The journey pursued--A bivouac in a wood--Dangers of being
shot--Making free with an orchard--Crossing the Oise--A mode of
obtaining provisions--A cabaret and a village _fête_--Kindness of
the peasantry--Petit Essigny--Wringing drenched garments, and
drying them over fading embers--A miserable landlord--A change of
quarters--Luxuries of a hay-loft--A Samaritan of a
hostess--Wretched sufferings of Mr. Essel--Resort to another
village--A kind landlord--Sympathies for deserters--“A
fellow-feeling makes men wondrous kind”--The luxuries of a clean
bed--Resort to another village--A motherly hostess--A lucky
road-acquaintance--Virtue and happiness in humble life--The
charitable baker--Dangers from sportsmen to gentlemen hiding in
woods--Mr. Essel’s illness disappearing--Increased speed not always
safe to fugitives--Coldness of the weather--An hospitable farmer--A
French harvest-home--Hesdin--Nieuville--Étaples--Turned out of a
straw-bed--A new inn, with a _gendarme_ in disguise in the
kitchen--Bribing a landlord--No boat to be had--An old shepherd too
cunning for a young lieutenant and midshipmen--Extreme
difficulties--High hopes--Despondency and resources.
During the next day, the 5th of September, nothing particular occurred.
At dawn, having found a convenient wood, we concealed ourselves, as
usual, during the day. At night we resumed our journey, and at about
eleven we came to an immensely broad road.
About midnight we found ourselves all of a sudden at the beginning of a
street, the buildings of which were large, and the town surrounding it
appeared considerable. This discovery astonished us the more, as the
place had neither rampart nor fortification of any description, and
hitherto we had been of opinion that there was not in France a town of
this magnitude that was not well fortified. However, we had no time for
debate or consideration, for we perceived lights in many of the windows;
dogs were barking; we heard human voices in different directions; and
our danger was extreme. Luckily at this moment we happened to perceive
an opening, towards which we instantly made, and found it a by-lane
which conducted us clear out of the town; but we still remained entirely
ignorant as to what place this was, which made us determine to inquire
at the first house we should approach, and in a few minutes an
opportunity offered.
We perceived several huts on the roadside. Mr. Ashworth and myself
advanced, leaving our companions concealed; and, knocking at the door of
one of the huts, a man (as we supposed, in bed) asked what we wanted. We
answered we were poor, distressed travellers, quite hungry and faint,
and should be glad to know what distance we were from the next town. He
told us, not above a mile from Montcornet.[11] We then proceeded,
anxiously wishing for daylight, that we might ascertain on the map
whereabouts Montcornet was situated.
A little before daylight, on Sunday the 6th, having crossed an
inconsiderable river called the Serre, we halted in a wood not more than
three leagues from this town. It was very thin, which made us shift and
change our position many times before we could find any part calculated
to conceal us. At last we selected a spot, which we made tolerably
comfortable by breaking branches and placing them all round us.
At about two in the afternoon we were alarmed by a fowler and his
pointer. The dog approached us very near, and as soon as he perceived us
began to bark and yell. The master came also close to us, and kept
whistling and calling to his dog, which at this time was a great
distance from him, having retired precipitately on discovering us. The
man kept on in a direct line in pursuit of the pointer: we perceived his
legs and feet distinctly as he passed; but, from our position, were
certain he did not see us. Our trepidation may easily be imagined, as
well as our extreme joy at our hair-breadth escape.
At the usual hour we quitted our lair, and had the happiness to find
that some apple-trees just outside the wood were covered with very
excellent fruit; with which, I need scarcely observe, we all filled our
pockets and knapsacks. What little biscuit we had now remaining was
literally crumbled to dust, which made this supply of a juicy fruit
almost a luxury. The night was excessively dark, and we had a number of
awkward and severe falls.
Lieutenant Essel was now getting very much exhausted. His fatigue was
extreme, and he became unable to keep up with us. From the great
alteration which we had observed in his appearance during the last two
or three days, we began to apprehend that he would not much longer be
able to pursue the journey at any pace, and would be obliged to stop on
the way. We resolved, however, at all events, to keep with him as long
as possible. The alternative would be very painful.
On the next day, Monday the 7th, we surveyed our stock of provisions,
and found it miserably low. We were alarmed at the discovery that of
biscuit, or rather biscuit-dust, we had not even a pound, and of our
only remaining article of food, sausage, our store was about in
proportion. What to do in this critical situation we were very much at a
loss to know. One thing, at least, was certain, that to exist we must
eat, and that to eat we must have food; and hence the conclusion was
evident, that our plan, in which consisted our safety--the system of
avoiding towns, keeping away from houses, and shunning the approach of
anything connected with human nature--could not be adhered to much
longer, whilst it was difficult to conceive what other scheme could be
adopted.
