A trial at Metz--English officers sentenced to the galleys--Forging
and using false passports--The consequences--A new scheme of
escape--A favourable night but unfavourable sentinels--A farewell
dinner--Another attempt at escape--A descent of ramparts by a
rope--Concealment in a ditch--Rolling down a glacis--An adieu to
the Mansion of Tears--Making towards the Rhine--Concealment in a
wood--Refuge in a vineyard--Shooting a fox--Disturbed in our
lair--A flight and its dangers--The banks of the Rhine--Passing the
river--A joyful escape into neutral territory--Prospective comforts
of an inn, and refreshment.
It was the next day (5th August, 1808) that my unfortunate companions
received orders to prepare for a march to Metz, to which place they were
sent under a strong escort, in order to take their trial as
conspirators. How the simple attempt of prisoners of war at
gaol-breaking could come under such a class of crime was to me
inexplicable. Buché, the _gendarme_, was ordered to repair to Metz, to
act in the double capacity of prosecutor and chief witness. I was now
entirely in this man’s power. A single word from him would have included
me in the number of the proscribed and condemned; for to be tried and
condemned before such a tribunal were tantamount to the same thing.
Fortunate did I consider myself that Buché did not denounce me.
I had the mortification to see my poor companions heavily ironed and
bound in chains. After being closely confined in their filthy and
pestiferous den for many days, they were to be marched twenty-five
leagues, in order to be put upon their fictitious trials. We parted as
affectionately as possible, and I could almost voluntarily have shared
their fate,--“Our crime was common,” in the words of the poet, and I
could not help repeating the end of the line, “and common be the pain.”
In a few days I received a letter from my friend Mr. Ashworth, giving me
a melancholy narration of the trial; and he concluded by stating that
himself, and several of our friends, were sentenced “_as slaves to the
galleys for fifteen years. Mr. Tuthill was sentenced to only nine._[25]”
I was so shocked with this part of the intelligence that I dropped the
letter, and proceeded no further, and I hurried to relate the afflicting
news to my brother-prisoners. The feelings of indignation it excited
were extreme, and though under the absolute power of the enemy, we
loudly exclaimed against the barbarity and tyranny of a nation that
called itself civilised, and could suffer such a judicial sentence to be
passed or executed.
After the first ebullitions of rage and indignation had subsided, one of
my friends picked up the letter, and the whole scene was quickly
changed; for, on reading further, he found that the sentence of the
court had been reversed. Great as was this consolation, it did not alter
my feelings towards the chief of the French nation.
The letter went on to inform me that two of our seamen were condemned to
the galleys for six years, and that they had actually been sent off to
their destination. This I thought was horrible.
I knew both of these unhappy victims. One was an Italian by birth, and
the other an Englishman. The former, John Gardner, _alias_ Italian John,
I found had been condemned for making out a false passport for the
other, one Henry Hudsell, _alias_ Quiz. Hudsell escaped from Bitche, and
travelled several leagues with this fictitious passport, before the
imposition was discovered. If the reader will only consider the
treatment which our prisoners had endured, with no prospect of having an
exchange during the war, and that although this said crime may be termed
forgery, it was not done to molest or injure any person whatever, but
was simply planned to liberate the bearer, I have not the smallest doubt
but that he will agree with me in opinion, that it falls very short of
deserving a punishment equal to six years, with all denominations of
malefactors, in the galleys.
There was an Englishman lately arrived from the galleys, who had served
in our army on the Continent, under His Royal Highness the Duke of York;
his name, to the best of my recollection, was Barnes. He stated that he,
with some others, had been made prisoners by the French, and, by some
accident, one of their guards was killed. The whole of the prisoners
were accused, and sentenced to twelve or thirteen years’ slavery--I am
not confident which; however, he was the only survivor. His time being
up, they conducted him to the depot of punishment, still to be
considered as a prisoner of war. It surely behoved our government, at
the peace of 1814, to direct strict inquiry to be made whether any of
our countrymen were still suffering in the galleys!
