THE FRENCH DESERTERS.
Lord Anson, Vice-Admiral of the Red, having put to sea with seventeen
sail of the line (one of these was the hapless _Royal George_, which
afterwards sunk in Portsmouth harbour), and several frigates, with
some smaller craft, to block up Brest, and favour the descent to be
made on the French coast, our expedition was prepared with great
rapidity, and Charles Spencer, Earl of Sunderland, who had lately
succeeded to the Dukedom of Marlborough, arrived in camp, to take
command of the troops.
Our recent successes by land and sea, the territories and victories
won by our armies in America, the East and West Indies; the almost
daily processions through the streets of London, escorting Spanish
treasure to the Tower or to the Mint, accompanied by the captured
ensigns of French and Spanish admirals, gradually filled all Britain
with a fiery enthusiasm, and fanned the passion of glory in the
usually phlegmatic breast of John Bull to such a degree, that nothing
now was talked of but war and conquest, and the strange resolution
was come to of carrying hostilities into the heart of France!
There were mustered on South sea Common, sixteen regiments of the
line, nine troops of Light Horse (ours included) six thousand
marines, and three companies of artillery, the whole under the Duke
of Marlborough, with Lieutenant-Generals Lord George Sackville, and
William, Earl of Ancrum, K.T., with four Major-Generals, Dury,
Mostyn, Waldegrave, and Elliot, the future Lord Heathfield, and "Hero
of Gibraltar," who led the Light Horse, six hundred in number.
The noble harbour of Portsmouth, which is so deep and so sheltered by
high land that the largest ships of the line may there ride out the
roughest storm without touching the ground even at the lowest ebb of
the tide, presented a scene of unusual bustle and preparation.
It was crowded by craft of every description; ships of the line,
frigates, gun-brigs, tenders, store-ships, and transports; its waters
being literally alive with man-of-war boats, barges, and launches,
skimming to and fro, filled with seamen and marines, or laden with
stores, water-casks, and ammunition which were being conveyed from
the town or arsenals to the fleet.
Twelve flat-bottomed boats, each capable of holding sixty-three men,
were prepared. These were to be rowed by twelve oars each, and were
not to draw more than two feet of water. Meanwhile a vast number of
scaling ladders, sandbags to form batteries, baskets for fascines,
waggons for the conveyance of wounded, of stores and plunder, had
been brought to Portsmouth from the Tower.
Several launches and many bridges, each sixty yards in length,
together with floats and stages, for landing the troops, horses, and
horse artillery, were made in all haste.
Nothing was omitted that might ensure the success of this daring
expedition, for which the departure of Lord Alison's fleet to Brest
was certain to open the way, as we had long since swept the fleet of
France from the seas; and so great was the enthusiasm in London, that
Viscount Downe, Sir John Armytage, Sir James Lowther, and many other
English gentlemen of distinction joined the fleet and army to serve
as private volunteers.
And there, amid that bustling scene in Portsmouth harbour, lay the
_Monarque_, on the quarter-deck of which, the brave Admiral Byng had
been judicially murdered, in the preceding year, not as his sentence
had it, "for an error in judgment," but to cloak the errors of a
ministry!
The infantry destined to serve on our expedition, were three
battalions of the Foot Guards; the Eighth, or king's regiment; the
famous Twentieth, or Kingsley's; the Welsh Fusileers; the Edinburgh
regiment; the Twenty-fourth; Thirtieth; Thirty-third; Thirty-fourth;
Thirty-sixth, Sixty-eighth, and the regiments of Richmond and Talbot.
From Southsea Common the whole force was ordered to the Isle of
Wight, where for a short time a camp was formed; but on the same
night that the order for this movement was issued, I was despatched
on duty to London, bearer of a letter from Commodore Howe to the
Lords of the Admiralty.
I knew not what its contents were then, but departed on my mission
with the document in my sabretasche, my orders being simply to
deliver it at the Admiralty office, and to bring back the answer
without a moment of delay. I shall now proceed to relate how I was
personally concerned in the contents of the document entrusted to me
for delivery.
From the day I joined the army, I was full of eagerness to bring
myself prominently before my leaders; but my first essay was
singularly unfortunate in its sequel.
