TOULON
Coudon and Faron—Telo Martius—Dye works—Toulon made an arsenal
and dockyard—Galley slaves—The Bagne—The Red Caps—Travaux
forcés—Story of Cognard—Siege of 1793—Carteaux and
Napoleon—Massacre—Expedition to Egypt.
THE precipices of limestone, Coudon, 1,205 feet high, and Faron, 1,790
feet, standing as guardians over Toulon, crowned with gleaming circles
of white fortifications, effectually protect the great arsenal and
dockyards of this place of first importance to France. Coudon looks
out over the _crau_ towards the Gulf of Hyères, and would effectually
prevent attack thence; and Faron, standing immediately above the
harbour of Toulon, could sink any fleet that ventured within range.
Indeed, till these two fortresses should be silenced, Toulon would be
impregnable.
Faron (_Pharus_), as its name implies, was formerly the beacon height
to the _Rade_. During the night a fire was flaming on its summit,
during the day moistened straw was burnt to send up a column of smoke.
This language of signals communicated to the population of the coast
the appearance on the horizon of vessels suspected of piratical intent.
The beacon of Faron communicated with other beacons on heights within
sight of one another. The keeping up of these signals on points of
observation was essential to the protection of the coast, and the
archives of Toulon contain a series of agreements concluded between
the town and the neighbouring places, for the maintenance of the
watch-tower of Faron, as also that of Six Fours, one of the most
ancient lighthouses of France.
Toulon, the Latin Telo Martius, was originally a Phœnician settlement
for the preparation of the famous Tyrian dye, made out of the shell of
the _murex_. The Latins called it the Telo of Mars, the God of War,
because, as lover of blood, he was patron as well of the dye, which
ranged through all the gamut of tints from crimson to blue-purple.
The town was ravaged successively by Franks and Saracens, and sank to
insignificance; it did not become a place of maritime and military
importance till the sixteenth century, when Henry IV. built the forts
of Ste. Catherine and S. Antoine, and the two great moles that flank
the port; he was the first to discern that the pivot of defence of
Provence lay here. Louis XIV. confided to Colbert the reorganisation
of the fleet; and for the purpose dockyards, workshops of all
descriptions, were needed. The basins were enlarged and deepened,
and Vauban received instructions to extend the quays, construct
fortifications, surround the city with a series of star forts,
according to the system that has immortalised his name, and, in a word,
make of Toulon the first arsenal of France. It was due to this that
the place was able to withstand the sieges of 1707 and 1793. Toulon
was, moreover, made the largest convict establishment of France; and
the convicts were employed on the work of its defences, in excavating
basins, and building quays and warehouses.
In ancient times—indeed, from the classic period—the arduous and
exhausting work of rowing vessels was given to slaves and prisoners.
No free man would endure the toil and hardship of the galleys. War
vessels, merchantmen, and pleasure yachts were alike propelled by this
unfortunate class of men. Jacques Cœur, the banker, had four coquettish
galleys with gilded prows and oars, propelled by prisoners hired for
his service. Each of these vessels had at the bows a sacred image,
wreathed with flowers, of the saint whose name it bore. There was La
Madeleine, S. Jacques, S. Michel, and S. Denis. Charles VII. seized
them all; he did not leave a single boat to the fugitive merchant,
whose only fault was that he had made the King of France his debtor to
the amount of a hundred thousand crowns.
In a large galley as many as six men were required for each oar.
Sweating close together, for hour after hour, not sitting, but leaping
on the bench, in order to throw their whole weight on the oar, they
were kept to their task with little relaxation.
