Departure from Amiens--Arrival at Albert--Our French officers
delicacy and liberality--A civic feast at Bapaume--Effects of
champagne on French aldermen--A separation from our kind
conductor--A new escort--A forced march to Cambray--Pitiable state
and severe sufferings of the seamen--Entrance into
Cambray--Imprisonment--Landrecies, Avesnes, Hirson--A billet upon
the inhabitants--Rocroy--A brutal landlord--The robbery and abuse
of prisoners--Givet--Charlemont--A description of the
fortifications--An escape of prisoners--A fruitless
pursuit--Generosity of the French commandant--Private lodgings--A
Jacobin landlady--Exhausted funds--The 4th of June--Honours done to
King George the Third’s birthday--Roast beef and plum
pudding--French terrors of insurrection--The difference between
taking off and only touching hats in saluting men in
authority--Good news--A joyful departure in a cart for Verdun.
At length the destined hour arrived for our leaving this celebrated city
and for pursuing our forced and cheerless marches to the place of our
imprisonment. Accordingly, at about eight in the morning of the 17th of
March, St. Patrick’s day, a day of great festivity in my native isle, we
were put _en route_, and we arrived at the little town of Albert, in the
department of the Somme, at five in the afternoon. Here we were halted
for the night. The next morning our kind officer astonished us by a most
elegant breakfast, consisting of everything that the small town could
supply. We had made it a point never to allow him to pay any of his
personal or table expenses when he conducted us to an inn, and his
breakfast was given, I suppose, much to his honour, as a complimentary
requital.
From Albert we marched to Bapaume, a small fortified town in the
department of Pas de Calais. The inhabitants boast that it has never
been taken, even though the Duke of York was so close to it in 1793. The
road was excessively dirty and bad. Our men were so exceedingly weak
this day, the weather being very severe, and raining so incessantly,
that our good officer made some of his cuirassiers take three or four of
their prisoners behind on their horses. It was about four in the
afternoon when we arrived. The officer took us to a tavern. We, dripping
wet, were shown into a spacious apartment, where a large table was laid
out, and a number of genteel-looking citizens were sitting round a stove
that was fixed in the centre of the room. They did not appear to take
the smallest notice of us, nor to make place even for the officer, who
was wet to the skin. However, he took the liberty of requesting they
would allow him to approach, which they did with seeming reluctance. We
now endeavoured to dry ourselves, and get into the best plight we could;
having ordered, at the same time, something for dinner, or rather
supper, as it was about seven o’clock. We were given to understand that
it was the election day for a new mayor, in consequence of which the
aldermen and civic officers had ordered a dinner; which being served up,
left us in full possession of the stove, a circumstance that pleased us
greatly.
Those gentlemen did not, in point of appetite, appear to deviate from
their namesakes in a certain great metropolis, although I could not
perceive that they had any turtle soup; champagne appeared to be the
only wine they relished. Our supper was placed on a small table near the
stove; and those gentlemen, as they became inspired with the generous
juice of the grape, condescended to become more familiar with the
English prisoners and the officer that had them in charge. They insisted
upon our touching glasses, and even on our drinking champagne with them;
and in the course of the evening these very people, who, on our arrival,
had not vouchsafed to treat us with common civility, or even humanity,
became so exceedingly hospitable, cordial, and pressing as to prove an
absolute annoyance. They even lavished in their cups a number of
encomiums upon the “noble nation” to which we belonged. “What a great
pity it is,” they cried, “that Englishmen and Frenchmen are not
unanimous! They would then carry everything before them, and conquer the
whole world.”
We were now doomed to suffer a sad mortification and misfortune. The
friendly officer who had conducted us from Rouen with so much humanity,
and, I may say, delicacy, now informed us that he was superseded, and
was no longer to be our guard or escort. He even added that he had
applied to be allowed to conduct us to our place of final imprisonment,
and, to his mortification, had received a refusal. He appeared very much
hurt at the disappointment, and left us for the night with much emotion,
assuring us that we should not leave the town without bidding each other
farewell.