After a very long and not a very pleasant discussion, we came to the
conclusion that as Messrs. Tuthill and Ashworth were the most meagre in
their appearance amongst us, and, consequently, the most like Frenchmen,
they should endeavour to procure some bread at the first retired and
lonely habitation we should see early in the night. Accordingly, at
about nine o’clock, we perceived a house directly in our course, which
appeared to answer the description required. The two Frenchified
gentlemen advanced to try their address: Lieutenant Essel and myself
remained seated close to a thick-set hedge. We continued in that
position some time, waiting the result of our friends’ embassy--my poor
companion complaining grievously of the alteration in his health.
Finding they did not return, we imagined that they had, perhaps, met
with a good reception and were enjoying themselves; and we agreed, as
the house was directly in our way, to pass by it carelessly, and,
accordingly, we walked on. Just as we had passed the door, they made
their appearance, with a young man dressed like a peasant. They joined
and informed us they could procure no relief at that house; but that
there was a small village within a few hundred yards of us, and that
this young man was going to show them a public-house in it, where they
could get supplied with everything. I was decidedly of opinion that this
was a great deal too kind on his part; and I advised them, therefore, to
send this guide back, as we certainly could find the house without his
assistance; but he insisted on conducting us--inquired if we were also
of the party; and presently the village was in view, and was very small,
at which I rejoiced greatly. Many people were moving about, and our
guide informed us it was a _fête_ day.
The public-house was now before us, and the young man pointed to it,
saying, “You may enter without fear,” and quitted us. I did not like
this last observation. However, we were by this time on the threshold--a
number of people were in the doorway; there was no alternative, and in
we went. The house was crowded with both sexes, dancing and amusing
themselves. The dancing ceased immediately after we entered; every eye
was fixed upon us. We called for a place where we could sit and refresh
ourselves, and were shown into a room. We asked for some bread, cheese,
and wine; got them and ate heartily, although we could not boast of much
comfort or of being much at our ease. Several of the peasants and their
wives came and seated themselves close to our table, pressing us to take
some of their _gâteaux_. From our general appearance, and particularly
from our caps and knapsacks, they evidently mistook us for conscripts
going to the army. We told them we were going to Guise, and were obliged
to travel day and night by forced marches, in consequence of our
regiment being ordered away, and of our having remained at home too
long. Fortunately for us they were not an inquisitive people, and did
not question us about the number or the officers of the regiment, nor
about any of our circumstances. We called for our bill, and desired our
host to bring us a large loaf of bread and a bottle of brandy, as we
might want them before our joining our regiment at Guise. This being
done, they all wished us success, and we parted from them, most glad to
get rid of their company.
At daylight we stopped at a wood joining a farmhouse, on the banks of
the Oise. About seven in the evening of Tuesday the 8th we recommenced
our march, after having been greatly alarmed by a genteelly dressed lady
and two children that had passed us, with a servant, who went before her
shaking the brambles and knocking the wet off the trees. They came so
close to us as to touch the very bush that covered us. About half-past
eight we crossed the Oise in two places, and once more were obliged to
pass through a village to get to the bridge that led over that river.
At daybreak of the 9th, after a tedious and difficult march, having
traversed a number of deep-ploughed fields and stubble fields, over
hills and across valleys, we found ourselves again in the open plains,
with poor Essel scarcely able to move. This was by far the worst
situation in which we had been placed since we began our journey. On
surveying, with the utmost anxiety and attention, all around us, we
thought we could descry trees; but they were at a considerable distance,
and out of our course. We nevertheless approached them. It commenced
raining very fast; and when we had reached the much-desired spot, it
proved to be only a thin orchard, with a few scattered apple-trees. We
still kept walking on, being well assured there was no shelter for us in
our rear--at least none that was not at a great distance. We soon
discovered a little village in the very direction we were going, and
near it appeared a small wood. We advanced tolerably fast. Poor Essel
was obliged to lag a great way behind. Meeting an old peasant, we
inquired the name of the village, and found it to be Petit Essigny. He
told us there was a pathway on the right of it, if we wished to avoid
passing through. We were, he said, five leagues from St. Quentin. This
old man’s remarks appeared to us very singular: he took his leave, and
we walked on. It rained, and the morning was advancing, it being now
nearly eight o’clock. What we imagined to be a wood, adjacent to the
village, proved, upon approaching it, to be only a few shrubs; on
arriving at which we found they were pretty thick, and the grass very
high, the enclosure being surrounded by a quickset hedge. We instantly
got through this hedge, and lay close down. Our situation was very
unpleasant. The grass, which was excessively wet, added to our misery,
having been nearly soaked to the skin before we entered it. The rain off
the bushes came literally upon our poor bodies in sluices; but this was
considerably preferable to the risk of going into the village, where we
suspected that _gendarmes_ might be lurking, the place being so near a
large town. We continued in this wretched plight until about four
o’clock, when Mr. Essel became quite weak and exhausted, and the rest of
our little party were not much better. This induced us to quit this
inhospitable place and endeavour to get shelter in a house, let the
consequence be what it might.
