THE PRISONS ASHORE
1. SISSINGHURST CASTLE
About the Sissinghurst one looks on to-day there is little indeed to
remind us that here stood, one hundred and fifty years ago, a famous war
prison, and it is hard to realize that in this tranquil, picturesque,
out-of-the-way nook of Kent, for seven long years, more than three
thousand captive fighting men dragged out a weary existence.
Originally the splendid seat of the Baker family, and in the heyday of
its grandeur one of the Kentish halting-places of Queen Elizabeth during
her famous progress in 1571, it had far fallen from its high estate
when, in 1756, Government, hard pressed to find accommodation for the
annually increasing numbers of prisoners of war, leased it.
Of the ‘Castle’, as it came to be called, of this period, the
gate-house, a line of outbuildings which were partially used as barracks
for the troops on guard, and a few memories, alone survive. The great
quadrangle has disappeared, but the line of the ancient moat, in parts
still filled with water, in part incorporated with garden ground, still
enables the visitor to trace the original extent of the buildings. Part
of the line of ivy-clad buildings which face the approach are said to
have been used as a small-pox hospital, and the name François may still
be seen carved on the brick; the field known as the ‘Horse Race’ was the
prison cemetery, and human remains have sometimes within living memory
been disturbed therein.
Otherwise, legends of the prison linger but faintly in the
neighbourhood; but from some of these it would seem that
officer-prisoners at Sissinghurst were allowed out on parole. The
place-name ‘Three Chimneys’, at a point where three roads meet, exactly
one mile from Sissinghurst, is said to be a corruption of ‘Trois
Chemins’, so called by the French prisoners whose limit it marked.
Wilsley House, just out of Cranbrook, a fine old residence, formerly
belonging to a merchant prince of the Kentish cloth trade, now occupied
by Colonel Alexander, is said to have been tenanted by French officers
on parole, and some panel paintings in one of the rooms are said to have
been their work, but I think they are of earlier date. The neighbouring
Barrack Farm is said to have been the prison garrison officers’
quarters, and the house next to the Sissinghurst Post Office is by
tradition the old garrison canteen.
The only individual from whom I could gather any recollections of the
French prisoner days was an old farm labourer named Gurr, living at
Goford. He told me that his great-grandfather, ploughing one day near
the prison, suddenly saw three men creeping along a hedgerow close to
him. Recognizing them to be Sissinghurst prisoners, he armed himself
with the coulter of his plough and went up to them. The poor fellows
seemed exhausted and bewildered, and went with him back to the Castle
without offering any resistance, telling him on the way that they had
got out by tunnelling under the moat with small mattocks. Gurr said that
he had often dug up human bones in the meadow opposite the Castle
entrance.
The following letter, I think, was written from Sissinghurst, but it may
be from Portchester. I insert it here as in all contemporary
correspondence ‘le château’ means Sissinghurst.
‘Le Château, 30^{me} mai, 1756.
‘MONSIEUR:
‘La présente est pour vous prier de nous donner de délargissement,
attendu que nous ne sommes point obligés pour une personne de nous voir
detenus commes nous sommes. Nous vous avertisons que si nous n’avons pas
l’élargissement nous minerons le Château, et nous sommes résolus de nous
battre contre nos ennemis. Nous ne sommes point obligés de souffrir par
raport d’un joli qui ne nous veu que de la peine. Nous avons des armes,
de la Poudre blanche et des Bales (Balles?) pour nous défendre. Nous
vous prions de nous donner la liberté le plus tôt possible, attendu que
nous sommes tout prêst a suivre notre dessein. On nous a déjà tué un
homme dans le prison, et nous aurons la vengeance.
‘Nous avons été tranquille jusqu’aujourdui, mais présentement nous
allons jouer à la Françoise des rigodons sans violons attendu que nous
sommes tous d’un accord.
‘Jugez de Reste,
‘Votre très affectionné et
‘François en général.’
[Illustration:
SISSINGHURST CASTLE
_From an old print_
]
On June 24, 1758, the following complaint was sent up:
‘NOSSEIGNEURS:
‘Nous avons eu l’honneur de vous envoyer un placet en date du 17^{me} de
ce mois, et nous là vous tenus [sic] entre les mains de Mr. Paxton,
Secretaire de Mr. Cook [Cooke] le 18^{me} nous y faisions de justes
plaintes touchant le Gouvernement de Mr. Cook qui n’est rien moins que
tyrannique et capricieuse, et nous vous le posions tout au long sa
dernière injustice. Craignans qu’on ne vous ait pas mis celuy la, nous
avons pris la liberté de vous faire cette lettre pour vous prier de nous
rendre justice. Si Mr. Cook n’avoit rien à se reprocher il ne
retiendrait pas les lettres que nous vous addressons. Tout le monde
scait ce que mérite celuy qui détourne des oreilles de justice, les cris
de ceux qui la réclame et qui n’ont d’autre crime que d’être infortunés,
nous espérons nosseigneurs que vous y aurez egarder que vous nous ferez
justice, nous vous aurons à jamais l’obligation.