At daylight, on the 19th of March, a sergeant awakened us, with the
unwelcome news that he had brought a guard of dragoons to conduct us to
Cambray. We were obliged to get up immediately, and to make the best
arrangements we could for our unpleasant journey. Our old officer and
friend, as we considered him, made his appearance. He spoke of us with
much warmth of good-nature, and recommended us very strongly to the kind
consideration of the sergeant. He then took an affectionate farewell of
each individual, and literally shed tears at parting from us. Much did
we regret his loss. He was tender-hearted and compassionate, and
reflected honour on the nation that gave him birth, and even upon Nature
herself. Under this excellent man, with the indulgence he bestowed upon
us, and with the confidence he reposed in our honour, not one of us
would have taken an advantage of even the most favourable opportunity of
escape. Each would have felt it a disgrace to the character of our
country, and a proof of an individual badness of heart and insensibility
to honour.
At half-past eight o’clock we had to commence our march to Cambray. All
the elements seemed to combine with every circumstance to make us feel
our altered condition. It was a most severe morning, bitterly cold, and
the north-east wind blowing fiercely in our teeth. It hailed and rained
violently and without intermission. Our poor crew were half-starved,
miserably clad, and without shoes or stockings, and some of them even
without shirts. They were in rags and tatters. With starved stomachs and
broken spirits, they were forced upon this long march to the cheerless
bourn of a gaol. Under the new escort of dragoons we pursued our march
to Cambray, where we arrived about four in the afternoon, in a truly
pitiable state. We were a mass of dirt and filth, exhausted, and without
that alone which can make nature endure extreme difficulties--the
prospect of amelioration or relief. The consciousness of the merits of
the past we had, but of prospects of the future we were miserably
destitute.
In this state we were marched through Cambray, the gaze of the people,
who rejoiced to see a procession of English captives. They felt an
extraordinary exultation at witnessing prisoners of a country that had
been so proud and so triumphant. After passing this ordeal we were
lodged in the citadel.
If in the first part of the captivity I and my companions had been
degraded and subjected to hardships as private seamen, here I had my
retribution, for we were all four now called captains; and, in virtue or
honour of our rank, we were, _pro tempore_, allowed accommodation in the
canteen. This was, in fact, an increase of misery, for our poor seamen
were put into the dungeons, or _souterrains_.
It was only by our strenuous exertions that we could procure for the
poor fellows some fresh straw, for which we paid an exorbitant price,
for their miserable repose. In this straw they enjoyed what warmth they
could, making it into ropes, and twisting it round their exhausted limbs
and bodies, after refreshing themselves with a sort of soup which we
provided for them, and paid for also dearly. This was what the French
called _soupe grasse_, and was made in the following manner:--They fill
a large pot, or _marmite_, with water. When it begins to boil, they
throw one or two handfuls of salt into it, according to the quantity of
water, chop up some cabbage or herbs, which they also put in, and, last
of all, a ball of hog’s lard, kitchen-stuff, dripping, or any other
grease they may have. They then allow it to boil until the materials
are well done. It is afterwards served up in soup-plates or dishes, into
which has been previously put bread, cut into very thin slices. The
charge is twopence, and sometimes more, for each plateful. I saw our
landlady at Seéz, a village near Rouen, after she had cooked us some
beef-steaks, put all the gravy into the pan, fill it up with water, and
after she had kept the pan boiling for some minutes, pour the whole
contents into a large pot of water which she had boiling on the fire,
previously prepared with salt and herbs: this she served out as soup to
our poor seamen, at a most exorbitant price.
We remained at Cambray until the 21st, when a severe frost, with snow,
set in; and we had to march, with the wind and snow and hail at
intervals right in our faces, to Landrecies, at a distance of nearly six
British leagues. Our people were there put into the gaol, and we were
allowed the _honour_ of stopping at the Palais National tavern. They
were very fair here in their demands. At daylight, on the 22nd, we
commenced our route to Avesnes, in the Pays-Bas, where we arrived at
about four. They put us all indiscriminately into the town gaol. About
five the town major came to speak with us, and obtained us permission to
go to a certain inn, which he pointed out, and where we were egregiously
imposed on. The men were left in the gaol. The 23rd we had another guard
of dragoons, under the command of a sergeant, to escort us to our depot.
