THE PRISONS ASHORE
10. DARTMOOR
In July 1805, the Transport Office, impressed by the serious crowding of
war-prisoners on the hulks at Plymouth and in the Millbay Prison,
requested their representative, Mr. Daniel Alexander, to meet the Hon.
E. Bouverie, at the house of Sir Thomas Tyrwhitt, warden of the
Stannaries, at Tor Royal, with the view of choosing a site for a great
war-prison to hold 5,000 men.
Mr. Baring-Gould more than hints that the particular spot chosen owed
its distinction entirely to the personal interests of Sir Thomas. Says
he:
‘It is on the most inclement site that could have been selected,
catching the clouds from the South West, and condensing fog about it
when everything else is clear. It is exposed equally to the North and
East winds. It stands over 1,400 feet above the sea, above the sources
of the Meavy, in the highest as well as least suitable situation that
could have been selected; the site determined by Sir Thomas, so as to be
near his granite quarries.’
On March 20, 1806, the first stone was laid; on May 24, 1809, the first
prisoners came to it; in July the first two prisoners got out of it by
bribing the sentries, men of the Notts Militia. The Frenchmen were
recaptured, one at a place called ‘The Jumps’, the other at Kingsbridge.
The soldiers, four in number, confessed they had received eight guineas
each for their help, and two of them were condemned to be shot.
[Illustration:
DARTMOOR WAR-PRISON, IN 1812.
FROM A SKETCH SIGNED ‘JOHN WETHEMS’ IN THE PUBLIC RECORD OFFICE.
(_Reproduced by kind permission of Mr. Basil Thomson and Col. Winn._)
KEY TO THE PLAN.
1A Prison.
2A Prison.
3A Prison.
4A Prison.
5A Prison.
6A Prison. (New Building).
7A Prison. (New Building).
B Cookeries.
C Cachot or Dungeon.
D Watch-houses.
E Basins.
F Petty Officers’ Prison.
G Market-place.
H Hospital.
I Receiving-house.
J Pharmacy.
K Bathing-place.
L Matron’s House.
M Washing-house.
N Storage.
N Store-houses.
O Storage.
P Jailor’s Lodgings
Q Jailor’s Lodge.
R1 Mr. Holmden’s (Clerk) House.
R2 Mr. Bennet’s House.
R3 Mr. Winkworth’s House.
S Captain Cotgrave’s House.
T Agent’s Office.
U Agent’s Garden.
V Doctor’s House.
W Doctor’s Garden.
X Stables.
Y Reservoir.
Z Barracks.
1 Mr. Carpenter’s House.
2 Bakehouse.
3 Bell.
4 Miller’s House.
5 Burial-ground.
6 Dead-house.
7 Military Walk.
8 Ramparts.
9 Iron Rails, inside of which prisoners are confined.
10 Streams of water running from the reservoir.
11 Tavistock Road.
12 Princetown Road.
13 Morton Road.
14 Prison where Mr. V. made his first entry on December 12, 1811, with
the track.
15 Prison where Mr. V. lives now, and track of walk allowed.
16 Mr. V. has liberty to go as far as 5th _Gate_.
17 New latter wall, is a mile in circumference.
]
Thirty acres were enclosed by stone walls, the outer of which was
sixteen feet high,[10] and was separated by a broad military way from
the inner wall, which was hung with bells on wires connected with all
the sentry boxes dotted along it. One half of the circle thus enclosed
was occupied by five huge barracks, each capable of holding more than
1,000 men, with their airing grounds and shelters for bad weather, their
inner ends converging on a large open space, where was held the market.
Each barrack consisted of two floors, and above the top floor ran, the
length of the building, a roof room, designed for use when the weather
was too bad even for the outdoor shelters, but, as we shall see,
appropriated for other purposes. On each floor, a treble tier of
hammocks was slung upon cast-iron pillars. Each barrack had its own
airing ground, supply of running water, and Black Hole. The other
half-circle was occupied by two spacious blocks, one the hospital, the
other the petty officers’ prison, by the officials’ quarters, the
kitchen, washing-houses, and other domestic offices, and outside the
main, the Western Gate, the barrack for 400 soldiers and the officers’
quarters. The cost of the prison was £135,000.
By the foreign prisoners of war Dartmoor was regarded, and not without
reason, as the most hateful of all the British prisons. At Norman Cross,
at Stapleton, at Perth, at Valleyfield, at Forton, at Millbay, they were
at any rate within sight and hearing of the outer world. Escape from any
one of these places was, of course, made as difficult as possible, but
when once an exit was effected, the rest was comparatively easy. But
escape from Dartmoor meant very much more than the mere evading of
sentries, the breaching and scaling of walls, or the patient labour of
underground burrowing. When all this was accomplished the fugitive found
himself not in a crowded city, where he could be lost to sight among the
multitude, nor in the open country where starvation was at any rate
impossible, nor by a water highway to freedom, nor, in short, in a world
wherein he could exercise his five senses with at least a chance of
success; but in the wildest, most solitary, most shelterless, most
pathless, and, above all, most weather-tormented region of Britain. Any
one who has tried to take his bearings in a Dartmoor fog, or who has
been caught by a Dartmoor snowstorm at the fall of day can realize this;
those who have not had one or other of these experiences, cannot do
better than read _The American Prisoner_, by Mr. Eden Phillpotts.
More than this: at the other prisons a more or less sympathetic public
was near at hand which kept the prisoners in touch with the free life
without, even if many of its members were merely curious gapers and
gazers, or purchasers of manufactures. At Dartmoor the natives who came
to the prison gates, came only to sell their produce. Being natives of a
remote district, they were generally prejudiced against the prisoners,
and Farmer Newcombe’s speech in Mr. Phillpotts’ _Farm of the Dagger_,
accurately reproduces the sentiments prevalent among them:
‘Dartymoor’s bettern they deserve anyway. I should like to know what’s
too bad for them as makes war on us. ’Tis only naked savages, I should
have thought, as would dare to fight against the most civilized and
God-fearing nation in the world.’
