AT CAMBRAY.
Meet an Englishman—At last put on parole—Dine with Lieutenant
Horton—Proceed to Cambray—Relics of Archbishop Fénélon—Meet
Captain Otter at Verdun—Prisoners’ amusements—Author and Captain
Otter establish a school for midshipmen—Author moves into country
quarters—Severe censorship of prisoner’s letters—Ordered to
Blois—Purchase a cart and horses.
We reached Arras in the afternoon. On entering the town we were followed
by a crowd of idlers, who I rather think took us for a caravan of wild
beasts. Among this choice assemblage I perceived a sailor who looked like
an Englishman. “What are you doing here?” I called out at a venture. “I am
Lieutenant Horton’s servant,” answered he. “Pray,” said I, “who is he?”
“He is the lieutenant of the sailors at this depôt.”
“Then,” said I, “take this to him,” giving him a piece of paper with my
name on it. “Aye, aye, sir,” said he, and ran off to execute his errand.
We were, as before, ushered into the common gaol with due ceremony, where
we were received by another Brigadier, who had the honour of being
_gouverneur_. The gaol was considerably larger than those we had lodged in
on the road, and the people were civil. We ordered dinner, which I had to
pay for without doing it justice, in consequence of the appearance of
Lieutenant Horton with a French commissary, to inform myself and officers
we were on parole, and the former, like a generous sailor, begged us all
to dine with him at his house. We made ourselves as smart as circumstances
would allow, and accompanied him to a snug little house where he lived. He
introduced us to his wife, who was a very kind person and paid us every
attention, and I shall ever retain a feeling of gratitude for their
hospitality. In the evening we were joined by the English surgeon of the
depôt, who engaged us to dine with him the following day. A servant was
sent to the American hotel to bespeak rooms for us, and the day after I
engaged a carriage to take us to Verdun, for which I was to pay eight
napoleons, and find the coachman. In the evening, or rather night, we took
possession of our new quarters, which from what I had lately been
accustomed to, appeared a paradise, although the doctor and purser
declared they were half bled to death by bugs and fleas. We breakfasted
like gentlemen, and afterwards strolled about the town, to the amusement
of the inhabitants, who, as we passed them, made great eyes at us. I shall
not trouble my readers with a description of Arras, as they may satisfy
their curiosity, if they wish it, by consulting a Gazeteer. At five
o’clock the lieutenant called on me, and we all repaired to the surgeon’s
house. He gave us a good dinner, and was very attentive. At ten o’clock
they accompanied us to the inn, where they took their final leave, as we
were to start in our new vehicle at five in the morning.
At the appointed time behold us seated in our coach chattering like
magpies, and going at the rapid speed of about five miles an hour. At
Cambray we dined and slept. We visited the cathedral, which, thanks to
those honest, religious men, the Republicans, was in total ruins. All the
Virgins and saints were decapitated and the quiet repose of the dead
disturbed by their pure, delicate hands. “Erin’s curse be upon them!”
exclaimed my man of medicine. “The devil has them by this time,” said the
purser. “What a set of impious scoundrels,” ejaculated the midshipman. “I
am afraid,” added I, “France has in a great measure brought all her
misfortunes on herself. If the King and the nobles had stood firm to their
guns and given a more liberal constitution, millions of lives might have
been saved, and we should not have had the supreme happiness of being
attended by the gendarmes or of taking up our abode in their filthy,
loathsome gaols, besides a thousand other circumstances, of which, as you
have been partakers, I need not mention, as they are too agreeable to bear
in memory.” We reached a small place called Cateau Cambresis, where we
dined at a fourth-rate inn, formerly the country palace of the good
Archbishop Fénélon. At dinner, which, like the _auberge_, was also of the
fourth class, I had a silver fork with the armorial bearings of an
archbishop. I remarked the fact to my _maître d’__hôtel_, the doctor. “I
have a spoon with the same,” replied he. “This, you are aware, was
Fénélon’s favourite country palace, and as a quantity of family plate was
buried during the Revolution, these very likely belonged to him.” When the
woman who attended us at dinner came in again, the doctor interrogated her
respecting them. She informed him they had been found among some old
rubbish in the yard. I asked her if she would sell them; she answered in
the affirmative, and demanded thirty francs. I gave her twenty-four, and
took possession of my prizes.