At about three we arrived at a poor little village called Hirson, where,
having no gaol, they billeted both ourselves and the seamen upon the
inhabitants. I and my companions were quartered at a collar-maker’s
house. The poor people were extremely civil, and provided us with
tolerably good beds. We paid them for every necessary with which they
supplied us.
The next morning (the 24th) we had to take our leave of the collar-maker
and his family, and were put upon our march to the village of Maubert
Fontaine, which was by far more poor and miserable than even Hirson.
Here we were again billeted upon the inhabitants; and quarters in
private houses were so preferable to confinement in a gaol that the
difference easily reconciled us to the smallness of the town. The people
with whom we were placed were very great impostors, and extorted double
prices for everything with which they supplied us.
On the next morning (the 25th), however, we parted from these unfeeling
knaves, and were put upon our march to Rocroy, in the Ardennes. The
distance was short, and we arrived early; and our people were
immediately put into the common gaol. My companions and I exerted all
the interest and rhetoric that we could muster to be allowed, as
officers, to go to an inn; and the request at last was conceded. Here we
rested twenty-four hours, and had the misfortune to find our landlord a
most consummate scoundrel, who took advantage of every opportunity--or,
rather, made opportunities--both to defraud and insult us. The next
morning, at our departure, he presented us with an account of a
sum-total or gross amount of his demand, without condescending to
specify a single item in detail. We expostulated with him upon the
nature of his bill and upon its enormous amount, and wished to know how
he could possibly make it so great; for, in fact, we had been
particularly economical, as our funds were getting very low. The
impostor flatly refused any explanation whatever, but peremptorily
insisted upon immediate payment, bestowing upon us insulting and
provoking epithets, in numbers and of a character that brought
conviction to our minds that he had no ordinary talents for this species
of assault and battery. We were obliged to submit to all his furious and
disgusting abuse; and, what in our situation was still worse, we were
compelled to pay the bill, or rather the no bill, for it was an
extortion without a bill. To the great disgrace of the French military
character, I must repeat that in no instance did the officer in charge
of us protect us from these gross impositions, which were rendered more
shameful and cruel from our helpless condition.
The demand being satisfied, and the torrent of abuse digested with as
little bile as possible, we took our leave of Rocroy; and, turning our
backs upon our host, the dragoons put us upon our march on the road to
the little village of Fumez, on the Meuse, so famous for its slate
quarries, where we arrived early in the day, and were all of us billeted
upon the inhabitants, whom we found extremely civil and obliging.
We were now but one stage from Givet, with its citadel of Charlemont,
and at eight o’clock the next morning, the 28th of March, we commenced
our last day’s journey.
At three in the afternoon we entered Givet, or Charlemont, our place of
destination, and thus did we terminate our distressing march from Brest,
a distance, by the _détour_ we had gone, of nearly 700 miles, performed
in thirty-nine days, including resting-days, through inclement weather,
bad roads, and under every circumstance calculated to destroy life, or
to embitter it whilst it lasted.
Givet is a fortified town in the department of Ardennes and bishopric of
Liège, divided by the Meuse. That portion on the south side of the river
is called Little Givet. This town is commanded by a very strong fort
and citadel (Charlemont), built upon an immense rock: the fortifications
were constructed by Vauban. A communication between Great and Little
Givet is kept up by means of a pontoon bridge: the centre boats are
placed so as to be hauled out occasionally to admit vessels to pass up
and down, which frequently happens. The people appeared very much
disposed to be friendly with us; but we were kept so very close and
strict that it was impossible to form any acquaintance. Every necessary
of life is cheap in this town: their beer is tolerably good. Wine is
rather dear, as there are very few vineyards in the neighbourhood.