Finally, it is much to be feared that the jacks-in-office and petty
officials at Dartmoor, secure in their seclusion as they thought, were
exacting and tyrannical to a degree not ventured upon in other places of
confinement more easily accessible to the light of inspection, and
unsurrounded by a desert air into which the cries of anguish and
distress would rise in vain.
All the same, it was not long before the condition of prison life in
Dartmoor became known, even in high places.
In July 1811, the _Independent Whig_ published revelations of the state
of Dartmoor which caused Lord Cochrane, member for Westminster, to bring
the facts before the notice of the House of Commons, but he expressed
his disappointment that his exposure had been without result, asserting
that the Government was afraid of losing what little character it had.
He declared that the soil of Dartmoor was one vast marsh, and was most
pestilential. Captivity, said he, was irksome enough without the
addition of disease and torture. He asserted that the prison had been
built for the convenience of the town, and not the town for the
convenience of the prison, inasmuch as the town was a speculative
project which had failed. ‘Its inhabitants had no market, were solitary,
insulated, absorbed, and buried in their own fogs.’ To remedy this it
was necessary to do something, and so came about the building of the
prison.
The article in the _Independent Whig_ which attracted Lord Cochrane’s
attention was as follows:
‘To foreigners, bred for the most part in a region the temperature of
which is so comparatively pure to the air of our climate at the best of
times, a transition so dreadful must necessarily have fatal
consequences, and indeed it is related that the prisoners commonly take
to their beds at the first arrival, which nothing afterwards can induce
them to quit.... Can it bear reflection, much less inspection? Six or
seven thousand human beings, deprived of liberty by the chance of war
... consigned to linger out probably many tedious years in misery and
disease!
‘While we declaim against the injustice and tyranny of our neighbours,
shall we neglect the common duties of humanity? If we submit to crowd
our dungeons with the virtuous and the just of our country, confounding
moral guilt with unintentional error, and subjecting them to
indiscriminate punishment and the most inhuman privations, though we
submit to this among ourselves, do not let us pursue the same system
towards individuals thrown on our compassion by the casualties of war,
lest we provoke a general spirit of retaliation, and plunge again the
civilized world into the vortex of Barbarism. Let us not forget that the
prisoner is a living trust in our hands, not to be subject to the
wayward fancy of caprice, but a deposit placed at our disposal to be
required at a future hour. It is a solemn charge, involving the care of
life and the principle of humanity.’
‘Humanitas’ wrote in the _Examiner_, commenting upon Whitbread’s defence
and laudation of Dartmoor as a residence, and amazed at the selection of
such a place as the site for a prison:
‘The most inclement climate in England; for nine months there is no sun,
and four and a half times as much rain as in Middlesex. The regiments on
duty there have to be changed every two months. Were not the deaths
during the first three years 1,000 a year, and 3,000 sick? Did not from
500 to 600 die in the winter of 1809? Is it not true that since some
gentlemen visited the prison and published their terrible experiences,
nobody has been allowed inside?’
The writer goes on, not so much to condemn the treatment of the
prisoners as to blame the Government for spending so much money on such
a site.
The Transport Office took counsel’s opinion about prosecuting these two
newspapers for libel. It was as follows:
‘In my opinion both these papers are libellous. The first is the
strongest, but if the statement of deaths in the other is, as I conceive
it is, wholly unsupported by the fact, this is equally mischievous. It
is not, however, by any means clear to me that a jury will take the same
view of the subject, ... but unless some serious consequences are to be
apprehended from suffering these publications to go unnoticed, I should
not be inclined to institute prosecutions upon them.
V. GIBBS.’
Later on, Vicary Gibbs thinks that they should be prosecuted, but wants
information about the heavy mortality of November 1809 to April 1810,
and also tables of comparison between the deaths in our own barracks and
those in French prisons.
I cannot trace the sequel of this, but, reading by the light of the
times, it is probable that the matter was hushed up in the same way as
were the exposures of Messrs. Batchelor and Andrews at Stapleton a few
years previously. The heavy mortality of the six months of 1809–10 was
due to an epidemic of measles, which carried off no less than 419
persons in the four months of 1810 alone.
Violent deaths among Dartmoor prisoners, whether from suicide or duel or
murder, were so frequent, even in the earliest years of the prison, that
in 1810 the coroner of this division of the county complained, praying
that on account of the large numbers of inquests held—greater, he said,
since the opening of the prison than during the preceding fourteen
years—the ordinary allowance to jurors of 8_d._ per man be increased to
1_s._ He emphasized the difficulty of collecting jurors, these being
principally small farmers and artificers, who had in most cases to
travel long distances. The Parish of Lydford paid the fees, and the
coroner’s request was granted.
From the _Story of Dartmoor Prison_ by Mr. Basil Thomson, I have, with
the kind permission of the author, taken many of the following facts,
and with these I have associated some from the pen of the French writer,
Catel.
In the preface to the latter’s book we read:
‘About six leagues to the North of Plymouth, under a dark and melancholy
sky, in a cold and foggy atmosphere, a rocky, dry and almost naked soil,
covered eight months of the year with a mantle of snow, shuts in a space
of some square leagues. This appearance strikes the view, and
communicates a sort of bitterness to the soul. Nature, more than
indifferent in complete stagnation, seems to have treated with
avaricious parsimony this corner of land, without doubt the ugliest in
England. It is in this place, where no human thought dare hope for the
smallest betterment, that British philanthropy conceived and executed
the double project of building a prison in time of war for French
prisoners, in time of Peace for her own criminals condemned to penal
servitude. Comment is needless. The reader will appreciate the double
humanitarian thought which is apparent in its conception.’
Mr. Thomson informs us that the present Infirmary was the old petty
officers’ prison. Here were confined officers who had broken their
parole and who had been recaptured. Some of Rochambeau’s San Domingo
officers were here, and the building was known as the ‘Petit
Cautionnement’. As most of the officers here had private means, they
formed a refined little society, dressed and lived well, and had
servants to attend on them, taken from the ordinary prisoners, who were
paid 3_d._ a day. Duels were frequent. In 1809, on the occasion of some
national or provincial festival, there was a procession with band and
banners. One Souville, a _maître d’armes_, felt himself slighted because
he had not been chosen to carry the national flag, and snatched it from
a youth of eighteen, to whom it had been entrusted. The youth attacked
him with his fists and gave him a thrashing, which so enraged the other,
whose _métier_ was that of arms, that he challenged him. The youth could
not fence, but as the weapons were sticks with razor-blades affixed,
this was not of serious moment. Souville, however, cut one of the
youth’s fingers off.
