THE PRISONERS ON PAROLE IN SCOTLAND
With the great Scottish prisons at Perth, Valleyfield, and Edinburgh I
have dealt elsewhere, and it is with very particular pleasure that I
shall now treat of the experiences of prisoners in the parole towns of
Scotland, for the reason that, almost without exception, our involuntary
visitors seem to have been treated with a kindness and forbearance not
generally characteristic of the reception they had south of the Tweed,
although of course there were exceptions.
As we shall see, Sir Walter Scott took kindly notice of the foreigners
quartered in his neighbourhood, but that he never lost sight of the fact
that they were foreigners and warriors is evident from the following
letter to Lady Abercorn, dated May 3, 1812:
‘I am very apprehensive of the consequences of a scarcity at this
moment, especially from the multitude of French prisoners who are
scattered through the small towns in this country; as I think, very
improvidently. As the peace of this county is intrusted to me, I thought
it necessary to state to the Justice Clerk that the arms of the local
militia were kept without any guard in a warehouse in Kelso; that there
was nothing to prevent the prisoners there, at Selkirk, and at Jedburgh,
from joining any one night, and making themselves masters of this dépôt:
that the sheriffs of Roxburgh and Selkirk, in order to put down such a
commotion, could only command about three troops of yeomanry to be
collected from a great distance, and these were to attack about 500
disciplined men, who, in the event supposed, would be fully provided
with arms and ammunition, and might, if any alarm should occasion the
small number of troops now at Berwick to be withdrawn, make themselves
masters of that sea-port, the fortifications of which, although ruinous,
would serve to defend them until cannon was brought against them.’
The Scottish towns where prisoners of war on parole were quartered, of
which I have been able to get information, are Cupar, Kelso, Selkirk,
Peebles, Sanquhar, Dumfries, Melrose, Jedburgh, Hawick, and Lauder.
By the kind permission of Mrs. Keddie (‘Sarah Tytler’) I am able to give
very interesting extracts from her book, _Three Generations: The Story
of a Middle-Class Scottish Family_, referring to the residence of the
prisoners at Cupar, and the friendly intercourse between them and Mrs.
Keddie’s grandfather, Mr. Henry Gibb, of Balass, Cupar.
‘Certainly the foreign officers were made curiously welcome in the
country town, which their presence seemed to enliven rather than to
offend. The strangers’ courageous endurance, their perennial
cheerfulness, their ingenious devices to occupy their time and improve
the situation, aroused much friendly interest and amusement. The
position must have been rendered more bearable to the sufferers, and
perhaps more respectable in the eyes of the spectators, from the fact,
for which I am not able to account, that, undoubtedly, the prisoners had
among themselves, individually and collectively, considerable funds.
‘The residents treated the jetsam and flotsam of war with more than
forbearance, with genuine liberality and kindness, receiving them into
their houses on cordial terms. Soon there was not a festivity in the
town at which the French prisoners were not permitted—nay, heartily
pressed to attend. How the complacent guests viewed those rejoicings in
which the natives, as they frequently did, commemorated British
victories over the enemy is not on record.
‘But there was no thought of war and its fierce passions among the youth
of the company in the simple dinners, suppers, and carpet-dances in
private houses. There were congratulations on the abundance of pleasant
partners, and the assurance that no girl need now sit out a dance or
lack an escort if her home was within a certain limited distance beyond
which the prisoners were not at liberty to stray.
‘I have heard my mother and a cousin of hers dwell on the courtesy and
agreeableness of the outlanders—what good dancers, what excellent
company, as the country girls’ escorts.... As was almost inevitable, the
natural result of such intimacy followed, whether or not it was
acceptable to the open-hearted entertainers. Love and marriage ensued
between the youngsters, the vanquished and the victors. A Colonel, who
was one of the band, married a daughter of the Episcopal clergyman in
the town, and I am aware of at least two more weddings which eventually
took place between the strangers and the inhabitants. (These occurred at
the end of the prisoners’ stay.)’
Balass, where the Gibbs lived, was within parole limits. One day Gibb
asked the whole lot of the prisoners to breakfast, and forgot to tell
Mrs. Gibb that he had done so.
‘Happily she was a woman endowed with tranquillity of temper, while the
ample resources of an old bountiful farmhouse were speedily brought to
bear on the situation, dispensed as they were by the fair and capable
henchwomen who relieved the mistress of the house of the more arduous of
her duties. There was no disappointment in store for the patient,
ingenious gentlemen who were wont to edify and divert their nominal
enemy by making small excursions into the fields to snare larks for
their private breakfast-tables.
‘Another generous invitation of my grandfather’s ran a narrow risk of
having a tragic end. Not all his sense of the obligation of a host nor
his compassion for the misfortunes of a gallant foe could at times
restrain race antagonism, and his intense mortification at any
occurrence which would savour of national discomfiture. Once, in
entertaining some of these foreign officers, among whom was a _maître
d’armes_, Harry Gibb was foolish enough to propose a bout of fencing
with the expert. It goes without saying that within the first few
minutes the yeoman’s sword was dexterously knocked out of his hand....
Every other consideration went down before the deadly insult. In less
time than it takes to tell the story the play became grim earnest. My
grandfather turned his fists on the other combatant, taken unawares and
not prepared for the attack, sprang like a wild-cat at his throat, and,
if the bystanders had not interposed and separated the pair, murder
might have been committed under his own roof by the kindest-hearted man
in the countryside.’
