For the CONNECTICUT GAZETTE¹

ABOUT three weeks ago, Mr. Robert Sheffield² of Stonington, made his Escape from New-York, after a short Confinement on board a Prison ship. The Account he gives of those kinds of Vessels is beyond any Description. I remember to have seen, last War, an Account of a Number of English Prisoners being shut up in a close Room at Calcutta,³ in the East Indies, where the greatest Part of them died in a few Hours: But no sooner did the Nabob hear of the Disaster than the remainder were relieved—notwithstanding the English were the Aggressors who were endeavouring to destroy him and his Subjects for the sake of their Woolens. Those suffered being the Offenders; we suffer being innocent. Those were accidentally thrust into this hot Hole without thought; we deliberately and wilfully. Those were but for a short Time—we left without Hope. The suffering of those soon reached the Ears of an Indian Nabob, who instantly relieved them: But our Cries and Groans, though they reach the Ears of those who call themselves Christians, are not relieved. But alas! the Example of Barbarians hath no Effect on our Enemies. Our unhappy Countrymen may be stifled in their own Filth, and die by Hundreds under the Hands of their cruel, merciless Keepers, and under the immediate Eye of British Officers; and, O unheard of Barbarism! By their express Commands. After this young Gentleman was taken, he, with his Crew, eighteen in Number, were put into Irons and thrust into the Fore peak; on their Arrival at New York they were carried on Board a Prison ship, and to the Hatch-ways, the opening of which, talk not of Pandora's Box, for that must be, compared to this, an Alabaster Box, in Comparison to the opening of these Hatches. True, there was Gratings but they kept their Boat on 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 those dreary Mansions of Woe, and beholding numerous Spectacles of Wretchedness and Despair, his Soul fainted within him.—A little Epitome of Hell—About 350 Men confined between Decks, of which about one Half were Frenchmen; and he was informed that there were three more of these Vehicles of Contagion, which contained the like Number of miserable Frenchmen also, who are treated, if possible, worse than Americans. The heat so intense (the hot Son shining all Day on Deck) that they were all naked, which also served them well to get rid of the Vermin, but the sick were eaten up alive—their sickly Countenances and ghastly Looks were truly horrible; some swearing and blaspheming; some crying, praying and wringing their Hands, and stalking about like Ghosts and Apparitions; others delirious and void of Reason, ranting and storming; some groaning and dying—all panting for Breath; some dead and corrupting. The Air was so foul at Times, that a Lamp could not be kept burning, by Reason of which three Boys were not missed until they had been dead ten Days. One Person only is admitted to Deck at a Time, after Sun-set, which necessarily occasions much Filth to run into the Hold and mingle with the Bilge-Water, which to his certain Knowledge had not been pumped out while he continued on Board, notwithstanding the Decks were leaky and the Prisoners begged for Permission to let in fresh Water and to pump it out again; but all in vain, their Hearts are callous and dead to their Cries, Prayers and Intreaties. Five or Six died every Day Mr. Sheffield was on Board. He was only six Days on Board, and three of his People died in that short time. He was sent for on Shore to attend as Evidence at the Court of Admiralty for Condemnation of his Vessel, and happily made his Escape from the horriblest of deaths. He was informed in New-York that the fresh meat sent in to the Prisoners by the Commissary, was taken by the Men-of-War for their own Use. This he can say, that he did not see any on Board the ship he was in; but acknowledges that they were well supplied with soft Bread from our Commissary on Shore. But the Provision (be what it will) is not the Complaint—Fresh Air and fresh Water, God's free Gifts, is all their cry.