Non-Criminal Prisons English Debtor's Prisons and Prisons of War; French War Prisons; American War Prisons with References to Those of Other Lands

CHAPTER X

LATER RECORDS French war prisons in Napoleon’s time—Civilians detained in France in large numbers—The various prisons on the north-eastern frontier—General Wirion, a cruel and rapacious gaoler—Verdun described—A hot-bed of vice and iniquity—Wirion’s exactions—Treatment of prisoners—Wirion’s suicide—Succeeded by the inhuman Colonel Courcelles—Evidence of a subordinate, Anthony Latreille—Fierce reprisals—Life at Verdun described by an eyewitness, Captain Seacombe Ellison—Breaks out of the citadel of Verdun and is injured—After long wanderings is recaptured and removed to the fortress of Bitche, commonly known as the “Castle of Tears”—Description of Bitche—The Grande Souterrain. W HEN in 1803 there was a fresh rupture between France and England and a renewal of embittered hostilities, Napoleon took great umbrage at the action of his marine neighbour. He was hot with anger at the sudden seizure, without notice, of all French ships in British ports, on the declaration of war, and decided upon immediate reprisals. He decreed that all British subjects on French soil should be arrested and detained. This arbitrary act was made worse by the plain notice that the prisoners, for the most part non-combatants, need not look for release. No exchanges were to be permitted and imprisonment promised to become permanent or to last at least to the far-off end of the war. Many thousands of luckless, harmless folk were involved by this harsh measure, altogether at variance with the law of nations. At the end of the war the total reached the large number of more than twenty-one thousand. Numbers of English people had but recently taken advantage of the Peace of Amiens to visit Paris or set up their residence in France. Some of the cases were very hard, as that of the young doctor about to establish himself in a practice upon the south coast, who ran over to Paris for a short holiday but was caught by the order of arrest and held prisoner for many years. Various fortresses and strongholds on the northeastern frontier were constituted places of durance among which the war prisoners were divided. Of these Verdun, Longwy, Givet, Valenciennes, Arras, Briançon, Cambray, Sedan and Bitche were chief. At one time Verdun was used as a common centre and placed under the supervision and command of a general officer, Wirion by name, whose cruelties and extortions placed him in the category of the brutal and oppressive gaolers who have inflicted so much suffering on their fellow creatures in all ages and countries. Of Wirion I shall have occasion to speak further. Verdun was the most important of these northeastern places of detention. It is an ancient city of the Gauls and played its part in early ecclesiastical history, the seat of a bishop who kept his state as a count and prince of the Holy Roman Empire. As it grew in wealth and splendour it was fortified and the foundation laid of the strong citadel which survived until the Napoleonic era and has since been worked into the scheme of frontier defence. Its aspect is architecturally imposing with its bishop’s palace, citadel and cathedral. It is situated on the Meuse which divides the town into two parts, flowing through rich meadows under umbrageous trees, past well wooded ramparts. It was made the centre and headquarters of the prisoners’ depots, and was always crowded with the victims of an unrighteous policy, governed by merciless and rapacious tyrants, and may be taken as typical of many similar places that disgraced the Napoleonic regime. It is but fair to add that when the atrocities committed were fully exposed, the Emperor was swift to call the offenders to account, to weed them out and replace them by honourable soldiers of high principle and good repute, who speedily retrieved the character of their cloth. But the evil deeds of their predecessors stand out in the records of the time and will be best appreciated by a brief reference to the just retribution that overtook them. Of a total of eleven French officers employed in the superior administration of the depots of prisoners, three committed suicide to escape punishment, five were tried by court-martial and sentenced to be dismissed from the service, one was condemned to the galleys, and another reduced to the ranks. The chief culprit was Wirion, a general officer and Inspector General of Imperial Gendarmerie, the Commander in Chief of the war prisoners, who shot himself; next in order of cruelty was Colonel Courcelles, the commandant of Verdun and senior officer in the department of the Meuse, who was cashiered; three others were lieutenants of gendarmerie, two were aides-de-camp to General Wirion, who were both dismissed from the service. The commandant of Bitche only saved himself by a testimonial of his prisoners. There were many more delinquents, mostly insignificant, against whom the evidence was not sufficiently strong. Verdun at that time was a hot-bed of vice and iniquity. The collection within the narrow limits of a second class provincial town of persons of rank and affluence,—for the English détenus were largely people of good social pretensions,—for the most part idle and at all times horribly bored and with no legitimate outlets for their energies, or useful means of employing their time, tended to general demoralisation. Detention long protracted, with small hope of enlargement, drove the weak and self-indulgent without mental resources to the solace of the bottle, and numbers became confirmed sots. Well meant efforts to reform them seldom succeeded; deaths from delirium tremens or by felo de se were frequent. The argument often used was that when a man could get drunk twice a day for fourpence, he made the best use of his time. Life otherwise was not worth having. A French peasant who had dragged a drunken prisoner out of a ditch and saved his life, asked for his reward. “He would have deserved twice as much if he had left me there. What could be better for me than death?” was the reply. The place was for years a perfect hell. Gambling tables for roulette and rouge et noir had been established by the permission of the presiding authorities and were openly encouraged. General Wirion was a partner and received a large percentage of profit. The rooms were just what may be seen to-day at Monte Carlo; the tables of green cloth covered with coin surrounded by a varied crowd, high and low, English peers and indescribable riff-raff, with loose characters who came in hundreds from Paris. Vice stalked shameless through the throng; high play was incessant, large sums were won and lost, the latter chiefly, and as money could be easily borrowed, ruin, disgrace and death constantly overtook the unfortunate. Napoleon in 1806 very rightly forbade play and abolished the tables, which from the first were only introduced for the English, the French residents not being permitted to gamble. In such a community as this Wirion and his myrmidons reaped a fine harvest. Fees and fines were levied on the smallest and most trivial grounds; every luxury was taxed by privilege and must be bought at a price. No device was omitted that would put money into Wirion’s pocket. It was said of him that he “persecuted the rich for his profit, the poor for his pleasure.” He had begun life as a police officer and he drew upon his training and experience to establish a system of espionage by which he was kept informed of all that went on; he learned all he wanted to know as to the private means of his prisoners and to what extent he might squeeze money out of them. He began to ill-use them from the moment they appeared in Verdun. All prisoners on arrival were taken first to the citadel where they gave particulars about themselves—name, age, birthplace, profession and personal description. Then a paper was given them to sign, in which they promised upon honour to conform to the rules of the depot, and to make no attempt to escape, if permitted to reside in the town or beyond it, the latter privilege being extended to a radius of six miles out into the country. This last “parole” was generally kept, but it was evaded by purposely seeking punishment for some trifling offence, as the fact of arrest cancelled the parole. The privileges purchasable were such as missing the daily roll call, permission to drive or ride for some distance, to belong to clubs, and to organise race meetings. Bills might be drawn on England and would be cashed at twenty-five percent. discount. All