This increasing intimacy between the prisoners and the inhabitants
displeased the Government, and the crisis came when, in return for the
kindness shown them, the prisoners determined to erect a theatre:
‘The French prisoners were suffered to play only once in their theatre,
and then the rout came for them. Amidst loud and sincere lamentation
from all concerned, the officers were summarily removed in a body, and
deposited in a town at some distance ... from their former guardians. As
a final _gage d’amitié_ ... the owners of the theatre left it a a gift
to the town.’
Later—in the ‘thirties—this theatre was annexed to the Grammar School to
make extra class-rooms, for it was an age when Scotland was opposed to
theatres.
KELSO[14]
For some of the following notes, I am indebted to the late Mr. Macbeth
Forbes, who helped me notably elsewhere, and who kindly gave me
permission to use them.
Some of the prisoners on parole at Kelso were sailors, but the majority
were soldiers from Spain, Portugal, and the West Indies, and about
twenty Sicilians. The inhabitants gave them a warm welcome, hospitably
entertained them, and in return the prisoners, many of whom were men of
means, gave balls at the inns—the only establishments in these
pre-parish hall days where accommodation for large parties could be
had—at which they appeared gaily attired with wondrous frills to their
shirts, and white stockings.
‘The time of their stay’, says Mr. Forbes, ‘was the gayest that Kelso
had ever seen since fatal Flodden.’
Here as elsewhere there were artists among them who painted miniatures
and landscapes and gave lessons, plaiters of straw and manufacturers of
curious beautiful articles in coloured straw, wood-carvers, botanists,
and fishermen. These last, it is said, first introduced the sport of
catching fish through holes in the ice in mid-winter. Billiards, also,
are said to have been introduced into Scotland by the prisoners. They
mostly did their own cooking, and it is noted that they spoiled some of
the landladies’ tables by chopping up frogs for fricassees. They bought
up the old Kelso ‘theatre’, the occasional scene of action for wandering
Thespians, which was in a close off the Horse-Market, rebuilt and
decorated it, some of the latter work still being visible in the ceiling
of the ironmongery store of to-day. One difficulty was the very scanty
dressing accommodation, so the actors often dressed at home, and their
passage therefrom to the theatre in all sorts of garbs was a grand
opportunity for the gibes of the youth of Kelso. Kelso was nothing if
not ‘proper’, so that when upon one occasion the postmistress, a married
woman, was seen accompanying a fantastically arrayed prisoner-actor to
the theatre from his lodging, Mrs. Grundy had much to say for some time.
On special occasions, such as when the French play was patronized by a
local grandee like the Duchess of Roxburgh, the streets were carpeted
with red cloth.
Brément, a privateer officer, advertised: ‘Mr. Brément, Professor of
Belles-Lettres and French Prisoner of War, respectfully informs the
ladies and gentlemen of Kelso that he teaches the French and Latin
languages. Apply for terms at Mrs. Matheson’s, near the Market Place.’
He is said to have done well.
Many of the privateersmen spoke English, as might be expected from their
constant intercourse with men and places in the Channel.
One prisoner here was suspected of being concerned with the manufacture
of forged bank-notes, so rife at this time in Scotland, as he ordered of
Archibald Rutherford, stationer, paper of a particular character of
which he left a pattern.
Escapes were not very frequent. On July 25, 1811, Surgeon-Major
Violland, of the _Hebe_ corvette, escaped. So did Ensign Parnagan, of
the _Hautpol_ privateer, on August 5, and on 23rd of the same month
Lieutenant Rossignol got away. On November 11 one Bouchart escaped, and
in June 1812 Lieutenant Anglade was missing, and a year later several
got off, assisted, it was said, by an American, who was arrested.
In November 1811 the removal of all ‘midshipmen’ to Valleyfield, which
was ordered at all Scottish parole towns, took place from Kelso.
Lieutenant Journeil, of the 27th Regiment, committed suicide in
September 1812 by swallowing sulphuric acid. He is said to have become
insane from home-sickness. He was buried at the Knowes, just outside the
churchyard, it being unconsecrated ground.
A Captain Levasseur married an aunt of Sir George Harrison, M.P., a
former Provost of Edinburgh, and the Levasseurs still keep up
correspondence with Scotland.
On May 24, 1814, the prisoners began to leave, and by the middle of June
all had gone. The _Kelso Mail_ said that ‘their deportment had been
uniformly conciliatory and respectable’.
In Fullarton’s _Imperial Gazetteer_ of Scotland we read that:
‘From November 1810 to June 1814, Kelso was the abode of a body, never
more than 230 in number, of foreign prisoners of war, who, to a very
noticeable degree, inoculated the place with their fashionable follies,
and even, in some instances tainted it with their laxity of morals.’
Another account says:
‘Their stay here seems to have been quiet and happy, although one man
committed suicide. They carried on the usual manufactures in wood and
bone and basket work; gave performances in the local theatre, which was
decorated by them; were variously employed by local people, one man
devoting his time to the tracking and snaring of a rare bird which
arrived during severe weather.’
Rutherford’s _Southern Counties Register and Directory_ for 1866 says:
‘The older inhabitants of Kelso remember the French prisoners of war
quartered here as possessed of many amiable qualities, of which “great
mannerliness” and buoyancy of spirits, in many instances under the
depressing effects of great poverty, were the most conspicuous of their
peculiarities; the most singular to the natives of Kelso was their habit
of gathering for use different kinds of wild weeds by the road side, and
hedge-roots, and killing small birds to eat—the latter a practise
considered not much removed from cannibalism. That they were frivolous
we will admit, as many of them wore ear-rings, and one, a Pole, had a
ring to his nose; while all were boyishly fond of amusement, and were
merry, good-natured creatures.’