_September, 1808._--I had by this time another plan of escaping in
contemplation, and with every hope of success. The arrival of a Mr.
Hewson and a Mr. Butterfield, midshipmen (who, in March last, had
escaped from Verdun, and had got down to the Gulf of Lyons, in the
Mediterranean, where they had been arrested and brought back to Bitche),
favoured my plan very much. Mr. Hewson being an intimate friend and very
old acquaintance, I communicated to him my plan, and he rejoiced
exceedingly at an opportunity so soon offering for another attempt to be
off. However, it was necessary to wait some time, as he was placed in
the _souterrain_. In a few days he contrived, owing to real
indisposition, to be moved upstairs into a room appointed for the sick.
I now only waited for the worthy Hewson; it was necessary to endeavour
to get him up into my room--no other prospect was left. He made
application by letter to the commandant; and on the 11th of September
succeeded. We wanted nothing now but a favourable moment. The next day,
Mr. Barklimore, a mutual friend of ours, also received permission to
reside in our apartment. This gentleman is at present a surgeon of
reputation in Charlotte Street, Bloomsbury. We were, fortunately, only
seven in number, in consequence of the other poor fellows being at Metz;
and of these seven, three were confined to their beds. The fourth was a
Mr. Batley, a dragoon officer of the East India Company’s service, who
had been captured in the _Bell_ packet, bound to India. He had been a
long time in the room, and informed me that he had conjectured what we
were about, and requested to be allowed to join and partake of our
danger, which we agreed to. No opportunity of getting past the
sentinels yet presented itself. Our friends arrived from Metz, but were
put below. I communicated the business to them: they thought it a very
dangerous and hazardous plan; however, they would have willingly run the
same risk with us, if they could: but that was impossible. On the 12th
of September, and the very evening before our meditated attempt to
escape from the fortress, the commandant, M. Clement, in passing through
the yard in which we were allowed to respire the air, very
condescendingly stopped a few minutes to converse with me; when he
addressed me by saying, “Well, Monsieur O’Brien, I think now that the
Emperor of Austria has joined us, you must relinquish all hopes of
escaping, for there is no chance whatever for an Englishman to get off
from the Continent.” I replied, “That is very true, Monsieur le
Commandant; but if that had not been the case, Monsieur le Commandant,
where is the possibility of getting out of this strong fortress, and so
well guarded too?” “True,” said he, smiling; “but the attempt has been
made more than once, though it has invariably proved unsuccessful, and
frequently fatal to some of the party.” He continued by saying, “My
opinion is, that if prisoners of war, I mean English, could manage to
get out of confinement, their only course would be that towards Flushing
or Rotterdam, where they are always pretty certain of finding English
smugglers ready to embark them.” I assured Monsieur le Commandant that
his remarks were quite correct, and that if I thought there was the
slightest chance of escaping from the fort, I would not hesitate to try
and do so to-morrow, or as soon as possible. “I believe you truly,
Monsieur O’Brien, and I give you credit for your candour,” was his
reply; “had you spoken otherwise, I would not have believed you”: and
he added with a smile, as he bade me adieu, “you may try and get away if
you can, and we shall take care and do all in our power to prevent you.”
I could not help thinking this conversation at so critical a moment very
extraordinary. However, this opinion of his did not make us alter our
intended course for Austria.
It was now the 13th of September, and the third day since my friend
Hewson had joined us. The night was very boisterous and inclement, and
this we thought proved much in our favour. Everything was got ready. Our
rope was tightly wound into a ball and concealed in a pocket-handkerchief.
Every moment was anxiously watched and counted. At length darkness set
in. It rained in torrents, blew almost a hurricane, the thunder rolled
with a tremendous sound, and I scarcely ever witnessed in any part of
the globe a more desperate night. All this was so far, we considered,
propitious; but, unfortunately, the flashes of lightning were vivid and
incessant, and this was a serious source of danger.
