THE PRISONS ASHORE
4. PORTCHESTER
Of the thousands of holiday-makers and picnickers for whom Portchester
Castle is a happy recreation ground, and of the hundreds of antiquaries
who visit it as being one of the most striking relics of combined Roman
and Norman military architecture in Britain, a large number, no doubt,
learn that it was long used as a place of confinement for foreign
prisoners of war, but are not much impressed with the fact, which is
hardly to be wondered at, not only because the subject of the foreign
prisoners of war in Britain has never received the attention it
deserves, but because the interest of the comparatively modern must
always suffer when in juxtaposition with the interest of the far-away
past.
But this comparatively modern interest of Portchester is, as I hope to
show, very real.
As a place of confinement Portchester could never, of course, compare
with such purposely planned prisons as Dartmoor, Stapleton, Perth, or
Norman Cross. Still, from its position, and its surrounding walls of
almost indestructible masonry, from fifteen to forty feet high and from
six to ten feet thick, it answered its purpose very well. True, its
situation so near the Channel would seem to favour attempts to escape,
but it must be remembered that escape from Portchester Castle by no
means implied escape from England, for, ere the fugitive could gain the
open sea, he had a terrible gauntlet to run of war-shipping and forts
and places of watch and ward, so that although the number of attempted
escapes from Portchester annually was greater than that of similar
attempts from other places of confinement, the successful ones were few.
Portchester is probably the oldest regular war prison in Britain. In
1745 the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ records the escape of Spanish prisoners
from it, taken, no doubt, during the War of the Austrian Succession, but
it was during the Seven Years’ War that it became eminent.
[Illustration:
_An Inside View of PORTCHESTER CASTLE in HAMPSHIRE. Dedicated to the
Officers of the Militia._
_Engraved from a Drawing taken on the Spot by an Officer._
]
In 1756 Captain Fraboulet of the French East India Company’s frigate
_Astrée_, who appears to have been a medical representative of the
Government, reported on the provisions at Portchester as being very good
on the whole, except the small beer, which he described as being very
weak, and ‘apt to cause a flux of blood’, a very prevalent malady among
the prisoners. He complained, and the deficiency was remedied. Of the
hospital accommodation he spoke badly. There was no hospital in the
Castle itself, so that patients had either to be sent to Fareham, two
miles away, where the hospital was badly placed, being built of wood and
partly on the muddy shores of the river, or to Forton, which, he says,
is seven miles off. This distance, he says, could be reduced, if done by
water, but it was found impossible to find boatmen to take the invalids,
the result being that they were carted there, and often died on the way.
He also complained that in the hospital the dying and the convalescent
were in the same wards, and he begged the Government to establish a
hospital at Portchester. He says that he will distribute the King’s
Bounty no more to invalids, as they spend it improperly, bribing
sentries and attendants, and all who have free access and egress, to get
them unfit food, such as raw fruit, salt herrings, &c. He will only pay
healthy men. He has done his best to re-establish order in the Castle;
has asked the Commissioners of the ‘Sick and Hurt’ Office to put down
the public gaming-tables; to imprison those who gamble and sell their
kits and food, and to stop the sale of raw fruit, salt fish, and all
food which promotes flux of blood.
In 1766 Valérie Coffre quarrelled with a fellow prisoner, Nicholas
Chartier, and killed him with a knife. He was found guilty and sentenced
to death. He was attended by a Roman Catholic priest, was very earnest
in his devotions, and was executed at Winchester, the whole of his
fellow prisoners being marched thither under a strong guard to witness
the scene. He was a handsome, well-built man of twenty-two.
In 1784 the Castle was properly fitted up as a War Prison. The ancient
moat outside the walls, which during long years of neglect had become
choked up with rubbish, was filled with water, and the keep was divided
into five stories, connected with a wooden stairway at the side, and the
entire Castle was arranged for the accommodation of about 8,000
prisoners.
[Illustration:
PLAN OF PORTCHESTER CASTLE, 1793.
A. Kitchens, B. Hospital. C. Black Hole. D. Caserns. E. Great Tower.
]
In 1794 the prisoners captured in Howe’s victory of the ‘Glorious First
of June’ were lodged in Portchester. One of the prizes taken, the
_Impétueux_, took fire, and at one time there was danger that the fire
would spread. The prisoners at Portchester were delighted, and danced
about singing the _Ça ira_ and the _Marseillaise_, but happily the ship
grounded on a mud-bank, and no further damage was done.
In 1796 two prisoners quarrelled over politics, one stabbed the other to
death, and was hanged at Winchester.
In 1797 the agent in charge complained that many Portsmouth people,
under pretence of attending Portchester Parish Church, which stood
within the Castle _enceinte_, came really to buy straw hats and other
forbidden articles manufactured by the prisoners.