In 1812 two prisoners fought with improvised daggers with such ferocity
that both died before they could be carried to the hospital. In 1814,
two fencing masters, hitherto great friends, quarrelled over the merits
of their respective pupils, and fought with fists. The beaten man, Jean
Vignon, challenged the other to a more real trial by combat, and they
fought in the ‘cock-loft’ of No. 4 Prison—where are now the kitchen and
chapel. Vignon killed his opponent while the latter was stooping to pick
up his foil, was brought up before the civil court, and condemned to six
months for manslaughter.
Every day, except Sunday, a market was held from nine to twelve. Here,
in exchange for money and produce, the prisoners sold the multifarious
articles of their manufacture, excepting woollen mittens and gloves,
straw hats or bonnets, shoes, plaited straw, obscene toys and pictures,
or articles made out of prison stores.
The chief punishment was relegation to the _cachot_ or Black Hole. At
first this was a small building in the Infirmary Yard of such poor
construction that it was frequent for the inmates to break out of it and
mix with the other prisoners. But in 1811 the French prisoners built a
new one, twenty feet square, arch-roofed, and with a floor of granite
blocks weighing a ton each.
Some escapes from Dartmoor were notable, one, indeed, so much so that I
have given the hero of it, Louis Vanhille, a chapter to himself.
Sevegran, a naval surgeon, and Aunay, a naval officer, observing that
fifty men were marched into the prison every evening to help the
turnkeys to get the prisoners into their respective _casernes_, made
unto themselves Glengarry caps and overcoats out of odds and ends of
cloth and blanket and, with strips of tin to look like bayonets, calmly
fell in at the rear of the guard as they left the prison, and, favoured
by rain and darkness, followed out of the prison, and, as the troops
marched into barracks, got away. They had money, so from
Plymouth—whither they tramped that night—they took coach to London. In
order that they should have time to get well away, their accomplices in
the prison at the call-over the next morning got up a disturbance which
put the turnkey out of his reckoning, and so they were not at once
missed.
Next evening, three other prisoners, Keronel, Vasselin, and Cherabeau,
tried the same trick. All went well. At the third gate, the keeper asked
if the locking-up was finished, and as there was no reply he said: ‘All
these lobsters are deaf with their caps over their ears.’ The men
escaped.
Dr. Walker quotes an attempt of a similar character from Norman Cross:
‘A French prisoner made himself a complete uniform of the Hertfordshire
Militia, and a wooden gun, stained, surmounted by a tin bayonet. Thus
equipped, he mixed with the guard, and when they were ordered to march
out, having been relieved, Monsieur fell in and marched out too. Thus
far he was fortunate, but when arrived at the guard room, lo! what
befell him.
‘His new comrades ranged their muskets on the rack, and he endeavoured
to follow their example; but, as his wooden piece was unfortunately a
few inches too long, he was unable to place it properly. This was
observed, so of course his attempt to get away was frustrated.’
The bribing of sentries was a very necessary condition of escape. One or
two pounds would generally do it, and it was through the sky-light of
the ‘cock-lofts’ that the prisoners usually got out of the locked-up
barracks.
In February 1811, four privates of the Notts Militia were heavily bribed
for the escape of two French officers. One of them, thinking he was
unfairly treated in the division of the money, gave information, and a
picket was in waiting for the escaping Frenchmen. The three men were
sentenced to 900 lashes each. Two were pardoned, but one, who had given
the prisoners fire-arms, got 450.
In March, 1812, Edward Palmer, a ‘moorman,’ was fined £5 and got twelve
months’ imprisonment for procuring a disguise for a French prisoner
named Bellaird.
Early in the same year three prisoners escaped with the connivance of a
Roscommon Militiaman. The sequel moves one’s pity. Pat was paid in
bank-notes. He offered them for exchange, and, to his amazement, was
informed not only that he could receive nothing for them, but that he
must consider himself under arrest for uttering forged notes. It was too
true. The three Frenchmen had paid him handsomely in notes fabricated by
one Lustique. The Irishman would not say where he got the notes, and it
really did not matter, for if he had admitted that he received them as
the price of allowing French prisoners to escape, he would have been
flogged to death: as it was, he and Lustique were hanged.
Forgery was a prominent Dartmoor industry. Bank of England notes were
forged to some extent, but local banks such as Grant, Burbey and Co. of
Portsmouth, Harris, Langholme, and Harris of Plymouth, the Plymouth
Commercial Bank, the Tamar Bank, the Launceston and Totnes Bank, were
largely victimized. To such an extent were these frauds carried out that
it was ordered that an official should attend at the prison market to
write his name on all notes offered by prisoners in payment for goods
received.
It was no doubt with reference to the local knowledge of soldiers on
guard being valuable to intending escapes from the prison that the
authorities refused the application of the 1st Devon Militia to be on
guard at Dartmoor, as there were ‘several strong objections to the men
of that regiment being employed’.