‘Vos humbles et très obeisans serviteurs
‘Pour tous les prisonniers en général.’
At about the same date twenty-seven paroled naval officers at Cranbrook
signed a complaint that they were not allowed by the one-mile limit of
their parole to visit their crews, prisoners at Sissinghurst, two miles
away, to help them in their distress and to prevent them being robbed by
the English who have the monopoly of getting things for sale into the
prison, notably the jailers and the canteen man, not to mention others.
Also that the prisoners at Sissinghurst had no chance of ventilating
their grievances, which were heavy and many:
‘De remédier à une injustice, ou plutôt à une cruauté que les nations
les plus barbares n’exercisions. En effet c’est une tiranie audieuse que
de vouloir forcer des pauvres prisonniers à n’acheter d’autre
marchandises que celles venant des mains de leurs Gardiens, et
d’empécher leurs parens et amis de leur envoyer à beaucoup meilleur
marché aussy bien.’
Many of the letters from relations in France to prisoners at
Sissinghurst are preserved at the Record Office. It is only from
acquaintance with these poor tattered, blotted ebullitions of affection
and despair that the modern Englishman can glean a notion of what
confinement in an English prison of husbands, fathers, brothers, and
lovers meant to hundreds of poor, simple peasant and fisher women of
France. The breath of most of them is religious resignation: in a few, a
very few, a spirit of resentment and antagonism to Britain is prominent;
most of them are humble domestic chronicles blended with prayers for a
speedy liberation and for courage in the meanwhile. There is nothing
quite like these mid-eighteenth century letters in the correspondence of
the succeeding great struggle, when the principles of the Revolution had
penetrated to the homes of the lowliest. One sees reflected in it the
simplicity, the childish confidence in the rightness and fitness of all
in authority, and, above all, the deep sense of religion, which invested
the peasantry of France with a great and peculiar charm.
During this year, 1758, the letters of complaint are many and pitiful,
the chief subject being the non-delivery to prisoners of their letters,
and the undue surveillance exercised over correspondence of the
tenderest private nature. In 1760 the occupants of Sissinghurst received
their share of the clothes provided by English compassion. Many of them
were accused of selling these clothes, to which they replied that it was
to buy necessaries or tobacco, or for postage, and added that they had
been for a long time on half-rations.
On October 14 a desperate attempt to escape was made, and frustrated in
an unnecessarily brutal manner. A prisoner named Artus, his brother, and
other prisoners discovered a disused latrine. Into this they crept,
broke through a brick wall by a drain, and reached the edge of the moat,
and crossed it to the opposite bank close to the first of the three
sentries on duty along it. This was at ten o’clock on a moonlight night.
Two of the prisoners passed the first and second sentries and got some
way into the fields. Artus and his brother were to follow, and were
crawling on hands and knees to avoid being seen. The first sentry, who
was close by, did nothing, having probably been bribed; but the other
two sentries, being alarmed by a fourth sentry, who was on the right
hand of the first, ran up and challenged Artus, who cried: ‘Don’t fire!
Surrender!’ But the sentry disregarded this, wounded him in two places
on the arm, tearing his waistcoat, and then fired at him point blank,
blowing off half his head. Artus’s brother, three yards behind, was
secured by a drummer who was armed with nothing but a drumstick, thus
proving the utterly unnecessary killing of Artus. Two other prisoners
were captured later in the drain, ready to come out.
In the _Annual Register_ we read that on Saturday, July 16, 1760, the
alarm was given that a thousand prisoners had broken out of the Castle
and were abroad in the country. ‘To arms’ was beaten immediately. ‘You
would have been pleased to see with what readiness and alacrity the
Surrey Militia here, universally, officers and men, advanced towards the
place of danger’, says the correspondent, ‘I say, “towards,” because
when they got as far as Milkhouse Street, the alarm was discovered to be
a mistake. Many of the townspeople and countrymen joined them.’
On one Sunday morning in 1761 the good people of Cranbrook were sent
flying out of church by the news that the Sissinghurst prisoners had
broken out and were scouring the country fully armed, but this also was
a false alarm.
It was from the top of the still standing gatehouse-tower that the deed
was perpetrated which caused the following entry in the Cranbrook
Register:
‘1761. William Bassuck: killed by a French prisoner.’ Bassuck was on
sentry-go below, and the Frenchman dropped a pail on him.
In 1762 the misery of the prisoners at Sissinghurst culminated in a
Petition to the Admiralty, signed by almost all of them, of so forcible
and circumstantial a character, that in common justice it could not be
overlooked, and so Dr. Maxwell was sent down to examine the charges
against Cooke, the agent.
The Complaints and their replies were as follows:
(1) That the provisions were bad in quality, of short measure and badly
served.
Reply: Not proved.
(2) That cheese had been stopped four ‘maigre’ days in succession to
make good damage done by prisoners.
Reply: Only upon two days.