The inconvenience of the position of this church was further manifested
by a daring escape which was made about this time. One Sunday morning,
just as service had begun, the sentry on duty at the Water Gate saw
three naval officers in full uniform come towards him from the
churchyard. Thinking that they were British officers who had seen their
men into church and were going for a walk, he presented arms and allowed
them to pass. Soon after it was discovered that three smart French
privateer captains had escaped, and without doubt they had contrived to
get second-hand British naval uniforms smuggled in to them by
_soi-disant_ worshippers!
A comical incident is recorded in connexion with Portchester churchyard.
A sentry was always on duty at an angle of the churchyard close to the
South or Water Gate, where there was and still is a remarkable echo.
Upon one wild, stormy night, this position was occupied by a soldier of
the Dorset Militia, which, with the Denbighshire Militia, performed
garrison duty at the Castle. Suddenly the man saw against the wall a
tall, white figure with huge horns. He mastered up courage enough to
challenge it, but the only reply was a distinct repetition of his words.
He fired his piece, but in his agitation evidently missed his aim, for
the figure bounded towards him, and he, persuaded that he had to do with
the Devil, ran, and gave the alarm. Captain M., the officer of the
guard, cursed the man for his fears and, drawing his sword, ran out to
meet the intruder. The figure charged him, bowled him over among the
gravestones, and made for the Landport Gate, the sentry at which had
just opened it at the sound of the disturbance in the churchyard, to see
what was going on. The figure disposed of him as he had done Captain M.,
and made straight away for the door of the Denbighshires’ drum-major’s
quarters, where it proved to be the huge, white regimental goat, who,
when disturbed by the sentry, had been browsing upon his hind legs, on
the pellitory which grows on the Castle walls!
From the Rev. J. D. Henderson’s little book on Portchester I take the
following:
‘One Francis Dufresne, who was confined here for more than five years,
escaped again and again, despite the vigilance of his guards. He seems
to have been as reckless and adventurous as any hero of romance, and the
neighbourhood was full of stories of his wanderings and the tricks he
resorted to to obtain food. Once, after recapture, he was confined in
the Black Hole, a building still to be seen at the foot of the Great
Tower, called the “Exchequer” on plans of the Castle. Outside walked a
sentry day and night, but Dufresne was not to be held. He converted his
hammock into what sailors call a “thumb line”, and at the dead of night
removed a flat stone from under his prison door, crawled out, passed
with silent tread within a few inches of the sentry, gained a winding
stair which led to the summit of the Castle wall, from which he
descended by the cord, and, quickly gaining the open country, started
for London, guiding himself by the stars. Arrived in London, he made his
way to the house of M. Otto, the French Agent for arranging the exchange
of prisoners. Having explained, to the amazement of Otto, that he had
escaped from Portchester, he said:
‘“Give me some sort of a suit of clothes, and a few sous to defray my
expenses to the Castle, and I’ll return and astonish the natives.”
‘Otto, amused at the man’s cleverness and impudence, complied, and
Dufresne in a few days alighted from the London coach at Fareham, walked
over to Portchester, but was refused admission by the guard, until, to
the amazement of the latter, he produced the passport by which he had
travelled. He was soon after this exchanged.
‘Sheer devilment and the enjoyment of baffling his custodians seems to
have been Dufresne’s sole object in escaping. For a trifling wager he
would scale the walls, remain absent for a few days, living on and among
the country folk, and return as he went, so that he became almost a
popular character even with the garrison.’
Much romance which has been unrecorded no doubt is interwoven with the
lives of the foreign prisoners of war in Britain. Two cases associated
with Portchester deserve mention.
The church register of 1812 records the marriage of Patrick Bisson to
Josephine Desperoux. The latter was one of a company of French ladies
who, on their voyage to Mauritius, were captured by a British cruiser,
and sent to Portchester. Being non-combatants, they were of course not
subjected to durance vile in the Castle, but were distributed among the
houses of the village, and, being young and comely, were largely
entertained and fêted by the gentry of the neighbourhood, the result
being that one, at least, the subject of our notice, captivated an
English squire, and married him.
The second case is that of a French girl, who, distracted because her
sailor lover had been captured, enlisted as a sailor on a privateer on
the bare chance of being captured and meeting him. As good luck would
have it, she was captured, and sent to the very prison where was her
sweetheart, Portchester Castle. For some months she lived there without
revealing her sex, until she was taken ill, sent to the hospital, where,
of course, her secret was soon discovered. She was persuaded to return
to France on the distinct promise that her lover should be speedily
exchanged.
An attempt to escape which had fatal results was made in 1797.