There were distinct grades among the Dartmoor prisoners. First came ‘Les
Lords’—‘broke parole’ officers, and people with money. Next came ‘Les
Laboureurs’, the clever, industrious men who not only lived comfortably
by the sale of the articles they manufactured, but saved money so that
some of them left the prison at the Declaration of Peace financially
very much better off than when they came. These were the ‘respectable
prisoners’. After the labourers came the ‘Indifférents’—loafers and
idlers, but not mischief-makers or harm-workers; the ‘Misérables’,
mischievous rascals for ever plotting and planning; and finally, the
most famous of all, the ‘Romans’, so called because they existed in the
cock-loft, the ‘Capitole’, of one of the barracks. These men, almost
entirely privateersmen, the scum and sweepings of sea-port towns, or
land rascals with nothing to lose and all to gain in this world, formed
a veritable power in the prison. Gamblers to a man, they were mostly
naked, and held so faithfully to the theory of Communism, that when it
was necessary that someone should descend from the cock-loft eyrie in
order to beg, borrow, or, what was more usual, to steal food or rags,
the one pair of breeches was lent to him for the occasion. The only
hammock among them belonged to the ‘General’ or, to be more correct, was
his temporarily, for not even in Hayti were generals made and unmade
with such dispatch. The sleeping arrangement was that, mention of which
has already been made, known as the ‘spoon’ system, by which the naked
men lay so close together for warmth that the turn-over of the ranks had
to be made at certain intervals by word of command. Catel tells an
excellent story of the ‘Romans’. These gentry held a parade on one of
the anniversaries, and were drawn up in order when a fine plump rat
appeared on the airing ground—a new arrival, clearly, or he would have
kept carefully away. This was too much for half-famished men; the ranks
were instantly broken and the chase began. As luck would have it, the
rat ran into the garrison kitchens, where the day’s rations were being
prepared, and in a very few minutes the pots and pans were cleared of
their contents. Soldiers were at once hurried to the scene, but being
few in number they were actually overpowered and disarmed by the
‘Romans’, who marched them to the Governor’s house. Here the ‘General’,
with a profound salute, spoke as follows:
‘Sir, we have come here to deliver over to you our prisoners and their
arms. It is a happy little occurrence this, as regards your soldiers,
quiet now as sheep. We beg, you, therefore, to grant them as reward
double rations, and to make up the loss we have caused in the provisions
of our honoured visitors.’
Catel adds that the rat was caught and eaten raw!
Gradually, their violence and their thieving propensities made them a
terror to the other prisoners; the Americans, in particular, objected to
their filthy habits, and at length their conduct became so intolerable
that they were marched off to the Plymouth hulks, on which they were
kept until the Peace of 1814.
It is an interesting fact that when an epidemic swept the prisons and
carried off the decent and cleanly by hundreds, the impregnable
dirt-armour of the ‘Romans’ kept them unscathed. This epidemic was the
terrible visitation of malignant measles which from November 1809 to
April 1810 inclusive, claimed about 400 victims out of 5,000 prisoners.
The burial-ground was in the present gas-house field; the mortuary,
where the bodies were collected for burial, was near the present General
Hospital. No funeral rites were observed, and not more than a foot of
earth heaped over the bodies.
Catel also relates a very clever and humorous escape. Theatricals were
largely patronized at Dartmoor, as in the other prisons. A piece
entitled _Le Capitaine Calonne et sa dame_ was written in eulogy of a
certain British garrison officer and his lady, and, being shown to them
in manuscript, so flattered and delighted them, that, in order that the
piece should not lack local colour at the opening performance, the
Captain offered to lend a British suit of regimentals, and his lady to
provide a complete toilette, for the occasion.
These, of course, were gladly accepted. The theatre was crowded, and the
new piece was most successful, until the opening of the third act, when
the manager stepped forward, and, amidst whistles and catcalls, said:
‘Messieurs, the play is finished. The English Captain and his lady are
out of the prison.’ This was true. During the second act the
prisoner-Captain and his lady quietly passed out of the prison, being
saluted by guards and sentries, and got away to Tavistock. Catel relates
with gusto the adventure of the real captain and his wife with the said
guards and sentinels, who swore that they had left the prison some time
before.
The delight of the prisoners can be pictured, and especially when it was
rumoured two days later that the real Captain received his uniform, and
his lady her dress, in a box with a polite letter of thanks from the
escaped prisoners.
An escape of a similar character to the foregoing was effected from one
of the Portsmouth hulks. On one occasion a prisoner acted the part of a
female so naturally, that an English naval Captain was deceived
completely. He proposed to the supposed girl to elope. The pseudo-maiden
was nothing loth, and (said the late Rev. G. N. Godwin in a lecture from
which I take this) there is an amusing sketch showing the Captain in
full uniform passing the gangway with the lady on his arm, the sentry
presenting arms meanwhile. Of course, when the gallant officer
discovered his mistake, there was nothing for it but to assist in the
escape of the astute prisoner.
In 1812, Hageman, the bread contractor, was brought up for fraudulent
dealing, and was mulcted in £3,000, others concerned in the transactions
being imprisoned for long terms.
I am glad to be able to ring a change in the somewhat monotonous tone of
the prisoners’ complaints, inasmuch as American prisoners have placed on
record their experiences: one of them, Andrews, in a very comprehensive
and detailed form.
From the autumn of 1812 to April of 1813, there were 900 American
prisoners at Chatham, 100 at Portsmouth, 700 at Plymouth, ‘most of them
destitute of clothes and swarming with vermin.’ On April 2, 1813, the
Transport Board ordered them all to Dartmoor, no doubt because of their
ceaseless attempts to escape from the hulks. They were horrified, for
they knew it to have the reputation of being the worst prison in
England.
From the Plymouth hulks _Hector_ and _Le Brave_, 250 were landed at New
Passage, and marched the seventeen miles to Dartmoor, where were already
5,000 French prisoners. On May 1, 1813, Cotgrave, the Governor, ordered
all the American prisoners to be transferred to No. 4 _caserne_, where
were already 900 French ‘Romans’.
[Illustration:
DARTMOOR. THE ORIGINAL MAIN ENTRANCE.
(_From a sketch by the Author._)
]
The garrison at Dartmoor consisted of from 1,200 to 1,500 men, who, says
Andrews, without the smallest foundation of fact, had been told off for
this duty as punishment for offences. The truth is, that as our small
regular army was on duty in many places elsewhere, the Militia had to be
drawn upon for the garrisoning of war-prisons, and that on account of
the many ‘pickings’ to be had, war-prison duty was rather sought than
shunned. The garrison was frequently changed at all the war-prisons for
no other reason than that between guards and guarded an undesirable
intimacy usually developed.
The American prisoners, who, throughout the war, were generally of a
superior type to the Frenchmen, very much resented this association of
them with the low-class ruffians in No. 4. I may here quote Mr. Eden
Phillpotts’s remarks in his _Farm of the Dagger_.