One memorable outbreak of these spirits is recorded in the _Kelso Mail_
of January 30, 1812:
‘In consequence of certain riotous proceedings which took place in this
town near the East end of the Horn Market on Christmas last, by which
the peace of the neighbourhood was very much disturbed, an investigation
of the circumstances took place before our respectable magistrate,
Bailie Smith. From this it appeared that several of the French prisoners
of war here on parole had been dining together on Christmas Day, and
that a part of them were engaged in the riotous proceedings.’
These ‘riotous proceedings’ are said to have amounted to little more
than a more or less irregular arm-in-arm procession down the street to
the accompaniment of lively choruses. However, the Agent reported it to
the Transport Office, who ordered each prisoner to pay £1 1_s._ fine, to
be deducted from their allowance. The account winds up:
‘It is only an act of justice, however, to add that in so far as we have
heard, the conduct of the French prisoners here on parole has been
regular and inoffensive.’
On the anniversary of St. Andrew in 1810, the Kelso Lodge of Freemasons
was favoured with a visit from several French officers, prisoners of
war, at present resident in the town. The Right Worshipful in addressing
them, expressed the wishes of himself and the Brethren to do everything
in their power to promote the comfort and happiness of the exiles. After
which he proposed the health of the Brethren who were strangers in a
foreign land, which was drunk with enthusiastic applause.
There is frequent mention of their appearance at Masonic meetings, when
the ‘harmony was greatly increased by the polite manners and the vocal
power of our French Brethren’.
There are a great many of their signatures on the parchment to which all
strangers had to subscribe their names by order of the Grand Lodge.[15]
The only war-prisoner relics in the museum are some swords.
I have to thank Sir George Douglas for the following interesting letters
from French prisoners in Kelso.
The first is in odd Latin, the second in fair English, the third in
French. The two latter I am glad to give as additional testimonies to
the kindly treatment of the enforced exiles amongst us.
The first is as follows:
‘Kelso: die duodecima mensis Augusti anni 1811.
‘Honorifice Praefecte:
‘Monitum te facio, hoc mane, die duodecima mensis Augusti, hora decima
et semi, per vicum transeuntem vestimenta mea omnino malefacta fuisse
cum aqua tam foetida ac mulier quae jactavit illam.
‘Noxia mulier quae vestimenta mea, conceptis verbis, abluere noluit,
culpam insulsitate cumulando, uxor est domino Wm. Stuart Lanio
[Butcher?]
‘Ut persuasum mihi est hanc civitatem optimis legibus nimis constitutam
esse ut ille eventus impunitus feratur, de illo certiorem te facio,
magnifice Praefecte, ut similis casus iterum non renovetur erga captivos
Gallos, quorum tu es curator, et, occurente occasione, defensor.
‘Quandoquidem aequitas tua non mihi soli sed cunctis plane nota est, spe
magna nitor te jus dicturam expostulationi meae, cogendo praedictam
mulierem et quamprimum laventur vestimenta mea. In ista expectatione
gratam habeas salutationem illius qui mancipio et nexo, honoratissime
praefecte, tuus est.
‘MATRIEN.
‘Honorato, Honoratissimo Domino Smith,
‘Captivorum Gallorum praefecto. Kelso.’
The gist of the above being that Mrs. Stuart threw dirty water over M.
Matrien as he passed along the street in Kelso, and he demands her
punishment and the cleansing of his clothes.
The second letter runs:
‘Paris, on the 6th day of May, 1817.
‘DEAR SIR,
‘I have since I left Kelso wrote many letters to my Scots friends, but I
have been unfortunate enough to receive no answer. The wandering life I
have led during four years is, without doubt, the cause of that silence,
for my friends have been so good to me that I cannot imagine they have
entirely forgotten me. In all my letters my heart has endeavoured to
prove how thankful I was, but my gratitude is of that kind that one may
feel but cannot express. Pray, my good Sir, if you remember yet your
prisonner, be so kind as to let him have a few lignes from you and all
news about all his old good friends.
‘The difficulty which I have to express myself in your tongue, and the
countryman of yours who is to take my letter, compel me to end sooner
than I wish, but if expressions want to my mouth, be assure in revange
that my heart shall always be full of all those feelings which you
deserve so rightly.
‘Farewell, I wish you all kind of happiness.
‘Your friend for ever,
‘LE CHEVALIER LEBAS DE STE. CROIX.
‘My direction: à Monsieur le Chevalier Lebas de Ste. Croix, Capitaine à
la légion de l’Isère, caserne de La Courtille à Paris. P.S.—All my
thanks and good wishes first to your family, to the family Waldie,
Davis, Doctor Douglas, Rutherford, and my good landlady Mistress Elliot.
‘To Mister John Smith Esq.,
‘bridge street,
‘Kelso, Scotland.’
(In Kelso, towards the end of 1912, I had the pleasure of making the
acquaintance of Mr. Provost Smith, grandson of the gentleman to whom the
foregoing two letters were addressed, and Mr. Smith was kind enough to
present me with a tiny ring of bone, on which is minutely worked the
legend: ‘I love to see you’, done by a French officer on parole in Kelso
in 1811.)