“Think of six men, chained to a bench, naked as when they were born;
one foot on the stretcher, and the other on the bench in front,
holding an immensely heavy oar (15 feet long), bending forward to the
stern with arms at full reach to clear the backs of the rowers in
front, who bend likewise; and then, having got forward, shoving up
the oar’s end, to let the blade catch the water, then throwing their
bodies back on to the groaning bench. A galley was thus propelled
sometimes for ten, twelve, or even twenty hours, without a moment’s
rest. The boatswain in such a stress puts a piece of bread steeped
in wine into the wretched rower’s mouth to stop fainting, and then
the captain shouts the order to redouble the lash. If a slave falls
exhausted upon his oar (which often happens), he is flogged till he is
taken for dead, and then pitched unceremoniously into the sea.”[7]
Jean Marteille, of Bergerac, who was himself on the galleys about the
year 1701, thus described the life:—
“Those who have not seen a galley at sea, especially in chasing or
being chased, cannot well conceive the shock such a spectacle must
give to a heart capable of the least tincture of compassion. To behold
ranks and files of half naked, half starved, half tanned, meagre
wretches, chained to a plank, from which they do not remove for months
together (commonly half a year), urged on even beyond human endurance,
with cruel and repeated blows on their bare flesh, to the incessant
toil at the most laborious of all exercises, which often happens in a
furious chase,—was indeed a horrifying spectacle.”
To be condemned to the galleys was not necessarily a life sentence. At
first all such as were sent thither were branded on the shoulder with
GAL, but afterwards this was changed to T.F. for Travaux forcés, or
T.P. if for life; and each class wore a special coloured cap. Great was
the indignation felt at the Revolution, on ascertaining that the red
cap of Liberty was what was worn by one class of gaol-birds. A member
of the Convention rose and demanded that this honourable badge should
be removed from their heads; and amidst thunders of applause, the
motion was carried. A special commissioner was despatched to Toulon to
order the abolition of the red cap from the Bagne. Accordingly all the
caps were confiscated and burnt. But the National Convention had made
no provision for replacing the red cap with one of another colour,
consequently the prisoners had for some time to go bare-headed. In
1544 the Archbishop of Bourges sent a couple of priests and two other
clerks to the captain of the galleys at Toulon, and required him to
put them to hard labour. But this was regarded by the Parliament as an
infringement of its rights, and the captain was ordered to send the
clerics back to the archbishop.
Men were condemned to the galleys for every sort of crime and fault.
Many a wretched Huguenot toiled at the oar. Often enough a nobleman
laboured beside a man belonging to the dregs of the people. Haudriquer
de Blancourt, in love with a lady of good rank, to flatter her made
a false entry in her pedigree, so as to enhance her nobility. There
ensued an outcry among heralds, and for this De Blancourt was sent to
the galleys.
As naval construction and science improved, oars were no longer
employed, and sails took their places; the galleys were moored at
Toulon, Brest and Roquefort, and acquired the name of Bagnes. The
derivation is uncertain. By some it is supposed to be derived from
the Provençal _bagna_, which signifies “moored,” by others from the
prisons of the slaves near the Bagno, or baths of the seraglio at
Constantinople.
Louis XVI. abolished torture, which had filled the Bagne with cripples.
Thenceforth the Bagne ceased to be an infirmary of martyrs, and became
a workshop of vigorous labourers. The Revolution of 1789 tore up all
the old codes, but it maintained the galleys, only it changed the name
of Galerien to Travaux forcés à temps, ou à perpetuité. No one formerly
seemed to be sensible to the horrible brutality of the galleys. When
Madame de Grignan wrote an account of a visit to one of them to her
friend Mme de Sévigné, that lady replied “she would much like to see
this sort of Hell,” with “the men groaning day and night under the
weight of their chains.”
Furthenbach, in his _Architectura navalis_ (Ulm, 1629), says that the
convict in a galley received 28 ounces of biscuit per week, and a
spoonful of a mess of rice and vegetables. The full complement of a
large galley consisted of 270 rowers, with captain, chaplain, doctor,
boatswain, master, and ten to fifteen gentlemen adventurers, friends
of the captain, sharing his mess, and berthed in the poop; also about
eighteen marines and ten warders, a carpenter, cook, cooper, and smith,
&c., and from fifty to sixty soldiers; so that the whole equipage of a
galley must have reached a total of four hundred men.