‘There is not much doubt that these earlier prisoners of war suffered
very terribly. Their guards feared them more than the French. From the
hulks came warnings of their skill and ingenuity, their courage, and
their frantic endeavours to regain liberty. The American Agent for
Prisoners of War at Plymouth, one Reuben Beasley, was either a knave or
a fool, and never have unhappy sufferers in this sort endured more from
a callous, cruel, or utterly inefficient and imbecile representative.
With sleepless rigour and severity were the Americans treated in that
stern time; certain advantages and privileges permitted to the French at
Princetown were at first denied them, and to all their petitions,
reasonable complaints, and remonstrances, the egregious Beasley turned a
deaf ear, while the very medical officer at the gaol at that season
lacked both knowledge of medicine and humanity, and justified his
conduct with falsehood before he was removed from office.’
Theirs was indeed a hard lot. This last-mentioned brute, Dyer, took note
of no sickness until it was too far gone to be treated, and refused
patients admission to the hospital until the last moment: for fear, he
said, of spreading the disease. They were, as Mr. Phillpotts says,
denied many privileges and advantages allowed to Frenchmen of the lowest
class; they were shut out from the usual markets, and had to buy through
the French prisoners, at 25 per cent. above market prices.
On May 18, 1813, 250 more Americans came from the _Hector_ hulk, and on
July 1, 100 more.
July 4, 1813, was a dark day in the history of the prison. The
Americans, with the idea of getting up an Independence Day celebration,
got two flags and asked permission to hold a quiet festival. Captain
Cotgrave, the Governor, refused, and sent the guard to confiscate the
flags. Resistance was offered; there was a struggle and one of the flags
was captured. In the evening the disturbance was renewed, an attempt was
made to recapture the flag, the guard fired upon the prisoners and
wounded two. The feeling thus fostered burst out into a flame on July
10, when the ‘Romans’ in the two upper stories of No. 4 Prison collected
weapons of all sorts, and attacked the Americans unexpectedly, with the
avowed purpose of killing them all. A terrible encounter was the result,
in the midst of which the guards charged in and separated the two
parties, but not until forty on both sides had been badly wounded. After
this a wall fifteen feet high was built to divide the airing ground of
No. 4.
Andrews describes the clothing of the prisoners as consisting of a cap
of wool, one inch thick and coarser than rope yarn, a yellow jacket—not
large enough to meet round the smallest man, although most of the
prisoners were reduced by low living to skeletons—with the sleeves
half-way up the arms, a short waistcoat, pants tight to the middle of
the shin, shoes of list with wooden soles one and a half inches thick.
An epidemic of small-pox broke out; complaints poured in to Beasley
about the slack attention paid to it, about the overcrowding, the
consequent vermin, and the frauds of the food contractors, but without
results. Then came remonstrances about the partiality shown in giving
all lucrative offices to French prisoners, that is to say, positions
such as one sweeper to every 100 men at threepence a day, one cook to
every 200 at fourpence halfpenny; barber at threepence; nurses in the
hospital at sixpence—all without avail. As a rule the Americans were
glad to sell their ration of bad beef to Frenchmen, who could juggle it
into fancy dishes, and with the money they bought soap and
chewing-tobacco.
At length Beasley came to see for himself, but although he expressed
surprise at the crowding of so many prisoners, and said he was glad he
had not to be in Dartmoor, he could promise no redress.
Andrews alludes to the proficiency of the French prisoners in the
science of forging not only bank-notes, but shillings out of Spanish
dollars which they collected from the outside of the market, making
eight full-weight shillings out of every four dollars. The performers
were chiefly officers who had broken parole. The ordinary run of
Dartmoor prisoners, he says, somewhat surprisingly, so far from being
the miserable suffering wretches we are accustomed to picture them, were
light-hearted, singing, dancing, drinking men who in many cases were
saving money.
[Illustration:
WOODEN WORKING MODEL OF A FRENCH TRIAL SCENE
Made by prisoners of war at Dartmoor
]
Isaac Cotgrave he describes as a brutal Governor, who seemed to enjoy
making the lot of the prisoners in his charge as hard as possible, and
he emphasizes the cruelty of the morning out-of-door roll-call parade in
the depth of winter; but he speaks highly of the kindness and
consideration of the guards of a Scottish Militia regiment which took
over the duty.
Hitherto the negroes, who formed no inconsiderable part of American
crews, were mixed with the white men in the prisons. A petition from the
American white prisoners that the blacks should be confined by
themselves, as they were dirty by habit and thieves by nature, was
acceded to.
Gradually the official dread of American determination to obtain liberty
was modified, and a general freedom of intercourse was instituted which
had not been enjoyed before. A coffee-house was established, trades
sprang up, markets for tobacco, potatoes, and butter were carried on,
the old French monopoly of trade was broken down, and the American
prisoners imitated their French companions in manufacturing all sorts of
objects of use and ornament for sale. The French prisoners by this time
were quite well off, the different professors of sciences and arts
having plenty of pupils, straw-plaiting for hats bringing in threepence
a day, although it was a forbidden trade, and plenty of money being
found for theatrical performances and amusements generally.
The condition of the Americans, too, kept pace, for Beasley presently
announced further money allowances, so that each prisoner now received
6_s._ 8_d._ per month, the result being a general improvement in outward
appearance.
On May 20, 1814, peace with France was announced amidst the frenzied
rejoicings of the French prisoners. All Frenchmen had to produce their
bedding before being allowed to go. One poor fellow failed to comply,
and was so frantic at being turned back, that he cut his throat at the
prison gate. 500 men were released, and with them some French-speaking
American officers got away, and when this was followed by a rumour that
all the Americans were to be removed to Stapleton, where there was a
better market for manufactures, and which was far healthier than
Dartmoor, the tone of the prison was quite lively and hopeful. This
rumour, however, proved to be unfounded, but it was announced that
henceforth the prisoners would be occupied in work outside the prison
walls, such as the building of the new church, repairing roads, and in
certain trades.
