Yankee Ships and Yankee Sailors: Tales of 1812

  DARTMOOR

  The word "Dartmoor" means little to the ear of the American of thisgeneration, for it is the name of a town on the bleak open stretchesback from the sea in Devonshire. But during our war with England, andfor a long time afterward, the word "Dartmoor" brought up much the samekind of recollections that "Andersonville" or "Libby" does to-day. Itwas the prison where England kept in confinement those unfortunatesthat the fate of war had thrown upon her hands. It was a safeseclusion, indeed, and for the better explanation of the story that isto be told here, it might be well worth the while to tell in a fewwords what manner of place it was. Surrounding an enclosure, circularin shape, and containing about eight acres, was a high stone wall,where the sentries patrolled their beats, where they could look downinto the courtyards of the gloomy prison buildings some twenty feetbelow them. The enclosure was divided into three partitions, by wallsthat crossed the main space diagonally, and through which there weregrated gateways leading from one department to the other. Thebuildings, seven in number, radiated from a common point like wheelspokes. They were built of brick, with small iron-barred windows, andin the entrance archway, leading from one yard to another (eachbuilding had a separate yard), there were always stationed after sunsettwo armed sentries with primed muskets. While the occupants of any onebuilding had access to all parts of it and to the others during thedaytime, it was difficult, indeed, to make a journey, or pay a visit,after nightfall.

  Here were confined six thousand prisoners, and here were sufferedhardships without number. There would be scarcely space to tell of theprison life, but some there were there who had been immured so longthat they had almost forgotten that they had lived anywhere else. Theyhad become so resigned to the lot of a prisoner of war, that they hadbegun to doubt if they should ever see their own beautiful countryagain. From the upper windows of the prisons, the view above the wallswas nothing but a stretch of bleak, rolling country, treeless andbarren--the Dartmoor heaths. The inmates had formed a government amongthemselves; as was done in most military prisons, many worked at theirtrades, as well as they could; they had markets in which they soldtheir wares; they had theatrical companies, which served to keep uptheir spirits, and lighten the dreary hours; but there was one thoughtin the hearts of all: the day when they should receive their liberty.Many were never to see that day.

  There was a young sailor confined in the prison building known as No.5. His strong constitution and his youth had kept him in a fair stateof health for one who had been so long in close confinement, for he hadbeen captured in a privateer in the first year of the war. Many timeshad he thought of his far-away home on the hills above the old town ofSalem. He was popular with his fellow-prisoners, and had been a leaderamong them in their sports and pastimes. George Abbott was his name. Hewas but six and twenty years of age, and yet he had followed the seafor over twelve. When he had been captured there had been taken withhim a young lad of but eighteen, who had run away from a comfortablehome and a loving family, to enlist on board the privateer, but he wasnot of the tough fibre of which the sailor should be made, and sincehis arrival in prison he had been gradually succumbing to the effectsof his long imprisonment. Between Abbott and this young man there hadgrown up a deep affection. The sailor had shielded the landsman frommuch of the rough treatment of the forecastle while on board ship, andnow that they were prisoners together, they had been constantcompanions; but it was plain to see that the younger of the two wouldnot last long enough to see the dawn of liberty unless it came quickly.He had grown so weak that by the middle of February, 1815, it wasexpected by all that every day he would be taken from the prisonbuildings and sent to the Depot Hospital, from which, alas, few everreturned. But Abbott nursed him carefully, and watched over him withall the care of an elder brother, trying to be always cheerful.

  March came, and with it the gloomy mists that rose from all aroundsettled down on the gloomy heaths, shrouding the prison buildings inimpenetrable clouds. It was hard to keep either dry or warm. Thosefortunates who owned little stoves would huddle around their handful offire, but the prisons being unheated and unprovided with chimneys, thestoves were very small, their little pipes being led out of thewindows.