wine to be consumed must be obtained from the commandant’s cellars at increased rates. Handicraftsmen or labourers were only allowed to earn wages on accepting a percentage of reduction levied by the governor. The gross total receipts of the governor and commandant were enormous and amounted in a few years to upwards of thirty thousand pounds, secured by the most high-handed and discreditable methods. When in 1809 Wirion was summoned before the minister of war, Marshal Clarke, Duc de Feltre, to give an account of misdeeds and the charges were handed to him, the minister said, “If these things be true, my advice is that you go and shoot yourself immediately.” The wretched general dressed himself in full uniform, went to the Bois de Boulogne and there blew out his brains. Colonel Courcelles outrivalled his late chief in brutality. He belonged to a respectable family and was passably rich, advantages which neither rendered him sociable nor honest; on the contrary, he was ignorant, wicked, miserly and inhuman; he possessed in an eminent degree every vice and folly of his predecessor without the least particle of his fleeting goodness. Where poverty drove the one, avarice led the other; where passion mastered the first, cruelty triumphed over the second. The former often concealed his exactions under the polite deportment of a gentleman, but the latter disdained such covering and gloried in the exposition of his naked villainy. Courcelles commenced by arraigning the measures of Wirion, whose errors he said he could plainly perceive, but perceived only to plunge deeper into cruelty. He declared that no prisoner should ever obtain the least favour from him, and in this, and this only, he religiously kept his word. The following extracts from the work of M. Anthony Latreille, who had been at one time a trusted subordinate of Courcelles, but who fell into his bad graces, show the character of this cruel man. “I was ordered to discontinue my attendance at the appel ; my intimacy with the prisoners, it was observed, was too much cemented to entrust me with so important a duty. All persons, without distinction, were required to show themselves daily, and money could no longer exempt from this regulation. If any one missed the appel , he was immediately conducted to the citadel; and fearing that sooner or later he might get into trouble by the masters of merchantmen, he begged of the minister their removal to another town. This request was accorded and with the exception of two hundred and sixty, of whom some were married and others above the age of fifty, the whole class were marched to Auxonne. “Courcelles obtained from Paris the powerful aid of the examination of letters, which Wirion could never obtain. The peculation spoken of in Wirion’s administration could not be abandoned; it was too profitable and too facile in the collection, easily to be relinquished. Courcelles, with his associate, Massin (lieutenant of gendarmerie), enjoyed the sweets for two years; during which time ninety-six prisoners escaped and the greatest part got clear off. A lieutenant in the royal navy, in gaol for debt, contrived to break his bars and took refuge at a house in the country, where he was speedily betrayed and given up to Courcelles, who marched him through the principal streets of the city, thumb-screwed and loaded with chains; he was then cast into a dungeon. Some months afterwards he effected his liberation, when the commandant, from feelings of revenge, threw his wife, who had remained behind, into confinement from which she only came out by the interference and upon the responsibility of several gentlemen. “A declaration now appeared that, if any one decamped, the whole class to which he belonged would be immediately arrested; ‘the only proper method,’ as Courcelles observed, ‘of treating Englishmen.’ This threat was afterwards carried into execution but without the desired effect. The desertions still increasing, Napoleon’s famous decree was published, condemning every prisoner taken in the act of breaking their parole to the galleys. Rejoiced at this severity, the commandant knew not how to contain his satisfaction. ‘Let them depart,’ said he, ‘I shall not miss them.’ This savage pleasure was somewhat abated on finding that, between the date of the law, 23rd December, and 30th January, no less than nine had taken flight, two of whom were retaken and had sentence passed; but, in spite of every obstacle that bolts, locks and sentinels could throw in their way, they again delivered themselves and finally reached their own country. “These continual escapes caused Courcelles the greatest torment. It was in vain that he placed guard upon guard, and patrol upon patrol; the idea of his barbarity had fixed itself so firmly on everybody’s mind, that they were anxious to take advantage of any opportunity to fly from him. There was in the citadel a spacious convent, capable of containing five hundred persons and into this he determined a great part of the depot should be conducted. He wrote accordingly to the Minister of War and after some trouble obtained permission to form a permanent depot of certain persons at the monastery of St. Vannes. “In a short time, about two hundred persons were lodged there, including about one hundred and forty midshipmen. Innumerable representations were made to the commandant but none were answered. A principal inhabitant of the town interfered and having remarked that the reputable citizens were indignant at the punishment inflicted on the détenus , Courcelles ridiculed the idea of reputable citizens, observing, that he should have very great trouble to find any in Verdun; ‘they were,’ he said, ‘only concerned on account of letting their lodgings and if their interests did not prevent them, they would be the first to favour the prisoners’ escape.’ ‘The plan I have adopted,’ added he, ‘ought long since to have been followed, but the unhappy Wirion, who had accepted money, trembled and dared not pursue it.’ “As was easy to foresee, the midshipmen not infrequently created riot and disorder. Unoccupied and discontented, their accidental friendships generally terminated in disputes—quarrelling and fighting seemed wholly to engross their attention. Their altercations were but too often submitted to Courcelles, who, without any regard to justice (where justice was indeed somewhat difficult to administer) punished indiscriminately and thus added to the evil. Teased with complaints, he on one occasion shut up fourteen of the most noisy in so small a dungeon that they had nearly been suffocated. Complaint being made by the senior officer, he smilingly answered, ‘The more the merrier,’ and that as the weather was cold, they would serve to keep each other warm. “Courcelles pretended that his orders were to confine the prisoners in the caverns of the citadel, and not in the convent—that appropriating this to their use from motives of humanity, it was but just, he said, that they reimbursed him for the necessary repairs the building had lately undergone. The midshipmen appealed to their commanding officer; this gentleman promised to resist for them the iniquitous claim. At the expiration of the month, Courcelles desired him to retain a certain sum for lodging money. ‘You may, sir,’ replied the officer, ‘lord it over my countrymen, for unhappily they are too much in your power, but you shall never force me to aid you; and no punishment you can inflict would ever induce me to act dishonourably. Your order is unjust and I will not listen to it.’ This firm language so intimidated Courcelles that he did not enforce it. “The midshipmen finding that he gave way so easily, petitioned the Minister of War, in hopes that a statement of their circumstances might ameliorate their situation. They stated their grievances as follows:—‘That they had been compelled to purchase his wines; that the difference (a small fraction) between the franc and the livre tournois was still withheld; that an attempt had been made to force them to pay for the apartments into which they had been thrust; with other minor things.’ “The petition had the desired effect. The Duc de Feltre, with that justice and humanity which ever distinguished his conduct towards the prisoners, immediately caused the matter to be examined. A general with two British officers were nominated to inquire into it. The general observed to Courcelles that two of the charges were comparatively trifling but that the payment in livres instead of francs could not so easily be surmounted; and he wished to know what he had to say thereon. Courcelles answered, ‘Nothing—I have never had to do with the prisoners’ pay; it is the gendarmerie alone that have been employed in this service; no profit has arisen to me—I am ignorant on the subject.’ ‘Sir,’ said the general, ‘the gendarmerie are under your orders; if they have committed abuses, you are answerable for them.’ I was then sent for; and after answering a number of questions, the following dialogue took place between the two men: “ ‘How happens it that, resident in a town where so much money has been spent and yourself one of the principal persons that has been employed, no part of the treasure has come to you?’ “ ‘I confess that, since my stay in Verdun, I have annually consumed above one hundred pounds more than my pay and that I have received this sum from the generosity of the English.’ ” Reference has been made above to the bitter pangs endured by the commandant on the frequency of successful escapes. They were undertaken with remarkable boldness in the teeth of abundant and it might have seemed insurmountable obstacles, and accomplished after facing and surmounting extraordinary hardships and incredible sufferings. This will be best realised by recounting in some detail a few of the most noteworthy evasions of British prisoners of war. One is recorded in a small book, “Prison Scenes,” from the hand of a principal actor in the enterprise, Mr. Seacombe Ellison, the master of a Liverpool merchantman, the brig Rachel , carrying sixteen guns. The ship was captured by a French privateer, off the American coast on her passage home from Honduras, and taken to Bordeaux whence her captain and crew were sent to Verdun. His experiences at that much and rightly abused depot have been largely drawn upon in the following pages. When the hope of release became more and more vague, Mr. Ellison cast about him to compass his escape. In conference with some of his comrades various plans were debated and dismissed as too hazardous; but at last one was adopted. Mr. Ellison tells us that he always viewed the undertaking with dread “particularly when in the morning he looked out of the window and the weather happened to be wet and cold.” The idea was to get across the French frontier, to pass the Rhine and travelling through Baden, Wurtemburg and Bavaria enter Austria and make for the sea at Trieste. This was in effect the route taken when finally success crowned their efforts. But they were to be sorely tried by misfortune before they regained their liberty. The first aim was to rid themselves of the obligation of parole given. As has been said, it was only necessary to commit some trifling breach of the regulations to secure committal to the citadel, from which the open country might be reached without passing through the gates of the fortress; such an escape, moreover, when shut up in the citadel, would exonerate the bondsmen who were jointly responsible with them for safe custody. All the necessary preliminaries were completed by the intending runaways at their lodgings in town; they bought very privately all the tools and appliances required to assist them in breaking out—gimlets, small lock saws and a fine saw made of a watch spring and set in a steel handle, to be used in filing through iron bars; they also obtained maps and marked out their projected route. These various articles, with a store of food sufficient for eighteen days, were conveyed during daylight to a secure hiding place in a wood beyond the walls, to which they had access, while the gates were open. At the last moment they secreted the rope to be used in their descent into the ditch, by lapping it round and round their bodies under their waistcoats; it was about the thickness of a log line or a window cord, so that a great length could be conveniently secreted. Carrying all these on their persons they proceeded to the office of the lieutenant of gendarmerie pretending that they were late for roll call. Whereupon the choleric officer promptly ordered them to the citadel under close arrest. This citadel was familiar ground; from frequent visits they knew all its intricacies and soon saw that the plan they had conceived was perfectly feasible. They had access to the chapel adjoining the citadel and belonging to the convent of St. Vannes. Happily but few prisoners were in confinement in the citadel and no one suspected or spied upon them. A passage through the chapel was effected by taking out one of the panels of the door; a series of holes were bored through with the gimlet but the panel was retained in its place by leaving one bit of wood intact. At the appointed hour the loose panel was broken out, not without noise, but no alarm was given; then all passed through the aperture, although one man stuck fast in the opening and was with difficulty extricated. Once through the body of the church, they groped about seeking a place of exit and came upon an altar above which was a window undefended by bars, through which they climbed and quietly descended into the convent garden. They now gained the open enclosure of the citadel, reached the general’s garden, easily surmounted a low wall to find a descent of twenty feet on the far side, down which they slid, narrowly escaping accident. Here they came upon a sentry box and found a sentinel soundly asleep within. They were now at the inner edge of the rampart but not at the point at which they had originally intended to pass; the drop was at least sixty-five feet, nearly double that which they had expected, but they now unwound the ropes from around their bodies and cast lots as to who should go down first. Three fugitives preceded Ellison and descended safely, but Ellison could not hold the rope, which had become slack and slimy, and let go his hold, finishing with a fall of fifteen to twenty feet. They were now at the bottom of the ditch, two of them, Ellison and another, in horrible pain from their falls, but not seriously injured, and after a rest they hobbled away to their selected hiding place in the recesses of the wood. At this moment the gun fired announcing the escape, but they crept further in amongst the bushes and were not discovered. Here they lay four whole days and nights, two of them in great bodily pain and all in much discomfort, for rain fell continuously. On the fifth night, when the injured men were somewhat stronger, they left the wood and reached the bank of the Meuse, now closely pursued by villagers who were blowing horns. What was to be done? They had run into the toils, the enemy was before and behind, the river on each side and none of them swimmers. They turned off the road, ran along the bank and to their great joy found a boat, into which they jumped, and were across in a moment and very soon out of hearing of their pursuers. Their situation was by no means secure, but they were undisturbed and at dark resumed their march. Progressing by night, lying in the woods by day, they had still plenty of food and a small supply of brandy, but their chief need was lack of water. By the help of their maps they kept in a pretty direct course, never entering a house or holding any communication with persons they met. On the eleventh day their hiding place was on the edge of a steep hill; one of the party was now exhausted and almost spent, but they would not desert him, being still resolved to sink or swim together. That evening they made a somewhat earlier start and on reaching a village found to their dismay that there were still many people about. One was a gendarme who accosted them, demanding their passports with much insistence; although he could not read, he demurred at accepting the papers put forward, which were not really passports, and while the discussion was proceeding a brigadier of gensdarmes came up and all was lost. “Ah, gentlemen,” he exclaimed, “I am glad to see you; I have been expecting you for above a week,” and pulling out a paper he read out their names and descriptions. Next morning the disappointed fugitives under a strong escort began to retrace their steps towards Verdun, which they re-entered on the second day. “We made,” he relates, “as may readily be imagined, a sorry appearance; our clothes bearing evident signs of what had been the nature of our lodgings, and our linen shewing that it had not lately been in the hands of the laundress. We were paraded through the streets into the citadel and lodged in the Tour d’Angouleme, a small round building with only two apartments, one above the other, with a circular stair outside, leading to the upper one.” Soon afterwards a posse of gensdarmes appeared and proceeded to make rigorous