Charles Mathieu Isidore Decaen was born at Caen, the ancient and
picturesque capital of Normandy, on April 13th, 1769. Left an orphan at
the age of twelve, his education was superintended by a friend of his
father, who had been a public official. At the end of his schooldays he
studied law under an advocate of local celebrity, M. Lasseret. Though his
juristic training was not prolonged, the discipline of the office gave a
certain bent to his mind, a certain lawyer-like strictness and method to
his mode of handling affairs, that remained characteristic during his
military career, and was exceedingly useful to him while he governed
Ile-de-France. Very often in perusing his Memoires* the reader perceives
traces of the lawyer in the language of the soldier. (* The Memoires et
Journaux du General Decaen were prepared for publication by himself, and
the portion up to the commencement of his governorship has been printed,
with notes and maps, by Colonel Ernest Picard, Chief of the Historical
Section of the Staff of the French Army (2 volumes Paris 1910). Colonel
Picard informed me that he did not intend to print the remainder,
thinking that the ground was sufficiently covered by Professor Henri
Prentout's admirable book L'Ile de France sous Decaen. I have, therefore,
had the section relating to Flinders transcribed from the manuscript, and
used it freely for this book.) Thus, when during the campaign of the
Rhine he found that his superior officer, General Jourdan, was taking
about with him as his aide-de-camp a lady in military attire, Decaen,
with a solemnity that seems a little un-French under the circumstances,
condemned the breach of the regulations as conduct "which was not that of
a father of a family, a legislator and a general-in-chief." As for the
lady, "les charmes de cette maussade creature" merely evoked his scorn.
It does not appear that Jourdan's escapade produced any ill effects in a
military sense, but it was against the regulations, and Decaen was as yet
as much lawyer as soldier.
When the revolutionary wars broke out, and France was ringed round by a
coalition of enemies, the voice of "la patrie en danger" rang in the ears
of the young student like a call from the skies. He was twenty-two years
of age when two deputies of the Legislative Assembly came down to Caen
and made an appeal to the manhood of the country to fly to arms. Decaen,
fuming with patriotic indignation, threw down his quill, pitched his
calf-bound tomes on to their shelf, and was the first to inscribe his
name upon the register of the fourth battalion of the regiment of
Calvados, an artillery corps. He was almost immediately despatched to
Mayence on the Rhine, where Kleber (who was afterwards to serve with
distinction under Bonaparte in Egypt) hard pressed by the Prussians,
withdrew the French troops into the city (March, 1793) and prepared to
sustain a siege.
Decaen rose rapidly, by reason not merely of his bull-dog courage and
stubborn tenacity, but also of his intelligence and integrity. He
received his "baptism of fire" in an engagement in April, when Kleber
sent a detachment to chase a Prussian outpost from a neighbouring village
and to collect whatever forage and provisions might be obtained. He was
honest enough to confess--and his own oft-proved bravery enabled him to
do so unashamed--that, when he first found the bullets falling about him,
he was for a moment afraid. "I believe," he wrote, "that there are few
men, however courageous they may be, who do not experience a chill, and
even a feeling of fear, when for the first time they hear around them the
whistling of shot, and above all when they first see the field strewn
with killed and wounded comrades."* (* Memoires 1 13.) But he was a
sergeant-major by this time, and remembered that it was his duty to set
an example; so, screwing up his courage to the sticking-place by an
effort of will, and saying to himself that it was not for a soldier of
France to quail before a ball, he deliberately wheeled his horse to the
front of a position where a regiment was being shaken by the enemy's
artillery fire, and by his very audacity stiffened the wavering troops
and saved the situation.