Information was given to the authorities that a long tunnel had been
made from one of the prison blocks to the outside. So it was arranged
that, at a certain hour after lock-up time, the guards should rush in
and catch the plotters at work. They did so, and found the men in the
tunnel. Shortly afterwards the alarm was given in another quarter, and
prisoners were caught in the act of escaping through a large hole they
had made in the Castle wall. All that night the prisoners were very
riotous, keeping candles lighted, singing Republican songs, dancing and
cheering, so that ‘it was found necessary’ to fire ball cartridges among
them, by which many men were wounded. But the effect of this was only
temporary. Next morning the tumult and disorder recommenced. The
sentries were abused and insulted, and one prisoner, trying to get out
at a ventilator in the roof of one of the barracks, was shot in the
back, but not mortally. Another was shot through the heart, and the
coroner’s verdict at the inquest held upon him was ‘Justifiable
Homicide’.
On another occasion treachery revealed a plot of eighteen Spaniards,
who, armed with daggers which they had made out of horseshoe files,
assembled in a vault under one of the towers with the idea of sallying
forth, cutting down the sentries, and making off; but the guards crawled
in and disarmed them after a short struggle.
In 1798 a brewer’s man, John Cassel, was sentenced to six months’
imprisonment for helping two French captains to escape by carrying them
away in empty beer casks.
In _The Times_ of July 2, 1799, I find the following:
‘Three French prisoners made their escape from Portchester to
Southampton. A party of pleasure seekers had engaged Wassell’s vessel to
go to the Isle of Wight. At an early hour on Saturday morning on
repairing to the Quay, the man could not discover his pleasure boat.
Everyone was concerned for his loss, and many hours elapsed before any
tidings could be heard of her, when some fishing-boats gave information
that they had met her near Calshot Castle about 3 a.m., but had no
suspicion she had been run away with. In the evening news came that in
steering so as to keep as far from Spithead as possible, the Frenchmen
were near running ashore at Ryde. This convinced the pilots that Wassell
was not on board the vessel, when they went to its assistance, secured
the three men and saved the vessel.’
‘The bodies of six drowned Frenchmen were found in Portsmouth Harbour;
their clothes were in bundles on their backs, and their swimming, no
doubt, was impeded thereby.’
‘1800, August: A naked French prisoner was found in a field near
Portchester. He said he had lived on corn for three days, and that the
body of his friend was lying on the beach close by.’
The quiet pathos of the above two bald newspaper announcements must
appeal to everybody who for a moment pictures in his mind what the six
poor, drowned fellows, and the two friends—one taken, the other
left—must have gone through in their desperate bids for liberty. These
are the little by-scenes which make up the great tragedy of the War
Prisoners in England.
In December of this year there was great sickness and mortality at
Portchester.
In the same year a plot to murder sentries and escape was discovered the
day before the date of the arranged deed. Forty men were concerned in
the plot, and upon them were found long knives, sharpened on both sides,
made out of iron hoops.
In 1807 a Portchester prisoner named Cabosas was fined one shilling at
Winchester for killing a fellow prisoner in a duel, and in the same year
one Herquiand was hanged at Winchester for murder in the Castle.
[Illustration:
CLOCK MADE IN PORTCHESTER CASTLE, 1809
by French prisoners of war, from bones saved from their rations
]
In 1810 it was reported that Portchester Castle was too crowded, and
that only 5,900 prisoners could be kept in health there instead of the
usual 7,000.
I will now give some accounts of life at Portchester, and I begin with
one by an English officer, ‘The Light Dragoon,’ as a relief from the
somewhat monotonous laments which characterize the average foreign
chronicler, although it will be noted that our writer does not allow his
patriotism to bias his judgement.
Placed on guard over the prisoners, he says:
‘Whatever grounds of boasting may belong to us as a nation, I am afraid
that our methods of dealing with the prisoners taken from the French
during the war scarcely deserves to be classed among them. Absolute
cruelties were never, I believe, perpetrated on these unfortunate
beings; neither, as far as I know, were they, on any pretence whatever,
stinted in the allowance of food awarded to them. But in other respects
they fared hardly enough. Their sleeping apartments, for instance, were
very much crowded. Few paroles were extended to them (it is past dispute
that when the parole was obtained they were, without distinction of
rank, apt to make a bad use of it), while their pay was calculated on a
scale as near to the line of starvation as could in any measure
correspond with our nation’s renown for humanity. On the other hand,
every possible encouragement was given to the exercise of ingenuity
among the prisoners themselves by the throwing open of the Castle yard
once or twice a week, when their wares were exhibited for sale, amid
numerous groups of jugglers, tumblers, and musicians, all of whom
followed their respective callings, if not invariably with skill, always
with most praiseworthy perseverance. Moreover, the ingenuity of the
captives taught them how on these occasions to set up stalls on which
all manner of trinkets were set forth, as well as puppet shows and
Punch’s opera.... Then followed numerous purchases, particularly on the
part of the country people, of bone and ivory knick-knacks, fabricated
invariably with a common penknife, yet always neat, and not infrequently
elegant. Nor must I forget to mention the daily market which the
peasantry, particularly the women, were in the habit of attending, and
which usually gave scope for the exchange of Jean Crapaud’s manufacture
for Nancy’s eggs, or Joan’s milk, or home-baked loaf....
