TAKEN PRISONER.
Taken prisoner, and removed to Boulogne gaol—Asked to dinner by
General Lemaroix—News of Perceval’s assassination—Parole
refused—Marched to Montreuil-sur-Mer—On to Hesdin; being footsore,
author insists on having a carriage—Drives to Arras.
When the tide had receded sufficiently for the enemy to board us without
wetting their delicate feet, about one hundred and fifty disgraced our
decks. About thirty of these civil gentlemen, principally officers, paid a
visit to my cabin without asking permission. The wine, of which I had ten
dozen on board, was their first object, which I make no doubt they found
suited their palate, as they drank it with much zest. My clothes,
spyglasses, knives and forks, as well as the crockery-ware, were seized on
in turn; and it appeared by their smirking looks and lively conversation
that all they had achieved was perfectly to their satisfaction, and that
instead of plundering a few ship-wrecked sufferers they had only been
asked to a _fête_ given by me. The commanding officer of these brave and
honest men desired us to go on shore, where we were met by another
officer, who ordered us to the guard-house near the battery, and an hour
afterwards we marched for Boulogne, which was four miles distant, escorted
by about forty of our tormentors. On our arrival we had the unexpected
happiness of being lodged in the common gaol, cooped up in a dirty tiled
room of twelve feet by eight, with a small well-grated window. “Well,”
said I to the doctor, who had remained behind to dress the wounded, “what
will the marines say to this? The sailors will never believe it.” Whilst
we were prosing with our elbows on our knees and our chins on our thumbs,
looking very dolefully at each other, the ill-looking man who had locked
us up made his appearance with a servant in a rich livery, who asked in
French for the commandant. I stood up and said I was that person, on which
he presented me with the following note:—
“Le Général Comte Lemaroix, Aide de Camp de sa Majesté l’Empereur et Roi,
Commandant en Chef le Camp de Boulogne, etc, prie Monsieur Hoffeman,
officier, de lui faire l’honneur de venir dîner avec lui aujourd’hui,
lundi, à 4 heures.
“_R.S.V.P._”
“Now,” said I, “doctor,” addressing my surgeon, “you are my senior in age
and I think in experience; be my mentor on this occasion. In the first
place, I have no inclination to go, for I am too sulky; in the second, I
am wet and dirty.” “Oh, do go, sir!” they all exclaimed. “It may better
our situation, and we may have our parole.” “On your account I will accept
the invitation,” said I. As I had no writing implements I sent a verbal
answer in the affirmative, and made myself as much an Adonis as I was
able. At the appointed hour the same servant and two gendarmes made their
appearance, and from the gaol to the general’s house I appeared, to judge
by the people staring at me, to be the lion of the day. On my arrival I
was ushered into the general’s presence. The Comte Lemaroix, who was about
forty years of age, was of a pleasing manner and countenance. He informed
me he was sorry for my misfortune, but it was the fortune of war. I
apologised for my dress, which was as wretched as my thoughts. At this
time a young man in the French naval uniform came to me and asked me how I
was. I remembered him as one of the officers sent to capture us. He spoke
indifferent English, and as my knowledge of the French language was
slight, I was glad to pair off with him. At the dinner-table were ten
officers and one lady. I was seated on the left side of the Comte. I cut a
sorry figure among so many smart and star-coated men. The dinner was
plentiful and good, and everybody chatty and in good humour, in which I
could not help, notwithstanding my situation, taking a part. After we had
taken our coffee I naturally concluded I should be on parole. When I took
my leave the captain in the navy and another officer said they would walk
with me as it was dusk, and I presumed we were going to an inn—but, oh,
horror of horrors! I was conducted to the prison from whence I came. They
there wished me good-night, and I wished them at the devil. Next morning,
after a restless night on a bed of straw, we were awakened by the grim,
hard-featured gaoler who had been kind enough to lock us up. He asked the
doctor if we wished to have breakfast, and if we could pay for it; he
answered in the affirmative. This turnkey gentleman informed us that our
first admiral, Mons. Poncevan, had been killed by an assassin. This report
puzzled all our wise heads. An hour afterwards our _café-au-lait_ entered,
and with it the principal gaoler, or, as he was called, Mons. le
Gouverneur. He was a stout, square-built man, and gave us an inquisitive
look. The doctor, who was an Irishman and our interpreter, asked him the
news, and if he were ever at Cork. “No,” answered he, “I never was in
America! but,” said he, “I understand that your Prime Minister, Mr.
