they had groats and barley, or, by way of a treat, a
pudding made of flour mixed half with salt water and
half with fresh water, and with old, old mutton fat.
The water was all spoiled. When a cask was opened
“it stank between decks like Styx, Phlegethon, and
Cocytus all together.” It was thick with filaments as
long as your finger, and they had to filter it through a
cloth before the could drink it. They held their noses
while they drank, and yet it was so scarce that they
fought to get it. Rum, and sometimes a little strong
beer, completed their fare.
Thus crowded together, with close air, bad food, and foul water, many of them insufficiently clothed, these boys and old men, students, shopkeepers, and peasants tossed for months on the Atlantic. Much of the suffering of the voyage was doubtless inevitable, and many of the recruits were already inured to hardship. But much of what they underwent was the result of wanton carelessness or grasping avarice. What shall we say of the British Quartermaster's Department, which sent these men to sea without proper food or drink? What of the Duke of Brunswick, who despatched his subjects to Canada without shoes and stockings that would hold together, and without overcoats? Men have often borne such hardships cheerfully for a cause that they understood and loved. But these poor fellows suffered in a quarrel that was not their own, and simply to provide means to pay the debts, or minister to the pleasures of their masters. It is well for us to know something of their sufferings; to know what despotism means.
