A false direction and an appalling repulse--A bribe refused--A
deluge, and shelter in a barn--A fatal resolution--Dangers of
fugitives journeying by daylight--A market-day at Étaples--Passing
through crowds not very convenient for runaway prisoners of war--An
attempt to reach the sand-hills on the coast--A bold progress
through a despicable village--The last house--Parching thirst, and
begging for a draught of water--An acquiescence, or reply, in the
shape of two custom-house officers--Our capture--A clever fiction
well devised, better sustained, and totally defeated--Getting rid
of suspicious goods--An examination before the mayor--Americanism
and the American gentleman--An awkward exposure--A _mittimus_ to
Boulogne gaol--An examination of our persons and clothes--Our fate
sealed, and hope destroyed.
Both the man and woman of the house stared at us with great amazement;
and, finding that we were utter strangers, they begged to know what we
wanted, and why we had disturbed them so unseasonably. This reception
was rather portentous and appalling; but humility becomes the
unfortunate, and we humbly begged that they would make themselves quite
easy, for we were absolutely come as friends in great distress, to
solicit protection and assistance. This appeased them; and we proceeded
to state that we were Frenchmen, who wished to be conveyed as quickly as
possible into some part of Normandy or Brittany. We made them very
liberal offers; but, to our dismay, they were thoroughly
“temptation-proof.” To all our bribery their hearts and minds were as
cold as asbestos. The woman at last observed, “that it was true that she
had a brother who was a fisherman on the sea-coast,” and our eyes
glistened at what we thought was the beginning of good news; but then
came the sad addenda, that his boat had been taken round to Étaples, and
that when he wished to fish he was obliged to embark under the
surveillance and regulations which had been described to us by the
shepherd. Alas! alas! we began to fear that the shepherd was not the
egregious liar we had taken him for. The woman’s story was confirmed by
the husband; and both assured us that, upon our knocking at their door,
they had suspected us to be _gendarmes_ in disguise. These fellows, it
appeared, were frequently in the habit of practising such tricks upon
their countrymen. The good old couple, however, soon insisted upon our
quitting their house, and in a manner which proved that they were not
accustomed to make use of much ceremony. In vain did we point out to
them our miserable plight, and expatiate upon the extreme badness of the
weather. We talked of the excessive darkness of the night, the torrents
of rain that were pouring as if heaven and earth were coming in contact,
and we entreated them to allow us to shelter ourselves in any barn,
cow-house, or even pig-sty; but we might as well have appealed to an
Egyptian mummy. In proportion as we were mendicant they became
peremptory, and even fierce; and at last we were obliged to depart in
what seemed little less than a deluge. As soon as they saw that they had
got us over the threshold, some few and faint feelings of commiseration
seemed to touch their obdurate breasts, and they had the charity to
point out to us a direction which led to a barn, which they assured us
was full of hay, and seldom visited, so that we could very safely remain
concealed in it until the following night. They further advised us to
proceed either to Dieppe or St. Valery, as the two ports at which it was
most probable that we should succeed in procuring a boat.
We shortly discovered the barn, and had the good fortune to arrive at it
a little before daylight. We found it full of hay, as they had stated; a
most timely relief for us, being quite drenched with the incessant rain,
and all over mud and dirt. Each soon found, or made, a convenient hole
for himself through the hay, taking the precaution to work a good way
down and to cover himself well over, lest our steps into this place
should lead to a suspicion and we might be found out. We fell into a
most profound sleep; nor did I awake until nine o’clock in the morning
(Friday, 18th Sept.), when I heard my name called repeatedly by Mr.
Tuthill. He proposed that we should quit that place immediately, and get
down to the sea-side, as the day was the only time to succeed in
procuring a boat, from the method they had taken of securing all vessels
at night. I used the most forcible arguments I was master of to dissuade
them from so rash a proceeding; and pointed out the caution we had
observed in the inland parts of the country as the only thing that had
ensured our success in arriving where we then were; although there had
been much less danger in the interior than on the sea-coast, where there
would be, of course, a strict look-out kept by custom-house officers,
_gardes de côte_, etc. I suggested, as the better plan, to wait until
night: we could, in the event of not succeeding, always make this our
rendezvous, and could return to it before daylight, procuring
subsistence at some lonely cottage during the night. All my rhetoric was
in vain: they appeared determined to try their fortune by daylight. I
then requested, at any rate, that they would wait until noon,--the usual
time for the country people to dine,--as we might with the more ease get
away unnoticed. This was at last agreed to; so we remained buried in the
hay until the hour of noon, when, unperceived by anybody, we crept out,
and, getting upon the highway, proceeded in the direction we had
intended to take. We put a bold front upon disastrous affairs, and, with
apparent intrepidity, we marched on. Unluckily, it was market-day at
Étaples, and the road was crowded with people going to and returning
from the ferry-boat. Our only plan was to walk directly through them, on
the principle that no man whose object was flight and escape would walk
amid crowds of enemies in open day. This was the only course that we
could adopt; and, though all our calculations proved to be miserably
erroneous, and our hopes fallacious, still I had nothing with which I
had to reproach myself.
