The Prison Ships of New York

We started examining some of the accounts of the patriot prisoners during the War for Independence in our last post.  Here are some further examples of the sufferings our fathers endured during that war.

"Conn. Gazette. July 10, '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'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.

"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,--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.

"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,--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.

"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.

"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.

"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's free gift, is all their cry." ¹

From Valentine'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.

"The British took possession of New York Sep. 15, '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.

 

"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.

"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.

"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.

"On the stones and bricks in the wall were to be seen names and dates, as if done with a prisoner'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. 'In the suffocating heat of summer,' says Wm. Dunlap, 'I saw every narrow aperture of these stone walls filled with human heads, face above face, seeking a portion of the external air.'

"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.

"Seats there were none, and their beds were but straw, intermixed with vermin.

"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." ²

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)          Danske Dandridge, American Prisoners of the Revolution (Charlottesville, VA: The Michie Company, 1911), p. 125-27.

2)          Ibid., p. 128-30.

The Prisons of New York

When we think of the privations and hardships suffered by the patriot soldiers and families during our War for Independence, our minds often go (at least mine does) to the soldiers starving at Valley Forge or George Rogers Clark’s men struggling through chest-deep freezing waters on the way to Vincennes.  Few of us really know about those who suffered and died, not on the battlefield, but in the hands of their enemies.  Lord willing we’ll examine some of these stories in the next couple of posts.

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: "At the fight around Fort Washington," he says, "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 & four days 1900 were killed in the infamous sugar houses and other prisons in the city.

"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.

"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.

"Van Cortlandt's Sugar House was a famous (or infamous) prison. It stood on the northwest corner of Trinity church-yard.

"Rhinelander'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.

"The North Dutch Church on William Street contained 800 prisoners, and there were perhaps as many in the Middle Dutch Church. The Friends' Meeting House on Liberty and several other buildings erected for the worship of a God of love were used as prisons.

"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, 'Turn over! Left! Right!'

"The sufferings of these brave men were largely due to the criminal indifference of Loring, Sproat, Lennox, and other Commissaries of the prisoners.

"Many of the captives were hanged in the gloom of night without trial and without a semblance of justice.

"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'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.

"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."

"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.

"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."

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)          Danske Dandridge, American Prisoners of the Revolution (Charlottesville, VA: The Michie Company, 1911), p. 25-27.

More of Capt. Cresap's Sharpshooters

       Here’s another account of Capt. Michael Cresap’s frontier riflemen from the same book I referenced in my last post.

      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 Pennsylvania Journal of August 23rd, 1775.

       "On Friday evening last arrived at Lancaster, Pa., on their way to the American camp, Captain Cresap'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's Iliad. They show you, to use the poet's words:

"'Where the gor'd battle bled at ev'ry vein!'

        "One of these warriors in particular shows the cicatrices of four bullet holes through his body.

       "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's thigh!

       "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.

       "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 'plug nineteen bullets out of twenty,' as they termed it, within an inch of the head of a ten-penny nail.

       "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.

       "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's expertness and agility, in particular, in these experiments, astonished every beholder. This morning they will set out on their march for Cambridge."

  Talk about confidence.  I’ve got some friends who are excellent shots but I’m not sure that I would want them to shoot an apple perched on my head!  Call them foolhardy or call them brave, there’s no question that these men were expert marksmen and the dread of their Indian and English foes.

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)          Danske Dandridge, American Prisoners of the Revolution (Charlottesville, VA: The Michie Company, 1911), p. 5-8.

Capt. Cresap's Backwoods Sharpshooters

       I ran across this account while reading a book about Patriot prisoners during the War for Independence.  Its account of the marksmanship prowess of the “average” backwoods rifleman is remarkable indeed.  What is also remarkable is the writer’s description of their dress and their ability to subsist on very little.  Each man was essentially his own quartermaster!  Such troops would have been a nightmare for the British commanders, no doubt.

EXTRACT OF A LETTER TO A GENTLEMAN IN PHILADELPHIA, DATED FREDERICKTOWN, MD., AUGUST 1, 1775.