On July 3, 1814, two _Argus_ men fought. One killed the other and was
committed to Exeter for manslaughter.
On July 4, Independence Day celebrations were allowed, and money being
comparatively abundant, a most successful banquet on soup and beef was
held.
On July 8, a prisoner, James Hart, died, and over his burial-place the
following epitaph was raised:
‘Your country mourns your hapless fate,
So mourn we prisoners all;
You’ve paid the debt we all must pay,
Each sailor great and small.
Your body on this barren moor,
Your soul in Heaven doth rest;
Where Yankee sailors one and all,
Hereafter will be blest.’
The prison was much crowded in this year, 1814; in No. 4 barrack alone
there were 1,500 prisoners, and yet the new doctor, Magrath, who is
described by Andrews as being both skilful and humane, gave very strong
testimony to its healthiness.
In reply to a general petition from the prisoners for examination into
their grievances, a Commission was sent to Dartmoor in 1813, and the
next year reported that the only complaints partially justifiable were
that of overcrowding, which was largely due to the preference of the
prisoners for the new buildings with wooden floors, which were finished
in the summer of 1812; and that of the ‘Partial Exchange’, which meant
that whereas French privateers when they captured a British ship, landed
or put the crew in a neutral ship and kept the officers, British captors
kept all.
Two desperate and elaborate attempts at escape by tunnelling were made
by American prisoners in 1814. Digging was done in three barracks
simultaneously—from No. 4, in which there were 1,200 men, from No. 5,
which was empty, and from No. 6, lately opened and now holding 800
men—down in each case twenty feet, and then 250 feet of tunnel in an
easterly direction towards the road outside the boundary wall. On
September 2 Captain Shortland, the new Agent, discovered it; some say it
was betrayed to him, but the prisoners themselves attributed it to
indiscreet talking. The enormous amount of soil taken out was either
thrown into the stream running through the prison, or was used for
plastering walls which were under repair, coating it with whitewash.
When the excitement attendant on this discovery had subsided, the
indefatigable Americans got to work again. The discovered shafts having
been partially blocked by the authorities with large stones, the
plotters started another tunnel from the vacant No. 5 prison, to connect
with the old one beyond the point of stoppage. Mr. Basil Thomson has
kindly allowed me to publish an interesting discovery relative to this,
made in December, 1911:
‘While excavating for the foundations of the new hall at Dartmoor, which
is being built on the site of IV. A and B Prison, the excavators broke
into what proved to be one of the subterranean passages which were
secretly dug by the American prisoners in 1814 with a view to escape.
Number IV Prison, then known as Number V, was at that time empty, and,
as Charles Andrews tells us, the plan was to tunnel under the boundary
walls and then, armed with daggers forged at the blacksmith’s shop, to
emerge on a stormy night and make for Torbay, where there were believed
to be fishing boats sufficient to take them to the French coast. No one
was to be taken alive. The scheme was betrayed by a prisoner named
Bagley (of Portsmouth, New Hampshire), who, to save him from the fury of
the prisoners, was liberated and sent home.... One of these tunnels was
disclosed when the foundation of IV. C Hall were dug in 1881. The tunnel
found last month may have been the excavation made after the first shaft
had been filled up. It was 14 feet below the floor of the prison, 3 feet
in height, and 4 feet wide. More than one person explored it on hands
and knees as far as it went, which was about 20 feet in the direction of
the boundary wall. A marlin spike and a ship’s scraper of ancient
pattern were found among the débris, and are now in the Prison Museum.’
At this time (Sept. 1814) there were 3,500 American prisoners at
Dartmoor, and so constant were they in their petty annoyance, almost
persecution, of their guardians; so independent were they of rules and
regulations; so constant with their petitions, remonstrances, and
complaints; so untiring in their efforts to escape; so averse to
anything like settling down and making the best of things, as did the
French, that the authorities declared they would rather be in charge of
20,000 Frenchmen than of 2,000 Americans.
After the above-related attempts to escape, the prisoners were confined
to Nos. 2 and 3 barracks, and put on two-thirds ration allowance to pay
for damage done.
In October, 1814, eight escaped by bribing the sentries to procure them
military coats and caps, and so getting off at night. Much amusement,
too, was caused one evening by the jangling of the alarm bells, the
hurrying of soldiers to quarters, and subsequent firing at a ‘prisoner’
escaping over the inner wall—the ‘prisoner’ being a dummy dressed up.
In November, 5,000 more prisoners came into the prison. There was much
suffering this winter from the cold and scanty clothing. A petition to
have fires in the barracks was refused. A man named John Taylor, a
native citizen of New York City, hanged himself in No. 5 prison on the
evening of December 1.
Peace, which had been signed at Ghent on December 24, 1814, was declared
at Dartmoor, and occasioned general jubilation. Flags with ‘Free Trade
and Sailors’ Rights’ thereon paraded with music and cheering, and
Shortland politely requested that they should be withdrawn, but met with
a flat refusal. Unfortunately much of unhappy moment was to happen
between the date of the ratification of the Treaty of Ghent in March,
1815, and the final departure of the prisoners. Beasley was
unaccountably negligent and tardy in his arrangements for the reception
and disposal of the prisoners, so that although _de jure_ they were free
men, _de facto_ they were still detained and treated as prisoners.
Small-pox broke out, and it was only by the unwearying devotion and
activity of Dr. Magrath, the prison surgeon, that the epidemic was
checked, and that the prisoners were dissuaded from going further than
giving Beasley a mock trial and burning him in effigy.
On April 20, 1815, 263 ragged and shoeless Americans quitted Dartmoor,
leaving 5,193 behind. The remainder followed in a few days, marching to
Plymouth, carrying a huge white flag on which was represented the
goddess of Liberty, sorrowing over the tomb of the killed Americans,
with the legend: ‘Columbia weeps and will remember!’ Before the
prisoners left, they testified their gratitude to Dr. Magrath for his
unvarying kindness to them, by an address.
‘Greenhorn,’ another American, gives little details about prison life at
Dartmoor, which are interesting as supplementary to the fuller book of
Andrews.