‘It happened one night that a sentry whose post lay outside the walls of
the old Castle, was startled by the sound as of a hammer driven against
the earth under his feet. The man stopped, listened, and was more and
more convinced that neither his fears nor his imagination had misled
him. So he reported the circumstance to the sergeant who next visited
his post, and left him to take in the matter such steps as might be
expedient. The sergeant, having first ascertained, as in duty bound,
that the man spoke truly, made his report to the captain on duty, who
immediately doubled the sentry at the indicated spot, and gave strict
orders that should as much as one French prisoner be seen making his way
beyond the Castle walls, he should be shot without mercy.
‘Then was the whole of the guard got under arms: then were beacons fired
in various quarters; while far and near, from Portsmouth not less than
from the cantonments more close at hand, bodies of troops marched upon
Portchester. Among others came the general of the district, bringing
with him a detachment of sappers and miners, by whom all the floors of
the several bedrooms were tried, and who soon brought the matter home to
those engaged in it. Indeed one man was taken in the gallery he was
seeking to enlarge, his only instrument being a spike nail wherewith to
labour. The plot thus discovered was very extensive and must, if carried
through, have proved a desperate one to both parties. For weeks previous
to the discovery, the prisoners, it appeared, had been at work, and from
not fewer than seven rooms, all of them on the ground floor, they had
sunk shafts 12 feet in depth, and caused them all to meet at one common
centre, whence as many chambers went off. These were driven beyond the
extremity of the outer wall, and one, that of which the sentry was thus
unexpectedly made aware, the ingenious miners had carried forward with
such skill, that in two days more it would have been in a condition to
be opened.
‘The rubbish, it appeared, which from these several covered ways they
scooped out, was carried about by the prisoners in their pockets till
they found an opportunity of scattering it over the surface of the great
square. Yet the desperate men had a great deal more to encounter than
the mere obstacles which the excavation of the castle at Portchester
presented.
‘Their first proceeding after emerging into the upper air must needs
have been to surprise and overpower the troops that occupied the
barracks immediately contiguous, an operation of doubtful issue at the
best, and not to be accomplished without a terrible loss of life,
certainly on one side, probably on both. Moreover, when this was done,
there remained for the fugitives the still more arduous task of making
their way through the heart of the garrison town of Portsmouth, and
seizing a flotilla of boats, should such be high and dry upon the beach.
Yet worse even than this remained, for both the harbour and the roads
wore crowded with men-of-war the gauntlet of whose batteries the
deserters must of necessity have run....’
One wishes that the British officer could have given us some account of
the inner life at Portchester, from his point of view, but the foreign
narratives which follow seem to have been written in a fair and broad
spirit which would certainly have not been manifest had the _genius
loci_ of the hulks been influencing the minds of the writers.
The two following accounts, by St. Aubin and Philippe Gille, were
written by men who were probably in Portchester at the same time, as
both had come to England from Cabrera—that terrible prison island south
of Majorca, to which the Spaniards sent the captives of Baylen in July
1808—unfortunates whose prolonged living death there must ever remain an
indelible stain upon our conduct during the Peninsular War.
St. Aubin describes the Castle as divided into two by a broad road
running between palisades, on the one side of which were a large and a
small tower and nine two-storied wooden buildings, and on the other a
church, kitchens, storehouses, offices, and hospital. It is evident that
what he calls the large tower is the castle keep, for this held from
1,200 to 1,500 prisoners, while each of the nine barracks accommodated
500.
St. Aubin gives us the most detailed account of the Portchester
prisoners and their life. At 6 a.m. in summer, and 7 in winter, the bell
announced the arrival of the soldiers and turnkeys, who opened the doors
and counted the prisoners. At 9 o’clock the market bell rang and the
distributions of bread were made. The prisoners were divided into
_plats_ or messes of twelve, each _plat_ was again subdivided, and each
had two _gamelles_ or soup-pots. At midday the bell announced the
closing of the market to English sellers, who were replaced by French,
and also the distribution of soup and meat. At sunset the bell went
again, jailers and soldiers went through the evening count, all were
obliged to be within doors, and lights were put out.
Occasionally in the _grand pré_, as the enclosure within the walls was
called, there was a general airing of prisons and hammocks, and the
prisoners were obliged to stay out of doors till midday; during this
performance the masons went round to sound walls and floors, to see that
no attempts to escape were being engineered. Each story of the tower and
the prisons had two prison superintendents at eight shillings per month,
who were responsible for their cleanliness, and a barber. The doctor
went through the rooms every day.
The prisoners prepared their own food, the wages of the master cooks
being sevenpence per diem. St. Aubin complains bitterly of the quality
of the provisions, especially of the bread, and says that it was quite
insufficient on account of the avarice of the contractors, but at any
rate, he says, it was regularly distributed.