Our prisoners at the commencement were confined in this place; but when
they became numerous they were moved down to the horse-barracks, from a
dread, I suppose, of their revolting some day and taking possession of
citadel, town, and all. Had they once possession of one, the other would
be entirely at their mercy and disposal. During our stay at this depot,
four of the seamen escaped from their prison, two of whom belonged to
our late frigate. On their being missed the following morning, parties
of _gendarmes_ on horseback were despatched by the commandant to search
for them in all directions, with strict orders to mutilate, and, in
fact, _not to bring them back alive_; “that it might prove an example”
(using his own expression) “to the rest of the prisoners.” However,
fortunately for those poor fellows, they escaped their pursuers--at
least for that time. They were afterwards taken at Dunkirk as they were
about to embark in an open boat. The commandant was also frequently in
the habit of riding into the prison-yard, and taking his pistols out of
the holsters, examining the priming in order to terrify us. This he did
generally in the evening, and the prisoners could not refrain from
laughing at such foolish conduct.
Upon our arrival here, we found, as prisoners of war, the crews of the
_Minerve_ and the _Shannon_, frigates that had been commanded by
Captains Jahleel Brenton and Gower, who, with their officers, were at
Verdun. There were also in confinement a number of English seamen that
had been captured in merchant vessels. We were immediately visited by a
Mr. Bradshaw, one of Captain Brenton’s clerks, sent here by him, who was
permitted to reside in the town, in order that he might act as that
officer’s commissary.[8] Mr. Bradshaw introduced me and my companions to
Captain Petervin, of the _gendarmerie_, who was commandant of the
prisoners of war. A Jersey man, named Goree, was employed as
interpreter, and he explained to Captain Petervin our rank in the
English service; but the captain, though unwilling to put us under close
imprisonment, seemed at a loss what to do with us, as we had been sent
to him as private seamen. He hesitated, and for a long time remained
undecided; but at last he consented that we might go to La Tête de Cerf
tavern that night. To La Tête de Cerf we joyfully proceeded with Mr.
Bradshaw, after giving Monsieur le Commandant a thousand thanks for his
condescension. We found that we had been sent to a very decent tavern,
the first in the town, which convinced us that the captain of the
_gendarmerie_ entertained a favourable opinion of the English
_adjutants_. We justified his acuteness by ordering a good dinner. Mr.
Bradshaw dined with us, and exhilarated our drooping spirits by
assurances that the commandant would be induced to permit us to lodge in
the town. We ordered an additional bottle of wine on the strength of
this good news, and passed the evening as cheerfully as possible under
the recollection of past sufferings, and with the dismal prospect of a
long imprisonment, apart from the glorious services which our profession
was then rendering to our country.
The next day the commandant received us with the politeness for which
his countrymen had at one time been so proverbial. We explained through
our interpreter the excessive injustice and cruelty of being sent to the
seamen’s depot, and treated differently from our brother officers. He
sympathised with us in all we said, assuring us that he would send off a
despatch to General Wirion at Verdun (who was commander-in-chief over
the British prisoners) and state the case to him. At the same time, he
advised us to write to our commanding officer, and promised to have our
letter forwarded. He desired us to remain quietly at our tavern, and
assured us that he would do everything in his power to alleviate our
distresses. We gave him our best thanks, took our leave, and returned to
the Tête de Cerf.
Upon an overhauling of our finances, we had the mortification to find
that we could not remain many days at a tavern, not having a farthing
allowed us for our subsistence; the fivepence halfpenny _per diem_
ending at the moment we arrived at the depot. Mr. Bradshaw could not
render us any pecuniary assistance without Captain Brenton’s permission;
consequently our situation was becoming every moment worse and worse.
As lodgings, we were informed, were excessively cheap in the town, we
concluded that we had better apply to the commandant for leave to hire a
couple of rooms, with cooking utensils, etc., than continue any longer
as we were. However, we dreaded that he might order us into the barracks
with the seamen if we began so early to demand favours. We therefore
agreed to be extremely economical and to wait a few days longer. Those
days being expired, we made the intended application, and with success.