search. The prisoners were ordered to strip to their shirts, their hats and shoes were examined, their neckerchiefs, coats, waistcoats and pantaloons and stockings were visited and explored, but nothing was found until a button was seen to exceed a regular size and when cut in two was found to contain a double louis d’or. After this every button was disembowelled but no more cash was detected. Yet Ellison managed to retain five double louis sewn inside his flannel waistcoat and one under the arm of his coat. After the search, the prisoners were separated, a sentry placed over them and no communication allowed between them. The only food issued was a loaf of black bread and a pitcher of water. No bedding was given, not even straw. To have failed brought down on the recaptured runaways the full weight of the commandant’s wrath. They were bullied, brow-beaten, threatened with all manner of pains and penalties, until they would make confession of what had induced them to attempt escape, who first suggested it, who aided and abetted, who procured the tools, who did the actual work of cutting out, and which of the fugitives had first proposed an escape; and no credence was given to the reply that the subject of escape had been the constant theme of conversation with the prisoners, a subject of perennial interest to all captives since they were first deprived of personal liberty. The commandant would believe nothing and in his fury ordered the culprits to be put in irons hand and foot, and kept so continuously day and night, subjecting them to exquisite torture in their damp, dirty, dungeon, unable to cope with the vermin that infested it. The irons were of diabolically ingenious design and very heavy, so that at best those weighted with them could only shuffle about, moving two or three inches at a time as far as the sill of the window for a breath of air. A still sharper recompense was to be their portion. It was decided to remove them to another prison, Bitche, a gloomy fortress adjudged as the receptacle for the turbulent and disorderly, a place so hideous that it was commonly known as the “Castle of Tears.” En route they met fourteen of their fellows chained together on their way to Metz for trial by court-martial, on a charge of plotting to blow up the powder magazine of the fort in which they were lodged. They had attempted to escape by an underground passage leading out to the open. They had cut through the wooden door, undermined an iron one, and in forcing the third alarmed a sentry who gave the signal, and they were taken red-handed. Their trial was long and patient, and ended in conviction with sentences to the galleys for terms varying from seven to ten years. But after promulgation the president of the court announced that as many of the accused were British officers all would be pardoned out of respect for their cloth. Our prisoners proceeding to Metz were, contrary to usual custom, often allowed to hire vehicles. The general rule was to march by “correspondence,” passing, that is to say, from town to town, or village, and from the headquarters of one brigade of gendarmerie to the next at a distance of five or six leagues. The machinery existed really for the transfer of conscripts, thirty or forty thousand of whom were continually on the move through the country, either to join their regiments or in durance for having already deserted. It was a common sight to see thirty or forty of these conscripts chained in a string like a lot of horses taken to a fair. It was a dismal procession from brigade to brigade, and prison to prison. The long tramp by day, the night spent under lock and key in cold damp places without fire or special covering, or more than a scanty allowance of straw. Austrian and Prussian prisoners were more harshly treated than the English or the conscripts. One of the gensdarmes who had formed the escort of Prussians into France told Mr. Ellison it was a constant practice to shoot in cold blood any who fell down from fatigue on the road. This fortress of Bitche which had such an evil reputation was situated some thirty miles north of Strasburg and the same distance from Metz. It stands upon an isolated rocky hill rising a thousand feet above a verdant plain. It dates from the reign of Louis XIV and was so highly esteemed as a frontier defence that vast sums were spent on its construction. The French king, indeed, when called upon for more money, asked whether it was being built of golden bricks. Although excavated out of the solid rock, which was cut down perpendicularly from ninety to a hundred and fifty feet deep, it was faced all round with masonry. The central space was filled with barracks, store-houses and magazines. At each end were two strong works styled respectively the Grosse Tête and the Petite Tête, separate, but connected with the main fort by drawbridges. Fifty feet below the Grosse Tête a mortar battery had been built out and another battery mounting ten heavy guns commanded the approaches to the entrance to the fort. This entrance was on the east side where the carriage road, after winding round and round the hill, ended in a long incline, raised upon arches, ascending to the drawbridge and the main gate. Here began a tunnel, cut into the solid rock, blocked by two other gates, one in the centre and one at the far end. The garrison consisted of seventeen gensdarmes and a hundred veterans, and the place was under the command of a Major Clement who is spoken of as “a worthy, indulgent officer with much of the milk of human kindness in him.” He desired to govern humanely and showed great forbearance, but was very sorely tried by his charges, for the most part the refuse of the other prison depots. At this place were congregated the dissolute, the abandoned, the profligate, the drunken and the reckless. The Grande Souterrain—the great underground cellar or main dungeon—was a perfect pandemonium, filled with rough, savage sailors, desperate dare-devils, rendered utterly reckless by interminable confinement, untamable, ungovernable, a constant terror to their guardian, who dreaded coming in contact with them. There can be little doubt that if they could have seen their way to leave France finally they would have risen, overpowered the garrison and walked straight out of the fort into the country. They were ripe always for disturbance; the least thing offended them. One of their crowd was an Englishman who bore a colonel’s commission in the Russian service, but who had been arrested in France on suspicion of being a spy. He was a prime favourite with the sailors and when he was committed to the cachot for some prison offence, they combined and rescued him from arrest. Upon this the garrison of veterans intervened, but their appearance on the scene was the signal for a general mutiny. The prisoners tore up the guard beds to provide weapons and armed themselves with great billets of fire wood, bidding defiance to the old soldiers. Their leader, however, cautioned them not to be the assailants. “Let us wait,” he cried, “till blood is drawn from any of us; then we will fall upon the Frenchmen and murder the whole lot.” Their attitude was so imposing, their determination so plain that the authorities practically gave in and on being promised by the prisoners that they would behave peaceably, withdrew their veterans. Again, it was a standing order in the fort that all lights should be extinguished at eight o’clock, but on occasions when fresh inmates arrived, when drink was on tap and the spirit of rejoicing prevailed, this regulation was openly defied. If the gensdarmes after mildly protesting ventured down into the Souterrain they were met with a storm of missiles, hats, shoes, and logs of wood were thrown at the lantern as a target and then at the gensdarmes themselves, who were compelled to beat a hasty retreat. Boxing matches and prize fights were of constant occurrence and at first the guards, not understanding them, desired to interfere, thinking the prisoners might injure one another; their interference was fiercely resented and the commandant decided to leave them alone, saying that if they would they might kill each other; that he, for his part, would listen to no more complaints, nor give the injured redress, and henceforth the prisoners must govern themselves. They took him at his word and disposed of all offences by a formal court-martial, chosen from their own body, when accused and accuser were brought face to face and the former, if found guilty, was forthwith flogged with a cat o’ nine tails, which after use was entrusted for safe keeping