After the capitulation of Mayence in July, 1793, Decaen fought with
distinction in the war in La Vendee. In this cruel campaign he displayed
unusual qualities as a soldier, and attained the rank of
adjutant-general. Kleber gave him a command calling for exceptional
nerve, with the comment, "It is the most dangerous position, and I
thought it worthy of your courage." It was Decaen, according to his own
account, who devised the plan of sending out a number of mobile columns
to strike at the rebels swiftly and unexpectedly. But though he was
succeeding in a military sense, these operations against Frenchmen, while
there were foreign foes to fight beyond the frontiers, were thoroughly
distasteful to him. The more he saw of the war in La Vendee, and the more
terribly the thumb of the national power pressed upon the throat of the
rebellion, the more he hated the service. It was at his own solicitation,
therefore, that he was transferred to the army of the Rhine in January,
1795.
Here he served under the ablest general, saving only Bonaparte himself,
whom the wars of the Revolution produced to win glory for French arms,
Jean Victor Moreau. His bravery and capacity continued to win him
advancement. Moreau promoted him to the command of a brigade, and
presented him with a sword of honour for his masterly conduct of a
retreat through the Black Forest, when, in command of the rear-guard, he
fought the Austrians every mile of the road to the Rhine.
He became a general of division in 1800. At the battle of Hohenlinden,
where Moreau concentrated his troops to give battle to the Austrians
under the Archduke John, Decaen performed splendid service; indeed it was
he who chose the position, and recommended it as a favourable place for
taking a stand.* (* Memoires 2 89.) Moreau knew him well by now, and on
the eve of the fight (December 2nd) when he brought up his division to
the plateau in the forest of Ebersberg, where the village of Hohenlinden
stands, and presented himself at headquarters to ask for orders, the
commander-in-chief rose to greet him with the welcome, "Ah, there is
Decaen, the battle will be ours to-morrow." It was intended for a
personal compliment, we cannot doubt, though Decaen in his Memoires (2
136) interpreted it to mean that the general was thinking of the 10,000
troops whose arrival he had come to announce.
Moreau's plan was this. He had posted his main force strongly fronting
the Austrian line of advance, on the open Hohenlinden plateau. The enemy
had to march through thickly timbered country to the attack. The French
general instructed Decaen and Richepance to manoeuvre their two
divisions, each consisting of 10,000 men, through the forest, round the
Austrian rear, and to attack them there, as soon as they delivered their
attack upon the French front. The Archduke John believed Moreau to be in
full retreat, and hurried his army forward from Haag, east of
Hohenlinden, amid falling snow.
"By torch and trumpet fast array'd
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neigh'd
To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills with thunder riven;
Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of Heaven
Far flashed the red artillery."
Decaen's division marched at five o'clock on the morning of December 3rd,
and shortly before eight the boom of the Austrian cannon was heard. His
troops pressed forward in a blinding snowstorm. An officer said that the
guns seemed to show that the Austrians were turning the French position.
"Ah, well," said Decaen, "if they turn ours, we will turn theirs in our
turn." It was one of the few jokes he made in his whole life, and it
exactly expressed the situation. The Austrian army was caught like a nut
in a nut-cracker. Battered from front and rear, their ranks broke, and
fugitives streamed away east and west, like the crumbled kernel of a
filbert. Decaen threw his battalions upon their rear with a furious
vigour, and crumpled it up; and almost at the very moment of victory the
snow ceased to fall, the leaden clouds broke, and a brilliant sun shone
down upon the scene of carnage and triumph. Ten thousand Austrians were
killed, wounded, or taken prisoners, whilst 80 guns and about two hundred
baggage waggons fell as spoils to the French. In this brilliant victory
Decaen's skill and valour, rapidity and verve, had been of inestimable
value, as Moreau was prompt to acknowledge.
