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DESCRIPTION OF THE SUFFERINGS OF THOSE WHO WERE ON BOARD THE JERSEY AND OTHER PRISON SHIPS IN THE HARBOUR OF NEW-YORK, DURING THE STRUGGLE FOR OUR GLORIOUS INDEPENDENCE.
The various horrors of these HULKS to tell,
These PRISON SHIPS where pain and penance dwell,
Where death in tenfold vengeance hold his reign,
And injur'd ghosts, yet unaveng'd complain.
This be my task, ungenerous BRITAINS you
Conspire to murder whom you can't subdue.
'Two HULKS on Hudson's
[...] bosom lie,
Two on the
East alarm the pitying eye;
There the black SCORPION at her mooring rides,
There STROMBOLO swings, yielding to the tides;
Here, bulky JERSEY fills a larger space
And HUNTER, to all hospitals disgrace.
'No masts or sails these
crowded ships adorn,
Dismal to view, neglected and forlorn:
Here mighty ills oppressed the imprison'd throng,
Dull were our slumbers and our nights were long.—
From morn to eve along the decks we lay,
Scorch'd into fevers by the solar ray;
No friendly
[...]ning cast a welcome shade,
Once was it promis'd and was never made;
No favours could these sons of death bestow,
'T was endless vengeance and unceasing woe.
Immortal hatred does their breasts engage
And this lost empire swells their souls with rage.
Thou
Scorpion, fatal to thy crowded throng;
Dire
[...] of horror and Plutonian song,
Requir'st my lay—thy sultry decks I know,
[...]
The briny wave that Hudsons bosom fills,
Dripp'd through her bottom in a thousand rills:
Rotten and old, replete with sighs and groans,
Scarce on the waters she sustain'd her bones;
Here, doom'd to toil, or founder in the tide,
At the moist pumps incessantly we ply'd,
Here, doom'd to starve, like famish'd dogs, we tore
The scant allowance, that our tyrants bore.
'Remembrance shudders at this scene of fears—
Still in my view some tyrant chief appears,
Some base born Hessian slave walks threatening by,
Some
[...] Scot, with murder in his eye,
Still haunts my sight as vainly they bemoan
Rebellions manag'd so unlike their own!
O may I never feel the poignant pain
To live subjected to such fiends again,
Stewards and
Mates, that hostile Britain bore,
Cut from the gallows on their native shore;
Their ghastly looks and vengeance-beaming eyes
Still to my view in dismal visions rise—
O may I ne'er review these dire abodes,
These piles for slaughter, floating on the floods,—
And you, that o'er the troubled ocean go,
Strike not your standards to this venom'd foe,
Better the greedy wave should swallow all,
Better to meet the
[...] conducting ball,
Better to sleep on ocean's
[...] bed,
At once destroy'd and number'd with the dead,
Then thus to perish in the face of day
Where twice ten thousand deaths one death delay
When to the ocean sinks the western sun,
And the sco
[...]ch'd Torie
[...] fire their evening gun,
"Down, rebels, down!" the angry Scotchmen cry,
"Base dogs, desc
[...]d, or by our broad swords die!"
Hail dark abode! what can with the compare—
Heat,
[...]ness,
[...], death, and stagnant air—
Pandor
[...] box, from whence all mischiefs flew,
Here real found,
[...]ments mankind anew!—
Swift from the
[...] decks we rush'd along,
And vainly
[...], so vast our throng;
Three hundred wretches here, denied all light,
In crowded
[...] pass the infernal night,
Some for a bed their tatter'd vestments join,
And some on
[...], and some on floors recline;
Shut from the
[...] of the
[...] air
[...] we lay with mingled corpses there,
Meagre and wa
[...] and scorch'd with heat, below,
[...] like ghosts, ere death had made us so—
How could we
[...], where heat and hunger join'd
Thus to debase
[...] body and the mind,—
Where cruel thir
[...] the patching throat invades,
Dries up the man, and fits him for the shades.
No waters laded from the bubbling spring
[...] these dire ships these little tyrants bring—
[...] p
[...]nk and ponderous beams completely wall'd
In vain for water and in vain we call'd—
No
[...] was granted to the midnight prayer,
[...]
rebels in these regions of despair!
The loathsome c
[...]sk a deadly dose contains,
[...] poison
[...] through the languid veins;
"Here,
generous, Britons, generous, as you say,
"
[...] tongue one
[...] drop convey,
"
[...] has no mischief like a thirsty throat,
"Nor one tormentor like your
David
[...]"
