them, and though the prospect of exchange grew dimmer and dimmer, they resigned themselves with more tranquillity to their contemplated long confinement. In the mean time money began to arrive from friends at home, on which, as a capital, the recipients set up as tobacconists, butter and potatoe merchants, etc. Imitating the French, they learned to be economical, and invent methods of increasing their revenue. The bones left from their beef were converted into beautifully wrought miniature ships. Others plaited straw for hats, made hair bracelets, list shoes, etc., turning that gloomy receptacle of despairing, reckless men, into a perfect hive of industry. Soon after, another letter from Mr. Beasely arrived, stating that six cents a week, in addition to the former sum, would in future be allowed, per man. This little sum diffused new pleasure around, and filled every heart with animation and hope. They could now purchase clothing and other little articles, necessary to render their appearance becoming American citizens.

Succeeding this came the news of Napoleon's downfall and termination of the continental war. The French prisoners were, of course, released, and the Americans purchased out their stock in trade, utensils, &c.

Among the prisoners were gray-haired men, and boys from thirteen to seventeen years of age. For the latter a school was established, to instruct them in reading, writing, and arithmetic. Soon another welcome letter was received, announcing that the United States would hereafter clothe them. Clad in clean new, though coarse clothing, they now trod the yards of their prison with a manly bearing. The sense of inferiority was gone, and the characteristic boldness and independence of the American seamen again shone forth. They would argue with English officers on the war, repel insult, and denounce every act of cruelty or fraud as freely as if on their own soil.

The English Government having resolved to make Dartmoor the general depôt of the prisoners, fresh arrivals soon swelled the number to fourteen hundred. 1814. Being now in a better condition, they resolved to celebrate the approaching 4th of July with becoming pomp. American colors were obtained, two hogsheads of porter and some rum purchased, and a grand dinner of soup and beef prepared. Early in the morning the flag was run up, and as it flaunted to the wind, "All Canada, or Dartmoor prison for ever!" was seen inscribed upon its folds. At eleven the prisoners assembled, while the walls around were lined with the English soldiers and officers and clerks, curious to hear what kind of an oration a Yankee sailor would make. Mounted on a cask, the orator launched at once into the war, showed how we had been forced into it by the injustice of England, and dwelt with great unction on the separate naval victories the brave tars had gained. Dinner followed, the grog circulated freely, toasts were given, and a song composed expressly for the occasion sung. Mirth and hilarity ruled the hour, and the walls of that old prison shook to the deafening cheers and boisterous mirth of these sons of the ocean.

Soon after a plan of escape was put in execution, and for a long time proceeded without detection. Every prisoner was sworn to secresy, and a court organized to try any informer, who in case of conviction, was to be hung. Shafts were sunk in the ground—the hole at the top being carefully concealed—and broad excavations began and worked towards the walls, beyond which they were to come to the surface. A traitor, however, was found, who for the price of his liberty revealed all.

From time to time some of the prisoners made their escape, but most of them were retaken before they reached the sea-board.[12]

The number of prisoners continued to increase, so that by autumn, over five thousand were congregated in the prison. Before they were released, the number was swelled to five thousand six hundred and ninety-three. Frequent collisions occurred between them and the officers, which embittered the animosity of the latter, and finally brought on a bloody catastrophe.

With the approach of winter great suffering was experienced. The malignant small-pox again broke out, and raged with fatal violence amid this army of men.

The news of the treaty of peace, however, dissipated, for a time, all their gloom, and diffused joy and hope through the prisons. The word "Home," was on every man's lips, and a speedy release from that den of horrors and suffering was expected. But the gloomy winter passed, and spring came, without mitigating their condition or restoring them to freedom. The prisoners became exasperated. The two countries having been so long at peace, they felt themselves entitled to their freedom. They were no longer prisoners of war, but by the very act of the treaty, American freemen. They burnt Mr. Beasely, the American agent, in effigy, railed at their keepers, and swore they would make their escape by violence if not soon released.