(3) That prisoners had been put upon half allowance in the _cachot_ or
Black Hole for staying in the wards on account of not having sufficient
clothing to leave them.
Reply: They were not put in the _cachot_, but upon half allowance for
remaining in the wards during the day contrary to the Regulations. There
was no need for them to lack ‘cloaths’.
(4) That they were put upon half allowance for appearing at a sudden
muster without clothes.
Reply: This muster was ordered by the agent, Cooke, because he
suspected the prisoners of embezzling clothes and of gambling them away.
(5) That the prisoners had been threatened with being deprived of their
turn of Exchange for signing this Petition to the Board of Admiralty.
Reply: There was no foundation for this statement.
(6) That Cooke had refused to pay them for more than eighteen days’ work
in carrying coals, although they were twenty-eight days.
Reply: In reality they had only worked for parts of these days, and
had been paid for the work actually done.
(7) That Cooke showed no zeal for the welfare of the prisoners.
Reply: That there is no foundation for this statement.
(8) That they were ill-treated by the Militia guards.
This last complaint was the most serious of all, and the examination
into it revealed a state of affairs by no means creditable to the
authorities. Here it should be stated that on account of the great
and constant demand made by the war upon the regular troops, the
task of guarding the prisons was universally performed by the
Militia—undesirable men from more than one point of view, especially
from their lack of self-restraint and their accessibility to
bribery. The following cases were cited. On November 28, 1757,
Ferdinand Brehost, or Gratez, was shot dead by a sentry of General
Amherst’s regiment. The sentry in defence said that he had had
orders to fire upon any prisoners who did not take down the clothes
they hung upon the palisades when ordered to.
It was adjudged that the sentry fired too precipitately.
On the night of October 29, 1759, the prisoner Jacobus Loffe was shot
dead in his hammock by a sentry.
In defence the sentry said that he called out several times for the
prisoners to put out their lights. They refused and bid him fire and be
damned. The evidence showed that all the prisoners were asleep, and that
the light seen by the sentry was the reflection on the window of a lamp
outside the building.
The same judgement as in the other case was given.
On July 11, 1760, two prisoners were shot by a sentry. John Bramston,
the sentry, said in defence that a prisoner came too near the forbidden
barrier, refused to keep off when ordered to, with the result that
Bramston fired, killed him, and another prisoner further away.
Bramston was tried at Maidstone and acquitted, the jury finding that he
did no more than his duty in accordance with the general orders at the
Castle. Still, it came out in evidence that orders had been issued that
sentries were not to fire if the object could be secured by the turnkey.
Colonel Fairfax indeed ordered that sentries were not to fire at all. He
had found out that Bramston was sometimes out of his senses, and he had
discharged him from the service, but he was actually on duty after this
affair, was found to have loaded his piece with two balls, and after the
murder on the 11th had threatened to kill more prisoners.
On the same day two other prisoners were stabbed by sentries. In one
case, however, a prisoner gave evidence in favour of the sentry, saying
that he did not believe there was any intention to kill, but that the
sentry being surrounded by a crowd of prisoners, pushed his bayonet to
keep them at a distance for fear that they intended mischief.
It also came out that the soldiers were allowed to strike the prisoners
with the flats of their sabres. This was now forbidden. Also that the
soldiers abused the power they had of taking away the prisoners’ knives
when they made improper use of them, and actually sold the knives thus
confiscated to other prisoners. Also that the soldiers wilfully damaged
forms and tables so that the prisoners should be punished.
The Commissioners of the ‘Sick and Hurt’ Office, in their summing up of
Dr. Maxwell’s evidence, said that, while there was no doubt much
exaggeration by the petitioners, there was too much reason for
complaint, and found that the person in charge was not so much to blame,
but the ‘common centinels’, whose understanding did not enable them to
distinguish between the letter and the meaning of their orders, and that
this arose from the lack of printed standing orders. The officers of the
guard had arbitrary powers independent of the agent, and the latter said
when asked why he did not complain to the Board, that he did not care to
dispute with the officers.
It will be noted that this inquiry was not held until 1762, that is to
say, until seven years of tyranny had been practised upon these
unfortunate foreigners, and seven years of nameless horrors suffered in
forced silence. Small wonder that throughout the correspondence of this
period Sissinghurst is spoken of with disgust and loathing.
The record of only one Sissinghurst prisoner marrying an Englishwoman
exists—that, in 1762, of Laurence Calberte, ‘a prisoner among the French
at Sissinghurst House’, to Mary Pepper.
I have to thank Mr. Neve of the Castle House, Sissinghurst, for his
kindness in allowing me to have the photograph taken of some exquisite
little articles made in wood by Sissinghurst prisoners, and also to
reproduce a picture of the ‘Castle’, as it was when used as a prison.
After its evacuation at the Peace of Paris, in 1763, Sissinghurst Castle
became a workhouse, and when it ceased to be used for this purpose
gradually fell into ruin and was pulled down.
[Illustration:
ARTICLES IN WOOD MADE BY THE PRISONERS AT SISSINGHURST CASTLE, 1763
]