       Notwithstanding the urgency of my business, I have been detained three days in this place by an occurrence 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 back-woods, painted like Indians, armed with tomahawks and rifles, dressed in hunting-shirts and moccasins, and though some of them had travelled near eight hundred 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. Health and vigour, after what, they had undergone, declared them to be intimate with hardship and familiar with danger. Joy and satisfaction were visible in the crowd that met them. Had Lord North been present, and been assured that the brave leader could raise thousands of such like to defend his Country, what think you, would not the hatchet and the block have intruded upon his mind? I had an opportunity of attending the Captain during his stay in Town, and watched the behaviour of his men, and the manner in which he treated them; for it 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 ox 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 his dignity.

       Yesterday 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 at shooting. A clapboard, with a mark the size of a dollar, was put up; they began to fire off-hand, and the bystanders were surprised, few shots being made that were not close to or in the paper. When they had shot for a time in this way, some lay on their backs, some on their breast or side, others ran twenty or thirty steps, and firing, 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, not by the end, but by the side, and holding it up, his brother walked to the distance, and very 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. By this exercise 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 the tree while another drove the centre. 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 and courage but water from the spring, with a little parched corn, with what they can easily procure in hunting: and who, wrapped in their blankets, in the damp of night, would choose the shade of a tree for their covering, and the earth for their bed. ¹

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)          Peter Force’s American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 3 (Washington, DC: 1846), p. 2.

The End of an Incredible Journey

       As promised, here is the conclusion of Thomas Brown’s remarkable narrative.

       Here I was taken Sick, and some of the Light Infantry promised me if I would inlist [sic], that they would provide for me; and having neither Friends nor Money, I was obliged to consent. They ordered me a Bed, and Care to be taken of me. Five Days after, they put me on board a Sloop, and sent me to Kingston, and put me into a Hospital, where I was three Months.

       The Regiment remained here till May [1759], when we went to Albany, from thence to Fort William Henry, and then to Tionderoga and Crown Point; both of which Places surrendered to General AMHERST.¹

       Having survived all he previously went through, one would have thought Thomas Brown would have succumbed to his illness rather than facing more hardships and privations as a soldier.  At least during this stage in his military career he was enjoying some success.  If I were writing this story myself, I would have added more details to Brown’s accounts of the fall of the French forts and then concluded his journal there.  But, of course, this is the story of Thomas Brown and just when you thought it was over it suddenly takes an unexpected turn!

       On Sept. 19th, went Pilot of a Scout to Cachanowaga [Caughnawaga], with Lieutenant McCurdy, and on our Return, as we were on Lake Champlain, turning a Point of Land, and under great Way, we discovered in a large Cove a French Brig, but it was unhappily too late for us to make our Escape. We were pursued and taken Prisoners (being 7 in Number), and the next Morning sent to Nut 6 Island; where we were stripp'd by the Indians, and dressed after their manner. From thence we were conducted to Montreal and examined before the Governor; after which we were ordered to Prison. I applied to the Governor, and told him That I had been a Prisoner there two Years, and had liv'd with such a Farmer, and desired Liberty to go to him again; upon which he sent for my Master's Son, and being inform'd of the Truth of what I related, consented. ²

       What?  Brown in captivity in Montreal again?  And left in the custody of the same farmer?  Only God could providentially permit those circumstances to come about according to His sovereign decree because no one would ever believe it could happen otherwise.  If I believed in luck, which I don’t, I would say Brown has to be the unluckiest guy ever, of all time!  Then again, consider how blessed by God he really was.  Who would ever imagine falling into the hands of their savage enemies repeatedly and yet living to tell about it?  What will happen to Brown now?

       I tarried with the Farmer till November 25^th [1759], when by a Flag of Truce 250 English Prisoners came to Crown Point, where I rejoined my regiment.

       After repeated Application to General  AMHERST  I was dismissed, and returned in Peace to my Father's House the Beginning of January, 1760, after having been absent 3 Years and almost 8 Months.

       " O! that Men would praise the LORD for his Goodness, and for his wonderful Works to the Children of Men!"