to the brigadier of gensdarmes. But no gendarme might raise his hand with impunity against a prisoner. One dared to strike a sailor with the scabbard of his sword, which the offended tar snatched out of his hand and threw over the ramparts, adding, “There, you may go and fetch it for yourself.” All were determined prison breakers at Bitche; attempts at escape were frequent, and kept the poor commandant constantly on the rack to circumvent them. He was greatly blamed for the cruelty employed in enforcing safe custody. One story is told of a ship’s carpenter who had escaped from another depot but was caught and brought to Bitche, where he was lodged in the Grande Souterrain. With active mind and practised hands he contemplated breaking through from the underground into the ditch of the fort and worked steadily, assisted by two more, night after night until they had reached a last door. It was said that their progress had been watched and regularly reported to the commandant by his spies, and that when the final attempt was to be made the commandant was stationed with a party of gensdarmes outside the door to meet the fugitives as they came through. A cowardly attack was at once made on them; they were fired upon and slashed at with sabres, so that two were stabbed to death, but the third saved himself by jumping back into the prison. As a warning to others, the two dead bodies were publicly exposed next day, but so much disfigured by wounds that they were barely recognisable. Another nearly successful escape ended disastrously. A naval lieutenant and five others, occupying a dungeon beneath the Grosse Tête, contrived to loosen one of the iron bars of the grating and get through. They had possessed themselves of a rope which they had made fast to another bar and part of its length was left lying across the passage. Unfortunately a sergeant with a relief of sentries, stumbled over the rope, and the prisoners who were already outside, descended the rope in great haste one after the other. It suddenly snapped; the lieutenant who was placed lowest on the rope fractured his skull and the others following were seriously injured. One strained both ankles; a second from concussion of the brain lost his reason, and the remaining two were more or less bruised. On arrival at Bitche they were consigned to the Little Souterrain, only thirty-one steps down and occupied by the better class of prisoners. Our friends soon became habituated to their new quarters, which were less objectionable than they had expected. They were permitted to hire beds, bedding and linen from the town and purchase cooking utensils. Provisions cheap and plentiful were brought for sale at the gate, but all were marched down in turn under escort to do their shopping in the town. They had been deprived of their watches and money on their first arrival, but all valuables were presently restored to them. Trouble came with the warm weather and with it intermittent fever, when the sufferers were almost distracted with the noises around them,—dancing upon the benches, singing, carousing. One of the party, luckily for himself, had friends at court and was removed into a room upstairs, the inmates of which had matured a plan for escape and were on the point of putting it into execution. He was let into the secret, his coöperation accepted and in a few days more he was gone; it was one of the first of the successful escapes made. CHAPTER X LATER RECORDS Perpetual attempts to escape from Bitche—Brutal measures of oppression—Many casualties from accident and murderous assault by guards—Fresh attempt at escape by Captain Ellison and comrades—The majority of the party captured—All taken back to Bitche—Again committed to the cachot , then to the Grosse Tête—They escape through the floor above and descend to the outer ramparts—Painful pilgrimage to the Rhine, which they cross—They land in Baden and finally arrive at the Austrian frontier—They are passed on to Trieste where they take ship for Malta and England—Mr. Boys, a young naval officer, escapes with others from Valenciennes—Returns to the Dutch coast with a sloop of war to assist in bringing off other prisoners still waiting for rescue—Last words about Verdun—Reforms under a new governor of high character—The invasion of the Allies in 1813-14 breaks up the war depots—Prisoners are withdrawn into the interior to be finally released on the abdication of Napoleon. A S the winter approached, a fresh attempt at escape, this time from Bitche, was undertaken by Mr. Seacombe Ellison and his comrades. After a careful reconnaisance of the lay of the land, it was resolved to break through on the far side of the barracks they occupied. After collecting and secreting the usual materials—gimlets, pick-locks and ropes—they eventually got through a door of communication leading on to the ramparts. It was the 8th of December, a dark night, blowing hard with sleet and snow. The door passed, they descended a flight of stairs into the yard and after cautiously ascertaining that the coast was clear, they crossed to the outer wall, where it overlooked the steep incline leading to the main gate. Their rope was affixed to a heavy stone brought on purpose; it was lowered on the far side, and crowding into the embrasure, the first to descend were on the point of climbing out when a couple of the French soldiers came up to the next embrasure and stood there talking for a time, but they presently disappeared, having discovered nothing. As soon as their backs were turned the drop was made by all, but in such haste that everyone’s hands were terribly lacerated by the rope. It seemed unlikely that any further descent was possible, but when all were lowered and the incline reached, it was seen that the drawbridge was down; all crossed it and proceeded on a dreary journey beset with enemies, the wind howling in their ears, the sleet beating their faces and the blood trickling from their finger ends. The prisoners now broke up into parties and made for the town, on reaching the outskirts of which they heard the gun announcing their escape. They pressed on by any road that offered until they reached the first wood, where they lay down to rest and await daylight, which came about five o’clock, when they could examine their appearance and the effect of the night’s adventures. The sight beggared description. “I was the only one,” says Ellison, “who had the use of my fingers, having escaped with merely two large blisters, one on the inside of my fore-finger and the other on the inside of the middle one, both on the right hand: but my companions were in a dreadful state; some of their fingers were stripped to the bone and none of them had a sound finger on either hand. Here was a situation! No plasters, no bandages, no comforts of any sort, save a bladder of brandy that I had secured—exposed to the elements, with no covering but the leafless trees and the canopy of heaven. My task was an arduous one, for I had to do almost everything for them; and began by cutting off the laps of their shirts and binding up their fingers, which I did as well as my materials would permit, having neither needles, nor thread, nor pins, nor anything save the linen to keep the cold from their wounds; in fact, we were starving both within and without. K. had charge of a ham which he was carrying down the wall in his teeth, but unfortunately he lost it and we found ourselves with only a piece of a loaf and the brandy. I had a new pair of shoes and a pair of warm stockings in my pockets, which I put on, expecting that they would have warmed my feet; but in that I was sadly deceived, for they became much colder afterwards than they were before and were so benumbed that I was almost uncertain during the whole day whether I had any feet at all. I never since suffered anything like it however wet or cold the weather. In the middle of the day the sun came out, which by melting the snow on the trees over our heads did not add to our comfort. “At the edge of dark, when we were about quitting our retreat, a curious scene took place. Some of us found great difficulty in rising we were so benumbed; we stretched out first one limb and then another, until we were able to set our bodies in motion, and after we had so done, it was some time before the circulation of the blood was restored. Leaving the wood, we saw a cottage, and hunger being importunate we went up to it. A man was standing at the door, who told us he had nothing for himself but potatoes. We asked him the road to Strasburg, which he pointed out and telling us we had chosen bad weather for our journey, bade us good night. The road we were on was bad—in many places knee deep in mud—poor K. often crying out, ‘O Ellison, put up my shoe heel;’ and I exerting my patience as often put it up; until at last I inadvertently used one of my wounded fingers which tore off the blister, and then I could not help showing some of the infirmity of my disposition. We passed a number of foundries, which illuminated our way; and about eleven o’clock came to the small town of Niederbrun which we at first took for a straggling village. While considering how to proceed one of our companions was suddenly seized with violent pain and lay motionless in the middle of the road. What was to be done? If we left him there the consequence would have been certain death; for it had then begun to freeze. It was agreed that two of us should go into the town to reconnoitre. Dacres and I volunteered and found all quiet; returning, we went up to a window in which was a light and where we saw a tailor at work; he came to us, but not understanding a word of French and we not much of his provincial dialect, we were not able to obtain any information. He pointed out to us a wine house. ‘Are there any gensdarmes?’ we asked. ‘Nicht the gensdarmes, nichts the gensdarmes,’ was his reply. We bade him good night but staid a little to watch his motions. “After seeing him resume his work, we returned and found our companion something better. We promised if he would exert himself we would stop at the first lonely wine house we came to. He arose; and when we arrived opposite the house which the tailor had shown us we held a consultation if it would be safe to enter and concluded it would not. After walking about two miles farther we came to a solitary house and seeing a light still burning, went in and found the landlord a civil fellow, understanding French. He asked no questions, and at our request brought us some supper. When he observed me cutting the meat for the others, he asked, ‘What is the matter with your hands?’ We answered that we were conscripts, escaped from one of the Flemish fortresses and had maimed them descending the walls. Although we were nearly famished when we entered the house, the heat of the stove made the room so oppressively hot that it turned us all sick and destroyed our appetites. He was sorry for our situation and told us we were seven leagues from the Rhine. This surprised us, to find that after walking a night and a half we had only shortened our distance nine miles. He directed us to a neighbouring village, where, he said, we were sure to find a faithful guide. Seeing that he took such an interest in our welfare, we asked if he could not provide us one. He replied, ‘There is one belonging to the village; I will go and see if he be at home.’ He soon returned with a smart looking young man who said if we would walk at a quick pace he would have us across the Rhine before daylight. After making a bargain with him and paying our worthy landlord, we started. The idea of being so soon out of Napoleon’s grasp inspired us all with renewed vigour, especially the invalid, and we marched with spirit. In a short time we passed round the ramparts of Haguenau. Our guide then left the road, going through woods and across marshes. The moon now rose beautifully bright and the frost had been so intense that we walked, where the water was shallow, over the ice. Occasionally I served out a little brandy, and although heated with walking my hands became so benumbed during the operation that I could scarcely tie the bladder up again. Proceeding onward we came to a small rivulet where K., miscalculating the width and losing sight of the French proverb, ‘ Il faut retirer pour mieux sortir ,’ made a spring and reached the opposite side; but the weight of his body being behind the perpendicular of his heels he could not keep his standing and leaped backwards up to the middle in water. He was soon in a dreadful state, his wounded hands smarting with cold and his pantaloons frozen stiff as boards. “As the day approached, the sky became overcast; a cold easterly wind sprung up, and we felt as if it went straight through us; our guide discovered that he had missed his way; and the bleak dreary scene around us was altogether dispiriting. There was no wood in sight; and if there had been the cold was so intense that we could not have borne it. At a little distance was a village upon approaching which we came to a barn where two men were thrashing by candle light. We offered them a crown each, and they promised to conceal us until night. Then mounting upon the straw we covered ourselves all over and regained some little heat. Our guide became troublesome, wanting his pay. We told him he had not fulfilled his contract and therefore ought not to expect it. Finding we could not pacify him we promised to double the sum as soon as he should put us into a boat. With this he appeared contented and we lay unmolested until about half-past three, when we were discovered by a man and a woman who caught hold of us and said we were thieves. We replied that we were honest men. ‘Then,’ said they, ‘you shall not be molested; therefore make no resistance; it will be in vain as the whole village is aroused. Come with us into the adjoining house.’ We did so and there found the mayor and a posse of villagers. We went to the opposite side of the room and had no sooner faced about than the good woman pointed with her finger to another door. We took the hint and bolted. “They chased us for a little distance, but we soon lost sight of our pursuers. A little before dark we entered a wood which our fear caused us to penetrate so far that we had great difficulty to find our way out again. I had run with my shoes in my hand by which means I bruised one of my feet and scratched the ankle, which afterwards laid me up. Having regained the road, almost famishing for lack of food and perishing with cold, we proceeded at the best pace we were able and had not gone far ere we found ourselves so close to a man on horseback that we could not escape him. He passed us a few yards and returning, entered into conversation. K., seeing that he was armed, went up to him and said, ‘You are a gendarme.’ ‘No,’ said the man, ‘I am not; I am a douanier ,’ (custom-house officer). K. said, ‘I do not believe it; you are a gendarme and I will tell you plainly that we are Englishmen and if you attempt to obstruct or betray us we will murder you.’ The man again protested he was a douanier . ‘Then, can you get us across the Rhine?’ we asked. ‘Yes, if you will remunerate me according to the risk, for I am,’ said he, ‘a poor man, with a wife and a large family and a little ready money will be a great help.’ ‘What is your demand?’ ‘Fifteen louis.’ ‘That is too much, we will give you ten.’ ‘I will not undertake the business for anything less, seeing I run the risk of losing my situation, and being sent to the army. Give me only my price and I will brave the danger and have you over in half an hour.’ The man acted his part so well and made so hard a bargain that we began to waver. The proposal was almost irresistible in our painful state; we therefore held a parley and put it to the vote, when K., Dacres and B. were for it; and away they marched alongside of the man, some of them with their hands upon the horse. In a little time we crossed a bridge and coming to a house near it the fellow called out, ‘ Tuez-moi ces coquins-ci ’ (kill me these rascals)—and drawing his sword, made a cut at K. Then from behind the house started out twenty or thirty armed men, some mounted, some on foot, and told us to surrender. “A-d-n and myself having been rather more suspicious than our companions, had kept a little behind and ran back in different directions. I passed the end of the bridge and heard my pursuers, horse and foot, scamper over it; by and by the horns were sounding in every direction. I kept on a narrow path that led me on to a common, upon which I rambled about for several hours and then found myself close to the place where we had been attacked. I again took the narrow path recollecting that I had seen a small bridge on my right. I went over it and soon found myself on the borders of the Rhine, the current making a tremendous noise. I proceeded along its banks until I came to a lone house with a light in the window; I was going softly up to observe who was inside, when I was set upon by two dogs; I ran and directly afterwards came to a place where two boats were chained and was in the act of stooping to cast one of them loose when two men who had been lying in ambush suddenly