One evening when on duty as sentry on foot with my carbine, posted
near some sea-stores that were piled on the beach, not far from
Southsea Castle, I observed two men of a foreign and somewhat
suspicious aspect, who were loitering near, and observing with
unmistakeable interest the shipping in the harbour, the distant camp
on the common, and the stores that were piled near the castle-gate.
On perceiving that I observed them they came directly up to me, and
touched their hats with great politeness.
"Mon camarade," said one, in very good French, "we are French
sailors----"
"Then you have no business to be loitering here," said I, bluntly and
hastily.
"Pardonnez-moi, camarade; but we cannot help it."
"Then you are prisoners of war?"
"Nay----" stammered the other.
"What then?"
"Deserters," was the candid response.
"You are very rash to be here at such a time."
"We have escaped from the castle of St. Malo, where we were
shamefully treated, and are anxious to offer our services and our
knowledge of the coast."
"To us?"
"_Oui--mon brave,_" said the fellow, with a grimace.
"Against your own country?"
"Sacre! our country deserves nothing better at our hands," he
continued, smiling and bowing.
My disgust was so strong that I felt tempted to club my carbine and
knock the traitor down: but I restrained the emotion and said--
"I am only a private dragoon, and can in no way assist you--so please
to move off. It is contrary to orders for me to converse thus, and
for you to loiter here."
"We are aware of that," said one, in a deep, growling voice, who had
not yet spoken; "but monsieur will perhaps direct us to whom we can
apply."
"If you have been in the French Marine service, you should know that
well enough yourself."
I paused, and then thinking that, though these men were traitors and
rascals, their services or information might be valuable to the
general and commodore, I said--
"Messieurs, I may be able to assist you, when relieved from guard.
What are your names?"
"Mine is Theophile Damien," said the first speaker.
"And mine, Benoit Bossoit."
"We have both been seamen, and have served on board the privateer
ship, _le Maréchal Duc de Belleisle_, under the famous M. Thurot, in
that battle off the Firth of Forth, with your two frigates, the
_Solebay_ and _Dolphin_, in May last."
Next day, when relieved from guard, I met those men, by appointment,
at a quiet tavern, where we had some wine, for which they paid
liberally, seeming to be very well furnished (especially for
deserters) with Louis d'ors; and in the course of conversation I
spoke freely--far too freely--of the number, strength, and probable
objects of our expedition.
The name of one of these men--a tall, muscular, dark, and
coarse-looking fellow, whose subdued manner belied his savage
aspect--struck me as being singular.
"You are named Damien, are you not?" I said to him.
"Theophile Damien--at monsieur's service."
"It seems familiar to me."
"As to the most of Europe," said he, bitterly, and he ground his
strong white teeth as he spoke.
"What causes your hatred to your country--this disloyalty to your
king?"
"Tudieu! have I not told you that we were slaves--galley slaves--and
confined in St. Malo?"
(I find myself in honourable company, thought I.)
"Slaves without a crime," growled Bossoit.
"At least I had no crime," said the other, "save that I bore the
hated name of Damien."
"What," I exclaimed, as a sudden light broke upon me; "are you a
kinsman of--"
"Exactly, monsieur, of Robert Francis Damien, you would say--of that
unfortunate peasant of Tieuloy, who, in January last year, stabbed
King Louis, just as he was stepping into his state coach at
Versailles, and so nearly rid France of a tyrant--yes, I am his
brother."
"Was not this would-be regicide deranged?" said I, as fresh doubts of
the value of such a pilot occurred to me, and I feared for my own
honour, if found in company with Frenchmen of such a character, and
especially at such a conjecture.
"His reason was wavering--poverty and the long wanderings of an
unsettled life had made it so; but instead of confining him in a
prison or fortress, he died of the most dreadful tortures," replied
the first Frenchman.
"So I have heard."
"The king's wound was slight; but my brother was beaten to the earth
by the sword hilt of Guillaume de Boisguiller, a captain of the
French Guards, several of whom in the first transports of their zeal
and fury, burned him severely with their torches, while he lay
prostrate at their feet. A fortnight after this he was tried and
tortured. Shall I tell you what followed? _Tête Dieu!_ my blood
boils, and my heart sickens at the memory of it. After making the
_amende honorable_ in the Church of Notre Dame, he was conveyed to
the Place de Grove, where vast multitudes were assembled; where every
window was filled with eager faces--and every housetop bore a living
freight.