In spite of all this, Portchester was preferred by the prisoners to
other dépôts, because it was easy to get money and letters from France;
and it may be noted that while we get little or no mention of recreation
and amusement at Norman Cross, or Stapleton, or Perth, unless gambling
comes within the category, we shall see that at Portchester the
prisoners seem to have done their very best to make the long days pass
as pleasantly as possible.
Portchester was a veritable hive of industry. There were manufacturers
of straw hats, stockings, gloves, purses, and braces. There were cunning
artificers in bone who made tobacco boxes, dominoes, chessmen, models of
all kinds, especially of men-of-war, one of which latter, only one foot
in length, is said to have been sold for £26, as well as of the most
artistic ornaments and knick-knacks. There were tailors, goldsmiths (so
says St. Aubin), shoemakers, caterers, limonadiers, and comedians of the
Punch and Judy and marionette class. There were professors of
mathematics, of drawing, of French, of English, of Latin, of fencing, of
writing, of dancing, of the _bâton_, and of _la boxe_. St. Aubin quotes
as a strange fact that most of the prisoners who, on going to
Portchester, knew neither reading nor writing, ‘en sont sortis la tête
et la bourse passablement meublées.’
But the unique feature of Portchester industry was its thread lace
manufacture.
[Illustration:
BONE MODEL OF H.M.S. _VICTORY_
Made by prisoners of war at Portsmouth
]
The brilliant idea of starting this belonged to a French soldier
prisoner who had been born and bred in a lace-making country, and had
been accustomed to see all the women working at it. He recalled the
process by memory, took pupils, and in less than a year there were 3,000
prisoners in Portchester making lace, and among these were ‘capitalists’
who employed each as many as from fifty to sixty workmen. So beautiful
was this lace, and so largely was it bought by the surrounding families,
that the English lace-makers protested, its manufacture within the
prison was forbidden, and it is said that the work of suppression was
carried out in the most brutal manner, the machines being broken and all
lace in stock or in process of manufacture destroyed.
Gambling, says St. Aubin, was the all-pervading vice of Portchester, as
in the other prisons. For ‘capitalists’ there was actually a roulette
table, but the rank and file gambled upon the length of straws, with
cards or dominoes, for their rations, their clothes, or their bedding.
The authorities attempted occasionally to check the mania among the most
enslaved by placing them apart from their fellows, reclothing them, and
making them eat their rations, but in vain, for they pierced the walls
of their places of confinement, and sold their clothes through the
apertures. Duels, as a consequence, were frequent, the usual time for
these being the dinner hour, because all the prisoners were then
temporarily in the _salles_.
St. Aubin thus describes his fellow prisoners. Sailors, he says, were
brusque but obliging; soldiers were more honest, softer and less prompt
to help; maîtres d’armes were proud and despotic. The scum of the
community were the Raffalés, who lived in the top story of the tower.
Among the two hundred of these there were only two or three suits of
clothes, which were worn in turn by those who had to go out foraging for
food. These men terrorized the rest, and their captain was even held in
some sort of fear, if not respect, by the authorities.
The prison amusements were various. The prisoners who had no occupations
played draughts, cards, dominoes, and billiards. On Sundays the beer-man
came, and much drunkenness prevailed, especially upon fête days, such as
St. Martin’s, Christmas, and August 15, the Emperor’s birthday: the
principal drinks being compounds of beer and spirits known as ‘strom’
and ‘shum’. On St. Cecilia’s Day the musicians always gave an
entertainment, but the chief form of amusement was the theatre.
This was arranged in the basement of the large tower—that is, the keep,
where three hundred people could be accommodated. Part of the boxes were
set apart for English visitors, who appreciated the French performances
so much that they even said that they were better than what they were
accustomed to in Portsmouth, and flocked to them, much to the disgust of
the native managers, who represented to the authorities that those
untaxed aliens were taking the bread out of their mouths. The Government
considered the matter, and upon the plea that the admission of the
English public to the French theatre was leading to too great intimacy
between the peoples, and thus would further the escapes of prisoners,
took advantage of the actual escape of a prisoner in English dress to
ordain that although the theatre might continue as heretofore, no
English were to be admitted. The result of this was that the receipts
dropped from £12 to £5 a night.
St. Aubin remarks, _en passant_, that Commander William Patterson and
Major Gentz, who were chiefly responsible for the retention of the
theatre, were the only Englishmen he ever met who were worthy of
respect!
Of the pieces played, St. Aubin mentions _L’Heureuse Étourderie_ by
himself; the tragedies _Zaïre_, _Mahomet_, _Les Templiers_; the comedies
_Les Deux Gendres_, _Les Folies amoureuses_, _Le Barbier de Séville_,
_Le Tyran domestique_, _Défiance et Malice_; many dramas, and even
vaudevilles and operas such as _Les Deux Journées_, _Pierre le Grand_,
_Françoise de Foix_, of which the music was composed by prisoners and
played by an orchestra of twelve.