The Bagne has seen strange inmates. Perhaps no story of a _forçat_ is
more extraordinary than that of Cognard, better known as the Count of
Pontis de Sainte-Hélène. This man, who seemed to have been born to
command, was well built, tall, and singularly handsome, with a keen eye
and a lofty carriage. This fellow managed to escape from the Bagne,
and made his way into Spain, where he formed an acquaintance with the
noble family of Pontis de Sainte-Hélène, and by some means, never
fully cleared up, blotted the whole family out of life and secured all
their papers, and thenceforth passed himself off as a Pontis. Under
this name he became a sub-lieutenant in the Spanish army, then rose to
be captain of a squadron, and after the attack on Montevideo, gained
the rank of lieutenant-colonel. Later he formed a foreign legion, and
took part in the political struggles in the Peninsula. He affected the
most rigid probity in all matters of military accounts, and denounced
two of the officers who had been guilty of embezzlement. But these
men, in their own defence, accused Pontis of malversion, and General
Wimpfen had him arrested. He escaped, but was caught, and transferred
to Palma, among the French prisoners. In the bay was lying a Spanish
brig. Cognard proposed to his fellow prisoners to attempt to capture
it. The _coup de main_ succeeded, and after having taken the brig, they
sailed for Algiers, where they sold the vessel, and went to Malaga,
then in French occupation. Count Pontis was given a squadron under the
Duke of Dalmatia; and when the French army retreated he was accorded a
battalion in the 100th regiment of the line.
At the siege of Toulouse, the Count of Pontis, at the head of a flying
column, took an English battery. At Waterloo he was wounded.
In 1815 the Count was made Knight of Saint Louis, and given a battalion
in the legion of the Seine, and in six months was promoted to be
lieutenant-colonel. One day the Duc de Berri asked him if he were one
of the noble Spanish House of Ste. Hélène. “Pardieu, mon prince,”
answered Cognard, “je suis noble, et de la vieille roche encore.”
Cognard, covered with decorations, in his rich uniform, at the head of
his regiment, at reviews—might well have pushed his fortune further,
but for an unfortunate meeting. One day, as commander of his corps,
he presided, near the column of the Place Vendôme, at a military
degradation; when an old Toulon convict, who had been released,
observed him, eyed him attentively, and, convinced that he recognised
an old comrade of the Bagne, in a fit of spleen and envy, denounced him
as such.
The general Despinois sent for Pontis, and finding that there was much
that was equivocal on his part, despatched him, under the charge of
four gens d’armes, to the Abbaye. There he obtained from the officer
permission to change his linen, was allowed to return to his quarters,
possessed himself of a pair of pistols, and escaped. Six months after,
the Count Pontis de Sainte Hélène, lieutenant-colonel of the legion
of the Seine, Knight of S. Louis and of the legion of honour, was
recaptured, convicted of appearing under a false name, suspected of the
murder of the Pontis family, recognised as an evaded convict, and was
sent to end his days in the Bagne at Brest.
In October, 1793, a disorderly mob of soldiers and revolutionary
cut-throats, under the command of the painter Carteaux, after having
dyed their hands in the blood of six thousand of their countrymen, whom
they had massacred at Lyons, invested Toulon, which had shut its gates
against the revolutionary army, and had thrown open its port to the
English. The town was crowded with refugees from Marseilles, and its
bastions were occupied by a mixed multitude of defenders, Sardinians,
Spaniards, French, and English, united in nothing save in common hatred
of the monsters who were embrued in blood.
The investing army was divided into two corps, separated by the
Faron. On the west was Ollioules, where Carteaux had established his
headquarters. The commander-in-chief, ignorant of the first principles
of military science, and allowing his wife to draw out the orders for
the day, and sign them as Femme Carteaux, had planted his batteries
where they could do no injury to the English fleet. The siege had begun
in September; it dragged on through October. There was organisation
neither in the host nor in the commissariat. The army was composed
partly of troops detached from that of Italy, mainly of volunteers set
at liberty by the taking of Lyons, and a horde of Marseillais ruffians,
animated by hopes of murder and plunder.
In the midst of this confusion Bonaparte arrived before Toulon,
and appearing before Carteaux had the audacity to point out to him
the rudimentary errors he had committed. Carteaux was furious, but
his claws were clipped by the Commissioners, who, satisfied of his
incompetence, dismissed him, and Dugommier, an old officer, was
placed in command. On November 25th a council of war was held, and
the Commissioners placed the command of the artillery in the hands of
Bonaparte.