The third letter is as follows:
‘Je, soussigné officier de la Légion d’Honneur, Lieutenant Colonel au
8^e Régiment de Dragons, sensible aux bons traitements que les
prisonniers français sur parole en cette ville reçoivent journellement
de la part de Mr. Smith, law agent, invite en mon nom et en celui de mes
compagnons d’infortune ceux de nos compatriotes entre les mains desquels
le hasard de la guerre pourroit faire tomber Mesdemoiselles St. Saure
(?) d’avoir pour elles tous les égards et attentions qu’elles méritent,
et de nous aider par tous les bons offices qu’ils pourront rendre à ces
dames à acquitter une partie de la reconnaissance que nous devons à leur
famille.
‘Kelso. 7 Avril, 1811.
‘DUDOUIT.’
SELKIRK
In 1811, ninety-three French prisoners arrived at Selkirk, many of them
army surgeons. Their mile limits from the central point were, on the
Hawick road, to Knowes; over the bridge, as far as the Philiphaugh
entries; and towards Bridgehead, the ‘Prisoners’ Bush’. An old man named
Douglas, says Mr. Craig-Brown (from whose book on Selkirk, I take this
information, and to whom I am indebted for much hospitality and his many
pains in acting as my mentor in Selkirk), remembered them coming to his
father’s tavern at Heathenlie for their morning rum, and astonishing the
people with what they ate. ‘They made tea out of dried whun blooms and
skinned the verra paddas. The doctor anes was verra clever, and some of
them had plenty o’ siller.’
On October 13, 1811, the prisoners constructed a balloon, and sent it up
amidst such excitement as Selkirk rarely felt. Indeed, the Yeomanry then
out for their training could not be mustered until they had seen the
balloon.
A serious question came up in 1814 concerning the public burden which
the illegitimate children of these gentlemen were causing, and
complaints were sent to the Transport Office, whose reply was that the
fathers of the children were liable to the civil law, and that unless
they should provide for their maintenance, they should go to prison.
Two of the prisoners quarrelled about a girl and fought a bloodless duel
at Linglee for half an hour, when the authorities appeared upon the
scene and arrested the principals, who were sent to jail for a month.
Mr. J. John Vernon wrote:
‘In an article upon the old Selkirk Subscription Library, reference is
made to the use of the Library by the officers who were confined in
Selkirk and district during the Napoleonic wars.
‘Historical reference is furnished incidentally in the pages of the Day
Book—the register of volumes borrowed and returned. There is no mention
of such a privilege being conferred by the members or committee, but, as
a matter of fact, all the French officers who were prisoners in Selkirk
during the Napoleonic wars were allowed to take books from the Library
as freely and as often as they chose. Beginning with April 5th, 1811,
and up to May 4th, 1814, there were no less than 132 closely written
foolscap pages devoted exclusively to their book-borrowing transactions.
They were omnivorous readers, with a _penchant_ for History and
Biography, but devouring all sorts of literature from the poetical to
the statistical. Probably because the Librarian could not trust himself
to spell them, the officers themselves entered their names, as well as
the names of books. Sometimes, when they made an entry for a comrade
they made blunders in spelling the other man’s name: that of Forsonney,
for instance, being given in four or five different ways. As the total
number of prisoners was 94, it can be concluded from the list appended
that only two or three did not join the Library.
‘Besides the French prisoners, the students attending Professor Lawson’s
lectures seem to have had the privilege of reading, but for them all
about two pages suffice. It is said that, moved by a desire to bring
these benighted foreigners to belief in the true faith, Doctor Lawson
added French to the more ancient languages he was already proficient in,
but the aliens were nearly all men of education who knew their Voltaire,
with the result that the Professor made poor progress with his well
meant efforts at proselytism, if he did not even receive a shock to his
own convictions.’
There were several Masonic Brethren among the foreign prisoners at
Selkirk, and it is noteworthy that on March 9, 1812, it was proposed by
the Brethren of this Lodge that on account of the favour done by some of
the French Brethren, they should be enrolled as honorary members of the
Lodge, and this was unanimously agreed to.
It should be noted that the French Brethren were a numerous body,
twenty-three of their names being added to the roll of St. John’s; and
we find that, as at Melrose, they formed themselves into a separate
Lodge and initiated their fellow countrymen in their own tongue.
In what was known as Lang’s Barn, now subdivided into cottages, the
French prisoners extemporized a theatre, and no doubt some of their
decorative work lies hidden beneath the whitewash. The barn was the
property of the grandfather of the late Andrew Lang.
The experiences of Sous-lieutenant Doisy de Villargennes, of the 26th
French line regiment, I shall now relate with particular pleasure, not
only on account of their unusual interest, but because they reflect the
brightest side of captivity in Britain. Doisy was wounded after Fuentes
d’Oñoro in May 1811, and taken prisoner. He was moved to hospital at
Celorico, where he formed a friendship with Captain Pattison, of the
73rd. Thence he was sent to Fort Belem at Lisbon, which happened to be
garrisoned by the 26th British Regiment, a coincidence which at once
procured for him the friendship of its officers, who caused him to be
lodged in their quarters, and to be treated rather as an honoured guest
than as a prisoner, but with one bad result—that the extraordinary good
living aggravated his healing wound, and he was obliged to return to
hospital. These were days of heavy drinking, and Lisbon lay in the land
of good and abundant wine; hosts and guest had alike fared meagrely and
hardly for a long time, so that it is not difficult to account for the
effect of the abrupt change upon poor Doisy. However, he pulled round,
and embarked for Portsmouth, not on the ordinary prisoner transport, but
as guest of Pattison on a war-ship. Doisy, with sixty other officers,
were landed at Gosport, and, contrary to the usual rule, allowed to be
on parole in the town previous to their dispatch to their
_cautionnement_.