" Bless the LORD, O my Soul! “  ³

       Is it possible?  Thomas Brown survived it all and returned to his family!  It is no wonder that Brown referred to his narrative as “uncommon sufferings and remarkable deliverance” because that is exactly what happened.  Nothing is more appropriate for the closing of this narrative than to sing praises to God, which is exactly how Brown concluded it.  All I can say is, “Amen!” 

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)          “A Plain Narrativ of the Uncommon Sufferings and Remarkable Deliverance of Thomas Brown,” The Magazine of History, Extra No. 4, Vol. 1 (New York, NY: William Abbatt, 1908), p. 220.

2)          Ibid., p. 221.

3)          Ibid., p. 221.

From Montreal to Albany... the hard way!

       In our last post, we left Pvt. Brown in the hands of his captors in Montreal.  Let’s pick up the story again there.  

        There was at the next House an English Lad, a Prisoner; we agreed to run away together, through the Woods, that so, if possible, we might get home to our Friends. But how to get Provisions for the Way, we Knew not; till I was allowed a Gun to kill Pigeons, which were very plenty here. I shot a number, split and dried them, and concealed in the Woods. We agreed to set off on a Sunday Morning, and were to meet at an appointed Place: which we did, and began our Journey towards Crown-Point. After we had travelled 22 Days, 15 of which we had no Provision except Roots, Worms and such like, we were so weak and faint that we could scarce walk. My Companion gave out, and could go no further; he desired me to leave him, but I would not. I went and found three Frogs, and divided them between us. The next Morning he died. I sat down by him, and at first concluded to make a Fire, as I had my Gun, and eat his Flesh, and if no Relief came, to die with him; but finally came to this Resolution: To cut off of his Bones as much Flesh as I could and tie it up in a Handkerchief, and so proceed as well as I could. Accordingly I did so, and buried my Companion on the Day I left him. I got three Frogs more the next Day. Being weak and tired, about 9 o'clock I sat down, but could not eat my Friend's Flesh. I expected soon to die myself; and while I was commending my Soul to GOD I saw a Partridge light just by me, which I thought was sent by Providence. I was so weak that I could not hold out my Gun; but by resting, I brought my Piece to bear, so that I kill'd the Partridge. While I was eating of it, there came two Pigeons, so near, that I kill'd 'em both.¹

        I think sometimes we pass over these starvation accounts without really comprehending, insofar as we can, the real sufferings these people endured.  Imagine going half a month with nothing to eat except for “roots, worms and such like!”  In such a state it’s no wonder than cannibalism would be considered as an option.  But even at the point of impending death, when starvation had brought him to the point of complete desperation, Brown could not bring himself to eat his friend’s flesh.  Is it that there is something about the image of God that we all bear that one would rather die than devolve from it?  And just at the point where Brown is ready to give it all up and die, God intervenes!  Truly God is our Provider!

       As I fired two Guns, I heard a Gun at a Distance: I fired again, and was answered twice. This roused me; I got up and travelled as fast as I could towards the Report of the Guns; and about half a Mile off, I saw three Canadians. I went to 'em, and pretended to be a Dutchman, one of their own Regulars, that was lost in the Woods. They brought me to Crown Point; upon which I desired to see the Commanding Officer. He knew me again, and asked me how I came there. I told him my story and what difficulties I had met with. He ordered me to the Guard-House, and to be put in irons. About an hour after he sent me a Bowl of Rice.

       After I had been at Crown Point ten or twelve Days, the Commanding Officer sent me back, under a Guard of 12 Soldiers, to Montreal, in a Battoe [sic], and wrote a Letter (as I afterwards under stood) to my Master not to hurt me. ²

       Just when salvation seemed to be drawing near, Brown finds himself back in the hands of the French.  But, at least he’s not at the point of starvation now and there’s still hope that eventually he will return home to his family.