Accordingly we approached a single hut at a short distance from the
village; entered it, and found in it a poor old peasant and two lads,
who proved to be his sons: they were shivering over a few cinders, and
appeared to be very poor and miserable. We requested that they would
make a good fire and allow us to dry our soaked clothes and to warm
ourselves; and this they did, but not until we had promised a liberal
payment. They seemed to be astonished at our appearance, and greatly at
a loss to know who and what we could be. The fire being at last made, we
gladly proceeded to wring the water out of our clothes and endeavour to
get them dry. We made the old peasant bring us some bread: he also gave
us a little butter, which by chance he had in the house; the old dame,
his wife, having taken all the rest that morning to St. Quentin market.
We imagined that we should do extremely well if the old man would allow
us to remain all night, even by his fireside, as it rained so
excessively hard that it was absolutely impossible to attempt to travel.
This was intimated to our venerable host, accompanied by an assurance
that he should have his reward; but, without hesitation, he declared to
us in the most positive manner that this was impossible. What were we to
do, for it seemed that sort of night which made the gentle Cordelia
declare that she could not turn out her enemy’s dog; and yet we,
Christians, and gentlemen, and officers to boot, seemed to be in danger
of becoming the wretches whose “houseless heads and unfed sides” were so
pitied by the mad King Lear. Our reflections were not of a very
consolatory character.
At length the old curmudgeon of a host told us that there was a
public-house in the village, where we could get supplied with
everything; and he added, that, as it was so very near, there could be
no great difficulty in our getting to it. At this moment two peasants
were passing his door, and, determined at any rate to turn us out, he
called these two fellows to guide us to the place. The men appeared very
civil, but, had it been the reverse, there was no alternative; so we
paid the old Cerberus for his scanty fire, his mouldy brown bread and
sour butter, and left his house with the disposition to shake the very
dust, or rather, in this case, the very mud, off our shoes on his
threshold. The figure of this flinty host of ours is still before me. He
was a tall, thin, misshapen fellow; and the effects of his cadaverous
and hideous countenance were not improved by a most sinister squint, and
a malign, ill-natured sneer, that might well warn the unfortunate that
they had little of humanity to expect at his hands.
Under our civil guides we soon arrived at the village, and, to our
inexpressible joy, found it to be a small and miserable place. Our
guides showed us the public-house and took their leave. We entered this
poverty-stricken hovel, and found that the good landlady had nothing to
give us but bread and eggs; and further, that there was not a bed in the
house, her guests being accustomed to sleep in a loft where there was
plenty of clean hay. This, however, was luxurious to poor wanderers, who
had fed and slept in the manner in which we had ever since we had
escaped from prison. But we had to study appearances, and, as there was
no other inn (as they termed the wretched hovel) in the village, we
seemed to hesitate whether we should remain here, or proceed to the next
considerable town or to St. Quentin, and we accordingly inquired how
far it was off. Our hostess replied that it was not above three or four
miles to a tolerably large village, but that St. Quentin was two leagues
distant. We pretended to be much chagrined at this information, and told
her that it rained too hard for us to go that distance, and,
inconvenient as it was, we would remain with her and sleep in the
hay-loft that night, in preference to being exposed any longer to the
inclemency of the weather. We had a good fire made, completed the drying
of our clothes, got some supper, and retired to the hay-loft. The kind
woman gave us two blankets to cover us. We found this accommodation
sufficiently good, and we very soon fell fast asleep.
The next day, fortunately for us (as it kept us under cover), was very
bad, raining without intermission. We continued in our loft, except one
of us, who went to procure breakfast, and to inform the landlady (who we
found was a widow) that we would stay until evening, in hopes that the
rain might cease. We sent her our tattered garments, stockings, etc., to
mend. We could move about without much fear in this place, as we found
they were utter strangers to the sight of a _gendarme_. The good lady
took us for conscripts, and commiserated our situation. She had a
brother in the army, then in Prussia; and she brought us a letter to
read that she had lately received from him. I said that I had served in
the same regiment, with which she was very much pleased.
At about seven we paid this worthy old hostess, and took our leave. It
was a clear, starlight night, and the weather promised favourably; but
the ground was so excessively slippery and muddy that we could scarcely
prevent ourselves from falling every step we took. At about ten, Mr.