At the Gosport prison—Forton—whither he went to look up comrades, Doisy
was overjoyed to meet with his own foster-brother, whom he had persuaded
to join his regiment, and whom he had given up as lost at Fuentes
d’Oñoro, and he received permission to spend some time with him in the
prison. I give with very great pleasure Doisy’s remarks upon captivity
in England in general, and in its proper place under the heading of
Forton Prison (see pp. 217–18) will be found his description of that
place, which is equally pleasant reading.
‘I feel it my duty here, in the interests of truth and justice, to
combat an erroneous belief concerning the hard treatment of prisoners of
war in England.... No doubt, upon the hulks they led a very painful
existence; execrable feeding, little opportunity for exercise, and a
discipline extremely severe, even perhaps cruel. Such was their fate.
But we must remember that only refractory prisoners were sent to the
hulks.’
(Here we must endorse a note of the editor of Doisy’s book, to the
effect that this is inaccurate, inasmuch as there were 19,000 prisoners
upon the hulks, and they could not all have been ‘refractory’.)
‘These would upset the discipline of prisons like Gosport. Also we must
remember that the inmates of the hulks were chiefly the crews of
privateers, and that privateering was not considered fair warfare by
England.’ (Strange to say, the editor passes over this statement without
comment.) ‘At Forton there reigned the most perfect order, under a
discipline severe but humane. We heard no sobbings of despair, we saw no
unhappiness in the eyes of the inmates, but, on the contrary, on all
sides resounded shouts of laughter, and the chorus of patriotic songs.’
In after years, when Germain Lamy, the foster-brother, was living a free
man in France, Doisy says that in conversation Lamy never alluded to the
period of his captivity in England without praising warmly the integrity
and the liberality of all the Englishmen with whom as a prisoner-trader
he had business relations. ‘Such testimonies,’ says Doisy, ‘and others
of like character, cannot but weaken the feelings of hatred and
antagonism roused by war between the two nations.’
In a few days Doisy was marched off to Odiham, but, on account of the
crowded state of the English parole towns, it was decided to send the
newcomers to Scotland, and so, on October 1, 1811, they landed at Leith,
190 in number, and marched to Selkirk, via Edinburgh and the dépôt at
Penicuik.
There was some difficulty at first in finding lodgings in the small
Scottish town for so large a number of strangers, but when it was
rumoured that they were largely gentlemen of means and likely to spend
their money freely, accommodation was quickly forthcoming.
Living in Scotland Doisy found to be very much cheaper than in England,
and the weekly pay of half a guinea, regularly received through Coutts,
he found sufficient, if not ample. His lodging cost but half a crown a
week, and as the prisoners messed in groups, and, moreover, had no local
hindrance to the excellent fishing in Ettrick and Tweed, board was
probably proportionately moderate. As the French prisoners in Selkirk
spent upon an average £150 a week in the little town, and were there for
two years and a half, no less a sum than £19,500 was poured into the
local pocket.
The exiles started a French café in which was a billiard table brought
from Edinburgh, to which none but Frenchmen were admitted; gathered
together an orchestra of twenty-two and gave Saturday concerts, which
were extensively patronized by the inhabitants and the surrounding
gentry; and with their own hands built a theatre accommodating 200
people.
‘Les costumes,’ said Doisy, ‘surtout ceux des rôles féminins, nous
nécessitaient de grands efforts d’habilité. Aucun de nous n’avait
auparavant exercé le métier de charpentier, tapissier, de tailleur,
ou . . . fait son apprentissage chez une couturière. L’intelligence,
toutefois, stimulée par la volonté, peut engendrer de petits miracles.’
They soon had a répertoire of popular tragedies and comedies, and gave a
performance every Wednesday.
On each of the four main roads leading out of the town there was at the
distance of a mile a notice-board on which was inscribed: ‘Limite des
Prisonniers de Guerre.’ As evidence of the goodwill generally borne
towards the foreigners by the country folk, when a waggish prisoner
moved one of these boards a mile further on, no information was lodged
about it, and although a reward of one guinea was paid to anybody
arresting a prisoner beyond limits, or out of his lodgings at forbidden
hours, it was very rarely claimed. Some of the prisoners indeed were
accustomed daily to go fishing some miles down the rivers.
The French prisoners did not visit the Selkirk townsfolk, for the
‘classy’ of the latter had come to the resolution not to associate with
them at all; but the priggish exclusiveness or narrow prejudice, or
whatever it might have been, was amply atoned for by the excellent
friendships formed in the surrounding neighbourhoods. There was Mr.
Anderson, a gentleman farmer, who invited the Frenchmen to fish and
regaled them in typical old-time Scots fashion afterwards; there was a
rich retired lawyer, whose chief sorrow was that he could not keep sober
during his entertainment of them: there was Mr. Thorburn, another
gentleman farmer, who introduced them to grilled sheep’s head,
salmagundi, and a cheese of his own making, of which he was particularly
proud.