  Lying in a hammock that had been swung low, so that its occupant almostlay upon the floor, was the young landsman. He stretched out his handtoward the roughly made brazier of sheet iron, and so thin were theythat they looked more like claws than the fingers of a human being.

  "Lord help us and deliver us," he murmured.

  "Hallo, Harvey," cried a voice, breaking in upon his prayer. "I didn'texpect to be so long. We've waited a long time, but here it is, my lad,and now let's begin. Shall I pitch in first? I ain't much of a reader."

  He held aloft in his hand a copy of a smudgy, dog-eared book, smirchedand torn by constant handling.

  "We've been waiting our turn on this for three weeks, now. Sam Jordan,he promised to get it for me though, and so he did."

  "What's the name?" inquired the pinched-faced lad in the hammock.

  "It's R-a-s-s-e-l-a-s," was the response. "I dunno how to pronounce it,but they say as how it's good reading. Say the word, and I'll fireaway."

  He flung himself down on the floor and opened the pages. It wasstorming hard outside, and the rain beat against the roof and pouredfrom the gutters down on the stone courtyard. There was just enoughlight to see the print, if one was not afraid of ruining one's eyes,and Abbott began:--

  "'Ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy andpursue'----" He had read as far as the first half-page, when suddenlythe sick man put out his hand and touched him on the shoulder.

  "Listen," he said hoarsely, "what's that going on below?"

  Some one on the floor beneath had given a loud staccato whoop. It wasfollowed by another, and then by an increasing murmur of voices. Thesailor had risen to his knees and dropped the book.

  "Some skylarking or tomfoolery," he said; "or perhaps it's the RoughAlleys," he added.

  The "Rough Alleys" was the name given to the gangs of hard customersand those of the lower order of prisoners who had been compelled bytheir more circumspecting and better behaved companions to mess bythemselves, and to generally toe the mark, as much as possible.Occasionally, however, they would break out in some sort of raid orriot that would require suppressing, and it was to this habit of theirsthat Abbott referred. But this time he was mistaken.

  "Listen to that!" he cried, all at once springing to an erect position.A roaring, rousing cheer came up from below, and then from the otherbuildings they heard it echoed.

  The invalid arose from his hammock.

  "Stay here," cried Abbott; "I'll fetch the news to you."

  He hastened to the head of the stone stairway. A breathless man dressedin fantastic rags met him half-way up.

  "What's the row, Simeon?" asked Abbott, in excitement.

  "Heard the news, messmate?" the man cried in answer. "Heard the news?There's peace between America and England!"

  There came a strange sound from the head of the stairs. The youngprisoner had heard the words, and Abbott was just in time to catch himin his arms as he plunged forward senseless.

  * * * * *

  What had these men expected? These prisoners who had danced and sungand gone wild with delight and joy at the message that had been broughtto them that bleak March day? Why, liberty at once. They were going toreturn to their homes. It was freedom! And did they get it? Listen!There is more to tell. Here begins the story:--

  Of course it was not to be supposed that the British government shouldat once set these prisoners free, as one might set free birds from acage by opening the door and allowing them to fly. It was a gravequestion what was to be done with them, and there is no use denying thefact that the United States, or at least its representative in England,was in a great measure responsible for what subsequently occurred. Tendays went by, and there was nothing done. In that space of time themen's spirits sank to zero. Had their co
untry deserted them? Had theirfellow-citizens forgotten them? It was past believing that such thingscould be. And it was just at this time that there was most complaint,arising from the quality of the bread and the insufficiency of the foodsupplied by the prison authorities. The Governor of the Depot, as itwas called by the English, was a Captain Shortland, a man so well hatedand despised by those under him that if murderous looks had the powerto kill, he would long ago have been under the sod. Many of theprisoners, as they had caught glimpses of him, had longed to sink theirfingers into his throat, and now they hated him worse than ever before.In the beginning of the second week information was sent the rounds ofthe prison, that the delay was occasioned by the difficulty that therepresentative of the United States government found in obtainingcartels, or vessels, to bring the released ones back to their ownagain. But the delay was bitter.