The quick soldier's eye of Bonaparte recognised him at once as a man of
outstanding worth. The Consulate had been established in December, 1799,
and the First Consul was anxious to attach to him strong, able men. In
1802 Decaen ventured to use his influence with the Government regarding
an appointment to the court of appeal at Caen, for which Lasseret, his
old master in law, was a candidate; and we find Bonaparte writing to
Cambaceres, who had charge of the law department, that "if the citizen
possesses the requisite qualifications I should like to defer to the
wishes of General Decaen, who is an officer of great merit."* (*
Napoleon's Correspondance Document 5596.) He saw much of Bonaparte in
Paris during 1801 and 1802, when the part he had to play was an extremely
difficult one, demanding the exercise of tact and moral courage in an
unusual measure. The Memoires throw a vivid light on the famous quarrel
between Moreau and Napoleon, which in the end led to the exile of the
victor of Hohenlinden.
Moreau was Decaen's particular friend, the commander who had given him
opportunities for distinction, one whom he loved and honoured as a man
and a patriot. But he was jealous of Napoleon's success, was disaffected
towards the consular government, and was believed to be concerned in
plots for its overthrow. On the other hand, Napoleon was not only the
head of the State, but was the greatest soldier of his age. Decaen's
admiration of him was unbounded, and Napoleon's attitude towards Decaen
was cordial. He tried to reconcile these two men whom he regarded with
such warm affection, but failed. One day, when business was being
discussed, Napoleon said abruptly, "Decaen, General Moreau is conducting
himself badly; I shall have to denounce him." Decaen was moved to tears,
and insisted that Napoleon was ill informed. "You are good yourself,"
said the First Consul, "and you think everybody else is like you. Moreau
is corresponding with Pichegru," whose conspiracy was known to the
Government. "It is not possible." "But I have a letter which proves it."
Moreover, Moreau was openly disrespectful to the Government. He had
presented himself out of uniform on occasions when courtesy demanded that
he should wear it. If Moreau had anything to complain about, he did not
make it better by associating with malcontents. "He has occupied a high
position, which gives him influence, and a bad influence upon public
opinion hampers the work of the Government. I have not fallen here out of
the sky, you know; I follow my glory. France wants repose, not more
disturbance." Decaen manfully championed his friend, "I am persuaded," he
said, "that if you made overtures to Moreau you would easily draw him
towards you." "No," said Napoleon "he is a shifting sand." Moreau said to
Decaen, "I am too old to bend my back"; but the latter was of opinion
that the real source of the mischief was that Moreau had married a young
wife, and that she and his mother-in-law considered they were entitled to
as much attention as Madame Bonaparte received. Pride, jealousy and
vanity, he declared, were the real source of the quarrel. Decaen, indeed,
has a story that when Madame Moreau once called upon Josephine at
Malmaison, she returned in an angry state of mind because she was not at
once admitted, bidding a servant tell her mistress that the wife of
General Moreau was not accustomed to be kept waiting. The simple
explanation was that Josephine was in her bath!
Decaen came to be appointed Governor of Ile-de-France in this way. One
day, after dining with Napoleon at Malmaison, the First Consul took a
stroll with him, and in the course of conversation asked him what he
wanted to do. "I have my sword for the service of my country," said
Decaen. "Very good," answered Napoleon, "but what would you like to do
now?" Decaen then mentioned that he had been reading the history of the
exploits of La Bourdonnaye and Dupleix in India, and was much attracted
by the possibilities for the expansion of French power there. "Have you
ever been to India?" enquired Napoleon. "No, but I am young, and,
desiring to do something useful, I should like to undertake a mission
which I believe would not be likely to be coveted by many, having regard
to the distance between France and that part of the world. And even if it
were necessary to spend ten years of my life awaiting a favourable
opportunity of acting against the English, whom I detest because of the
injury they have done to our country, I should undertake the task with
the utmost satisfaction." Napoleon merely observed that what he desired
might perhaps be arranged.
A few months later Decaen was invited to breakfast with Napoleon at
Malmaison. He was asked whether he was still inclined to go to India, and
replied that he was. "Very well, then, you shall go." "In what capacity?"
"As Captain-General. Go and see the Minister of Marine, and tell him to
show you all the papers relative to the expedition that is in course of
being fitted out."