But above all there was the ‘shirra’, then Mr. Walter Scott, who took a
fancy to a bright and lively young Frenchman, Tarnier by name, and often
invited him and two or three friends to Abbotsford—Doisy calls it
‘Melrose Abbey’. This was in February 1812. Mrs. Scott, whom, Doisy
says, Scott had married in _Berlin_—was only seen some minutes before
dinner, never at the repast itself. She spoke French perfectly, says
Doisy. Scott, he says, was a very different man as host in his own house
from what they judged him to be from his appearance in the streets of
Selkirk. ‘Un homme enjoué, à la physionomie ordinaire et peu
significative, à l’attitude même un peu gauche, à la démarche vulgaire
et aux allures à l’avenant, causées probablement par sa boiterie.’ But
at Abbotsford his guests found him, on the contrary, a gentleman full of
cordiality and gaiety, receiving his friends with amiability and
delicacy. The rooms at Abbotsford, says Doisy, were spacious and well
lighted, and the table not sumptuous, but refined.
Doisy tells us that what seemed to be the all-absorbing subject of
conversation at the Abbotsford dinner-table was Bonaparte. No matter
into what other channel the talk drifted, their host would hark back to
Bonaparte, and never wearied of the anecdotes and details about him
which the guests were able to give. Little did his informants think
that, ten years later, much that they told him would appear, as Doisy
says, in a distorted form rarely favourable to the great man, in Scott’s
_Life of Bonaparte_. He quotes instances, and is at no pains to hide his
resentment at what he considers a not very dignified or proper
proceeding on the part of Sir Walter.
Only on one prominent occasion was the friendly feeling between the
prisoners and the Selkirk people disturbed.
On August 15, 1813, the Frenchmen, in number ninety, united to celebrate
the Emperor’s birthday at their café, the windows of which opened on to
the public garden. They feasted, made speeches, drank numberless toasts,
and sang numberless patriotic songs. As it was found that they had a
superabundance of food, it was decided to distribute it among the crowd
assembled in the public garden, but with the condition that every one
who accepted it should doff his hat and cry ‘Vive l’Empereur Napoléon!’
But although a couple of Frenchmen stood outside, each with a viand in
one hand and a glass of liquor in the other, not a Scotsman would comply
with the condition, and all went away. One man, a sort of factotum of
the Frenchmen, who made a considerable deal of money out of them in one
way and another, and who was known as ‘Bang Bay’, from his habit, when
perplexed with much questioning and ordering, of replying ‘by and by’,
did accept the food and drink, and utter the required cry, and his
example was followed by a few others, but the original refusers still
held aloof and gathered together in the garden, evidently in no
peaceable mood.
Presently, as the feast proceeded and the celebrants were listening to a
song composed for the occasion, a stone was thrown through the window,
and hit Captain Gruffaud of the Artillery. He rushed out and demanded
who had thrown it. Seeing a young man grinning, Gruffaud accused him,
and as the youth admitted it, Gruffaud let him have the stone full in
the face. A disturbance being at once imminent, the French officers
broke up chairs, &c., to arm themselves against an attack, and the
crowd, seeing this, dispersed. Soon after, the Agent, Robert Henderson,
hurried up to say that the crowd had armed themselves and were
re-assembling, and that as the Frenchmen were in the wrong, inasmuch as
they had exceeded their time-limit, nine o’clock, by an hour, he
counselled them to go home quietly. So the matter ended, and Doisy
remarks that no evil resulted, and that Scots and French became better
comrades than ever.
Another event might have resulted in a disturbance. At the news of a
victory by Wellington in Spain, the Selkirk people set their bells
ringing, and probably rejoiced with some ostentation. A short time
after, says Doisy, came the news of a great French victory in Russia
(?). The next day, Sunday, some French officers attended a Quakers’
meeting in their house, and managed to hide themselves. At midnight a
dozen of their comrades were admitted through the window, bringing with
them a coil of rope which they made fast to that of the meeting-house
bell, and rang vigorously, awakening the town and bringing an amazed
crowd to the place, and in the confusion the actors of the comedy
escaped. Then came the Peace of 1814, and the Frenchmen were informed
that on April 20 a vessel would be at Berwick to take them to France.
The well-to-do among them proposed to travel by carriage to Berwick, but
it was later decided that all funds should be united and that they
should go on foot, and to defray expenses £60 was collected. Before
leaving, it was suggested that a considerable increase might be made to
their exchequer if they put up to auction the structure of the theatre,
as well as the properties and dresses, which had cost £120. Tarnier was
chosen auctioneer, and the bidding was started at £50, but in spite of
his eloquence the highest bid was £40. So they decided to have some fun
at the last. All the articles were carried to the field which the
prisoners had hired for playing football, and a last effort was made to
sell them. But the highest bid was only £2 more than before. Rather than
sell at such a ridiculous price, the Frenchmen, armed with sticks and
stones, formed a circle round the objects for sale, and set fire to
them, a glorious bonfire being the result.
The day of departure came. Most of the Frenchmen had passed the previous
night in the Public Garden, singing, and drinking toasts, so that all
were up betimes, and prepared for their tramp. Their delight and
astonishment may be imagined when they beheld a defile of all sorts of
vehicles, and even of saddle-horses, into the square, and learned that
these had been provided by the people of Selkirk to convey them to
Kelso, half way to Berwick.
Says Doisy: ‘Nous nous séparâmes donc de nos amis de Selkirk sans garder
d’une part et d’autre aucun des sentiments de rancune pouvant exister
auparavant’.