Essel was seized with a violent bleeding at the nose and mouth. We
feared that he had burst a blood-vessel. This, together with a dysentery
which he had been troubled with for some time, rendered him so
excessively weak that he could not move a step. We were greatly affected
at this misfortune, and agreed to convey him to the next house we should
find. Fortunately, the village alluded to by our landlady, when we first
arrived at her house, was in sight, and the view of it gave our sick
friend fresh courage; but we were apprehensive it was too large for our
security; however, we were resolved at all events to procure him a
lodging there, and to be vigilant, and if we perceived any danger, to be
off instantly. About half-past eleven we arrived at this village, and,
to our joy, it proved to be by far inferior to what we had expected. Mr.
Ashworth went into a public-house to reconnoitre, and to inquire if food
and shelter could be supplied to our suffering friend. He returned
shortly with the glad tidings that he had succeeded, and he assured us
that, from all he could observe, he was convinced that we should incur
no danger by remaining at the inn for the whole night, and even for the
next day. The joy this intelligence spread amongst us is hardly
conceivable. We all accordingly agreed most cordially to remain with our
unfortunate friend, sincerely hoping that he might by the next night get
rid of his malady and recover some portion of his strength. The bleeding
had ceased, a symptom which we construed to be much in his favour, and
at last we all entered the public-house, the sick gentleman and myself
bringing up the rear.
We were very civilly received by the landlord, a decent young man, who
showed us into a nice, clean, and comfortable back-room, in which there
was a separate bed for each of us. It was rather startling, however, to
hear him assure us that “we were perfectly safe with him”; for this
guarantee of safety, even if sincere, at least implied that we were
objects of suspicion. Our doubts, however, were soon dispelled, for he
added, to our great relief, “I have been situated in a similar manner
once myself, and shall ever have a fellow-feeling for others under such
unhappy circumstances. When I quitted the army as a conscript, I
travelled several hundred miles by night, and concealed myself in woods
in the daytime.” This was consolatory, and we gave him _nods_ of assent
and approbation; for it was dangerous to speak, as a word or two would
have led to a conversation, in which it might not have been convenient
to answer questions with truth, and not easy to evade them by ingenuity,
or even to defeat them by falsehood.
We took our refreshment with the keenness which showed that we had not
lately been accustomed to good cheer, and we found, or flattered
ourselves that we found, that our sick friend was already getting
better. Each retired to his bed, as happy as any creature in the
universe. Heavens! What a paradise! It is not in my power to express or
to give any idea of the delight and happiness I felt at being once more
in a comfortable bed, with everything neat and clean about me. We had
been thirteen days and nights without once taking off our clothes,
except the preceding night in the hay-loft, when we had our garments
repaired, and those days and nights had been passed, the former in
sleeping, as chance might be, in mud, bog, or quagmire, or on dry or wet
green leaves, whilst the latter had been spent in toiling, upon empty
stomachs and with parched throats, over all the bad grounds and awkward
impediments which must be encountered by travellers who have private
reasons for avoiding highways or beaten tracks. Such sufferings are
wonderfully conducive to make men feel and be thankful for the comforts
of a good bed; and I need not observe that we all remained in bed, not
only throughout the night, but throughout the greater part of the next
day [Friday, 11th].
As soon as it became dusk we paid our bill, which was moderate, with
gratitude; and, taking a most friendly leave of our simple-minded and
kind-hearted host, we again buckled on our knapsacks and resumed our
habit of travelling at night-time. Essel was greatly refreshed; we found
ourselves comparatively quite strong and well, from the last night’s
repose.
At daylight on the 12th it began to rain incessantly and in torrents; we
were then very near a small village. Our late success made us more bold
than we had been at our first setting out, and having no wood to shelter
us, we resolved to go into the village. We found it very well calculated
for our purpose, and got admitted into a public-house; where, after
procuring something to eat, we requested permission to lie down to rest
a little in any place, expecting to be shown into a hay-loft,--but we
were agreeably surprised; for our good old landlady put sheets on the
only two beds she had, and told us we might rest ourselves on them until
night. We perceived that she also supposed we were conscripts. She got
Mr. Essel something warm, and appeared very attentive. At dusk we paid
the good dame, and, as usual, began our march. Poor Essel complained a
great deal, and my feet began to swell; although they were not painful,
I feared some bad consequence from their swelling. About ten, our friend
declared he could not advance a step farther; consequently, we sat down
to allow him time to rest. We agreed to wait with him a day or two, to
see if he should improve, but were greatly at a loss where to take him
for this night. Thus meditating, we were joined by a man going our road.