A terrible murder is said to have been the outcome of theatricals in the
prison. In describing it St. Aubin starts with the opinion that ‘Les
maîtres d’armes sont toujours fort vilains messieurs’. There was a
quarrel between a gunner and a _maître des logis_; some said it was
about a theatrical part, but others that the gunner, Tardif, had
committed a crime in past days, had described it in writing, that the
paper had fallen from his hammock into that of Leguay, the _maître des
logis_, and that Tardif determined to get the possessor of his secret
out of the way. So he attacked Leguay, who ran bleeding to his hammock,
followed by Tardif, who then dispatched him, and displayed a strange,
fierce joy at the deed when overpowered and tied to a pillar. He was
tried, and condemned to be hanged at Portchester in the sight of all the
prisoners. ‘The scaffold was erected on the Portsmouth road’, says St.
Aubin, not within the Castle precincts, as another account states. He
had previously sold his body for ten francs to a surgeon for dissection.
At the request of the prisoners the body of Leguay was buried in
Portchester churchyard. All joined to raise funds for the funeral, and
the proceeds of a performance of _Robert, chef de brigands_, was devoted
to the relief of the widow and children of the murdered man.
At the funeral of Leguay, sous-officiers of his regiment, the 10th
Dragoons, carried the coffin, which was preceded by a British military
band, and followed by the sous-officiers in uniform, British officers,
and inhabitants of the neighbourhood.
Tardif was conveyed from Winchester to the _King’s Arms_ Inn at
Portchester, where Mr. White, the Roman Catholic priest, tried to get
him to take the last Sacrament, but in vain: Tardif only wanted the
execution to be got over as soon as possible. He was taken in a cart to
the prison yard, where were assembled 7,000 prisoners. Again the priest
urged him to repent, but it was useless. The cap was drawn over his
face, but he tore it away, and died as he had lived. The behaviour of
the spectator prisoners was exemplary.
At the Peace and Restoration of 1814, although the Portchester prisoners
were Bonapartists almost to a man, quite a boyish joy was exhibited at
the approaching liberation: great breakfasts were given in the village,
and by the end of May the Castle was empty.
The notes on Portchester of Philippe Gille, author of _Mémoires d’un
Conscrit de 1798_, are as interesting as those of St. Aubin,
particularly as regards the amusements of the prisoners, and I make no
apology for adding to them his immediately previous experiences, as they
are not distasteful reading.
Gille was taken prisoner in Baylen, and at first was put on board No. 27
Hulk, at Cadiz, in which ship, he says, were crowded no less than 1,824
prisoners! Thence he was sent to Cabrera and relates his frightful
experiences on that prison island.
After a time the prisoners were taken on board British ships, and
learned that their destination was an English prison—perhaps the dreaded
hulks!
Gille was on board the _Britannia_. Let me tell the effect of the change
in his own words, they are so gratifying:
‘Aux traitements cruels des féroces Espagnols succédaient tout à coup
les soins compatissants des soldats et matelots anglais; ces braves gens
nous témoignaient toutes sortes d’égards. Ils transportèrent à bras
plusieurs de nos camarades malades ou amputés. Les effets qui nous
appartenaient furent aussi montés par leurs soins, sans qu’ils nous
laissaient prendre la peine de rien.’
On board there were cleanliness and space, good food for officers and
men alike, and plenty of it, the allowance being the same for six
prisoners as for four British. Rum was regularly served out, and Gille
lays stress on a pudding the prisoners made, into the composition of
which it entered.
They duly reached Plymouth; the beautiful scenery impressed Gille, but
he was most astonished when the market-boats came alongside to see
fish-women clothed in black velvet, with feathers and flowers in their
hats!
Thence to Portsmouth, where they got a first sight of the hulks, which
made Gille shudder, but he was relieved to learn that he and his fellows
were destined for a shore prison.
On September 28, 1810, they arrived at Portchester. Here they were
minutely registered, and clothed in a sleeved vest, waistcoat, and
trousers of yellow cloth, and a blue and white striped cotton shirt, and
provided with a hammock, a flock mattress of two pounds weight, a
coverlet, and tarred cords for hammock lashings.
Gille gives much interesting detail about the theatre. The Agent,
William Patterson, found it good policy to further any scheme by which
the prisoners could be kept wholesomely occupied, and so provided all
the wood necessary for the building of the theatre, which was in charge
of an ex-chief-machinist of the Théâtre Feydau in Paris, Carré by name.
He made a row of boxes and a hall capable of holding 300 people, and
thoroughly transformed the base story of the keep, which was unoccupied
because prisoners confined there in past times had died in great
numbers, and the authorities deemed it unwholesome as a sleeping-place.