Piercevell, has been shot by an assassin.” He meant Mr. Percival. We were
sorry to hear such bad news, as Mr. Percival was certainly a loss to his
country and his large family. However, it did not destroy our appetite for
breakfast. The considerate governor only charged us as much more for it as
we should have paid at the best coffee-house in the town.
After two days of durance vile I was visited by three very wise-looking
men, who, I understood, were some sort of lawyers. One of them produced a
printed paper, and asked me if I were acquainted with its contents. I
answered, “No.” “Do you know for what purpose they were intended, for we
have more than thirty of them which were found on board your ship?” I
answered as before. “This appears very extraordinary that you, as captain
of the ship where they were found, should not know they were on board
her.” “It may be so,” I answered with indifference. “You may think it a
trifle,” said one of them, “but it may, without it is satisfactorily
explained, prove in the end very serious to you.” “Indeed,” returned I,
“that will be still more extraordinary. Probably it may be the means of a
change of residence, for I cannot be worse off than where I am at
present.” “Monsieur chooses to be pleasant, but he must give us some
account of these papers before we leave him.” One of them then translated
their contents. As I had never heard of them before I was rather struck
with their purport, which was to create a counter-revolution, and cause
that English-loving man, Bonaparte, to be dethroned. “Doctor,” said I, “do
you know anything about these terrible papers?” “Very little,” replied he.
“They were, I believe, in circulation about two years ago, in Mr. Pitt’s
time, and they were called his projects, for he loved Napoleon with all
his heart.” “Pray,” said I, turning to the commissioner who had the
longest and most snuffy nose, and who had translated the paper, “in what
part of the vessel were these projects found?” “In the second cabin,” was
his answer. He meant the gun-room, where the officers slept and messed.
“What is their date?” “1808.” “Come,” resumed I, “I think you will not
shoot me this time. I did not join the ship until 1810, when they were
never given into my charge. Now, gentlemen, you may either remain or
depart; no more answers or explanation will I give.” They grouped into the
corner of the room, and after taking a pinch of snuff with a few shrugs of
their shoulders and some whispering, took their leave.
Soon after the turnkey appeared with another worthy person as interpreter,
and to whom I was to pay three francs a day and give him a dinner. I
remonstrated, and said the doctor was my interpreter. “Bah, bah!” said the
fellow, and marched out of the room, the door of which he locked. This
person, whom the turnkey had so unceremoniously introduced, had, it
appeared, been sent for by the _gouverneur_, as he chose to understand we
wished to have “un maître de la langue Française,” who could act as
interpreter when required. The poor man, who appeared as if he had fallen
from a balloon, apologised for the intrusion, which he said did not lie
with him, he had been sent for and came, but that when the turnkey
unlocked the door he would withdraw. “No,” said I, “as you are here and
you speak good English,” which he did, “I will, if you have a grammar,
take a lesson in French, and you may come every day during our stay in
this abominable place, which I suppose will not be long.” He pulled a
grammar from his pocket, and I began with the verbs. “I intend sending a
letter to the Comte Lemaroix. Will you,” said I to him, “take it for me?”
“Willingly,” replied he. I drew it up, and he translated it. It was to
request that myself and officers might have our parole, but as day after
day rolled on I do not think he received it, as my request was not
complied with.
I was again examined by a military court respecting those fearful papers,
but they, as well as myself, were not satisfied, I for being sent for on
so useless an errand, and losing my French lesson, and they because they
could not discover whether I was a spy, or prove that I had circulated
those papers among the fishing boats. After this tedious and ridiculous
examination the President, who appeared half sailor and half soldier,
asked me in so mild a manner as if sugar-candy would not have dissolved in
his mouth, “Pray, sir, will you acquaint me how many cruisers you have in
the Channel?” “Your question, Mr. President, is a delicate one,” replied
I, “and the only way you can gain that information is to send all your
frigates that have been lying at anchor so long in your different harbours
to ascertain the fact.” I thought my answer made him look cross, two
others look sulky, and the remainder smile. “I think we may discharge the
prisoner,” said he, turning to the other wise men; “we can elucidate
nothing.” “No,” said I to myself, “you will get nothing out of me.” On the
tenth day after the shipwreck we were ordered to march, and had the honour
of having two livery servants, in the shape of gendarmes on horseback, to
attend us. I begged to have a carriage, but I was refused, although I
offered to pay liberally for one.