He saluted us very kindly, and expressed his sorrow at seeing our
comrade so ill. The worthy fellow was in a cheerful mood, and evidently
of a communicative nature, and seemed disposed to let us know all about
himself and his affairs, which was by far more convenient to us than had
he expected equal frankness on our part. He informed us that he was a
baker, and was returning from the place where he had been at work the
whole week, to his little family, in a village about two miles off. The
honest fellow appeared to derive a sort of melancholy satisfaction in
dwelling upon the memory of his wife, who, he added mournfully, had
recently died, leaving him three young orphans. The good-hearted man
concluded his unsophisticated, open garrulity, by informing us that he
had two good beds, to which he assured us that we were welcome, and he
gave us this welcome with such a frankness and warmth that no cynic
could suspect guile in such a character, or could be unwarmed by
gratitude at his benevolent nature. The honest baker added to his other
assurances that he would procure for us everything we could want or
might desire. It was evident that we were always to be mistaken for
conscripts _on a retreat_, for this our jolly companion assured us with
a knowing look, adding, “that his village was small, and that there was
no danger with him.” Our hearts felt the truth of this, and withal its
inestimable value.
We soon arrived at this poor man’s dwelling, and he seemed as glad to
receive us as if he had by good fortune unexpectedly found some friends
or kindred that had been long absent and dear to his heart. He made a
blazing fire, and bade the children get up and prepare the beds for our
reception. This they cheerfully did, and then retired to their loft. We
felt that we were particularly safe with this poor hospitable stranger,
and the whole domestic scene was at least calculated to impress upon us
the truth that contentment, happiness, generosity, and the best feelings
of our nature are not the exclusive heritage of the rich. We warmed
ourselves over his glowing hearth, wished him good-night, and gladly
sank into our comfortable beds.
The next day our hospitable friend procured us all the things we wanted.
In every respect nothing could have been more kind and liberal than the
conduct of this unpretending, humble, and good man; and the reader, in
the sequel, will have further proofs of my just estimate of his
character.
As we had promised our friend Essel, we waited until dusk on Sunday the
13th, and then paid our host liberally for all we had received. He
escorted us a mile or two on the road and took his leave, as if sorry to
part, but full of satisfaction that he had had an opportunity of so well
performing a duty to those who were in the extremities of need.
At a little before daylight on the 14th (September), we entered a wood,
and found a very convenient place for our concealment. We conjectured
that we were about five leagues from Arras. At about eleven we were
alarmed by the noise and whistling of a fowler with a dog, and in a few
minutes we heard the report of his gun; the shot rattled through the
bushes in which we lay, and a partridge perched close to us. This
circumstance alarmed us prodigiously, as we could hear the man and dog
advancing towards the very spot. To move would have been imprudent,
since he was so very close that it was impossible to avoid being
discovered. We waited the event, without the smallest hope of escaping
from being seen--the dog advanced--flushed the partridge nearly at our
feet--the fowler close to us. Fortunately the bird took an opposite
direction to the spot where we remained concealed, and the master and
dog followed, and in a few minutes relieved us from the consternation
they had thrown us into.
At the usual hour, on the night of the 14th of September, we left our
leafy concealment to commence our nocturnal progress; and we were put
into good spirits by finding our friend’s health greatly improved. We
walked a great distance this night, in order to make up for our recent
delays and stoppages; but we had nearly been victims to the old proverb,
“The more haste the worse speed”; and we found that it was less
essential to our safety to travel fast, than to contrive to stop, at or
before daybreak, within the reach of some wood sufficiently large and
thick to hide us. At dawn, however, on Tuesday the 15th, to our great
dismay, we found ourselves on an open plain, and we anxiously stretched
our eyes in every direction, but could not discern the least appearance
of a wood, although, to our alarm, we beheld several villages. As our
comrade was much better, we determined to proceed, avoiding human
habitations as much as possible. After we had passed by the first
village, we discovered a copse or shrubbery near the second; so we
quickened our pace, and, advancing rapidly, we entered it at its part
the most remote from the village. It proved to be merely a nursery, and
but thinly stocked with small trees, or even shrubs; but we selected the
spot most favourable to our object, and happily we contrived to conceal
ourselves in it until darkness afforded us the usual motive to our
sortie. At eleven, as we were passing a small village, being excessively
thirsty, and not able to discover any watering place, we agreed _to
border close_, in the hope of being able to procure some water at one of
the wells with which these villages abound. Mr. Ashworth and our sick
comrade were employed in getting some, while Mr. Tuthill and myself
retired to a small distance, under cover of a quickset hedge. Two women
and a man passed close by us. The women continued to walk on, but the
latter halted and turned on his heel. I was next to him. He eyed me
closely, and exclaimed, “_Vous-êtes Anglois?_” To which I replied, “_Je
suis aussi bon François que vous, je l’espère_.” This was the only time
in the whole course of my life that I had felt afraid to acknowledge my
country. The women, hearing the conversation, called to the fellow “to
come along and mind his own business.” He appeared to wish to remain;
but, on their repeatedly calling him, he left us. Having been joined by
our companions, we proceeded.