We now unlocked our door, and remained at the bottom of the flight of
stairs, waiting to see the sentinels go into their boxes. This was about
eight o’clock, and four hours did we watch, until midnight, and not a
single soul of them left his post. This was the more provoking, for as
it poured a deluge of rain, and they were without their greatcoats, we
had calculated with certainty upon their requiring and seeking shelter.
The reverse was the case, and during the whole time they were as
vigilant as if they had suspected our designs.
We at last agreed to return to our apartments until the ensuing night,
and to deposit all our apparatus in places we had previously fixed upon
for concealment; but, upon second thoughts, we considered that, in all
probability, the sentinels that came to relieve the watch at midnight
would not be so very hardy or watchful as their predecessors, and that
we might yet have an opportunity of putting our scheme into execution.
In this expectation or hope we waited, in a state of intense anxiety,
until two in the morning; but, to our discomfiture, we found that the
sentinels defied the elements, and kept their posts in the strictest
sense of duty. Chagrined and vexed, we returned to our apartments,
locked the door and went to bed.
The _souterrain_ was opened at the usual hour, and our friends came
running up, imagining, from the inclemency of the night, that we must
have succeeded in effecting our escape; and greatly were they
disappointed at finding us all snug in our beds. I related all the
circumstances to them: they shrugged up their shoulders, and expressed
their fears that, if we could not get off in such a night as the last,
there was little hope of our escaping in fair weather.
On the 14th of September we dined early, that we might have the pleasure
of our friends’ company to a farewell dinner during the time allowed
them for breathing the fresh air. We were determined to lay in a good
foundation for our journey, and got a very large piece of beef, had it
roasted, and procured plenty of bread, beer, and vegetables. This, for
our circumstances, was more than an alderman’s feast: we all enjoyed it,
earnestly hoping that it might be the last that we should ever eat
within the walls of a French prison. Our friends pointed out to us the
number of difficulties we should have to surmount in passing the
guards--the danger that would attend it--and expressed the anxiety they
were under for us. We, however, were determined not to relinquish our
undertaking, and to be ready every night until an opportunity offered.
We parted as we had done the night before. They did not suppose we
should have any chance that night, as the weather was moderate and fair.
At our usual hour of six (the winter regulations having commenced) we
were locked up, and immediately recommenced our preparations. We
thought, perhaps, the sentinels might be more careless early in the
evening; that is to say, before eight, which was the usual time to set
the night-watch and give the necessary orders.
We were now again all ready. Our door was opened; and we could see the
sentinel, whom we had most to fear, walk up and down before our windows.
His box was in front of the door, in the yard through which we had to
go; but, as our guards lived underneath our apartments, we thought he
would take anybody moving about so early for one of them: and it was
unusual to challenge any one before eight o’clock.
At about seven, the soldier, to our infinite joy, entered his box. I
instantly descended the stairs that led into the yard. It was just dusk;
and I was to take six minutes on the forlorn hope, as it might justly be
termed, to fix our rope to a palisade, and to descend the first rampart,
before Mr. Hewson followed, who was next on the list. I passed the
sentinel quite close, and could see him leaning over his musket. He
never moved, though I met his eye, probably taking me for one of the
guards; and I arrived, providentially, at the spot fixed upon to make
fast the rope, which I very soon accomplished, and was just in the act
of descending when my friend Hewson arrived. In a few minutes, to my
inexpressible satisfaction, we were all four at the bottom of the first
wall. Our principal object being now accomplished, we congratulated each
other. We had two walls yet to descend; the heights, as I have already
mentioned, being respectively from 90 to 100, from 40 to 50, and the
third from 25 to 30 feet. We all clapped on to the rope, and crawled up
with our feet against the wall, until we got a good height. We then
swung off together, when the rope broke, and we fell upon one another,
leaving in our hands enough to enable us to descend the next rampart. We
made this piece fast to one of the upper stones of the embrasure, and
again descended. We had now to repeat our haul upon the rope, and it
again broke, leaving a piece of sufficient length for our future
purpose, the descent of the third and last rampart.