He approved of our plan, and gave us a written permission to walk about
the town. This he did entirely upon his own responsibility, and assured
us that he relied upon our honour not to go without the limits of the
town; adding that if we abused this indulgence we would be severely
punished. We declared our intentions were not to cause him the smallest
trouble or uneasiness, and we were particular in the observance of our
promise.
The same day we hired two rooms at Madame de Garde’s, the widow of a
_ci-devant_ general. She provided us with two beds for us four, cooking
utensils, and everything necessary for housekeeping, and at a very
moderate price. We acquainted Mons. le Commandant of our success, who
congratulated us, but, at the same time, appeared sorry that we lodged
with this old lady, observing that she was _une Jacobine_, and of the
_old school_. All persons at this time who were known to be attached to
the English were reprobated as Jacobins; and I need not say that we
liked the old dame the better for this information, though we took care
to disguise our feelings and to conceal the fact. Our _ménage_ commenced
the following morning. We took the daily cooking and different duties by
rotation; but were soon able to get rid of these unpleasant services,
for we procured permission for an infirm old man named Allen, who had
been our captain’s steward, to live with us as our cook and servant. Our
dishes were certainly not very varied or exquisite: soup and _bouilli_,
with vegetables, constituted our daily fare; and even this, we
apprehended, would soon be beyond our rapidly decreasing finances.
All April and May had dismally passed and no answers to our letters had
been received from Verdun. Our rent was in arrear, and our purses at the
point of exhaustion. We solicited Mr. Bradshaw to grant us the sailor’s
allowance of a pound of meat each _per diem_; but even this he could not
do without the authority of Captain Brenton. This, however, was received
from Verdun by return of post. The pound of meat proved of very material
service to the poor _adjutants_, and they were most thankful to their
humane chief, Captain Brenton.
At length arrived the glorious 4th of June, the birthday of our
sovereign, George the Third; and for this one day at least were our
sufferings forgotten and our sorrows cast to the wind. We were resolved,
if possible, to make some demonstration in honour of the day; and at
last, low as were our pecuniary circumstances, we did contrive to give a
birthday dinner to the commandant and to the paymaster of the depot.
From this latter officer, whose name was Payne, we had received many
civilities.
The day altogether passed off very agreeably until about sunset, when
the time arrived for locking the seamen up in the different wards of the
gaol. They now gave three tremendous cheers, which flowed from the
heart, in commemoration of the day that gave birth to their gracious
sovereign; and, as the last cheer stunned and terrified the astounded
Frenchmen, they hauled in the colours of different nations that they had
kept all day streaming out of each window, taking care to have the
French tri-coloured flag under all, which was never noticed by either
commandant or guards. The enthusiastic cheers of nearly a thousand men
made a most powerful noise: it was music to our ears as we sat at table,
our lodgings being contiguous. The commandant, who was greatly alarmed,
imagined that the seamen had revolted and had actually got out of
prison: so great was this officer’s hurry that he made but one step from
the top of the stairs to the bottom. We had some little trouble in
getting him on his legs again, and were greatly rejoiced in finding that
he had received no injury from this step, or rather fall--assuring him
there was no foundation whatever for his fears. However, he would be
convinced in person: he therefore went to the prison, and was rejoiced
to find everything perfectly tranquil.
Being returned, he observed that the English were _des braves gens_, and
he would drink another glass of wine in commemoration of King George’s
birthday. The national dish, roast beef with plum pudding, which we had
made ourselves, was not forgotten upon this occasion. _Monsieur_ liked
the well-done or outside part of the former extremely; but the latter
neither of our guests would touch for a long time. At last, by dint of
persuasion, they condescended to taste it; and so sudden was the
transition made upon them by that taste that we had some pains to secure
ourselves a part, though it was a pretty sizable pudding. They exclaimed
as they gulped it down, “_Sacré bleu, comme il est bon!_”--“_Ma foi,
oui!_” repeated each alternately. We felt highly pleased at the sight,
and laughed heartily.