Under the treaty of Amiens, negotiated in 1801, Great Britain agreed to
restore to the French Republic and its allies all conquests made during
the recent wars except Trinidad and Ceylon. From the British point of
view it was an inglorious peace. Possessions which had been won in fair
fight, by the ceaseless activity and unparalleled efficiency of the Navy,
and by the blood and valour of British manhood, were signed away with a
stroke of the pen. The surrender of the Cape was especially lamentable,
because upon security at that point depended the safety of India and
Australia. But the Addington ministry was weak and temporising, and was
alarmed about the internal condition of England, where dear food,
scarcity of employment and popular discontent, consequent upon prolonged
warfare, made the King's advisers nervously anxious to put an end to the
struggle. The worst feature of the situation was that everybody
thoroughly well understood that it was a mere parchment peace. Cornwallis
called it "an experimental peace." It was also termed "an armistice" and
"a frail and deceptive truce"; and though Addington declared it to be "no
ordinary peace but a genuine reconciliation between the two first nations
of the world," his flash of rhetoric dazzled nobody but himself. He was
the Mr. Perker of politics, an accommodating attorney rubbing his hands
and exclaiming "My dear sir!" while he bartered the interests of his
client for the delusive terms of a brittle expediency.
Decaen was to go to India to take charge of the former French possessions
there, under the terms of the treaty, and from Pondicherry was also to
control Ile-de-France (Mauritius) which the English had not taken during
the war. Napoleon's instructions to him clearly indicated that he did not
expect the peace to endure. Decaen was "to dissimulate the views of the
Government as much as possible"; "the English are the tyrants of India,
they are uneasy and jealous, it is necessary to behave towards them with
suavity, dissimulation and simplicity." He was to regard his mission
primarily as one of observation upon the policy and military dispositions
of the English. But Napoleon informed him in so many words that he
intended some day to strike a blow for "that glory which perpetuates the
memory of men throughout the centuries." For that, however, it was first
necessary "that we should become masters of the sea."* (* Memoires 2
310.)
Decaen sailed from Brest in February, 1803. Lord Whitworth, the British
ambassador to Paris, watched the proceedings with much care, and promptly
directed the attention of his Government to the disproportionate number
of officers the new Captain-General was taking with him. The Government
passed the information on to the Governor-General of India, Lord
Wellesley, who was already determined that, unless absolutely ordered so
to do, he would not permit a French military force to land. Before Decaen
arrived at Pondicherry, indeed, in June, 1803, Wellesley had received a
despatch from Lord Hobart, Secretary of State for War and the Colonies,
warning him that, notwithstanding the treaty of Amiens, "certain
circumstances render desirable a delay in the restitution of their
possessions in India" to the French, and directing that territory
occupied by British troops was not to be evacuated by them without fresh
orders. Great Britain already perceived the fragility of the peace, and,
in fact, was expediting preparations for a renewal of war, which was
declared in May, 1803.
When, therefore, the French frigate Marengo, with Decaen on board,
arrived at Pondicherry, the British flag still flew over the Government
buildings, and he soon learnt that there was no disposition to lower it.
Moreover, La Belle Poule, which had been sent in advance from the Cape to
herald the Captain-General's coming, was anchored between two British
ships of war, which had carefully ranged themselves alongside her. Decaen
grasped the situation rapidly. A few hours after his arrival, the French
brig Belier appeared. She had left France on March 25th, carrying a
despatch informing the Captain-General that war was anticipated, and
directing him to land his troops at Ile-de-France, where he was to assume
the governorship.
Rear-Admiral Linois, who commanded the French division, wanted to sail at
once. Decaen insisted on taking aboard some of the French who were
ashore, but Linois pointed to the strong British squadron in sight, and
protested that he ought not to compromise the safety of his ships by
delaying departure. Linois was always a very nervous officer. Decaen
stormed, and Linois proposed to call a council of his captains. "A
council!" exclaimed Decaen, "I am the council!" It was worthy of what
Voltaire attributed to Louis XIV: "l'etat, c'est mois." After sunset
Decaen visited the ships of the division in a boat, and warned their
captains to get ready to follow the Marengo out of the roadstead of
Pondicherry in the darkness. He considered that it would be extremely
embarrassing if the British squadron, suspecting their intentions,
endeavoured to frustrate them. At an appointed hour the Marengo quietly
dropped out of the harbour, cutting the cable of one of her anchors
rather than permit any delay.