We had taken the precaution of providing two long boot-hooks to stick in
the wall, to make our rope fast to, in case we should find no other
means of securing it. These proved of the greatest use in getting down
the third rampart. In fact, had we not had them with us, we must have
surrendered ourselves, for not one single means could we find of
fastening the rope to anything, and to drop from a height of 30 feet
might have been destruction. The boot-hooks served our purpose: we were
at the bottom of the third wall; and all that we had now to do was to
pass the outer sentinels, who were few in number, and rather slack in
vigilance, perhaps from the supposed impossibility of any prisoner
effecting an escape in this direction. We had, in fact, let ourselves
down by this frail rope a total height of from about 180 to 200 feet.
At the bottom of the third rampart we remained in the _fosse_ or ditch;
and we had to watch the turn of the sentinel that was pacing immediately
before us. As soon as his back was fairly turned, we ascended the scarp
of the ditch, and gently rolled ourselves down the slope or glacis. In a
few minutes, with our hearts rebounding with joyous emotions, we were on
the road to Strasbourg, on which we continued running as fast as we
possibly could for nearly an hour. We then halted to put on our shoes,
which we had hung round our necks as we rolled down the glacis, as we
had found it more secure to descend the walls without shoes than with
them, the feet being much more pliable.
We now turned round to take, as we hoped, a final view of the Mansion of
Tears, the name that had been so long given to this detestable fortress
by the unfortunate prisoners, many of whom had shed an abundance, or
showers of them, within its horrid cells and dungeons. We spontaneously
returned our thanks to Almighty God for our deliverance, and shook each
other cordially by the hand, overwhelmed with exultation at our almost
miraculous success. When we looked at the stupendous heights of the rock
and fortress, it seemed as if a miracle alone could have enabled us to
descend them, suspended by so slight and ill-made a cord as that which
we had been able to construct out of our shirt-linen and a little
cobbler’s twine.
The adventures of the last hour flitted across my mind like a dream or
fairy tale. I could scarcely believe my senses when they told me that I
was once more free and my own master. I frequently stared at my
companions, and said to myself, “My God! is it then possible that we
are once more clear of our tyrants, and delivered from slavery and
persecution?” I now addressed them, and observed how much it behoved us
to proceed cautiously. It was Messrs. Hewson’s and Barklimore’s second
attempt, Mr. Batley’s first, but my third, the _souterrain_ affair not
included. I consequently had most reason to be on my guard; and of
course became the leader. I therefore candidly observed that I should
run no risks that could by any means be avoided, and that the moment
they should attempt anything that I deemed rash or imprudent I would
quit them. They expressed the utmost satisfaction at my resolutions, and
ardently desired to conform to them.
We unanimously directed our course (by the stars) due east, which would
take us directly to the Rhine, and a considerable distance to the
northward of Strasbourg; and at daybreak, on the 15th, we entered an
excellent wood on a mountain’s side, close to the high-road, got well up
into it, and had a full view the whole day of those who passed
underneath, without a possibility of being seen by them. We saw some of
the _gendarmes_ from our late mansion in full gallop towards the Rhine,
and were certain they were in pursuit of us, and intended to give a
description of us, as they advanced, to their brethren who were
quartered in the adjacent villages.