At break of day on Wednesday the 16th, we got into an excellent thick
wood, and found a material change in the weather as we advanced to the
northward; sometimes there was a sort of grey frost, which made us
extremely cold before the rising of the sun; nor could we at all times
receive the benefit of that heavenly body until noon, owing to the
thickness of the part of the wood that we were (when practicable)
obliged to occupy. We found an abundance of filberts, filled our pockets
with them, and felt particularly happy at succeeding thus far. This was
the last wood we expected to inhabit prior to our seeing the sea-coast;
and we were, at times, replete with the idea of its being the last night
we should remain in the land of usurpation and tyranny. At the usual
time we commenced our route, and left the town of St. Pol about two
miles on our left-hand side.
At about ten our progress was impeded by the river Canche. After
examining it in several directions without success, we agreed to send
Mr. Ashworth to a farmhouse hard by, to inquire the nearest place that
we could cross; from whence he returned in a few minutes with one of the
farmer’s men, who had been desired to direct him, and assured us the
people were extremely civil. It appeared to him to be a good place to
get a supply of provisions--we were excessively hungry,--and, as the
passage across the river was immediately at the end of the farmhouse,
and as they had already discovered our number, we mutually consented to
put the farmer’s hospitality to the test, and, if possible, to procure
what we wanted. We advanced with the man, who showed us in; and we were
very kindly received by the master of the house, who conducted us into a
decent back-room. The kitchen, when we first entered, was full of
peasantry at supper.
The farmer’s harvest had been that day finished, or gathered in, and he
was giving his labourers a feast on the occasion, which, we were told,
was an immemorial custom in that part of the country, throughout which
many things reminded us of our own. In fact, we were now in the midst
of a French harvest-home; and, though the scene was gratifying, yet in
our peculiar situation we should have been by far better pleased had we
been alone. All was joy and happiness under this rustic and hospitable
roof, if I except the twinges of apprehension that now and then would
disturb me and my friends. Nothing, however, could surpass the attention
and kindness of this good farmer. He supplied us spontaneously with
everything that his house could afford. Certain it is that he took us
for Frenchmen and conscripts, and thought, perhaps, that we were going
to fight for the glory of France, under the eagles of the new emperor.
Little did he suspect that we were English naval officers, encountering
all dangers and enduring all hardships, for the sake of once more
fighting under
The flag that braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze.
As our host would not accept of any payment for what we had received, we
made a present to the servant who was to guide us, and we took our leave
of this good man full of gratitude for his kindness.
We conjectured that we were not more than seven leagues from Étaples, a
town on the mouth of the river Canche, with a tolerably good harbour for
small vessels. This put us in such good spirits that even Mr. Essel, in
spite of his weakness, was determined to go that distance before
daylight. We quickened our pace, and proceeded, with light hearts and
full of hope.
We passed the strong town of Hesdin at midnight, and as might be
supposed, we took care to keep a very respectful distance from it. At
daylight on Thursday the 17th, to our great mortification, we found
that we were at least three leagues from Étaples. We had exerted
ourselves right manfully, and had performed our allotted task; but the
journey was much longer than we had supposed when we quitted the
farmhouse. A bourg, or municipal town, called Nieuville, lay now
immediately in our route, without our having any means of avoiding it,
on account of the serpentine course of the river. Neither wood nor
anything else to shelter us was in view. Our situation was most
critical, and we unwillingly came to the conclusion that was
obvious--pass through the town we must. Our object was to get through it
before any, or at least many, of the inhabitants could be up, and by
dint of a quick pace. This we happily accomplished. As soon as possible
we struck across the fields; but, to our dismay, no appearance of a wood
could be discovered. Even in the fields people were moving in different
directions, and it was not much to our comfort that we observed many of
them to be military. Surrounded by such numerous difficulties, we
resolved to go into a small contiguous village, imagining that even this
would be less dangerous than to remain straying and wandering in the
open fields. We arrived about eight o’clock at a hut in the village;
avoiding the public-house, as there are, in general, police officers, or
_gendarmes_, lurking around such places when in the vicinity of large
towns. We asked the inhabitants if they could provide us breakfast. They
replied, “Yes, we can give you some milk-soup and bread.” We approved of
this repast very much; and, after paying them, we requested they would
have the goodness to allow us to repose ourselves for a few hours in
some convenient place; but this they refused, hinting that they
suspected that we were deserters from the camp at Boulogne. We assured
them, upon our words of honour, they were very much mistaken; that, on
the contrary, we were going that way, but were so very much fatigued,
and having a sick comrade, we wanted a little rest. After importuning
them a long time, and promising a good reward, they allowed us to go
into a barn-loft full of straw. We were particularly obliged to them,
and perfectly contented with this apartment; but, when nearly settled,
and each had got covered over with straw, to our great mortification and
annoyance, the owner came, having repented of his granting permission to
enter it, and insisted upon our instantly quitting his premises. All our
rhetoric with this fellow was in vain. So we were compelled to quit our
habitation about eleven o’clock, and walk towards another more
respectable village. We inquired of a shepherd, on entering this place,
if he could direct us to a public-house; and he pointed out one to us.