  The poor sick boy had rallied a little during the first days after thearrival of the news of peace. Probably he supposed that he would bereleased at once, but as the days dragged on, and there were no signsof any change in their condition, he sank again into the unfortunatepath of the men who slowly died because they had no hope.

  From a condition of joyousness, the majority of the prisoners hadrelapsed into sullen anger--anger at their own country, and anincreased hatred for the red coats who guarded them. Among so manyprisoners of all classes there were, of course, men of all kinds andcharacter: there were the ignorant and degraded, and those who couldwell lay claim to education and enlightenment. Harvey Rich, who was nowso weak that he could scarcely totter from his hammock to the head ofthe stairway, had been prepared to enter Harvard College, when he hadcaught the fever of adventure and had run away to sea. At the requestof the inmates of Prison No. 5, he had drawn up a letter addressed toMr. B.---- (the American agent), requesting him to make all haste; and,at least, if he could do no more, to secure to them an additionalsupply of provisions, or make a monthly allowance of some kind to savethe men from actual starvation. Anxiously was an answer awaited, butnone came.

  One day late in the month, when, for a wonder, the sun was shiningbrightly, there was a strange group gathered near one of the openwindows on the top floor of Prison No. 5. Propped up by blankets, so asto get as much of the sunshine that came in at the grated window aspossible, was Harvey Rich. Beside him sat the young seaman, andsquatted on the floor near by was a remarkable-looking human being. Hisface was black, his dark hair was shorn close to his head, and abandage made of a torn bandanna handkerchief was pushed up on hisforehead. At first glance, one would have taken him for a negro,although his features showed no trace of African descent. The tornshirt that he wore was unloosed and open at the bosom. The skin whichshowed through from underneath was fair and white. Every now and thenhe would give a nervous start and look back over his shoulder.

  "They almost had you last night, Simeon," said Abbott to the half-blackman.

  "Yes," returned the other; "I thought my jig was up, for sure; but,confound it! now that there is peace, I don't see why they wish tohound me any more. 'Tis that brute,--Shortland. He's angry at his lackof success as a man-catcher. I'd like to get my hands upon him,--onlyonce, just once,--that's all."

  Abbott happened to look out of the window at this instant.

  "Egad!" said he, "your friends are out again."

  From the grated bars, a view of the neighboring courtyard could beobtained. There was a sight that, when seen, used to make theprisoners' blood boil hotly. Three men, heavily manacled, were walkingwith weak steps to and fro along the narrow space enclosed between thehigh brick walls. The clanking of their chains could be heard as theymoved. But as if this were not enough, beside them walked threesentries, with bayonets fixed. For half an hour each day, they madethis sorrowful parade. It was their only glimpse of the sky and thesunlight, their one breath of fresh air during the twenty-four; and, assoon as it was over, they were hustled back to their place ofconfinement,--a dungeon known as the Cachet,--where no light couldpenetrate, and the only air that reached them was through the shaft ofa disused chimney. No wonder that their eyes blinked and the tearsrolled down their cheeks when they emerged into God's bright sunlight.No wonder that their haggard, pale faces grew each day more deathlike.These men were being killed by inches. For what crime? It will beshown. The man whom Abbott had addressed as "Simeon" had crawled to thewindow and was peeping cautiously out. A wild curse broke from him, ashe viewed the sight.

  "Look at poor Whitten," he said; "take note of him; he's not for long.He used to tell me that he knew that he was going mad. He's thatalready. See the poor devil jabbering."

  He gave a shudder. It was only six weeks since he had walked to and froin that same courtyard. There was a grated gateway at one end. It camewithin a few feet of the archway at the top. A silent crowd ofprisoners were gathered there, closely watching the unfortunates. Welldid they all remember the day when there were four of them; that daywhen, just as the prisoners turned, in following the footsteps of thesentries, one of them had left his companions, and, making a great leapof it, had clambered up the iron gate, and, manacled as he was, hadthrown himself down among them.