On August 15th Decaen landed at Port Louis, Ile-de-France, and on the
following day he took over the government. He had therefore been in
command exactly four months when Matthew Flinders, in the Cumberland, put
into Baye du Cap on December 15th.
For his conduct in the Flinders affair Decaen has been plentifully
denounced. "A brute," "a malignant tyrant," "vindictive, cruel and
unscrupulous"--such are a few shots from the heavy artillery of language
that have been fired at his reputation. The author knows of one admirer
of Flinders who had a portrait of Decaen framed and hung with its face to
the wall of his study. It is, unfortunately, much easier to denounce than
to understand; and where resonant terms have been flung in freest
profusion, it does not appear that an endeavour has been made to study
what occurred from the several points of view, and to examine Decaen's
character and actions in the light of full information. A postponement of
epithets until we have ascertained the facts is in this, as in so many
other cases, extremely desirable.
No candid reader of Decaen's Memoires, and of Prentout's elaborate
investigation of his administration, can fail to recognise that he was a
conspicuously honest man. During his governorship he handled millions of
francs. Privateers from Ile-de-France captured British merchant ships, to
a value, including their cargo, of over 3 million pounds sterling,* a
share of which it would have been easy for Decaen to secure. (*
"Prentout, page 509, estimates the value of captures at 2 million pounds,
but Mr. H. Hope informed Flinders in 1811, that insurance offices in
Calcutta had actually paid 3 million pounds sterling on account of ships
captured by the French at Mauritius. Flinders, writing with exceptional
opportunities for forming an opinion, calculated that during the first
sixteen months of the war the French captures of British merchant ships
brought to Ile-de-France were worth 1,948,000 pounds (Voyage 2 416).) But
his financial reputation is above suspicion. His management was
economical and efficient. He ended his days in honourable poverty.
He was blunt and plainspoken; and though he could be pleasant, was when
ruffled by no means what Mrs. Malaprop called "the very pineapple of
politeness." His quick temper brought him into continual conflict with
superiors and subordinates. He quarrelled repeatedly with generals and
ministers; with Admiral Linois, with Soult, with Decres, with Barras,
with Jourdan, and with many others. When General Lecourbe handed him a
written command during the Rhine campaign, he says himself that, "when I
received the order I tightened my lips and turned my back upon him." He
speaks of himself in one place as being "of a petulant character and too
free with my tongue." That concurs with Flinders' remark, after bitter
experience of Decaen, that he possessed "the character of having a good
heart, though too hasty and violent."
Decaen's military capacity was much higher than his historical reputation
might lead one to suppose. During the fierce wars of the Napoleonic
empire, whilst Ney, Oudinot, Murat, Junot, Augereau, Soult, St. Cyr,
Davoust, Lannes, Marmont, Massena and Suchet, were rendering brilliant
service under the eye of the great captain, and were being converted into
dukes and princes, Decaen was shut up in a far-off isle in the Indian
Ocean, where there was nothing to do but hold on under difficulties, and
wait in vain for the turn of a tide that never floated a French fleet
towards the coveted India. Colonel Picard, than whom there is hardly a
better judge, is of opinion that had Decaen fought with the Grand Army in
Europe, his military talents would have designated him for the dignity of
a marshal of the Empire. On his return he did become a Comte, but then
the Napoleonic regime was tottering to its fall.
Such then was the man--stubborn, strong-willed, brusque, honest,
irritable, ill-tempered, but by no means a bad man at heart--with whom
Matthew Flinders had to do. We may now follow what occurred.