We proceeded, but with little hopes of escaping from being discovered or
arrested. However, we determined to call for a private room the moment
we arrived at the cabaret, being in hopes (if we could avoid police
officers in passing to a private apartment) we might stand a chance of
remaining unnoticed until night. In this we succeeded; and, being
supplied with refreshments, we were provided with a suitable apartment
immediately. The only person in the house was a girl of about eighteen
years of age, who made us a comfortable fire, and shook up two beds,
that we might rest a little if we pleased. Seeing that there was no
danger, we pretended to be quite at our ease, and coolly asked her where
her father and mother were. She replied, “That the former was watching
the sheep outside of the village, and that the latter was gone to
Étaples.” We found by her description of her father that he was the very
man who had directed us to her. She asked us, “If we were not conscripts
going to the camp of Boulogne?” We answered in the affirmative; and
begged her not to let anybody enter our room, as we had several things
to settle amongst ourselves and wished to be in private. She promised to
obey us; but little did her acquiescence bring confidence or comfort,
when she added that there was at that moment a _gendarme_ in the kitchen
in the disguise of a peasant. This was enough to render us tremulous.
But even this was not all; for she informed us that this _gendarme_ had
just come from Boulogne with a party, in order to procure forage for the
_gendarmes_’ horses there. We had evidently got into a hornet’s nest, or
almost within the jaws of the lion; but, preserving as much the
appearance of tranquillity as possible, we informed her that we had not
the least desire to see anybody but her father, with whom we wished to
have some conversation. She promised to send for him as soon as her
guest in the kitchen had quitted the house. The “soon” was devoutly to
be wished; and glad were we when, in a short time, we were told that he
had taken his departure. The girl now sent for her father; and her
mother also returned. We were in great hopes that, as these people were
very poor, we might be able to induce them to procure us a boat, through
the medium of some of their friends, the fishermen on the coast, who
might not be temptation-proof, or impervious to the influence of a few
_louis d’or_. Convinced that nothing much could be accomplished without
this all-powerful metal, each of us began to search in the different
parts of his garments for his due proportion. We had been obliged to
take the precaution of stitching what gold coin we had in the seams of
our clothes, that we might not lose it in the event of our being
arrested. To our great sorrow--and, I may add, astonishment--Mr. Essel
discovered that his gold coin, to the amount of £45 sterling, had
slipped out of a pad which he had contrived for the purpose of
concealing it, and which he had always worn round his neck in his
neck-handkerchief; nor could he recollect having untied it but once
since we set out, and that was at the worthy baker’s cottage, where he
suspected he had left it. This baker had appeared to be an honest man,
and, as I have already observed, had behaved excessively kindly to us.
It was possible that the money might have been left there without our
host having seen it until after our departure; but the poor fellow could
have no opportunity of restoring the treasure to its right and now
embarrassed owner. The loss was to us, at that moment, very distressing,
but not irreparable, as we still had a tolerably good sum, and
Lieutenant Essel and myself had two gold watches, sufficient, as we
trusted, to inspirit the shepherd and induce him to assist us. He at
length arrived; when, after taking every feasible means of enjoining
secrecy, we disclosed our situation, object, and what we were, and
promised to reward him very liberally, provided he could procure us a
conveyance across the Channel. We were certain, we observed, that he
must have a number of seafaring acquaintances on the coast, and we would
make it well worth their trouble to assist us. He hesitated very much at
first; but, having shown him a purse, and repeating our promises of
reward, he assured us he would try every possible means, and he declared
that, at all events, we were perfectly safe under his roof, and that he
would proceed to see what he could accomplish. We were greatly elated,
and were almost certain of succeeding, from his not raising any
obstacles. Our anxiety for this fellow’s return is not to be described:
every individual that passed appeared to be somebody he had sent, or was
about to bring, to agree with us for our passage. The much-wished-for
moment, as we thought, at length arrived, when the old shepherd, with a
demure countenance, opened our door, and, having closed it again with
the utmost caution, began to inform us, “That all his search to procure
a boat had been ineffectual; that the fishermen along the coast were
constrained to bring their boats to Étaples and lay them up there,
whence they dared not move without a passport from the commandant of the
town, as well as a soldier as a guard in each boat, to prevent their
having communication with the English cruisers or going without the
limits. They were also under the necessity of going out and returning
only in the daytime.” To our vexation and grief, the fellow added, “that
we could not remain in his house any longer than the dusk of the
evening, as he was obliged to return an account to the mayor of the
village of every stranger that might be with him after dark, taking his
passport at the same time for the mayor’s inspection;” and the fellow
concluded all this anything but comfortable information and kindness by
lifting up his hat, scratching his head, and saying, “I hope, gentlemen,
you will reward me for my pains and for keeping counsel.” We were
absolutely confounded. We stood amazed--staring at each other; and for
some time were unable to utter a word. At length I broke silence, and
observed, “That it was the fault of his _better half_, who appeared to
us, from the instant we had seen her, to be a bitter, malignant
creature. She, no doubt, had been consulted;” and her sour looks and
conduct upon every occasion convinced us all that this opinion was well
founded.