Mr. Craig-Brown relates the following anecdote:
‘Many years after the war, in the Southern States of America, two young
Selkirk lads were astonished to see themselves looked at with evident
earnestness by two foreigners within earshot of them. At last one of the
latter, a distinguished-looking elderly gentleman, came up and said:
“Pardon, I think from your speech you come from Scotland?”
‘“We do.”
‘“Perhaps from the South of Scotland?”
‘“Yes, from Selkirk.”
‘“From Selkirk! Ah! I was certain: General! It is true. They are from
Selkirk.” Upon which his companion came up, who, looking at one of the
lads for a while, exclaimed:
‘“I am sure you are the son of ze, ze, leetle fat man who kills ze
sheep!”
‘“Faith! Ye’re recht!” said the astonished Scot. “My father was Tudhope,
the flesher!”
‘Upon which the more effusive of the officers fairly took him round the
neck, and gave him a hearty embrace. Making themselves known as two of
the old French prisoners, they insisted on the lads remaining in their
company, loaded them with kindness, and never tired of asking them
questions about their place of exile, and all its people, particularly
the sweethearts they and their comrades had left behind them.’
PEEBLES
Although Peebles was not established as a parole town until 1803, a
great many French prisoners, not on parole, were here in 1798–9, most of
them belonging to the thirty-six-gun frigates _Coquille_ and _Résolue_,
belonging to the Brest squadron of the expedition to Ireland, which was
beaten by Sir John Warren. They were probably confined in the town jail.
The first parole prisoners were Dutch, Belgians, and Danes, ‘all of whom
took to learning cotton hand-loom weaving, and spent their leisure time
in fishing’, says Mr. W. Chambers. In 1810 about one hundred French,
Poles, and Italians came: ‘Gentlemanly in manner, they made for
themselves friends in the town and neighbourhood, those among them who
were surgeons occasionally assisting at a medical consultation. They set
up a theatre in what is now the public reading-room, and acted Molière
and Corneille. In 1811 all the “midshipmen” (gardes-marines) among them
were suddenly called to the Cross, and marched away to Valleyfield,
possibly an act of reprisal for Bonaparte’s action against English
midshipmen.’[16]
Shortly after their removal, all the other prisoners were sent away from
Peebles, chiefly to Sanquhar. This removal is _said_ to have been
brought about by the terror of a lady of rank in the neighbourhood at so
many enemies being near Neidpath Castle, where were deposited the arms
of the Peeblesshire Militia.
Mr. Sanderson, of the Chambers Institute at Peebles, my indefatigable
conductor about and around the pleasant old Border town, told me that
there is still in Peebles a family named Bonong, said to be descended
from a French prisoner; that a Miss Wallink who went to Canada some
years ago as Mrs. Cranston, was descended from a Polish prisoner; that
there was recently a Mr. Lenoir at the Tontine Hotel (traditionally the
‘hotle’ which was Meg Dodd’s bugbear in _St. Ronan’s Well_), and that a
drawing master named Chastelaine came of French prisoner parentage.
In the Museum of the Chambers Institute are four excellent specimens of
French prisoner-made ship models, and on the plaster walls of a house
are a couple of poorly executed oil frescoes said to have been painted
by prisoners.
I have the kind permission of Messrs. Chambers to quote the following
very complete descriptions of French prisoner life at Peebles from the
_Memoirs of William and Robert Chambers_ by Mr. William Chambers.
‘1803. Not more than 20 or 30 of these foreign exiles arrived at this
early period. They were mostly Dutch and Walloons, with afterwards a few
Danes. These men did not repine. They nearly all betook themselves to
learn some handicraft to eke out their scanty allowance. At leisure
hours they might be seen fishing in long leather boots as if glad to
procure a few trout and eels. Two or three years later came a _détenu_
of a different class. He was seemingly the captain of a ship from the
French West Indies, who brought with him his wife and a negro
servant-boy named Jack. Black Jack, as we called him, was sent to the
school, where he played with the other boys on the town green, and at
length spoke and read like a native. He was a good-natured creature, and
became a general favourite. Jack was the first pure negro whom the boys
at that time had ever seen.
‘None of these classes of prisoner broke his parole, nor ever gave any
trouble to the authorities. They had not, indeed, any appearance of
being prisoners, for they were practically free to live and ramble about
within reasonable bounds where they liked.
‘In 1810 there was a large accession to this original body of prisoners
on parole. As many as one hundred and eleven were already on their way
to the town, and might be expected shortly. There was speedily a vast
sensation in the place. The local Militia had been disbanded. Lodgings
of all sorts were vacant. The new arrivals would on all hands be
heartily welcomed. On Tuesday, the expected French prisoners in an
unceremonious way began to drop in. As one of several boys, I went out
to meet them coming from Edinburgh. They came walking in twos and
threes, a few of them lame. Their appearance was startling, for they
were in military garb in which they had been captured in Spain. Some
were in light blue hussar dress, braided, with marks of sabre wounds.
Others were in dark blue uniform. Several wore large cocked hats, but
the greater number had undress caps. All had a gentlemanly air,
notwithstanding their generally dishevelled attire, their soiled boots,
and their visible marks of fatigue.
‘Before night they had all arrived, and, through the activity of the
Agent appointed by the Transport Board, they had been provided with
lodgings suitable to their slender allowance. This large batch of
prisoners on parole were, of course, all in the rank of naval or
military officers. Some had been pretty high in the service and seen a
good deal of fighting. Several were doctors, or, as they called
themselves, _officiers de santé_. Among the whole there were, I think,
about half a dozen midshipmen. A strange thing was their varied
nationality. Though spoken of as French, there was in the party a
mixture of Italians, Swiss, and Poles; but this we found out only after
some intercourse. Whatever their origin, they were warm adherents of
Napoleon, whose glory at this time was at its height. Lively in manner,
their minds were full of the recent struggle in the Peninsula.