On the fourth of April, Captain Shortland having gone to Plymouth, they were not allowed any bread. Bearing the privation patiently, for thirty-six hours, they resolved to break open the store-house and supply themselves. So at dark as the officers entered the yard and cried out, "Turn in! Turn in!" a signal previously agreed on was given, and in an instant the excited thousands moved in one dark mass towards the gates. One after another gave way before the tremendous pressure, and these maddened hungry men rushed around the depôt of provisions, their shouts and cries ringing over the alarm bells and beat of drums, that summoned the garrison to arms. The alarm spread to the neighboring villages, and the militia began to pour in. In a few moments the soldiers advanced with charged bayonets towards the multitude, when they were sternly ordered off by the prisoners, who swore that if they dared fire or charge, they would charge in turn, and level that store-house to the ground, and march out of prison. The officers, fearing the result of such a contest, prudently promised to give them their usual supply if they would retire to their respective prisons. They did so, and quiet was restored. The bold and successful manner in which the Americans had overawed the soldiery and coerced submission to their demands, irritated them highly, and made them wish for a good opportunity to retaliate. April 6. This was soon furnished. Two days after, Captain Shortland, who had returned, observed a hole in that portion of the inner wall which separated two of the prison yards from the barracks, and suspecting, or pretending to suspect it was made by the prisoners for the purpose of escaping, he immediately ordered the alarm bells to be rung and the drums to beat. The prisoners, surprised and excited, rushed towards the gates of the yard to ascertain the cause of the alarm. The thousands behind pushing forward the thousands before, they became packed in an impenetrable mass at the entrance, and the pressure was so great that some were forced out through one of the gates that gave way. In the midst of the confusion, Shortland entered the inner square with the whole garrison. The soldiers advanced close to the throng, when the prisoners retired towards their respective yards. Doubtless amid such a vast and motley collection of men, many taunted the soldiers, provoked them, and dared them to fire. Still they yielded before the bayonet, and entered their own yard. The gates were shut, but a large crowd remained in the passage, provoking the soldiers, from whom they were separated by an iron railing, and threatening them with vengeance. While in this position the order to fire was given. Immediately the massacre commenced. Volley after volley was poured into the terrified crowd, pushing down and trampling on each other in their haste to reach the shelter of the prisons. Men were killed in the act of supplicating mercy, others were shot down while struggling to enter the prison doors. It was cold-blooded murder, and before all the prisoners could get within the walls, over sixty were killed or wounded. When the living had all escaped to a place of shelter, and the carnage was over, the prison yard presented a ghastly spectacle. The man of sixty, the sailor in his prime, and the boy of fifteen, lay scattered around, while the groans of the wounded were borne to the ears of the enraged prisoners within. A sullen silence fell on those gloomy structures, the flags were raised half-mast, in token of mourning, and the prisoners assembled together and appointed a committee to report on the matter.

Although the coroner's jury over the slain gave a verdict of justifiable homicide, our Government took up the matter, and appointed Charles King to meet Mr. Larpent, the English commissioner, and investigate it. In their report no one was declared culpable, though it was freely admitted wrong had been done. Mr. King was severely censured for his conduct, but it was not easy to come to a just conclusion, when the testimony of the two parties were so entirely at variance. Mr. Larpent was bound to believe the assertions of Captain Shortland and his troops, as much as Mr. King those of the prisoners. Capt. Shortland declared he never gave the order to fire, and attempted to arrest it after it had begun. This, of course, the prisoners denied, some of them swearing they heard him give the order. One thing, however, is certain; Mr. King never should have let this massacre of Americans pass, with so slight a condemnation as it received at his hands. In the first place, there is good reason to doubt whether Captain Shortland believed there was any great danger at all. A hole in a wall, only large enough to admit the passage of a single man at a time, could easily be stopped up without ringing alarm bells and beating drums, especially as that hole communicated with only two out of five of the yards, and when in three of these yards the prisoners were walking about in their usual quiet manner. Nor could he believe they meditated an escape, when they had just received word that preparations were nearly completed for their restoration to liberty. Where could they escape to without money or clothing? Besides, if they wished to free themselves by violence, why did they not do it two days before, when they had completely cowed the soldiers and had only to march forth without farther resistance.

In the second place, he deserved disgrace and punishment, for allowing the soldiers to press on the multitude, when he saw them evidently, or the great mass of them, retiring to their prisons. To fire on a mob, unless they are pressing forward to assail authority and force, is brutal. If he gave the order to fire, he should have been hung. If he did not, he should be held responsible for having such undisciplined troops under his command. An act like this cannot be committed and nobody be deserving of reprehension. The commander of a garrison cannot so escape responsibility. The probability is, enraged at the conduct of the prisoners in forcing the soldiers to yield to their demands two days before, he resolved to punish the first attempt at insubordination, and irritated at the insolence and taunts of some of them, he in a fit of passion gave the order to fire. Conscience-smitten afterwards, and fearing disgrace and punishment, he endeavored to cover up the dark transaction.

Mr. King had rather, at any time, smooth over a quarrel, than increase the exasperation by dealing sternly with its causes. With his thousand noble and excellent qualities, he lacked the energy of will and unflinching severity necessary to probe such a difficulty to the bottom, and see that justice was done at whatever cost. A great wrong was committed, though doubtless with good intentions and a patriotic heart.

The following Tax Tables, showing the relative amount of taxation during the last two years of the war, are extracted from voluminous tables found in the revenue department. The whole to be found in Ingersoll's History of the War of 1812.

Internal Duties which accrued on Stills and Boilers.

Internal Duties which accrued on Spirits distilled in the United States.

Internal Duties which accrued on Carriages.

Internal Duties which accrued on Licenses to Retailers.

Internal Duties which accrued on Sales at Auction.