  Immediately they had carried him into one of the prison houses, wherethey had filed and removed his shackles, and had since hidden andprotected him at great cost and sacrifice. Many of their privileges hadbeen withdrawn because they would not give up this man; they had beenrouted out at night by files of soldiers; they had been counted andmustered, over and over again, and yet, among the many thousand whoknew where Simeon Hays was hiding, there was not one so base as tobetray him, not one to point the directing finger. All honor to them.Many were the disguises that Simeon had been forced to assume. He hadbeen a mulatto mess-cook, speaking with the French accent of Louisiana;he had appeared as a black-faced yawping Sambo, who had crackedguffawing jokes on the heads of the searchers; he had passed a day anda night in a coffin-like space between the floor-beams, when they hadhim cornered, and yet they had not caught him.

  And for what crime were these men treated thus? For a crime that wasnever proved against them. They had been taken by a British frigatefrom a recaptured prize, and shortly afterward the vessel had beenfound to be on fire. These men had been accused of attempting to blowup the ship and her company, and when they were sent to Dartmoor theywere under sentence to close confinement. Here was Shortland'sopportunity. His cruel and vindictive spirit rejoiced in carrying outthe order, and it chagrined him deeply that one should have made hisescape, and every day he attempted to locate his hiding-place andreturn him to the prison--to the torture of the dreaded Cachet.

  Soon the half-hour's breathing space had expired, and the manacled oneshad been withdrawn from sight. The prisoners flocked to their buildingsfor their midday meal. Hays, who had descended to the courtyard, hadmade all haste to return to No. 5, where he was then supposed to behiding, although, owing to his bold disposition, he oftentimes made therange of the lot; and as he passed by the open space on this day,although he did not know it, a turnkey recognized him, and soon thosein No. 5 Prison were alarmed by the cry "The guard is coming! Lie low,lie low!" But they found that the entrances were held by a squad ofarmed soldiers, and that this time Hays appeared certain to beapprehended. But search here or there, the soldiers could not find him.Many times had they stepped over his hiding-place in the floor.

  Captain Shortland, who had been afraid to enter the building topersonally conduct the search, remained outside with a strong guard.The disappointed officer reported at last that he was unsuccessful.

  "Why don't you drive them from the building, then?" Shortlandthundered.

  "They are sailors, sir, and will not be driven by soldiers, they say.They seem to treat the whole affair as a great joke, laughing andscampering ahead of my men, and paying no attention to my orders."

  "Run them through then," Shortland returned. "A little cold steel willteach a serviceable lesson!"

  At this minute one of the turnkeys approached.

  "I beg your pardon, sir
," he said, saluting; "if you let me turn themen out in the usual manner, I think they will leave quietly, but youmust withdraw the soldiers."

  Reluctantly, Shortland gave the order, and the red coats filed out,drawing up in line, behind which he carefully placed himself. Theturnkey entered the building alone. He had been an old boatswain in theservice, and drawing a silver whistle from his pocket he piped allhands. Then in a stentorian voice he ordered the prisoners into theyard. They all obeyed, crowding out to the number of one thousand ormore, and they filed past the soldiers in a compact body. One of thelast to leave the building was Harvey Rich. He tottered down, alone,and joined the crowd, that stood packed in a sullen body, crowdedwithin a few paces of the handful of soldiers, who stood with theirmuskets cocked and ready. Soon the officer returned from his fruitlesssearch.

  "The man cannot be found, sir," he said.

  Shortland swore viciously.

  "Turn them back in the building, then," he roared, "and keep them therewithout water. That will fetch them to their senses.--Back through thatdoorway, all of you," pointing with the heavy stick which he alwayscarried, for he was a gouty man.

  But the prisoners had heard his threat, and not one of them moved astep. There was a large trough of clear water in the yard, to whichthey had free access. The weather was warm and clear. Suddenly one ofthem stepped forward. All eyes turned upon him. It was George Abbott.