sprang up, collared me and asked where I was going. I replied, across the river, and if they would assist me I would give them three louis. They said it was too late that night, they would take me to my companions and we might cross together in the morning. Whilst this was passing, three gensdarmes came up who marched me off to a village where I found the male inhabitants armed with pitchforks, staves, etc., keeping guard over the prison in which were secured my unfortunate companions, all the gensdarmes having been away in search of A-d-n and myself. In about two hours the former was brought in; he had lain in a ditch upon the ice until he could scarcely move and was taken as soon as he crawled out. Being all secured, we were left in charge of the jailer, the peasantry still keeping guard outside.” Once more the disappointed prison-breakers were marched back in great physical suffering and still more sore at heart, trudging painfully along mile after mile and exposed to all the weathers, to reach their dismal night’s lodgings, drenched to the skin and starved from want of food. A rough reception met them at Bitche from the indignant commandant who bitterly upbraided them for abusing his lenity by breaking their parole, and laying him open to censure in attempting their escape. No parole had been given, as a matter of fact, but the commandant was pleased to say so, and thought it warranted his committing them to the underground cachot although all were better fitted to become patients in a hospital. While the hurts were still unhealed they were called upon to proceed to Metz to appear as witnesses at a court-martial, held upon a gendarme supposed to have connived at their escape. They chivalrously refused to incriminate him, and drew down a reproof from the president of the court, who declared that the English would say anything to screen a man who had rendered them a service. But the gendarme had a wife living at Bitche and when they returned to the fort she was their firm friend. Now with undefeated perseverance they cast about to contrive some fresh means of escape. Confinement in the cachot was ended, and all ten in number were lodged above ground in a small room in the Grosse Tête. After examination of their surroundings they found that in a room in an upper story a window projected and was constantly left open as the room was used to dry the linen from the laundry. If they could gain this room above they might lower themselves to the ground on the far side of the first rampart, but within the mortar battery mentioned. Of what lay beyond they could form no idea. The number of walls remaining, their weight, the nature of the ditches, whether wet or dry, their width, whether there was any egress, the number of sentries if any,—all this was a mystery. Nevertheless they meant to take all risks and trust to the unknown if they could but succeed in the first step,—that of breaking prison. An essential preliminary was to provide rope to enable them to scale the walls. The usual well known devices were adopted. Everything that could serve was utilised. Sheets, blankets and shirts were torn into shreds and woven into a cord which was covered with linen to save the hands in slipping down it. Money was raised on bills given to an old lady in the town; Ellison, the leader of the enterprise, was in possession of a gimlet and a saw, invaluable instruments for penetrating doors and barriers. Food was laid in; bread and beefsteaks were brought up from the town below and three quarts of brandy carried in bladders. When all was prepared, the first dark stormy night was chosen for the attempt and the first step was to pile the mattresses on top of each other so as to give access to the ceiling in order to break into the room above. The floor was of oak battens so hard that the saw broke in two pieces, but the largest was fitted into a fresh handle by these resourceful sailors, the work proceeded, and after nine hours of toilsome labour, the passage through was completed. It was said that when the commandant entered the room the next morning, upon seeing the hole in the ceiling, he lifted up his hands and exclaimed, “The devil himself could not prevent the escape of an Englishman.” Daylight was at hand, and when it broke they could see their way down, see also the sentry ensconced in his box thinking more of shelter than of keeping a good look out. In the course of a few minutes all of the party went down and were safely landed at the bottom of the second rampart where they thought themselves free of the fort. But alas, fifty yards distant was a third rampart apparently of a great height, part of the rope had been left behind at the second rampart, and there was not enough left to reach the bottom of this third obstacle in safety. All went down, however, dropping the last twelve feet without accident except to one who broke his leg and had to be left behind. They were now in the ditch and they ran along it until they reached a flight of steps which led up to the glacis. At the top they had a full view of the whole country and, pointing for the distant mountains, gained the shelter of a wood where they were securely ensconced when the signalling gun fired. What followed was an exact repetition of the adventures encountered in previous attempts; lying by till nightfall, a weary tramp under pouring rain along roads knee deep in mud, skirting villages and single houses to take refuge and seek rest in some friendly wood. A more useful friend was met, a villager who, although he said,—“You are from Bitche, I heard the gun yesterday morning,”—gave them food and found them a guide. They were now in the mountains of the Voges, walking parallel to the river Rhine, ten or twelve miles distant. One of the party was taken exceedingly ill and they were detained to attend on him. A couple of woodsmen next came upon the scenes and brought them wine and hot soup, and the sick man was so far restored as to be able to continue the arduous climb across the steep mountain country. A succession of guides to whom they were obliged to trust, fearing treachery all the time, got them at last to the river bank where they made a last halt in a wood, while a guide went in search of a boat to ferry them across. The best he could find was a species of raft made of five boards, but even now he would not allow the fugitives to embark until they had met his peremptory demand for more money. With freedom so near at hand, they would have given any sum to complete their escape and were soon half way across the river. When they landed it was on the territory of Baden, about fifteen miles below Strasburg and on neutral ground. This was the seventh day after their departure from Bitche, but the whole distance traversed was only forty miles. Their situation was still precarious, for although they were out of the immediate grip of France, Napoleon’s authority was felt in neighbouring countries and the people of Baden were expected to arrest all vagabonds who carried no passports and could not satisfactorily account for themselves. Still the Duchy of Baden was safer than that of Wurtemburg where there was an officious police. Moreover, the French invasion of Austria was imminent and the French armies would soon traverse this country, calling to strict account any who had succoured the enemies of France. Still they held on, facing many dangers, till they crossed the Danube, not far from Ulm, and next the Iller which brought them to Bavarian territory; then by the road from Memmingen to Munich, enduring terrible fatigue and suffering many vicissitudes. The Bavarian police were very inquisitive and disbelieved their story. This was at the Austrian frontier and yet it seemed certain that they must be detained on the Bavarian side. Yet they were allowed to pass despite their improbable story and their suspicious appearance,—their worn and weather-beaten countenances; their ragged clothes, their whole aspect that of disreputable tramps and vagrants. Austria was at the time the ally of England, and the fugitives fearlessly entered the guard house and claimed the protection of the Austrian government. They were politely but not too cordially received and passed on under escort and delivered up at the police office at Salzburg, having thus accomplished their escape after a toilsome and harassing march of twenty-two days through by-ways and hedges, beset by enemies on every side, exposed to the inclemency of a severe winter and all the painful consequences attendant on light purses. From Salzburg they eventually proceeded to Trieste where they