"The Provost of the merchants, the Echevins and other magistrates of
Paris, in their robes, with all the great lords and ladies of the
court, occupied the windows of the gloomy Maison aux Piliers, or
Hotel de Ville, on the spire and pavilions of which banners waved as
for a festival. In the square, beyond the scaffold and the troops
who circled it, scarcely was there breathing space, so closely, so
densely were the spectators massed; but a silence like that of death
hushed every tongue, for they knew that a scene of horror was about
to ensue."
The Frenchman paused; the perspiration stood in bead-drops on his
brow; his face was deadly pale, and I could not fail to feel deeply
interested, while thinking at the same time, that the language and
bearing of himself and his companion were very different from what
one might expect to find in a couple of runaway privateersmen.
"If, on that terrible day," he resumed, "voices were heard, it was
the murmur of those at a distance--those who were too far off to
see--the thousands who crowded the narrow vistas of the Rue de la
Tannerie, the Rue de la Mortellarie, the Rue du Mouton, and the Quai
de la Grêve, for all Paris had flocked to witness my brother's
execution.
"At five o'clock, just as the grey light of a dull March morning
stole over the pale-faced multitude, the punishment began. My
brother's right hand was half consumed by fire, and then struck off.
Amid the agony, though his limb shrivelled and blood burst forth, _O
mon Dieu!_ the poor soul neither winced nor asked for mercy; but when
pincers, red hot and glowing, and ladles filled with boiling oil,
molten lead and flaming resin, were applied to his arms, thighs, and
breast, he uttered shrieks so piercing that every heart grew sick and
every face grew pale. On his bones the very flesh was broiled, and
his blood hissed in steam around him! He was then disembowelled."
"Assuredly that must have put a period to his sufferings?" said I, in
a low voice.
"No--the principle of life was strong within him, for my poor brother
was one of the most athletic of our peasants in Artois. These
agonies--this butchery were insufficient to glut the rage of the
courtiers and the fury of his judges. Four strong young horses were
now harnessed to his four limbs, and lashed in opposite directions,
but failed to sever his mangled frame, and he had now ceased to cry
or moan."
"Failed, say you?" I exclaimed, becoming more and more interested, in
spite of myself, by the Frenchman's detail of this revolting
execution.
"Yes--so the chief executioner, with a sharp knife, severed the
sinews at the joints of the arms and thighs. Anew, the long whips
were cracked--again the horses strained upon their traces, and a leg
and arm were torn from the body of my brother, who looked--mother of
mercy!--yes, looked after them, as they were dragged along the
pavement, with the blood spirting from vein and artery; but on the
severance of the other two limbs, he expired.
"His remains were then cast into a fire, which was kept burning all
day, and all the succeeding night."
"Were you present at this horrible scene?" I asked, after a pause.
"No--I was with Monsieur de Thurot, cruising off the coast of
Scotland. On my return to France, I found my brother's family and
name, even to the most remote degree, proscribed, and the cottage in
which we were all born, at Tieuloy, in Artois, razed to its very
foundations in token of infamy, and the place where it stood had been
salted and sown with grass. On hearing of all this, some bitter
words escaped me, so I was placed in the castle of St. Malo. There I
made a vow to achieve both freedom and revenge. I have fulfilled the
first part of that vow, and, _Dieu-merci_! I am here."
A peculiar glance, the meaning of which at that time I could not
understand, passed between the speaker and his companion; and as the
story of the former seemed a strange one, I conducted them at once to
Captain Lindsay of our troop.
He questioned them in a manner that displayed considerable contempt
for the new character they wished to assume; and then sent them with
a note to Commodore Howe, who at once accepted their services, and it
was with a dispatch containing some real or pretended information
they had given, that I was sent to London, on the evening when the
troops began to move for the Isle of Wight; and I departed, happy in
heart and high in spirit, furnished with an order to the constables
of parishes and others, to furnish me with such relays of horses as I
might require.
Four days' pay were given to me in advance; but as I left the camp,
Captain Lindsay generously and kindly put a half-guinea in my hand,
and desired me to "make myself comfortable, and for the honour of the
corps, to avoid all scrapes and doubtful company by the way."