Carré’s Arabian _Féerie_ was a tremendous success, but it led to the
Governmental interference with the theatre already mentioned. An English
major who took a lively interest in the theatre (probably the Major
Gentz alluded to by St. Aubin) had his whole regiment in to see it at
one shilling a head, and published in the Portsmouth papers a glowing
panegyric upon it, and further invited the directors of the Portsmouth
Theatre to ‘come to see how a theatre should be run’. They came, were
very pleased and polite, but very soon after came an order from the
authorities that the theatre should be shut. However, by the influence
of the Agent, it was permitted to continue, on the condition that no
English people were to be admitted.
Carré painted a drop-scene which was a masterpiece. It was a view of
Paris from a house at the corner of the Place Dauphine on the Pont-Neuf,
showing the Café Paris on the point of the island, the Bridges of the
Arts, the Royal and the Concorde, and the Bains des Bons-Hommes in the
distance, the Colonnade of the Louvre, the Tuileries with the national
flag flying, the Hôtel de Monnaies, the Quatre Nations, and the
‘théatins’ of the Quai Voltaire. It may be imagined how this home-touch
aroused the enthusiasm of the poor exiles!
New plays were received from Paris, amongst them _Le Petit Poucet_, _Le
Diable ou la Bohémienne_, _Les Deux Journées_ and _Adolphe et Clara_.
The musical pieces were accompanied by an orchestra (of prisoners, of
course) under Corret of the Conservatoire, who composed fresh music for
such representations as _Françoise de Foix_ and _Pierre le Grand_, as
their original music was too expensive, and who played the cornet solos,
Gourdet being first violin.
Gille’s own _métier_ was to make artificial flowers, and to give lessons
in painting, for which he took pupils at one franc fifty centimes a
month—the regulation price for all lessons. He also learned the violin,
and had an instrument made by a fellow prisoner.
At Portchester, as elsewhere, a Masonic Lodge was formed among the
prisoners.
In 1812 was brought to light the great plot for the 70,000 prisoners in
England to rise simultaneously, to disarm their guards, who were only
militia men, and to carry on a guerilla warfare, avoiding all towns. At
Portchester the 7,000 prisoners were to overpower the garrison, which
had two cannon and 800 muskets, and march to Forton, where were 3,000
prisoners. The success of the movement was to depend upon the
co-operation of the Boulogne troops and ships, in keeping the British
fleet occupied, but the breaking up of the Boulogne Camp, in order to
reinforce the Grand Army for the expedition to Russia, caused the
abandonment of the enterprise.
The news of the advance of the Allies in France only served to bind the
Imperialists together: the tricolour cockade was universally worn, and
an English captain who entered the Castle wearing a white cockade was
greeted with hisses, groans, and even stone-throwing, and was only saved
from further mischief by the Agent—a man much respected by the
prisoners—who got him away and gave him a severe lecture on his
foolishness. On Easter Day, 1814, the news of Peace, of the accession of
Louis XVIII, and of freedom for the prisoners came. The Agent asked the
prisoners to hoist the white flag as a greeting to the French officer
who was coming to announce formally the great news, and to arrange for
the departure of the prisoners. A unanimous refusal was the result, and
a British soldier had to hoist the flag. Contre-amiral Troude came.
There was a strong feeling against him, inasmuch as it was reported that
in order to gain his present position he had probably given up his fleet
to England, and a resolution was drawn up not to acclaim him. All the
same, Gille says, the speech he made so impressed the prisoners that he
was loudly cheered, and went away overcome with emotion.
The next day his mission took him to the prison ships. Here he did not
succeed so well, for as he approached one of the hulks he had a large
basket of filth thrown over him, and he had to leave without boarding
her. By way of punishment, the prisoners on this ship were made the last
to leave England.
On May 15, 1814, the evacuation of Portchester began. Gille left on the
20th, carrying away the best of feelings towards the Agent and the
Commandant, the former showing his sympathy with the prisoners to the
very last, by taking steps so that the St. Malo men, of whom there were
a great many, should be sent direct to their port instead of being
landed at Calais.
Gille describes a very happy homeward voyage, thanks largely to the
English doctor on the ship, who, finding that Gille was a Mason, had him
treated with distinction, and even offered to help him with a loan of
money.
Pillet, the irrepressible, tells a yarn that ‘Milor Cordower (Lord
Cawdor), Colonel du régiment de Carmarthen’, visiting the Castle one
day, was forgetful enough to leave his horse unattended, tied up in the
courtyard; when he returned there was no horse to be found, and it
turned out that the prisoners, mad with hunger, had taken the horse,
killed it, and eaten it raw. Pillet adds that all dogs who strayed
Portchester way suffered the same fate, and that in support of his
statement he can bring many naval officers of Lorient and Brest.