‘Through the consideration of an enterprising grocer, the prisoners were
provided with a billiard table at which they spent much of their time.
So far well. But how did these unfortunate exiles contrive to live? How
did they manage to feed and clothe themselves, and pay for lodgings? The
allowance from Government was on a moderate scale. I doubt if it was
more than one shilling per head per diem. In various instances two
persons lived in a single room, but even that cost half-a-crown per
week. The truth is they must have been half starved, but for the
fortunate circumstance of a number of them having brought money—foreign
gold-pieces, concealed about their persons, which stores were
supplemented by remittances from France; and in a friendly way, at least
as regards the daily mess, or _table d’hôte_, the richer helped the
poorer, which was a good trait in their character. The messing together
was the great resource, and took place in a house hired for the purpose,
in which the cookery was conducted under the auspices of M. Lavoche, one
of the prisoners who was skilled in _cuisine_. My brother and I had some
dealings with Lavoche. We cultivated rabbits in a hutch built by
ourselves in the backyard, and sold them for the Frenchmen’s mess; the
money we got for them, usually eighteenpence a pair, being employed in
the purchase of books.
‘Billiards were indispensable, but something more was wanted. Without a
theatre, life was felt to be unendurable. But how was a theatre to be
secured? There was nothing of the kind in the place. The more eager of
the visitors managed to get out of the difficulty. There was an old and
disused ball-room. It was rather of confined dimensions, and low in the
roof, with a gallery at one end, over the entrance, for the
musicians.... Walter Scott’s mother, when a girl, (I was told,) had
crossed Minchmoor, a dangerously high hill, in a chaise, from the
adjacent country, to dance for a night in that little old ball-room. Now
set aside as unfashionable, the room was at anybody’s service, and came
quite handily for the Frenchmen. They fitted it up with a stage at the
inner end, and cross benches to accommodate 120 persons, independently
of perhaps 20 more in the musicians’ gallery. The thing was neatly got
up with scenery painted by M. Walther and M. Ragulski, the latter a
young Pole. No licence was required for the theatre, for it was
altogether a private undertaking. Money was not taken at the door, and
no tickets were sold. Admission was gained by complimentary billets
distributed chiefly among persons with whom the actors had established
an intimacy.
‘Among these favoured individuals was my father, who, carrying on a
mercantile concern, occupied a prominent position. He felt a degree of
compassion for these foreigners, constrained to live in exile, and,
besides welcoming them to his house, gave them credit in articles of
drapery of which they stood in need; and through which circumstance they
soon assumed an improved appearance in costume. Introduced to the family
circle, their society was agreeable, and in a sense instructive. Though
with imperfect speech, a sort of half-English, half-French, they related
interesting circumstances in their careers.
‘How performances in French should have had any general attraction may
seem to require explanation. There had grown up in the town among young
persons especially, a knowledge of familiar French phrases; so that what
was said, accompanied by appropriate gestures, was pretty well guessed
at. But, as greatly contributing to remove difficulties, a worthy man,
of an obliging turn and genial humour, volunteered to act as
interpreter. Moving in humble circumstances as hand-loom weaver, he had
let lodgings to a French captain and his wife, and from being for years
in domestic intercourse with them, he became well acquainted with their
language. William Hunter, for such was his name, besides being of ready
wit, partook of a lively musical genius. I have heard him sing _Malbrook
s’en va t’en guerre_ with amazing correctness and vivacity. His services
at the theatre were therefore of value to the natives in attendance.
Seated conspicuously at the centre of what we may call the pit, eyes
were turned on him inquiringly when anything particularly funny was said
requiring explanation, and for general use he whisperingly communicated
the required interpretation. So, put up to the joke, the natives
heartily joined in the laugh, though rather tardily.... As for the
French plays, which were performed with perfect propriety, they were to
us not only amusing but educational. The remembrance of these dramatic
efforts of the French prisoners of war has been through life a continual
treat. It is curious for me to look back on the performances of the
pieces of Molière in circumstances so remarkable.
‘My mother, even while lending her dresses and caps to enable performers
to represent female characters, never liked the extraordinary intimacy
which had been formed between the French officers and my father. Against
his giving them credit she constantly remonstrated in vain. It was a
tempting but perilous trade. For a time, by the resources just
mentioned, they paid wonderfully well. With such solid inducements, my
father confidingly gave extensive credit to these strangers—men who, by
their positions, were not amenable to the civil law, and whose
obligations, accordingly, were altogether debts of honour. The
consequence was that which might have been anticipated. An order
suddenly arrived from the Government commanding the whole of the
prisoners to quit Peebles, and march chiefly to Sanquhar in
Dumfriesshire: the cause of the movement being the prospective arrival
of a Militia Regiment.
‘The intelligence came one Sunday night. What a gloom prevailed at
several firesides that evening!
‘On their departure the French prisoners made many fervid promises that,
should they ever return to their own country, they would have pleasure
in discharging their debt. They all got home in the Peace of 1814, but
not one of them ever paid a farthing, and William Chambers was one of
the many whose affairs were brought to a crisis therefrom.’
It will be seen later that this was not the uniform experience of
British creditors with French debtors.