‘Greenhorn’ landed at Plymouth on January 30, 1815, after the Treaty of
Ghent had been signed, but before its ratification, and was marched via
Mannamead, Yelverton, and the Dursland Inn to Dartmoor.
He describes the inmates of the American ‘Rough Alleys’ as corresponding
in a minor degree to the French ‘Romans’, the principal source of their
poverty being a gambling game known as ‘Keno’.
He says—and it may be noted—that he found the food at Dartmoor good, and
more abundant than on board ship. The American prisoners kept Sunday
strictly, all buying, selling, and gambling was suspended by public
opinion, and every man dressed in his cleanest and best, and spent the
day quietly. He speaks of the great popularity of Dr. Magrath, although
he made vaccination compulsory. Ship-model making was a chief industry.
The Americans settled their differences in Anglo-Saxon fashion, the
chief fighting-ground being in Bath Alley. Announcements of these and of
all public meetings and entertainments were made by a well-known
character, ‘Old Davis,’ in improvised rhyme. Another character was the
pedlar Frank Dolphin.
In dress, it was the aim of every one to disguise the hideous
prison-garb as much as possible, the results often being ludicrous in
the extreme.
Everybody was more or less busy. There were schoolmasters and music
teachers, a band, a boxing academy, a dancing school, a glee-club, and a
theatre. There were straw-basket making, imitation Chinese wood-carving,
and much false coining, the lead of No. 6 roof coming in very handy for
this trade. Washermen charged a halfpenny a piece, or one penny
including soap and starch.
No. 4 was the bad prison—the Ball Alley of the roughs. Each prison,
except No. 4, was managed by a committee of twelve, elected by the
inmates. From their decisions there was no appeal. Gambling was
universal, ranging from the penny ‘sweet-cloth’ to _Vingt-et-un_. Some
of the play was high, and money was abundant, as many of the
privateersmen had their prize-money. One man possessed £1,100 on Monday,
and on Thursday he could not buy a cup of coffee. The rule which
precluded from the privilege of parole all but the masters and first
mates of privateers of fourteen guns and upwards brought a number of
well-to-do men into the prison, and, moreover, the American Government
allowance of 2½_d._ a day for soap, coffee, and tobacco, circulated
money.
The following notes from the _Journal of a Young Man of Massachusetts_,
Benjamin Waterhouse by name, whom we have already met on the Chatham
hulks, are included, as they add a few details of life at Dartmoor to
those already given.
Waterhouse says:
‘I shall only say that I found it, take it all in all, a less
disagreeable prison than the ships; the life of a prudent, industrious,
well-behaved man might here be rendered pretty easy, for a prison life,
as was the case with some of our own countrymen and some Frenchmen; but
the young, the idle, the giddy, fun-making youth generally reaped such
fruit as he sowed. Gambling was the wide inlet to vice and disorder, and
in this Frenchmen took the lead. These men would play away everything
they possessed beyond the clothes to keep them decent. They have been
known to game away a month’s provision, and when they had lost it, would
shirk and steal for a month after for their subsistence. A man with some
money in his pocket might live pretty well through the day in Dartmoor
Prison, there being shops and stalls where every little article could be
obtained; but added to this we had a good and constant market, and the
bread and meat supplied by Government were not bad; and as good I
presume as that given to British prisoners by our own Government.’
[Illustration:
BONE MODEL OF GUILLOTINE
Made by prisoners of war at Dartmoor
]
He speaks very highly of the tall, thin, one-eyed Dr. Magrath, the
prison doctor, but of his Scots assistant, McFarlane, as a rough,
inhuman brute. Shortland, the governor, he describes as one who
apparently revelled in the misery and discomfort of the prisoners under
his charge, although in another place he defines him as a man, not so
much bad-hearted, as an ill-educated, tactless boor.
Waterhouse describes the peculiarly harsh proceeding of Shortland after
the discovery of the tunnel dug from under No. 6 caserne. All the
prisoners with their baggage were driven into the yard of No. 1: thence
in a few days to another yard, and so on from yard to yard, so that they
could not get time to dig tunnels; at the same time they were subjected
to all kinds of petty bullyings, such as being kept waiting upon
numbering days in the open, in inclement weather, until Shortland should
choose to put in an appearance. On one of these occasions the Americans
refused to wait, and went back to their prisons, for which offence the
market was stopped for two days.
At the end of 1814 there were at Dartmoor 2,350 Americans. There seemed
to be much prosperity in the prison: the market was crowded with food,
and hats and boots and clothes; Jew traders did a roaring trade in
watches, seals, trinkets, and bad books; sharp women also were about,
selling well-watered milk at 4_d._ a gallon; the ‘Rough Alleys’ were in
great strength, and kept matters lively all over the prison.
Number 4 caserne was inhabited by black prisoners, whose ruler was ‘King
Dick,’ a giant six feet five inches in height, who, with a huge bearskin
hat on head, and a thick club in hand, exercised regal sway, dispensing
justice, and, strange to say, paying strict attention to the cleanliness
of his subjects’ berths. Nor was religion neglected in No. 4, for every
Sunday ‘Priest Simon’ preached, assisted by ‘Deacon John’, who had been
a servant in the Duke of Kent’s household, and who at first urged that
Divine Service should be modelled on that customary on British
men-of-war and in distinguished English families, but was overruled by
the decision of a Methodist preacher from outside. ‘King Dick’ always
attended service in full state. He also kept a boxing school, and in No.
4 were also professors of dancing and music and fencing, who had many
white pupils, besides theatricals twice a week, performed with ludicrous
solemnity by the black men, whose penchant was for serious and tragical
dramas. Other dramatic performances were given by an Irish Regular
regiment from Spain, which relieved the Derby Militia garrison, in the
cock-loft of No. 6 caserne, the admission thereto being 6_d._
Still, there was much hunger, and when it was rumoured that Jew
clothes-merchants in the market were dealing with undue sharpness with
unfortunate venders, a raid was made by the Americans upon their stalls
and booths which wrought their destruction.