In a remote part of the building I found some Englishmen at work
manufacturing what the French were then little acquainted with, dimity.
They told me they had permission to sleep out of the prison, and that the
French allowed them a franc a day and some wine. I asked them if they were
working on their own account; they answered, no, but on that of the French
Government. “Bonaparte has his wits about him,” said I to myself, “and
appears wide awake.”
We reached Verdun on the sixth day. I waited on Captain Otter of the navy
and the senior officer, who introduced me to the commandant, the Baron de
Beauchêne, who, by his rubicund face, appeared to be fond of good living.
My name was registered at the police office, where I was desired to sport
my graceful figure the first day of every month. Several officers did me
the honour of a visit, but as my news was like salted cod—rather
stale—they were not much edified. The day following I dined with Captain
and Mrs. Otter, who were good, kind of homespun people. I met at their
table the worthy chaplain, Gordon. Some of his friends said he was too
mundane, and bowed to the pleasures of the world most unclerically. I
found him an agreeable, gentlemanly person in society, and a plain-sailing
parson in the pulpit. There were two officers here who were most amusing,
Captains Miller and Lyall, and when dining with them, which I frequently
did, I do not know which I enjoyed most, their dinner or their dry jokes.
I also became acquainted with Captain Blennerhassett, and sometimes took a
cold dinner at a small house he rented on the banks of the Meuse. We
dubbed it Frogmore Hall, in consequence of a vast quantity of those
creatures infesting it. Lord Blaney, who once wrote a book, principally on
the best mode of cooking, figured away here. He was a good-natured but not
a very wise man. He could not bear the midshipmen, because, he said, they
cheated him out of his best cigars and made him give them a dinner when he
did not wish for their company. This was, strange to say, sometimes the
case.
There were about twelve hundred prisoners at this depôt, principally
officers of the army and navy, and a few masters of merchant ships, as
well as some people detained in a most unjust manner by a decree of
Bonaparte when the war broke out. About two miles from the town was a
racecourse, made by the officers and kept up by subscription, where, I was
informed, there was as much jockeyship practised as at Newmarket. It made
a variety, and the ladies say variety is charming. After residing in this
town, where every description of vice was practised, about a month, I
remarked that the mids, of whom there were about one hundred and twenty,
were idle, dissipated, and running into debt. The greater part of them
were fine lads. I proposed to Captain Otter the establishment of a school
for them, and said that if the requisite masters could be procured I would
superintend it. He entered into my views most willingly and wrote to the
Admiralty respecting them, informing their lordships the expenses for a
hundred midshipmen would not be more than eighty pounds a year. Not
receiving an answer, he established it at his own risk; whether he was
ever remunerated is a problem I am not enabled to solve. Six lieutenants
volunteered to assist me, and attended the school hours in turn.(7)
Everything went on exceedingly well for twelve months, when unfortunately
the Baron de Beauchêne died, and was succeeded by a man who ordered the
school to be broken up. This was as unexpected as unmerited. Captain Otter
and myself remonstrated, but in vain. The youngsters were sent to the
right-about; but I am happy to say that the greater part of them had the
good sense to form themselves into classes at their own lodgings, where
the same masters attended them. Finding my services of no further use, I
sighed for country air and a change of scene. The town manners shocked my
delicacy, and I much feared I should lose my innocence. The copy I
frequently wrote when at school stared me in the face—that “Evil
communications corrupt good manners.” I therefore determined before I
became contaminated to change my quarters. I waited on the commandant and
obtained leave to live at a small village two miles from the town. My new
residence was a small _château_, the proprietress of which was the widow
of a colonel of cuirassiers in the old time. I took possession of a
good-sized bedroom and drawing-room, for which I paid, with my board,
seventy napoleons a year. The establishment consisted of a housekeeper,
more like a man than a woman, one maid servant, and two men. The widow was
an agreeable person, nearly in her seventieth year, but very healthy and
active. At the back of the _château_ was a delightful garden, with a brook
running through it, in which were some trout, carp and tench. Adjoining it
were vineyards belonging to the house. I could now, in the literal sense
of the word, in which one of our poets intended it, “From the loop-holes
of my retreat peep at such a world” without partaking of its folly.