At a late hour, or rather, in regard to the morning, an early one,
_Messieurs_ took their leave, evidently in great spirits, and we retired
to rest.
Since our arrival at this depot, several of the stoutest and apparently
most healthy of our men had died of a fever supposed to have been caught
in some of the gaols on the road. Our poor servant, Allen, was seized
with it, and expired in a few days. With respect to comforts, our
prisoners were badly off; but the French medical officers at Givet were
certainly humane and attentive.
In the latter part of June, to our surprise and chagrin, the commandant
appeared much altered in his manner towards us. We were unable to
imagine what could be the cause of so sudden and total a change. Mr.
Bradshaw, however, informed us that he had observed to him, “that the
English officers” (as he was kind enough to style us) “were excessively
proud.”
“I never meet them,” said he, “but I take my hat off, whilst they only
lift theirs to me.”
Certain it is, that, with all mankind, a slight or insult, real or
imaginary, intended or casual, produces more rancour than an injury. By
the accidental hurry or carelessness of using a wafer instead of
sealing-wax to a letter, the Prime Minister of England, at a crisis of
the country, for a time lost the support of one of the wealthiest and
most influential dukes of the political world.
But our commandant’s anger was not soon appeased. He one night sent a
guard of _gendarmes_ to take us from our lodgings to the guard-house,
for being in the streets after nine o’clock, when it was scarcely dark
at that time of the year, and although we had no regular time prescribed
by him to be indoors. In the guard-house we remained, on a cold
pavement, all night, at a loss to know of what we had been guilty. Our
guards assured us that it was merely the caprice of the commandant. At
noon Mr. Bradshaw visited us, but without affording any hopes of
release. The commandant had informed him that we were confined for not
answering a sentinel on his post who had hailed or challenged us. This
we positively denied, as we had not passed a single sentinel that night.
Monsieur Brasseur, the second in command, then came to visit us, and
expressed great sorrow at seeing us thus confined without any cause. He
waited on the commandant, became responsible for our conduct, and had us
removed to our lodgings, where we were commanded to confine ourselves
until “further orders.”
Our excellent landlady received us with the greatest joy imaginable,
bathed us with her tears, and had refreshments ready for us, though she
had sent us a very good breakfast to the guard-house, and was herself
very poor. In three days we were once more liberated; but henceforth we
were always confined whenever a religious procession or public ceremony
took place, and which at this particular time was very frequent. Our
chief amusement was a game at billiards, and a walk round the ramparts,
or rather ruins. We frequently met with military officers at the
billiard-table, who always behaved with the strictest politeness, and
made us an offer of the table the moment we entered the room, which, of
course, we declined until they had finished.
From the commandant’s conduct of late, we were constantly under
apprehensions of being closely confined with the sailors: he appeared
more inveterate against me than any of the rest. However, about the 10th
or 12th of July we received a letter from our commanding officer at
Verdun, stating that General Wirion had at last sent an order for Mr.
Mahoney and myself to be conducted to the Verdun depot. The commandant
received the order by the same post. Mr. Bradshaw had also a letter from
Captain Brenton, who had kindly and considerately directed him to supply
us with cash to enable us to proceed. All this intelligence arriving at
the same time, nearly overwhelmed us with joy; but the two other poor
fellows that were to remain--the boatswain and gunner--were not only
disconsolate at the inequality of their fate, but full of apprehensions
that as soon as we had left them the offended commandant would become
both more mean and cruel in his severity.
At last, on the 16th of July, we were to leave Givet for Verdun. Mr.
Mahoney had a bad foot, and a cart was therefore provided, in which I
had the privilege of riding. Everything was at length settled for our
departure, and we had previously been permitted to see our ship’s
company--a pleasure of which we had been deprived for some weeks. This
scene was sadly interesting, and we left the brave fellows with
reciprocal good wishes. We took an affectionate farewell of our two
shipmates and of our good landlady, and began our route to Verdun, under
the escort of two _gendarmes_.