American Prisoners of the Revolution Part 2

We will now endeavor to describe the princ.i.p.al 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 Was.h.i.+ngton," 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.

"a.s.sociation of intense horror are linked with the records of the prisons and prison s.h.i.+ps 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 Was.h.i.+ngton 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 s.p.a.ce 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 wors.h.i.+p of a G.o.d 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 mora.s.ses 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 s.h.i.+ps were moored in the Wallabout. These prison s.h.i.+ps 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 s.h.i.+ps were moored in the Wallabout, a sheltered bay on the Long Island sh.o.r.e, where the Navy Yard now is."

The sufferings of the prisoners can be better understood by giving individual instances, and wherever this is possible it shall be done. We will commence by an abstract of

THE CASE OF JONATHAN GILLETT OF WEST HARFORD

This man with seven others was captured on Long Island on the 27th of August, 1776, before they could take to their boats. He was at first confined in a prison s.h.i.+p, but a Masonic brother named John Archer procured him the liberty of the city on parole. His rank, we believe, was that of a lieutenant. He was a prisoner two years, then was allowed to go home to die. He exhibited every symptom of poison as well as starvation.

When he was dying he said to his son, Jonathan Gillett, Junior, "Should you enlist and be taken prisoner as I was, inquire for Mr. John Archer, a man with whom I boarded. He will a.s.sist you."

In course of time his son enlisted, was taken prisoner, and confined in the Old Sugar House on Liberty Street. Here he was nearly starved to death. The prisoners ate mice, rats, and insects. He one day found in the prison yard the dry parings of a turnip which seemed to him a delicious banquet. It is recorded that Jonathan Gillett, Jr., was finally freed from captivity through the efforts of the same gentleman, Mr. John Archer, who had aided his father.

In 1852 Jacob Barker offered to present survivors who had been confined in the Old Sugar House with canes made from the lumber used in its construction. Four of these survivors were found. Their names were William Clark, Samuel Moulton, Levi Hanford, and Jonathan Gillett, Jr.

The latter's father during his confinement wrote a letter to his friends which has been preserved, and is as follows:

My Friends,

No doubt my misfortunes have reached your ears. Sad as it is, it is true as sad. I was made prisoner the 27th day of August past by a people called h.e.s.h.ens, and by a party called Yagers the most Inhuman of all Mortals. I can't give Room to picture them here but thus much--I at first Resolved not to be taken, but by the Impertunity of the Seven taken with me, and being surrounded on all sides I unhapily surendered; would to G.o.d I never had--then I should never (have) known there unmerciful cruelties; they first disarmed me, then plundered me of all I had, watch, Buckles, money, and sum Clothing, after which they abused me by bruising my flesh with the b.u.t.ts of there (guns). They knocked me down; I got up and they (kept on) beating me almost all the way to there (camp) where I got shot of them--the next thing was I was allmost starved to death by them. I was keept here 8 days and then sent on board a s.h.i.+p, where I continued 39 days and by (them was treated) much worse than when on sh.o.r.e--after I was set on (sh.o.r.e) at New York (I was) confined (under) a strong guard till the 20th day of November, after which I have had my liberty to walk part over the City between sun and sun, notwithstanding there generous allowance of food I must inevitably have perished with hunger had not sum friends in this (city) Relieved my extreme necessity, but I cant expect they can always do it--what I shall do next I know not, being naked for clothes and void of money, and winter present, and provisions very skerce; fresh meat one s.h.i.+lling per pound, b.u.t.ter three s.h.i.+llings per pound, Cheese two s.h.i.+llings, Turnips and potatoes at a s.h.i.+lling a half peck, milk 15 Coppers per quart, bread equally as dear; and the General says he cant find us fuel thro' the winter, tho' at present we receive sum cole. [Footnote: I have made no changes in this letter except to fill up some blanks and to add a few marks of punctuation.]