My time was occupied with a French master, and in drawing, and reading
French authors, and if my mind had not been tortured by my being a
captive, and not knowing how long I was likely to remain so, I should have
been comparatively happy. Our letters, when we did receive them, were
always broken open and read to the commandant by one of the gendarmes who
could blunder out a little English. If they contained anything against the
French Government, or treated on politics, they never reached us. By these
honourable means all our domestic concerns became known to the mighty
chief, the ignorant, left-handed, blundering translator, and a host of
others. In short, our letters, after having run the gauntlet through a
number of dirty hands, with still more dirty minds, were scarcely worth
receiving.
One morning, as I was sitting at breakfast in not a very cheerful mood, a
woman, of not very prepossessing appearance, entered. She came, she said,
to make a complaint against three wicked mids. They had taken the figure
of Bonaparte from the mantelpiece and knocked his head off; for so doing
she threatened to complain to the commandant if they did not pay her a
five-franc piece. I told her I would send for the decapitating youngsters,
and, if I found her complaint to be well-grounded, they should remunerate
her by giving her another Emperor, or paying her for the old one. She
departed, but not in peace, as I could hear her grumbling as she went
along the vestibule. At noon next day these Emperor-destroying lads came
to my lodgings to answer the complaint.
“We lodge in this woman’s house,” said one of them, “and one morning we
thought we would amuse ourselves by bringing Bonaparte fairly to a court
martial. Our charges against him were tyranny and oppression, imprisonment
against our consent, and not granting an exchange of prisoners. We found
him guilty on all the charges, and as he could make no defence, we
sentenced him first to be shot, but we thought that too honourable for
him; then to be hanged, and lastly, to have his mischief-making head
chopped off by a case-knife, which sentence was carried into execution;
but as we do not wish the woman to quarrel with us, we have no objection
to pay her two francs, which we think is too much by thirty-nine sous.”
“You value Emperors, gentlemen,” said I, “at a very cheap rate.” “Yes,”
replied they, “such an Emperor as Bonaparte, who we think is a most
unrelenting tyrant.” “Hush!” cried I, “walls sometimes have ears. Go and
make your peace with your landlady, offer her the two francs, and if she
will not accept it send her to me, for, to tell you the truth, were she to
go with her complaint to the commandant, you most likely would be shut up
in the old convent and kept there for a month.” I gave them a glass of
wine, in which they drank the downfall of Bonaparte and departed. I
understood afterwards this knotty point was settled amicably; the woman,
not wishing to lose her lodgers, accepted the money. As the lying
“Moniteur” was the only paper we could read, we of course were always
deceived, and supposed from its contents that France was carrying
everything before her. More than eighteen months had now passed away, like
a disturbed dream, since I became a prisoner, when the order came, like a
flash of lightning, from the police to desire all the English prisoners to
be ready to quit Verdun in forty-eight hours and proceed to Blois. To
those who had the misfortune to be married to French women and had
children it was a thunder-stroke. The weather had set in with great
severity, it being the month of December. Another brother officer and his
nephew joined me in purchasing a covered cart and two cart horses; and a
captain of a merchant vessel, said to be a descendant of the immortal
Bruce, volunteered to be our coachman, provided we lodged and fed him on
the road, to which we, without hesitation, agreed.