In compliance with his instructions, the whole force of the besiegers
was directed against the English redoubt Mulgrave, now fort Caire, on
the Aiguillette. An attempt to carry it by assault was made on the
morning of December 17th. The troops of the Convention were driven
back, and Dugommier, who headed the attempt, gave up all for lost. But
fresh troops were rapidly brought up in support, another onslaught was
attempted, and succeeded in overpowering the Spanish soldiers, to whom
a portion of the line was entrusted; whereupon the assailants broke in,
turned the flank of the English detachment, and cut down three hundred
of them.
The possession of this fort rendered the further maintenance of the
exterior defences of Toulon impracticable. Its effect was at once
recognised by the English commander, and during the night the whole of
the allied troops were withdrawn from the promontory into the city.
Meanwhile, another attack had been made, under the direction of
Napoleon, on the rocky heights of Faron, which were carried, and the
mountain was occupied by the Republicans, who hoisted the tricolor flag.
The garrison of Toulon consisted of above ten thousand men, and
the fortifications of the town itself were as yet uninjured; but
the harbour was commanded and swept by the guns of the enemy from
l’Aiguillette and Faron. Sir Samuel Hood, in command of the English
squadron, strongly urged the necessity of recovering the points that
had been lost; but he was overruled, and it was resolved to evacuate
the place.
When the citizens of Toulon became aware of this decision, they were
filled with dismay. They knew but too well what fate was in store for
them if left to the hands of their remorseless fellow-countrymen.
Accordingly the quays were crowded with terror-stricken men and women
imploring to be taken on board, whilst already the shot from Napoleon’s
batteries tore lanes among them, or his shells exploded in their midst.
With difficulty, as many as could be accommodated were placed in boats
and conveyed to the ships. Fourteen thousand were thus rescued; but
Napoleon directed shot and shell among the boats, sinking some, and
drowning the unhappy and innocent persons who were flying from their
homes.
The prisoners now broke their chains and added to the horror, as they
burst into the deserted houses, robbing and firing and murdering where
resistance was offered. Next day the troops of the Convention entered
the town. During the ensuing days, some hundreds of the inhabitants who
had not escaped were swept together into an open place, and without any
form of trial were shot.
Barras and Fréron issued a proclamation that all who considered
themselves to be good citizens were required to assemble in the
Champ-de-Mars under pain of death. Three thousand responded to the
order. Fréron was on horseback, surrounded by the troops, cannon, and
Jacobins. Turning to these latter, he said, “Go into the crowd and pick
out whom you will, and range them along that wall.”
The Jacobins went in and did as desired, according to their caprice.
Then, at a signal from Fréron, the guns were discharged, and the
unhappy crowd swayed; some fell, others, against the wall, dropped.
Fréron shouted, “Let those who are not dead stand up.” Such as had been
wounded only rose, when another volley sent them out of life.
Salicetti wrote exultingly: “The town is on fire, and offers a hideous
spectacle; most of the inhabitants have escaped. Those who remain will
serve to appease the manes of our brave brothers who fought with such
valor.” Fouché, Napoleon’s future Head of Police, wrote: “Tears of
joy stream over my cheeks and flood my soul. We have but one way in
which to celebrate our victory. We have this evening sent 213 rebels
under the fire of our lightning.” “We must guillotine others,” said
Barras, “to save ourselves from being guillotined.” Executions went
on for several days, and numbers of the hapless remnant perished. But
even this did not satisfy the Convention. On the motion of Barrère,
it was decreed that the name of Toulon should be blotted out, and a
commission, consisting of Barras, Fréron, and the younger Robespierre,
was ordered to continue the slaughter. Such as were able bought their
lives. One old merchant of eighty-four offered all his wealth save
eight hundred livres; but the revolutionary judge, coveting the whole,
sent him under the guillotine, and confiscated his entire property.
Whilst the butchery was in progress, a grand dinner was given in
celebration of the taking of the town. Generals, representatives
of the people, sans-culottes, galley-slaves, “the only respectable
persons in the town,” as the commissioners said, sat down together, the
commissioners occupying a separate table.
Toulon again gradually refilled with people, and under the Directory
it was constituted the first military port of France. From Toulon
Bonaparte organised his expedition to Egypt.