  "We will not return there, under those conditions," he said loudly. "Wewill stay here, and die, first, every man Jack of us."

  A movement began among the prisoners. They crowded in closer in thenarrow space, and a murmur as of a subdued cheer arose among them.Shortland was furious.

  "Seize that man," he cried; "seize him! He shall go without bread andwater both."

  No one moved.

  "You cowards," he muttered. "I'll do it myself, then; make way here!"

  He crowded through the file of soldiers and approached the sailor, whowas standing there calmly, with folded arms. But before he had takenthree short steps, something most unexpected happened. Harvey Rich, whowas standing but a few feet away, stooped swiftly and picking up aloosened bit of the stonework of the courtyard, he hurled it full atShortland's head. It would have killed him had it struck him, but itonly grazed his cheek. Shortland halted and retreated hurriedly.

  "Fire on them," he cried. "Take aim and fire."

  Thirty or forty muskets were brought to the shoulder. But the youngofficer in command of the detachment kept his senses. Calmly he walkedout to the front. He knocked up the muzzles with his unsheathed sword.

  "Steady," he said. "As you were."

  Shortland flung an oath at him, and turning to the red coats hescreeched at the top of his voice:--

  "Fire, you rascals, fire!"

  Again the officer sprang forward and threw up the points of the musketsagain.

  "As you were; steady, men."

  That cool authoritative tone saved a frightful scene; for had thevolley been delivered at such close range, there is no telling how muchslaughter had followed. But mark this: there would have been enough menleft to strew the dismembered bodies of the red coats about the yardwith no other weapons but their naked hands!

  Shortland, stamping and fuming in anger, turned upon his heel, andhastened out through the gate. Immediately, the Lieutenant called hismen to a shoulder arms, and marched them after him, he himselfremaining until the last of the squad had passed under the archway.Then he drew a thankful breath. One or two of the sailors nearest theentrance saluted him. Gravely he touched his heavy bearskin hat. Therewas not a cheer or a sound of the usual merriment that might haveaccompanied the discomfiture of the "lobster backs." Every one had beentoo much impressed with the seriousness of the matter in hand. Yet,there was no one to chide Rich for his impetuous action. Silently theyall returned to the prison, and once more Simeon Hays emerged from hishiding-place.

  This night news was brought to the prisoners that the United Statesgovernment was going to allow them the sum of seven shillings sixpenceper head in addition to their rations given them by the Crown; also thenews was circulated that the first cartel would start the followingweek, and the detachment of those going in her would be read at themorning's muster. The names were to be taken in alphabetical order.Again there followed great rejoicing in all of the prison buildings.Men whose names began with the first letters of the alphabet were inhigh spirits. They were congratulated and made much of; while the poorchaps who were to tail off the list were correspondingly depressed. Arather important occurrence took place on this night, also. SimeonHays, who, as a special treat and in honor of the occasion, had washedthe smut from his face, had been recognized and taken. Poor fellow,before his friends could interfere, he had been hurried off to theconfinement of the Cachet. Before this news had circulated through thebuilding, Rich and Abbott had held a long conversation. The former wasobjecting strenuously and earnestly to a proposition that the youngsailor had made.

  "I cannot think of such a thing," he remonstrated. "It would not beright----"

  Abbott interrupted him, "What is the use, mess-mate, of talking aboutright, in such a case?" He lowered his voice, "Do you think I could goout and look any man square up and down if I left ye here? You've gotto do it."

  Rich shook his head weakly, "I can't think of doing such a thing," hemurmured.

  "We'll stow all further conversation," was the reply, and with that hegot up and left Rich alone.

  The next morning, in each prison, a number of names were read off untiltwo hundred had been called. Abbott's was the first read in Prison No.5. The lucky ones were told to get their dunnage ready and report atthe prison entrance at half past ten. At the hour named, all werethere.

