"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.
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