"I was after put on board siezed violently with the disentarry--it followed me hard upwards of six weeks--after that a slow fever, but now am vastly better * * * my sincere love to you and my children. May G.o.d keep and preserve you at all times from sin, sickness, and death * * *

I will Endeavor to faintly lead you into the poor cituation the soldiers are in, espechally those taken at Long Island where I was; in fact these cases are deplorable and they are Real objects of pitty--they are still confined and in houses where there is no fire--poor mortals, with little or no clothes--peris.h.i.+ng with hunger, offering eight dollars in paper for one in silver to Relieve there distressing hunger; occasioned for want of food--there natures are broke and gone, some almost loose there voices and some there hearing--they are crouded into churches & there guarded night and day. I cant paint the horable appearance they make--it is shocking to human nature to behold them. Could I draw the curtain from before you; there expose to your view a lean Jawd mortal, hunger laid his skinny hand (upon him) and whet to keenest Edge his stomach cravings, sorounded with tattred garments, Rotten Rags, close beset with unwelcome vermin. Could I do this, I say, possable I might in some (small) manner fix your idea with what appearance sum hundreds of these poor creatures make in houses where once people attempted to Implore G.o.d's Blessings, &c, but I must say no more of there calamities. G.o.d be merciful to them--I cant afford them no Relief. If I had money I soon would do it, but I have none for myself.--I wrote to you by Mr. Wells to see if some one would help me to hard money under my present necessity I write no more, if I had the General would not allow it to go out, & if ever you write to me write very short or else I will never see it--what the h.e.s.h.ens robbed me of that day amounted to the value of seventy two dollars at least. * * * I will give you as near an exact account of how many prisoners the enemy have taken as I can. They took on Long Island of the Huntingon Regiment 64, and of officers 40, of other Regiments about 60. On Moulogin Island 14, Stratton Island (Staten) 7, at Fort Was.h.i.+ngton 2200 officers and men. On the Jersey side about 28 officers and men. In all 3135 and how many killed I do not know. Many died of there wounds. Of those that went out with me of sickness occasioned by hunger eight and more lie at the point of death.

"Roger Filer hath lost one of his legs and part of a Thigh, it was his left. John Moody died here a prisoner.

"So now to conclude my little Ragged History * * * I as you know did ever impress on your mind to look to G.o.d, for so still I continue to do the same--think less of me but more of your Creator, * * * So in this I wish you well and bid you farewell and subscribe myself your nearest friend and well wisher for Ever

John'a Gillett

New York, Dec. 2nd, 1776. To Eliza Gillett at West Harford

The figures given in this pathetic letter may be inaccurate, but the description of the sufferings of the prisoners is unexaggerated. Of all the places of torment provided for these poor men the churches seem to have been the worst, and they were probably the scenes of the most brutal cruelty that was inflicted upon these unfortunate beings by the wicked and heartless men, in whose power they found themselves. Whether it was because the knowledge that they were thus desecrating buildings dedicated to the wors.h.i.+p of G.o.d and instruction in the Christian duties of mercy and charity, had a peculiarly hardening effect upon the jailers and guards employed by the British, or whether it was merely because of their unfitness for human habitation, the men confined in these buildings perished fast and miserably. We cannot a.s.sert that no prisoners shut up in the churches in New York lived to tell the awful tale of their sufferings, but we do a.s.sert that in all our researches we have never yet happened upon any record of a single instance of a survivor living to reach his home. All the information we have gained on this subject we shall lay before the reader, and then he may form his own opinion of the justice of these remarks.

CHAPTER V

WILLIAM CUNNINGHAM, THE PROVOST MARSHAL

We will condense all that we have to say of this man, whose cruelty and wickedness are almost inconceivable, into one chapter, and have done with the dreadful subject. As far as we have been able to learn, the facts about his life are the following.

William Cunningham was an Irishman, born in Dublin Barracks in 1738.