We kept advancing towards the sand-hills with all the appearance of
carelessness and confidence, but with a quick, and, as far as we could
assume appearances, a bold and firm step; and we arrived at last at a
poor, sorry village, through which we had to pass. We had actually got
to the very last house, when our poor friend Ashworth felt extremely
exhausted, and expressed that his parching thirst obliged him to ask for
a draught of water. On all such occasions every one of the party was
consulted, and the majority of votes constituted the ultimatum, or
decision; and whether a long train of success, or a long succession of
narrow escapes, had made us vainly confident, I cannot say, but not one
of us saw the slightest danger in Ashworth’s entering this house. It was
impossible to suppose that so wretched a village could contain either
troops or _gendarmes_; and as we had passed through the place without
attracting any notice whatever, we did not imagine that there could be
any danger in entering the last house at its extremity. The glorious
sea, with all its inspirations, was before us, and we laughed at what we
had undergone, for our hearts were light, and our minds were full of the
glad prospects of our attaining to all our wishes.
Ashworth entered the house, and we advanced slowly, lagging and
loitering for him to rejoin us. His absence appeared very
long--unnecessarily so. Suspense and impatience gave way to suspicion,
and suspicion was succeeded by alarm. I shall never forget my
conflicting emotions--they grew stronger and stronger every moment. At
length, Mr. Tuthill broke silence, and expressed a wish to go and
ascertain what had detained our companion. Essel and myself remained on
the side of the road, anxiously looking out. They very soon appeared;
and, to our inexpressible grief and mortification, were conducted by two
armed men in a uniform entirely foreign to us. These soon proved to be
_douaniers_, or custom-house officers, with which, at that period, the
coast of France abounded; but none of them had ever fallen under our
observation or cognisance. I clearly perceived that these fellows had
taken both our companions into custody, from the manner in which they
approached. When they had joined us, Mr. Ashworth introduced me to them
as Captain Cox, of the ship _Favourite_, of New York--the story fixed
upon in case of being stopped. We had been cast away near Marseilles,
and all hands had perished, except Florence Heath (Mr. Ashworth), mate;
William Dixon (Mr. Tuthill), supercargo; and Mr. Essel (whose new name I
now forget), passenger. We were bound to Barcelona. Cargo--slaves and
cotton. Only the supercargo and mate could speak French. They appeared
to commiserate our situation, and had not the least doubt but that what
we alleged was true. “But they must take us,” they said, “to the mayor
of the town, who would, no doubt, grant us passports to proceed to some
seaport, whence we could take shipping for America, or any other place
we pleased.” We expressed our warmest thanks for this mark of their
attention; but (if they pleased) we added, “That we did not wish to put
them to the inconvenience of going out of their way on our account.”
They replied, “That it was entirely in their way; and it was impossible
we could proceed along the coast without papers: they were only
astonished how we had crossed the kingdom of France (or, more properly
speaking, the empire) without being arrested. We had been much to blame
in not having procured passports prior to our quitting Marseilles.” We
assured them we were ignorant of its being in the smallest degree
necessary, that we were born in a country where nothing of the kind was
required, and where it would be deemed a very great insult to ask any
person where he came from or whither he was going. We, of course,
alluded to public functionaries; for we well recollected the proverbial
character of the Americans for inquisitiveness, and Dr. Franklin’s story
of his putting up a printed board over his apartment, whenever he
arrived in an American town, so full of all particulars relating to
himself as to render it impossible, as he thought, for even American
curiosity to intrude upon his privacy with a question.
We of course regretted that we had not been more enlightened upon the
laws and customs of “_ce pays ci_,” and at length we arrived at the
ferry-boat, and in a few minutes found ourselves in the town of Étaples,
under different circumstances and in a different company from what he
had desired or expected. We still entertained hopes of escape; but,
unfortunately, each of us had about his person many things most
inconvenient to be inspected by French _douaniers_, and most unlikely to
corroborate our fiction of our being shipwrecked Americans. My brains
were set to work to “get to windward” of this quicksand, and I whispered
to my “mate” to intimate to his unwelcome or awkward friends, that I was
fatigued, and that I wished to take some little refreshment at any
convenient inn before I had the honour of appearing before the mayor.