Pillet’s story, I think, is rather better than Garneray’s about the
great Dane on the prison ship (see pp. 68–71).
The last French prisoners left Portchester at the end of May 1814, but
American prisoners were here until January 1816. After the Peace all the
wooden buildings were taken down and sold by auction (a row of cottages
in Fareham, built out of the material, still enjoys the name of ‘Bug
Row’). Relics of this period of the Castle’s history are very scanty.
The old Guard House at the Land Gate, now the Castle Custodian’s
dwelling, remains much as it was, and a line of white stones on the
opposite side of the approach marks the boundary of the old prison
hospital, which is also commemorated in the name Hospital Lane.
The great tower still retains the five stories which were arranged for
the prisoners, and on the transverse beams are still the hooks to which
the hammocks were suspended. Some crude coloured decoration on the beams
of the lowest story may have been the work of the French theatrical
artists, but I doubt it.
Names of French and other prisoners are cut on many of the walls and
wooden beams, notably at the very top of the great tower, which is
reached by a dark, steep newel stair of Norman work, now almost closed
to the public on account of the dangerous condition of many of the
steps. This was the stair used by Dufresne, and the number of names cut
in the topmost wall would seem to show that the lofty coign, whence
might be seen a widespread panorama, stretching on three sides far away
to the Channel, and to these poor fellows possible liberty, was a
favourite resort. I noted some twenty decipherable names, the earliest
date being 1745 and the latest 1803.
Only one death appears in the Church Register—that of ‘Peter Goston, a
French prisoner’, under date of December 18, 1812.
There seems to have been no separate burial ground for the rank and file
of the prisoners, but it is said that they were shovelled away into the
tide-swept mud-flats outside the South Gate, and that, for economy, a
single coffin with a sliding bottom did duty for many corpses. But human
remains in groups have been unearthed all around the Castle, and, as it
is known that at certain periods the mortality among the prisoners was
very high, it is believed that these are to be dated from the
prisoner-of-war epoch of the Castle’s history.
No descendants of the prisoners are to be traced in or about
Portchester; but Mrs. Durrand, who is a familiar figure to all visitors
to the Castle, believes that her late husband’s grandfather was a French
prisoner of war here.
It may be noted that Arthur Wellesley, afterwards Duke of Wellington,
was at one time an officer of the garrison at Portchester.
NOTE ON THE PORTCHESTER THEATRICALS
A correspondent of the French paper _L’Intermédiaire_, the equivalent of
our _Notes and Queries_, gives some details. The Portchester Theatricals
originated with the prisoners who came from Cabrera and the Isle de
Léon. On these awful islands the prisoners played entirely as amateurs,
but at Portchester the majority of the actors were salaried; indeed,
only three were not.
I give a list of the actors in or about the year 1810:
1. _Sociétaires_ (salaried subscribers).
Hanin, an employé in the English prison office, with the purely
honorary title of Director.
Breton, Sergeant, 2nd Garde de Paris Comique.
Reverdy, Sergeant, 2nd Garde de Paris père noble.
Lafontaine, Sergeant, 2nd Garde de Paris jeune premier.
Gruentgentz, Sergeant, 2nd Garde de Paris mère et duègne.
Moreau, Captain 2nd Garde de Paris les Colins.
Blin de Balue, Sergeant, Marine Artillery les tyrans.
Sutat (?), Maréchal des logis jeune première.
Wanthies, Captain, 4th Legion soubrette et jeune première.
Defacq, fourrier, chasseurs à cheval jeune premier en séconde.
Siutor or Pintor, marin jouant les accessoires.
Palluel, fourrier, 2nd Garde de Paris bas comique.
Carré, soldat, 2nd Garde de Paris machiniste.
Montlefort, Marine artificier.
2. _Amateurs._
Gille, fourrier, 1st Legion jeunes premiers.
Quantin, fourrier, 1st Legion les ingénues.
Iwan, chasseurs à cheval les confidents.
The orchestra consisted of four violins, two horns, three clarinets, and
one ‘octave’.
In the above list both Gille and Quantin wrote memoirs of their stay at
Portchester. The former I have quoted.
A French writer thus sarcastically speaks of the dramatic efforts of
these poor fellows:
‘Those who never have seen the performances of wandering _troupes_ in
some obscure village of Normandy or Brittany can hardly form an idea of
these prison representations wherein rough sailors with a few rags
wrapped about them mouth the intrigues and sentiments of our great poets
in the style of the cabaret.’
No doubt the performances on the hulks were poor enough. The wonder to
us who know what life was on the hulks is, not that they were poor, but
that there was any heart to give them at all. But there is plenty of
evidence that the performances in such a prison as Portchester, wherein
were assembled many men of education and refinement, were more than
good. At any rate, we have seen that they were good enough to attract
English audiences to such an extent as to interfere with the success of
the local native theatres, and to bring about the exclusion from them of
these English audiences.