His father was a trumpeter in the Blue Dragoons. When he was sixteen he became an a.s.sistant to the riding-master of the troop. In 1761 he was made a sergeant of dragoons, but peace having been proclaimed the following year, the company to which he belonged was disbanded. He afterwards commenced the business of a scaw-banker, which means that he went about the country enticing mechanics and rustics to s.h.i.+p to America, on promise of having their fortunes made in that country; and then by artful practices, produced their indentures as servants, in consequence of which on their arrival in America they were sold, or at least obliged to serve a term of years to pay for their pa.s.sage. This business, no doubt, proved a fit apprentices.h.i.+p for the career of villainy before him.

About the year 1774 he appears to have embarked from Newry in the s.h.i.+p Needham for New York, with some indentured servants he had kidnapped in Ireland. He is said to have treated these poor creatures so cruelly on the pa.s.sage that they were set free by the authorities in New York upon their arrival.

When Cunningham first appeared in New York he offered himself as a horse-breaker, and insinuated himself into the favor of the British officers by blatant toryism. He soon became obnoxious to the Whigs of that city, was mobbed, and fled to the Asia man-of-war for protection.

From thence he went to Boston, where General Gage appointed him Provost Marshal. When the British took possession of New York he followed them to that city, burning with desire to be revenged upon the Whigs.

He is said to have compa.s.sed the death of thousands of prisoners by selling their provisions, exchanging good for spoiled food, and even by poisoning them. Many also fell victims to his murderous violence. About two hundred and fifty of these poor creatures were taken out of their places of confinement at midnight and hung, without trial, simply to gratify his bloodthirsty instincts. Private execution was conducted in the following manner. A guard was first dispatched from the Provost, about midnight, to the upper barracks, to order the people on the line of march to shut their window shutters and put out their lights, forbidding them at the same time to presume to look out of their windows on pain of death. After this the prisoners were gagged, and conducted to the gallows just behind the upper barracks and hung without ceremony there. Afterwards they were buried by his a.s.sistant, who was a mulatto.

This practice is said to have been stopped by the women along the line of march from the Provost to the barracks. They appealed to General Howe to prevent further executions, as the noise made by the sufferers praying for mercy, and appealing to Heaven for justice was dreadful to their ears.

It would seem from this account that, although the wretched men were gagged as they were conveyed along the streets, their ferocious murderer could not deny himself the pleasure of hearing their shrieks of agony at the gallows.

Watson, in his "Annals of New York," says that Cunningham glutted his vengence by hanging five or six of his prisoners every night, until the women who lived in the neighborhood pet.i.tioned Howe to have the practice discontinued.

A pamphlet called "The Old Martyrs' Prison," says of Cunningham: "His hatred of the Americans found vent in torture by searing irons and secret scourges to those who fell under the ban of his displeasure.

The prisoners were crowded together so closely that many fell ill from partial asphyxiation, and starved to death for want of the food which he sold to enrich himself."

They were given muddy and impure water to drink, and that not in sufficient quant.i.ties to sustain life. Their allowance was, nominally, two pounds of hard tack and two of pork _per week_, and this was often uncooked, while either the pork, or the biscuit, or both, were usually spoiled and most unwholesome.

Cunningham's quarters were in the Provost Prison, and on the right hand of the main door of entry. On the left of the hall was the guard room.

Within the first barricade was the apartment of his a.s.sistant, Sergeant O'Keefe. Two sentinels guarded the entrance day and night; two more were stationed at the first and second barricades, which were grated, barred, and chained.

"When a prisoner was led into the hall the whole guard was paraded, and he was delivered over to Captain Cunningham or his deputy, and questioned as to his name, age, size, rank, etc., all of which was entered in a record book. These records appear to have been discreetly destroyed by the British authorities.

"At the bristling of arms, unbolting of locks and bars, clanking of enormous iron chains in a vestibule dark as Erebus, the unfortunate captive might well sink under this infernal sight and parade of tyrannical power, as he crossed the threshold of that door which probably closed on him for life.

"The north east chamber, turning to the left on the second floor, was appropriated to officers of superior rank, and was called Congress Hall.