Having nothing to expect from this unfeeling and unprincipled couple, we
paid them liberally for all we had had, and for all they had done, or
pretended to have done; and as soon as it was dark we left their, to us,
not agreeable abode. The point of departure had been a subject of
altercation; for, as soon as they had received our money, they insisted
upon turning us out; whilst we, for our own purposes, as resolutely
maintained our right to remain until it was dark. Both of the
inhospitable pair had repeatedly threatened to call in the mayor, in
order to arrest us, if we remained a moment longer; but this could
scarcely have been worse than running the risk of being seen in the
daytime. However, darkness at length shrouded the earth, and we left
this unpropitious roof with no very merciful, or, we fear, Christian
feelings, towards those that drove us out.
When in the open air, we were utterly perplexed as to how we should act
and as to what course we should steer. We began to imagine that what we
had been told respecting the boats might be partly true. Sometimes we
supposed that it would be better to proceed towards Rotterdam; at others
we thought of recrossing the Canche and directing our wearisome course
towards St. Valery; at others we imagined it would be better to repair
to any port where we might be likely to find an American or other
neutral vessel, in which we might escape; but at last we agreed
unanimously to cross the river, as at all events the safest plan for
that night, and afterwards to proceed to some villages that might be
close down on the sea-coast. We were thus consulting, or had just come
to this conclusion, when the shepherd’s daughter made her appearance,
and gently told us, “That her father had sent her to show us a house
where we were sure of finding a person that would be of service to us,
and who would put us across the river; which was,” she added, “by far
the safest side.” We thanked the girl, who appeared the whole evening
very much affected at the conduct of her parents; and she returned,
begging us not to mention who had directed us--which, of course, we
promised, and we kept our word. One of us was now deputed to
reconnoitre. It was about ten o’clock; the house was on the side of the
road, and a number of soldiers were passing on their route to the camp:
this circumstance retarded our project, as we were obliged to keep
within a hedge until the military had passed, and by this time it was
full eleven o’clock. Then Mr. Tuthill (the deputed person) advanced; and
soon returned and informed us that he had seen a man who had given him
some hopes, and that he would rejoin us shortly. This was most welcome
news. The person made his appearance, and told us he would direct us to
a friend’s house on the other side, who would, he believed, do what we
wished. Heavens! what joyful intelligence! “His boat,” he said, “would
put us across as soon as she should be afloat; the tide of flood was
then making, and he would return again to where we were in an hour, by
which time he supposed the boat would be ready.” This put us in the
highest spirits. An hour ago we were in the depths of despair; our
feelings of joy were now heightened by contrast. With the vividness of
lightning flashed across my mind all our past sufferings; and, from the
number of dangers which we had almost miraculously escaped, it struck me
that we were special favourites of Fortune, and that we were about to
reap the glorious object of all our wishes. Habit, however, had taught
us distrust and caution; and we shifted our situation, lest this
stranger might turn out to be a false friend, or a scoundrel sent to
deceive us, and we placed ourselves where we could easily discover
whether he had any auxiliaries with him when he came back. At the
appointed time he came to where he expected to find us, by himself,
which convinced us that his intentions were more honest than we had
supposed. In a few minutes we were carried to the opposite side, where
he secured his boat, and guided us to the house above-mentioned,
assuring us that they were people we could depend upon, and who had many
friends, fishermen, on the water-side. He would not enter the cottage,
or hut, but quitted us at the threshold, having received a sufficient
recompense for the trouble we had given. We knocked repeatedly at the
door. It began to rain very heavily; nor could we gain admittance until
we had given many assurances that we were particular friends who only
wished to be sheltered a few minutes from the inclemency of the night.
These protestations at length gained us permission to enter.