Barklimore, to our mortification, began already to feel strong symptoms
of a relapse of fever. However unfortunate this was, we were determined
not to quit either him or Batley until we had piloted them across the
Rhine. At about eight at night we descended from our lurking-place, and
proceeded cautiously in the above-mentioned direction. A little before
daylight (the 16th) we halted. Mr. Batley’s feet were exceedingly sore
and painful, and having a secure hiding-place, we thought it most
prudent not to advance farther until the next night. Our refreshment was
a little ammunition bread and sausage, with what other things (such as
cabbages, turnips, etc.) we procured in the fields. When it became dark
we recommenced our journey; but our two companions became weak and
exhausted, and our progress was therefore very slow. On the 17th we
halted, and remained in a wood, as we had done the two days before, and
at nightfall we again pushed on, expecting in a few hours to reach the
much-longed-for banks of the Rhine.
However, daylight on the 18th brought no appearance of the river; and,
what was of more consequence, there was no wood in view in which we
could screen ourselves. We advanced about a mile, when we discovered a
vineyard, into which we hastened with all possible speed. We were
apprehensive of being seen by the watchman or guard, who is always on
the look-out, and we consequently kept creeping forward, until we
calculated that we had reached at least the centre. The ground was very
wet and uncomfortable, and the rain kept dripping, or rather pouring,
upon us from the leaves; but we were not in a condition to be
fastidious, and were highly pleased at being so secure and well placed.
About an hour had elapsed, when we heard a man whistle at a short
distance. It struck us that this must be the guard, and if he saw us, we
were certain that he would suspect that we came at least to pick the
grapes, as they were almost ripe; which is a penal offence in this
country. Not many seconds afterwards we heard the report of a musket,
and the small shot rattled through the vines close to our heads. We
inferred that the fellow had taken this summary mode of arresting us;
but in a moment a huge fox, with dogs in chase, passed close by, with
the man shouting at a small distance behind, who, fortunately, did not
follow the dogs in a direct line, or he would have come right upon us.
How to act we could not devise. To quit the vineyard would have been
extremely dangerous, and after a short debate we thought it most prudent
to remain where we were. At about ten we were again greatly alarmed by
the sound of voices that were approaching us rapidly. We lay close down
on our faces, with no hopes of escaping from being seen, the voices
still drawing nearer. In a short time we found they were at a stand, but
close to us. I lifted up my head to peep through the vines, and saw the
legs and thighs of two men close to me, the skirts of their greatcoats
almost touching where we were; but their backs were turned, and they
were moving on in an opposite direction: in a few minutes we lost sight
of them altogether. I proposed to move to some other place, as we had
been in constant alarm since we chose the spot where we then were; and I
was of opinion that it was near a pathway. We accordingly crept along to
another spot, but had been scarcely an hour there when we again heard a
rustling amongst the vines. Each of us, much disconcerted, lifted up his
head, and looked towards the place whence we heard the noise; we
observed a woman with an infant in her arms, leading a little girl about
seven years old, and coming directly upon us. The woman could not see us
at first, but the child did, her little head being considerably under
the branches. She immediately screamed, and seized the woman by the
hands; upon which I stood up, and accosted her in German. She was
dressed in the country garb, appeared much confused, and made no reply,
but proceeded onwards, and we agreed to quit the vineyard before she
could get to the village to give an account of this occurrence. In a few
minutes we were upon the high-road. At that moment there were only two
women on it, and they seemed to be coming towards us. We advanced very
deliberately. I had studied German a little in Bitche, and found it now
of material service, it being the language spoken in Alsace. I asked
them what distance we were from the Rhine. “_Three hours_” they replied.
We parted, and continued our route, eagerly wishing to find some place
of concealment.
After a very short time we discerned a man advancing towards us. To our
great annoyance, he stopped and surveyed us over and over again with
apparent astonishment. We ought not to have been surprised at this, for,
in spite of every effort to avoid it, we were covered with mud, and must
have presented a woeful, or at least a very singular spectacle. Batley
was hardly able to crawl along, on account of his feet. We continued our
route, and we observed the man turn again and again to look at us; and,
without actually making out what we were, we had no doubt that he took
us for “no better than we should be.”