Beasley was still a _bête noire_. His studied neglect of the interests
of those whose interests were in his charge, his failure to acquaint
himself by personal attention with their complaints, made him hated far
more than were the British officials, excepting Shortland. One day he
was tried in effigy, and sentenced to be hung and burnt. A pole was
rigged from the roof of No. 7 caserne, Beasley’s effigy was hung
therefrom, was cut down by a negro, taken away by the ‘Rough Alleys’,
and burnt. On the same day, ‘Be you also ready’ was found painted on the
wall of Shortland’s house. He said to a friend:
‘I never saw or ever read or heard of such a set of Devil-daring,
God-provoking fellows, as these same Yankees. I had rather have the
charge of 5,000 Frenchmen, than 500 of these sons of liberty; and yet I
love the dogs better than I do the d——d frog-eaters.’
On March 20, 1815, came the Ratification of Peace, but, although this
made the Americans virtually free men, much of a lamentable nature was
to happen ere they practically became so.
As is so often the case in tragedy, a comparatively trifling incident
brought it about.
On April 4, 1815, the provision contractors thought to get rid of their
stock of hard bread (biscuit) which they held in reserve by serving it
out to the prisoners instead of the fresh bread which was their due. The
Americans refused to have it, swarmed round the bakeries on mischief
intent, and refused to disperse when ordered to. Shortland was away in
Plymouth at the time, and the officer in charge, seeing that it was
useless to attempt to force them with only 300 Militia at his command,
yielded, and the prisoners got their bread. When Shortland returned, he
was very angry at what he deemed the pusillanimous action of his
subordinate, swore that if he had been there the Yankees should have
been brought to order at the point of the bayonet, and determined to
create an opportunity for revenge.
This came on April 6. According to the sworn testimony of witnesses at
the subsequent inquiry, some boys playing at ball in the yard of No. 7
caserne, knocked a ball over into the neighbouring barrack yard, and,
upon the sentry on duty there refusing to throw it back, made a hole in
the wall, crept through it, and got the ball. Shortland pretended to see
in this hole-making a project to escape, and made his arrangements to
attract all the prisoners out of their quarters by ringing the alarm
bell, and, in order to prevent their escape back into them, had ordered
that one of the two doors in each caserne should be closed, although it
was fifteen minutes before the regulation lock-up time at 6 o’clock. It
was sworn that he had said: ‘I’ll fire the d——d rascals presently.’
At 6 p.m. the alarm bell brought the prisoners out of all the
casernes—wherein they were quietly settled—to see what was the cause. In
the market square were ‘several hundred’ soldiers, with Shortland at
their head, and at the same time many soldiers were being posted in the
inner wall commanding the prison yards. One of these, according to a
witness, called out to the crowd of prisoners to go indoors as they
would be charged on very soon. This occasioned confusion and alarm and
some running about. What immediately followed is not very clear, but it
was sworn that Shortland ordered the soldiers to charge the prisoners
huddled in the market square; that the soldiers—men of the Somerset
Militia—hesitated; that the order was repeated, and the soldiers charged
the prisoners, who retreated into the prison gates; that Shortland
ordered the gates to be opened, and that the consequent confusion among
hundreds of men vainly trying to get into the casernes by the one door
of each left open, and being pushed back by others coming out to see
what was the matter, was wilfully magnified by Shortland into a
concerted attempt to break out, and he gave the word to fire.
It was said that, seeing a hesitation among his officers to repeat the
command, Shortland himself seized a musket from a soldier and fired the
first shot. Be that as it may, the firing became general from the walls
as well as from the square; soldiers came to the doors of two of the
casernes and fired through them, with the result, according to American
accounts, that seven men were killed, thirty were dangerously wounded,
and thirty slightly wounded; but according to the Return signed by
Shortland and Dr. Magrath, five were killed and twenty-eight wounded.
A report was drawn up, after the inquiry instituted directly following
the event, by Admiral Duckworth and Major-General Brown, and signed by
the Assistant Commissioners at the Inquiry, King for the United States,
and Larpent for Great Britain, which came to no satisfactory conclusion.
It was evident, it said, that the prisoners were in an excited state
about the non-arrival of ships to take them home, and that Shortland was
irritated about the bread affair; that there was much unauthorized
firing, but that it was difficult exactly to apportion blame. This
report was utterly condemned by the committee of prisoners, who resented
the tragedy being styled ‘this unfortunate affair’, reproached King for
his lack of energy and unwarrantable self-restraint, and complained of
the hurried and imperfect way in which the inquiry was conducted and the
evidence taken. At this distance of time an Englishman may ask: ‘If it
was known that peace between the two countries had been ratified on
March 20, how came it that Americans were still kept in confinement and
treated as prisoners of war on April 6?’ On the other hand, it is hardly
possible to accept the American view that the tragedy was the deliberate
work of an officer of His Majesty’s service in revenge for a slight.
By July, 1815, all the Americans but 450 had left, and the last Dartmoor
war-prisoners, 4,000 Frenchmen, taken at Ligny, came in. These poor
fellows were easy to manage after the Americans; 2,500 of them came from
Plymouth with only 300 Militiamen as guard, whilst for Americans the
rule was man for man.
[Illustration:
DARTMOOR PRISON
Illustrating the ‘Massacre’ of 1815
A. Surgeon’s House. B. Captain Shortland’s House. C. Hospital. D.
Barracks. E. _Cachot_, or Black Hole. F. Guard Houses. G. Store
Houses.
]
The last war-prisoners left Dartmoor in December, 1815, and from this
time until 1850 it was unoccupied, which partially accounts for the
utter desecration of the burial-ground, until, under Captain Stopforth,
it was tidied up in garden fashion, divided into two plots, one for
Americans, the other for Frenchmen, in the centre of each of which was
placed a memorial obelisk in 1865.
The present church at Princetown was built by war-prisoners, the
stone-work being done by the French, the wood-work by the Americans. The
East Window bears the following inscription:
‘To the Glory of God and in memory of the American Prisoners of War who
were detained in the Dartmoor War Prison between the years 1809 and
1815, and who helped to build this Church, especially of the 218 brave
men who died here on behalf of their country. This Window is presented
by the National Society of United States Daughters of 1812. Dulce est
pro patria mori.’