Dull flew the hours till from the east display'd,
Sweet morn dispell'd the horrors of the shade;
On every side di
[...]e objects meet the
[...]ght.
And pall
[...]d forms and murders of the night.
The dead were past their pain! the living groan,
Nor dare to hope another morn their own.
'Hunger and thirst to work our woe, combine,
And mouldy br
[...]d, and flesh of rotten swine.
The mangled carcase and the batter'd brain,
The doctor's poison, and the captain's cane.
The soldier's
[...]squet, and the steward's debt,
The ev'ning shackle and the noon-day threat.
'While yet they deign'd that healthsome balm to lade
The
putrid water felt its powerful aid.
But when refused to aggravate
[...] our pains,
Then fevers rag'd and revel'd through our veins,
Throughout my frame I felt its deadly heat,
I felt my pulse with quicker motions beat:
A pallid hue o'er every face was spread,
Unusual pains attack
[...]d the fainting head;
No physic here, no doctor to assist,
With oaths they plac'd
[...] on the sick man's list.
Twelve wretches mo
[...]e the same dark symptoms took,
And these were enter'd on the doctor's book;
The loathsome HUNTER was our destin'd place,
The HUNTER to all hospitals disgrace.
With soldiers sent to guard us on our road,
Joyful we le
[...]t the
[...] dire abode.
Some tears we shed for
[...] remaining crew,
Then curs'd the HULK, and from her
[...]ides withdrew.
Now tow'rds the HUNTER's gloomy decks we came,
A slaughter house, yet
hospital in name;
For none came there, 'till ruin'd with their fees,
And half consum'd, and dying of disease;—
But when too near, with labouring oars we ply'd
The
Mate, with curses, drove us from the side;
That wretch who, banish'd from the navy crew,
Grown old in blood, did here his trade renew,
His rancorous tongue, when on his
charge let loose,
Utter'd reproaches, scandal, and abuse,
Gave all to hell, who
[...] disown,
An
[...]
[...]wore mankind
[...]
George
[...],
A
[...]ousand times, to
[...] woe,
He
[...]ish'd us founder'd
[...] the gulph below;
A thousand times, he brandish'd high his stick,
And swore as often that we were not sick—
And yet so pale!—that we were thought by some
A freight of ghosts from
[...]eath's dominions come—
But calm'd at length—
[...] who can always rage,
Or the fierce war of boundless passion wage,
He pointed to the stairs that led below
To damps, disease, and varied shapes of woe—
Down to the gloom I took my pensive way,
Along the decks the dying captives lay;
Some struck with madness some with scurvy pain'd,
But still of
[...] fevers most complain'd!
On the hard
[...] these
[...] objects laid,
There toss'd and tumbled
[...] the dismal shade,
There no soft voice their
[...]itter
[...] bemoan'd,
And death trode stately, while the victims groan'd;
Of leaky deck
[...] I heard them long complain,
D
[...]own'd as they were in deluges of rain,
Deny'd the comforts of a dying bed,
And not a pillow to support the head—
How could they else but pi
[...], and grieve, and sigh,
Detest a wretched life—and wish to die.
Scarce had I mingled with this dismal band
When a thin victim seiz'd me by the hand
"And art thou come," (death heavy on his eyes)
"And art thou come to those abodes,—(he cries;)
Why didst thou leave the
Scorpion's dark retreat,
And hither haste, a surer death to meet?
Why didst thou leave thy damp infected cell—
If
that was purgatory, this is hell,
We, too, grown weary of
[...] shade
Petition'd early for the
[...];
His aid denied, more
[...] came,
Weak, and yet weaker,
[...] vital flame;
And when disease had
[...] so low
That few could tell if we were ghosts, or no,
And all asserted death would be our fate—
Then to the doctor we were sent—too late.
Here wastes away
[...] the brave,
Here young
Palemon finds a watery grave,
Here lov'd
Aleander, now
[...]as! no more,
Dies, far sequester'd from
[...]s native shore;
He late, perhaps, too eager for the fray,
Chac'd the proud Briton o'er the watery way,
'Till fortune, jealous, bade
[...] clouds appear,
Turn'd hostile to his
[...]ame, and brought him
here.