We now discovered a shrubbery, where we were soon snug and well
concealed. It was one of the best hiding-places I was ever in, although
it was close to the road. It was now about four o’clock, and we were not
far from the Rhine. Under these favourable circumstances we hoped to be
able to cross it that night at least. Our conversation now turned upon
the difficulty of getting a boat, and the danger of approaching a house
on the French side. Our provisions were nearly exhausted. However, we
were sanguine of success, and anxiously wished for night, that we might
make our experiment.
The anxious hour arrived, and we set forward with great spirit--not,
however, forgetting to observe every necessary precaution. As this part
of the Rhine was infested with smugglers, it was natural to conclude
that there must also be a great number of custom-house officers, and we
were obliged to be most vigilant and circumspect--need I say that the
Étaples affair was vivid in my memory?
About eleven we made the circuit of a large town,[26] and at midnight,
to our unspeakable joy, we descried the long-wished-for river, with its
broad expanse shining like a mirror, and reflecting the heavens in a
mirror-like way. We were soon on its banks. We rested for a few minutes,
to take breath and to make our observations. There was an excellent wood
hard by, and we resolved to retreat into it for concealment, in case we
should not be able to get a boat that night; and, in the meantime, we
agreed to proceed for about an hour in a northerly direction: which
course we commenced, prying into every little creek and nook of the
river. The morning being starlight, beautiful, and serene, we could hear
the cocks crowing and dogs barking on the German side. This splendid
river flowed before us, about a mile in breadth, with not an island to
impede the view, which is not the case on all parts of the Rhine. My
God! how we longed to be conveyed across! This anxiety prevented our
fully enjoying the delightful prospect before us: it appeared to be a
terrestrial paradise. We continued nearly an hour admiring and
advancing, when the Great Ruler of all human affairs, whose Providence
had so much favoured us throughout this attempt to escape, gave to our
view a boat made fast with a chain to a stake driven into the bank,
close to a heap of wood, which I supposed she was to have been loaded
with at daylight. We were all struck with the secret impulse which had
directed us to this very spot; and from that moment I felt an inward
support and conviction that I should now succeed. On examining further,
we found the chain of it locked. The doctor and myself got hold of the
stake, and with little difficulty drew it out of the bank. This security
of a chain and lock upon a movable stake made me observe that it was
like “the lock upon leather which made the Irishman’s knife laugh.”
Three of our party being from the Green Isle, the remark caused a
general burst of merriment. Mr. Hewson, an expert sailor, and myself,
soon constructed a pair of oars, or paddles, out of a couple of pieces
of the wood. We then embarked our two comrades, whom we placed at the
bottom of our little boat; and in about twenty minutes we were safely
landed on the opposite side, having drifted nearly a mile and a half
with the rapidity of the flood. We drove the stake in the ground, that
the owners of the boat might find her at daylight, and proceeded into
the country as fast as possible. We would have left money for the owner
of the boat for the trouble we had caused him, though we were most
woefully provided with that necessary of life; but it was obvious that
there could be no certainty, and even little probability, of its falling
into the right hands.
At daybreak of the 19th it became excessively thick and foggy: poor
Batley was almost knocked up, the doctor was very much fatigued, and
ourselves rather weary. We discovered a village on the river Merg, and
after surveying it strictly, we agreed to enter it and to go to the
first public-house we should see, for the purpose of obtaining
refreshments and putting ourselves into as decent order as we could, not
only for the sake of comfort, but in order to prevent our appearing as
objects of suspicion. I calculated that we might very well pass
ourselves off as Frenchmen; and from the knowledge I had of the German
small villages, I was not in the least apprehensive of danger. This was
the sixth day, including Wednesday, that we had passed without rest, and
five of them under the open canopy of heaven, exposed to the elements,
without having even once approached the dwelling of any human being.
They who are clothed in purple, and fare sumptuously every day, can form
no idea of what man endures, unfed, uncomforted, unhoused, and even
unkennelled.