We reached Montreuil-sur-Mer in the evening, where we marched into the
common gaol. I was much fatigued, as I had never walked so far in my life;
my feet were becoming blistered, and I was very hungry. “Do,” said I,
“doctor, let us have something to eat, for we have fasted since breakfast.
Have they any eggs?” The _gouverneur du château_ appeared, and informed us
he had plenty of eggs, and could give us a _fricassée de mouton_ and
_pommes de terre au maître d’hôtel_, “but,” added the doctor, “those d——d
fellows the gendarmes must dine with us.” This I did not like, and
requested him to speak to the gaoler, which he did; but the former
declared it was customary, when they escorted prisoners they always eat
with them. We were obliged to conform to the nuisance. After dinner, or
rather supper, or, more correctly speaking, the two in one, I fell asleep
in my chair until a dirty-looking girl shook me by the arm to say that my
bed was ready. I gave her a look that had she been milk it would have
turned her into vinegar. I followed her, however, into a room about twelve
feet by seven, where there were two crib bedplaces like those on board the
packets. They were, considering the place, tolerably decent, and I turned
in half-rigged. At half after two in the morning our two horse attendants
had the civility to wake us out of tired Nature’s sweet reposer, balmy
sleep. I looked daggers, and they looked determined on their plan of
making us march at three o’clock. The dirty, but civil damsel, brought me
a basin of water. I shook my feathers and refreshed myself. She then
appeared with some porringers filled with what she called
_café-au-lait_—_i.e._, milk bedevilled, and some tolerable bread and salt
butter. However, as we presumed we had another long march to encounter, we
made no hesitation in accepting it, and for which and the supper I had to
pay most extravagantly. We began our agreeable walk before daybreak,
accompanied by our two attendant cavaliers. As I walked rather lame one of
them offered me his horse, which I thought civil. I declined it, as I
preferred walking with my officers, although in pain.
About three in the afternoon we reached Hesdin, our destination for that
night, having marched nineteen miles, and were ushered into the gaol. “May
the devil run a-hunting with these rascally vagabonds!” said the doctor.
“Amen,” responded the rest. We were put into a dirty brick-floored room
with a grated window, in which there were three beds. “Now,” said I to the
doctor, “let us hunt for something to eat, for notwithstanding all my
miseries I am very hungry.” The _gouverneur du château_ made his
appearance; he was a brigadier of gendarmes. “What do you wish?” said he.
“What have you to eat?” asked the man of physic. “Eggs, a fowl, and some
excellent ham.” “Let us have them,” cried I, “as soon as possible.” Whilst
these good things were getting ready I bathed my feet in warm water, they
were much swollen, and the blisters on them had broken. I afterwards
rubbed them with brandy. The dinner was put on table, and the gendarmes
took their seats _sans façons_. After I had taken my second tumbler of
wine I began to revive. The dinner was not bad, and by the time it was
finished we were in good humour. “Now,” said I, “doctor,” for he was my
factotum, “tell our attendants if they will not allow me to have some kind
of carriage I will not step a foot further. My feet are so bad I cannot
walk, and they must carry me.” The Brigadier was sent for, and after a
consultation of a few minutes I was told I might have one if I paid for
it, but it could be only a covered cart. “Very well,” said I, “any port in
a storm.” We were now informed it was time to go to rest. This was no
punishment; and notwithstanding being bug- and flea-bitten, I slept well
and forgot all my sorrows. At six I was roused by the men at arms, had a
tolerable good breakfast, and stepped into my travelling machine with two
of my officers, the top of the cart being so low we were obliged to lie
down, and if it had not been for its abominable jolting we should have
found ourselves snug enough.