Thus do our warriors, this our heroes fall,
Imprison'd here, sure ruin meets them all,
Or, sent afar to Britain's barbarous shore,
There pine neglected, and return no more.—
Ah rest in peace, each injur'd, parted shade,
By cruel hands in death's dark weeds array'd."
'From Brooklyn heigh
[...] a Hessian doctor came,
Not great his skill, nor greater much his fame!
Fair science never call'd the wretch her son,
And Art disdain'd the stupid man to own!
Yet still he put his genius to the rack,
And, as you may suppose, was own'd a QUACK.
'He on his charge the healing work begun,
With
antimonial mixtures by
[...]he tun,
Ten minutes was the time he deign'd to stay,
The time of grace allotted once a day,
He drench'd us well with bitter draughts tis true,
Nostrums from hell, and cortex from Peru.
Some with his pills he sent to Pluto's reign,
And some he blister'd with his
sties of Spain;
His tartar doses walked their deadly round,
Till the lean patient at the potion frown'd
And swore that hemlock, death, or what you will,
Were nonsense to the drugs that stuff'd his bill.
On those refusing he bestow'd a kick,
Or
[...] vengeance with his walking stick.
Here uncontroul'd he exercis'd his trade,
And grew experienc'd by the deaths he made;
By frequent blows we from his cane endur'd,
He kill'd at least, as many as he cur'd.
On our lost comrades built his future fame,
And scatter'd fate where'er his footsteps came;
Some did not bend submissive to his skill,
And swore he mingled poison with his pill.
But I acquit him by a fair confession
He was no Myrmidon—he was a Hessian.
Although a dunce he had some sense of
[...]
Or else the Lord knows where we now had been;
No doubt in that far country sent to range
Where never prisoner meets with an exchange.—
No centries stand to guard the midnight post,
Nor
[...]eal down hatch-ways on a crowd of ghosts.
Knave though he was, yet candour must confess,
Not chief physician was this man of Hesse.
One master o'er the murdering tribe was plac'd,
By him the rest were honour'd or disgrac'd,
Once, and but once, by some strange
[...],
He came to see the dying and the dead;
He came; but
[...] deform'd his
[...],
And such a faulchion glitter'd on his thigh
And such a gloom his visage darken'd o'er,
And two such pistols in his hands he bore,
That by the Gods! with such a load of
[...],
He came we thought to murder, not to
[...],
Rage in his heart, and mischief in his head,
He gloom'd destruction—and had smote
[...] dead;
Had he so dar'd—but fear withheld his hand,
He came—blasphem'd and turn'd again to land.
From this poor vessel, and her sickly crew
A British seaman all his titles drew,
Captain, esquire, commander, too, in chief,
And hence he gain'd his bread, and hence his beef,
But,
[...], you might have search'd creation round
And such another russian not have found—
Though unprovok'd, an angry face he bore,
All were astonish'd at the oaths he swore;
He swore, till every prisoner stood aghast,
And thought him Satan in a brimstone blast;
He wish'd us banish'd from the public light,
He wish'd us shrouded in perpetual night!
That were
[...] king, no mercy would he show,
But drive all
rebels to the world below;
That if we
scoundrels did not scrub the decks
His staff should break our base
rebellious necks;—
He swore, besides, that should the ship take fire
We too must in the pitchy flames expire;
And meant it so—this tyrant, I engage,
Had lost his life, to gratify his rage.—
If where he walk'd a murdered carcase lay,
Still dreadful was the language of the day—
He call'd us dogs, and would have held us so,
But terror check'd the meditated blow,
Of vengeance, from our injur'd nation due
To him, and all the base unmanly crew.
Such food they sent, to make complete our woes,
It look'd like carrion torn from hungry crows.
Such vermin vile on every joint were seen,
So black, corrupted, mortified, and lean,
That once we try'd to move our flinty chief.
And thus address'd him, holding up the beef;
"See, captain, see! what rotten bones we pick,
What kills the healthy cannot cure the sick:
Not dogs on such by
Christian men are fed,
And see, good master, see, what lousy bread."
"Your meat or bread, (this man of death replied)
'Tis not my care to manage or provide;—
But this, base rebel dogs, I'd have you know,
That better than you merit, we bestow;
Out of my sight"—nor more he deign'd to say,
But whisk'd about, and frowning strode away.
'Each day, at least six carcases we bore,
And scratch'd them graves along the sandy shore;
By feeble hands the shallow graves were made,
No stone, memorial, o'er the corpses laid.'