       When I came to the House, one of his Daughters met me at the Door, and pushed me back, and went and called her Father. At this House there was a French Captain, of the Regulars, billeted; he was a Protestant.  He hearing my Voice, called me to him and asked me where I had been. Upon my telling him he called me a Fool, for attempting a thing so impossible. My Master coming in, took me by the Shoulder, and threatened to kill me for stealing his Gun when I ran away. But the good Captain prevented him from using any Violence. The Captain asked me if I had been before the Governor; I told him I had not; and he then advis'd my Master to send his Son with me (who was an Ensign among the Canadians). When we came to a small Ferry, which we were to pass, I refus'd to go any further; and after a great deal of do, he went without me. On his Return, he said he had got leave of the Governor, that I should go back to his Father and work as formerly. Accordingly I lived with him 'till the 19th of November; and when Col. Schuyler* was coming away, I came with him to Albany. ³

       Thomas Brown has seen God interpose on his behalf so many times just in this narrative that I’m sure even he must’ve had a hard time keeping track of them all!  What were the chances of meeting a Protestant captain in the French army in 18^th century Montreal?  I would say those chances would be somewhere in the neighborhood of “miraculous!”  Once again God preserves Brown’s life and after a little more sojourning in a foreign land, he finally arrives in New York.  If you think this is the end of Brown’s narrative you would be mistaken; he still has a few more hurdles to clear before he finally makes it home.  We’ll finish up his story in the next post, Lord willing.

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

* Col. Peter Schuyler was a New Jersey militia leader.  He was captured when Ft. Oswego fell to the French on August 15, 1756 and was a prisoner at Montreal before his release.

1)          “A Plain Narrativ of the Uncommon Sufferings and Remarkable Deliverance of Thomas Brown,” The Magazine of History, Extra No. 4, Vol. 1 (New York, NY: William Abbatt, 1908), p. 219.

2)          Ibid., p. 219-20.

3)          Ibid., p. 220.

A Captive in Montreal

       In our last post, Pvt. Brown was in the hands of the Indians who were disappointed with the French failure to capture Ft. William Henry from the British.  Let’s pick up his story there.

        From thence we travelled, without any Thing worthy of Notice happening, 'till we came to an Indian Town, about 20 Miles from Montreal. When we were about a Gun's shot from the Town, the Indians made as many live Shouts as they had Prisoners, and as many dead Ones as they had Scalps. The Men and Women came out to meet us, and stripp'd me naked; after which they pointed to a Wigwam and told me to run to it, pursuing me all the Way with Sticks and Stones.

       Next Day we went to Montreal, where I was carried before Governor Vaudreuill and examined. Afterwards I was taken into a French Merchant's House, and there I lived three Days. The third Night two of the Indians that took me came in drunk and asked for me; upon which the Lady called me into the Room, and as I went and stood by the Door, one of them begun to dance the War-Dance about me, designing to kill me; but as he lifted up his Hand to stab me, I catch'd hold of it with one of mine, and with the other knock'd him down, and then ran up Garret and hid. The Lady sent for some Neighbours to clear the House of her Guests which they did. It was a very cold Night, and one of the Indians being excessive drunk, fell down near the House and was found in the Morning froze to death. The Indians came to the House, and finding their Brother dead, said I had kill'd him; and gathering a number together with their Guns, beset the House and demanded me of the Lady, saying I should die the most cruel Death. The Lady told me of it, and advis'd me to hide myself in the Cellar, under the Pipes of Wine; which I did. They searched the House and even came down Cellar, but could not find me. The Lady desired a Frenchman to tell the Indians That he saw me without the City, running away:  they soon took after me, every Way. The Merchant pitying my condition, cover'd me with a Blanket and carried me in his Conveyance about five Miles, to a Village where his Wife's Father lived, in order to keep me out of the Way of the Indians. When the Indians that pursued me had returned, and could not find me, they concluded that I was concealed by the Merchant; and applied to the Governor that I might be delivered to them in order that they might kill me for killing their Brother; adding, by way of threatening, that if I was not delivered up to them they would turn and be against the French. The Governor told them he had examined into the Matter, and found that I did not kill the Indian nor know any Thing about it; but that he froze to Death. On this they said they would not kill me, but would have me to live with them. The Governor then informed them where I was, and they came and took me with them to Montreal again, and dressed me in their Habit. ¹

       This incident involving the two drunken Indians is so similar to an incident involving missionary David McClure that it is remarkable indeed.  Once again, God providentially delivered Brown and his would-be murderer suffered instead.  The French merchant and his wife deserve commendation for risking their lives and property in defense of Brown’s life.  We see God is not finished with Thomas Brown yet!

