Hyder Ali Cawn, and his son Tippoo Saib, have long been distinguished, and not less detested, throughout every part of the civilized world, for the cruelties which they practised on their prisoners of war, during their dominion in India. Of their unexampled barbarities, many accounts have been published in England; and the enormities which these narratives record would have staggered credulity itself, had not the few mutilated wretches who have escaped their tyranny, furnished evidence by their appearance, that a faithful detail of facts could leave but little room for exaggeration.

In addition to those tales of horror which have been submitted to the public eye, there are others, equally affecting, on which no written register has ever conferred its honours. These, while the unhappy victims whose sufferings they record were alive, obtained for a season a local circulation; but no sooner had they found a refuge in the grave, than these tales began to fade in the recollection of tradition, and gradually to retire into oblivion, where they also have found repose. To some few a more protracted existence has been allotted. One of these has just fallen into the publisher’s hands; and he conceives he shall promote the cause of humanity by giving publicity to the unvarnished narrative. It was written by James Scurry, lately deceased, who actually endured the cruelties which he describes.

In some prefatory papers connected with the history of his sufferings, Mr. Scurry observes, that the following account was partly written during his passage from India to this country, and partly after his return to the arms of an affectionate mother, who had long thought him dead. He also states, that his narrative might be considerably enlarged, were he to delineate the various scenes he has been called to witness; but having some doubts as to the exact period of their occurrence, and the circumstances connected with them, he has omitted the relation altogether, that nothing might furnish an occasion to impeach his veracity. Respecting the geography and natural history of the country in which he was detained a prisoner, he adds, that he had no opportunity of making sufficient observations; and to give an accurate account of the manners and customs of the inhabitants, would require talents to which he lays no claim, and a period of time that would include nearly the life of man. In apologizing for any inaccuracies or inelegancies that may appear in his language, the author justly observes, that from about the age of fifteen to twenty-five, being detained a prisoner, he was cut off from all means of improvement; and having but little hope of ever revisiting his native land, he had no inducement to make the attempt, if the means had been placed within his reach. Indeed, such was the malignant vigilance with which all the prisoners were watched, that had he been detected in committing any thing to writing, the discovery would most probably have cost him his life.

For the particulars which follow, respecting the narrator’s early life and family connexions, the publisher is indebted to his widow and son, who reside in London. From the same source he has also obtained those concluding branches of Mr. Scurry’s history, which trace him from his return to England to his death, which took place in 1822.

James Scurry, the author and subject of the following memoir, was born in Devonshire, of which county his more immediate ancestors were natives. His father in early life entered into the marine service, in which situation he spent nearly all his days. During his career, he was engaged in many arduous enterprises, and was always noted for his valour. He was at the battle of Bunker’s Hill, in America, where he was exposed to unexampled danger. On one occasion, being sent out on a foraging party with seventeen others, they were attacked by about four hundred Americans. A dreadful conflict ensued, in which sixteen of their little party fell. Only he and another survived, and they were taken prisoners. On being liberated, he again returned to the service, and, in consequence of his heroism, was promoted to the office of paymaster-sergeant. Towards the close of life he became an inmate of Greenwich Hospital, where he died, leaving a widow and two children, one of whom was the subject of this narrative, and whose awful captivity being known, is supposed to have shortened his days. The other, a daughter, was married to a Mr. Dannan, then in the excise, but since a port-gauger at Exeter, with whom the hardy veteran’s widow died, about thirteen years since.

It appears that at a very early period James Scurry went to sea. His widow and son think he could not have been much above seven years old, when he entered on his first voyage. He was a considerable time on the coast of America, and in the West Indies; was employed to carry powder during the time of action; and he amused the sailors with playing the fife when they were disengaged. How, or in what manner, he obtained a knowledge of reading and writing, they do not know, nor are they particularly acquainted with the transactions of his early days. Having given this brief introductory statement, the Editor now proceeds to the author’s own affecting narrative.

*?* In several places throughout the following pages, where the word “Patam” occurs, it is used for Seringapatam.