Our civil conductors consented that the fatigued gentleman should take
what refreshment he stood in need of, and of which, I need scarcely say,
they intended to be participators. We arrived at a cabaret, were allowed
to enter, were conducted into a good room, and, as if I were the most
easy and indifferent gentleman that ever proceeded from America, I
called authoritatively for a supply of bread and wine. During this
repast we alternately had an excuse for retiring: I need not say that we
took care to get rid of almost every article that might prove that our
fiction had not the saving grace of probability.
We at last made the best of a very bad or unpromising case; and, putting
on the appearance of unconcern and mirth, we followed our conductors.
They told us that they were under the necessity of waiting upon their
captain previously to going before the mayor. He received me and my
companions with politeness, and all things seemed to indicate that the
interview might pass off without danger, until he politely told me that
he must send for the mayor to be present at our examination. This
changed the whole complexion of the case; and I am sure the effect must
have been visible in most of our countenances. At length, “His Worship”
arrived, not at all to our comfort; but what rendered his presence more
annoying was his bringing with him “_an American gentleman_.” It is said
that the society of a gentleman is always desirable; but the ghosts did
not strike more terror into “the soul of Richard” than the reality of
this American gentleman’s appearance struck terror into ours. The mayor
and the American gentleman engaged us, “yard-arm and yard-arm.” Their
cross-examination was worse than a raking fire. We had only to repeat
our former story. At last our unlucky genius, the American gentleman,
plainly stated to us that they suspected us to be Englishmen--which we
had no means of disproving. The mayor added that we were to be committed
to the prison of Boulogne until the authorities heard from the American
consul at Paris, or until they were thoroughly convinced of the veracity
of our statement. These were disastrous “untils”; and it struck me that
if they waited for the alternative of them, we might remain in gaol to
eternity.
The result was, what less sanguine and less interested men might have
anticipated--we were to be ordered to a dungeon, under an escort of
_gendarmerie_. The brigadier, who seemed to have all the hundred eyes of
Argus condensed into two, asked if we had been searched. The answer was
in the negative. “Search them instantly,” cried he; “and,” he added,
“depend upon it they are Englishmen, who have escaped from one of the
depots.” The fellows were obedient to command, and we were immediately
put under as severe a scrutiny as ever man was subjected to. I was the
first person to be rummaged. My pocket-book was opened, and in it were
several English letters, with other papers equally calculated to
disprove the veracity of my being an American captain shipwrecked at
Marseilles. My resource was to say that my pocket-book belonged to a
cousin who had perished with the wreck. On the others were found maps of
the departments that we had gone through, with several other papers,
which identified us to be what they suspected.
However, we still persisted in being Americans. They remonstrated on the
folly of such an imposition, and ordered us into a dungeon, assuring us
that we should be now very roughly treated, and considered as dangerous
people; whereas a frank confession might cause some mitigation. After a
little deliberation we clearly perceived the inutility of holding out;
so we at once acknowledged who and what we were. The brigadier assured
us that he had been confident from the moment he first saw us that we
were English, and he would now do everything in his power to comfort us
under our present embarrassments, but he had no superior officer of his
corps nearer than Boulogne, where he should send us the next day; and
for that night he would allow us to go to an inn to get ourselves a
little in order, but with a strong escort; and we should be obliged to
provide that escort with every necessary, and to pay the men six livres
(five shillings) each for the night. This we readily agreed to. Once
more we were prisoners: our state of mind was truly miserable.
At the inn we bought a new shirt and pair of stockings each, and got our
old ones, which were in a sad condition, washed and mended. They
supplied us with tolerably good beds, of which we were extremely anxious
to take possession. After supper we were in the act of going to bed,
when an order came, from the commanding officer of a camp adjacent, to
conduct us to his tent--which was quickly put into execution. He
appeared, in manners, the reverse of the general character of the
French. He perused all my letters, which were of no consequence to any
one existing except myself,--and which were never returned to me,--and
declared he was certain we had emissaries on the coast, otherwise we
could never have attempted so perilous a journey. This was, at least, a
compliment to our daring enterprise; and when we assured him that we had
had no connection whatever with the people on the coast, he replied with
a “Bah!” and concluded with an “Ah! the fishermen on our coast,
unfortunately, are too much attached to the English.”
Our conversation terminated, and we were taken back to our inn.
Distressed as we were, we immediately retired to rest our wearied limbs.
Nature was exhausted; and we sank into nature’s balm--“sweet
sleep,”--too afflicted and worn out to reflect, or to care for the
reflection that the dawn would see us in progress to gaol.