       On the 1st of May we set off to go to the Mississippi, where my Indian Master belonged, and two other English Prisoners with them. For several Days the Indians treated me very ill; but it wore off. We went in Bark Canoes, 'till we came to Lake Sacrament [Lake George], the first Carrying-Place. We continued our Journey till we came to the Ohio, where General Braddock was defeated. Here they took one of the Prisoners, and with a Knife ript open his Belly, took one End of his Guts and tied to a Tree, and then whipt the miserable Man round and round till he expired; obliging me to dance, while they made their Game at the dying Man. ²

       Those who deny the truth of man’s complete depravity as a result of Adam’s fall have possibly never read such accounts as those documenting Native American ritual tortures and other such atrocities.  That is not to say that the Indians were “worse” than other cultures that had abandoned the knowledge of God (Romans 1).  They were simply living out the inevitable results of their God-less worldview.  Apart from God’s grace manifested in our lives, we would torture and kill our enemies in much the same way.  Thank God that Jesus Christ came to save us from such an end as that!

       From hence we set off to go to an Indian Town about 200 Miles from the Ohio, where we arrived in 15 Days, and tarried three. The third Night one of the Indians had a mind to Kill me; as I was standing by the Fire he ran against me to push me into the Flames, but I jumped over, and Escaped being burnt; he followed me round and round, and struck me several Times with his Head and Fist; which so provoked me that as he was Coming at me again I struck him and knock'd him backwards. The other Indians laugh'd, and said I was a good Fellow.

       The next day we set off for the Mississippi, where we arrived the 23d of August, having passed over thirty-two Carrying-Places from our leaving Montreal. When we came here I was ordered to live with a Squaw, who was to be my Mother. I liv'd with her during the Winter, and was employed in Hunting, dressing Leather, &c., being cloath'd after the Indian Fashion.

       In the Spring a French Merchant came a Trading in Bark Canoes, and on his Return wanted Hands to help him; he prevailed with my Mistress to let me go with him to Montreal. When we came there, and the Canoes were unloaded, I went into the Country and liv'd with his Wife's Father, and worked at the Farming Business for my Victuals and Cloathing; I fared no better than a Slave. The Family often endeavoured to persuade me to be of their Religion, making many fair Promises if I would. Wanting to see what Alteration this would make in their Conduct towards me, one Sunday Morning I came to my Mistress, and said, Mother, will you give me good Cloaths, if I will go to Mass?  She answered Yes, Son, as good as any in the House.  She did so, and I rode to Church with two of her Daughters; in giving me Directions how to behave they told me I must do as they did.  When we came Home I sat at the Table and ate with the Family, and Every Night and Morning was taught my Prayers.

       Thus I lived 'till the next Spring, when my Master's Son-in-Law, that bro't me from the Mississippi, came for me to return with him, as he was going again there to trade. I refus'd to go, and applied to the Governor. I was then put into Gaol [jail], where I tarried 5 weeks, living on Bread and Water and Horse-Beef. When some Prisoners were going to be sent to Quebeck, in order to be transported to Old France, I went with them. Here we laid in Gaol 6 Weeks. But happening to see one of my Master's Sons, he prevailed with me to go back with him and work as formerly; I consented, and tarried with him till the 8th of September. ³

       Going to French Catholic mass would have been a big deal in Brown’s day.  Keep in mind there were fewer years separating Brown from the Protestant Reformation than there are years separating us from Brown’s day.  Again, it’s hard to throw stones at Brown without walking in his shoes.  What’s noteworthy is how the first French merchant he lived with was rather kind and yet this second family was rather abusive of Brown.  Through wounds and beatings, in jail and in forced servitude, God has preserved Brown.  What will happen next?  Stay tuned to the blog!

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)          “A Plain Narrativ of the Uncommon Sufferings and Remarkable Deliverance of Thomas Brown,” The Magazine of History, Extra No. 4, Vol. 1 (New York, NY: William Abbatt, 1908), p. 216-17.

2)          Ibid., p. 217.

3)          Ibid., p. 217-19.