  "George Abbott," called out the officer in charge of the guard-room.

  "Here," answered a weak voice, and to the surprise of those who knewhim, Harvey Rich stepped forward. A moment later, and he had passedforth into the free air outside.

  Abbott answered to his friend's name at the roll-call, and thereafterpassed by the name of Rich. They would come to his name on the listsome day, he reasoned, and he knew well enough that another week or soof prison life would have finished his young friend for good and all.

  On the 3d of April, owing to the prison authorities trying to changethe fare from soft bread to hardtack, there was a small riot among theprisoners, which, however, resulted in their obtaining their object bybreaking down the barriers and raiding the bread-room. This did notincrease Shortland's good humor, nor did the taunts levelled at thesoldiery tend to improve the feeling existing between them and thetriumphant sailors. On the sixth of the month, it was fine, clearweather, and the prisoners were put in good spirits by the news thatHays and his companions, the word of whose condition had reached higherears than Shortland's, had been liberated and had left the prison. Fromall the various yards there was shouting and singing. The morning's"Liberty Party," as the sailors called the lucky ones who were to startfor America, had been seen off, with rousing cheers. Those left behindwere trying to amuse themselves by games and horseplay. A score or morewere playing ball against the cross-wall dividing the barrack yard ofthe soldiers from that of No. 7. In some way, the ball, thrown by acareless hand, sailed across the barrier and fell almost at the feet ofa sentry on the opposite side.

  "Hi, there, Johnny Bull! heave it back to us," requested one of themen, through the iron grating. The sentry paid no attention, and soonthere was a clamoring crowd surrounding the opening, beseeching theimperturbable red coat in all sorts of terms to "Be a good fellow, andtoss back the ball."

  "Just heave it over, Johnny," called one. "Don't you think you'restrong enough?"

  The sentry whirled angrily. "Come and get it, if you want it," he said.

  "Can we?" shouted a half-dozen voices.

  "I won't touch it," the sentry responded. With that, he resumed hisbeat, cursing the ball players for "a lot of troublesome Yankeeblackguards."

  Half laughing, the sailors had loosened
one of the stones close againstthe wall, and by luck found that the ground was soft and yielding. Themortar, too, they were able to remove easily, and with such objects asthey could pick up to help them, they fell to burrowing like rabbits.The sentry, who did not know what was going on, or how his words hadbeen taken up, was surprised when suddenly he saw a man's head andshoulders appear at the base of the wall on his side.

  "The prisoners are digging out!" he roared, firing his musket.

  At once, the soldiers on the walls began firing, forming into squadsand keeping up a constant shooting as long as any prisoners were insight. Those in the central yard, known as the Market, not knowing thereason for the fusilade, and wondering why the alarm bell was ringing,did not retreat into their buildings; and the first thing they knew,Shortland himself appeared, entering the big gate at the head of acompany of soldiers with fixed bayonets. They advanced at adouble-quick step, the prisoners were so crowded together that theycould not escape. Some, not seeing why they should be charged in thisfashion, stood their ground. Shortland had lost all control of himself.

  "Halt! Aim!" And before the astounded victims knew what was going tohappen, he had given the word to fire.

  A crashing volley sounded. When the smoke cleared away, wounded anddying men filled the yard. The rest, panic-stricken, had retreated intothe buildings. Seven were killed and fifty-six were wounded! PoorAbbott, who had been trying to urge his comrades to hasten, was amongthe first to fall, shot through the lungs. As no one told of hisexchange of names, he was buried under the name he had assumed, HarveyRich. And what of the real owner of that name? Alas, he, poor fellow,also, did not live to see his home in the New Hampshire hills, for hedied at sea not long after the cartel in which he was returning had setsail. He was sent overboard in the sailor's canvas shroud, and the name"George Abbott" was stricken from the list of liberated ones. Few knewthe truth, and, perhaps, few there were who cared.

  The deadly volley.]