found an Austrian brig on the point of sailing for Malta, which, after twenty days on the voyage, they reached, and stood once more on British soil. I have thought the foregoing escapes sufficiently interesting to deserve a detailed account. They are typical of numbers attempted with various results and are inserted to show the undaunted spirit animating the breasts of prisoners of war, chafing at their long and seemingly hopeless captivity. Another which exhibits much the same features, if anything more strongly developed, may also be quoted here to complete the record. It is a narrative of about the same date, which has come down to us, giving the thrilling personal adventures of a young British naval officer in his escape from Valenciennes. This was Mr. Edward Boys, at the time a master’s mate and afterwards commander, who was taken by the French off Toulon in a recaptured prize. With other prisoners, he made the painful pilgrimage across France from the Mediterranean to the north-eastern frontier, and in due course reached Verdun, having travelled a great part of the way on foot or pony back, and having spent five months on the road. His account of Verdun tallies almost exactly with that given in the preceding pages. He bears witness to the oppressive misgovernment of the military authorities, the extortions practised, the encouragement given to vice, the dissoluteness and depravity prevailing among prisoners and civilian détenus , the public gaming tables, the general looseness of morals, the debauchery and drunkenness culminating too often in despair and suicide. It is unnecessary to recapitulate the many atrocities perpetuated in this remote corner of a great country where for a long time all restraints were withdrawn and a small gang of dishonourable villains were permitted to bring shame and disgrace upon France. Mr. Boys ate out his heart in captivity for nearly five years without making any attempt to escape, although a few of his comrades and intimate friends succeeded in getting away. Meanwhile the question of a general exchange of prisoners had been mooted more than once, but without result. The British Government would not admit that the détenus were “prisoners of war” and refused to give up French soldiers and sailors as the equivalent of these unjustly detained civilians (albeit ill-used Englishmen). By this time the French forces were seriously depleted and Napoleon was experiencing increasing difficulty in filling his ranks, which the exchange of war prisoners would have appreciably assisted. The future looked black and hopeless. Imprisonment threatened to be absolutely endless when a rift broke through the clouds and a change in the situation seemed to favour the chance of escape. General Wirion, who was still in the ascendant, was at enmity with the town of Verdun and out of spite strongly recommended that the depot of prisoners should be removed bodily to Metz. Napoleon, however, owed Metz a grudge for not supporting him when he sought the suffrages of the city to endorse his assumption of the Imperial Crown, and he refused to help it at the expense of Verdun. Wirion, foiled in this direction, decided to injure Verdun by reducing its numbers. He transferred new arrivals elsewhere; he banished all he could condemn as offenders to Bitche, and finally made a great sweep out of the midshipmen on the plea that they were trés mauvais sujets and that Verdun was too weak to hold them. All of these youngsters, including Mr. Boys, were put under orders to proceed to other prisons, Valenciennes, Givet and Sarrelouis, the two first on the northern, the third on the eastern frontier of France. “The northern expedition being ready,” says Boys, “we were placed two and two upon bundles of straw in five wagons and set out escorted by the greater part of the horse gendarmerie of the district, aided by the infantry.... Four horse gensdarmes formed the van and four the rear guard, one on each side of every wagon, and twenty foot soldiers in files, with others in each carriage, made up the escort, the commander bringing up the rear on his charger. Whenever the road passed by a wood, which frequently occurred, we were halted to give the infantry time to occupy its skirts; two gensdarmes on each side were posted midway while the rest displayed their pistols somewhat ostentatiously by way of intimidation. I have been thus minute in detailing the strength and manner of the escort, not only to contrast it with similar detachments in England, where twice the number of prisoners with infinitely greater facilities of escape might be safely entrusted to the car of a sergeant’s guard, but also to show how fully persuaded Wirion was that some of us would make the attempt.” All along the route the prisoners except when put upon their honour were on the alert to jump out of their wagons and run away, but no opportunity offered until they were safely lodged in the fortress of Valenciennes, which was reached on the 17th August, 1808. The trés mauvais sujets were lodged apart in a small house within the citadel where fourteen hundred seamen also occupied barracks crowded into the space of an acre, and no one was suffered to go beyond these limits. Escape from this citadel appeared quite impossible. It was enclosed by a wet ditch, merely one foot of water lying over six feet of mud, and to swim across was out of the question. The citadel had two gates, one to the south and one to the north, with a strong guard at both. There was another sally port in the western rampart leading into an outwork, thence into a garden, and opening at length into the country. For months Mr. Boys waited, reconnoitering his ground and vainly seeking to persuade some of his comrades to join him in his bold adventure. It seemed too hazardous and difficult of execution and the officers to whom he opened his mind one and all declined to become concerned in the enterprise. His desire got wind and became common gossip, so much so that it reached the ears of the secret police, a very active and inquisitive agency in all the French prisons, and Boys was closely watched. To disarm suspicion he sent for all his heavy baggage and his greyhounds which had been left at Verdun, and seemed determined to make his home at Valenciennes. These hounds were of much assistance to him in planning his escape. The gensdarmes were sportsmen and borrowed the dogs but they would not work without their master, so Boys was suffered to take part in drawing the neighbourhood and thus learned much of the lay of the land outside the fortress. He decided now not to attempt departure by the northern sally port but resolved to climb into the upper citadel and scale the eastern fortifications. Companions still hesitated to join him, but he began his preparations notwithstanding. Tools, provisions, a map of the surrounding country,—all were laid in, secretly obtained through a friend living in the town. A rope was still wanting, but he bought up all the skipping lines of the French children who were much given to this diversion, and it attracted no suspicion, and he soon had length enough to lower him from the top of the breastwork to the drawbridge leading to the upper citadel. The number of courses of bricks in the wall had been counted and an approximate calculation made. The same good friend in the town arranged to have iron handles fixed to a pair of steel boat-hooks, which were to be used as picklocks. A second rope was required and secured by a stratagem. There was a draw-well in the midshipmen’s yard with a worn and nearly unserviceable rope which was rendered utterly useless by hacking at the straw. A subscription was opened and a new rope supplied which would be ready for use at the supreme moment. At length fresh overtures made to other prisoners led to the grudging assent of two midshipmen to join in the expedition, a third after long hesitation also agreed, and a fourth youngster becoming possessed of the secret immediately proposed himself, thus making up a party of five. The projected escape, although surrounded with difficulties, did not seem impracticable. It meant scaling the inner wall, ascending the parapet unseen by lynx-eyed sentinels and patrols ever on the alert, to chop down two ramparts each forty-five feet in height, to cross two drawbridges and force two or more doors with ponderous locks. The obstacles to be surmounted might well have daunted the stoutest hearts, yet these brave spirits chafing at their prolonged confinement, losing sea service, and precluded from taking part in the war, were willing to face them, resolved to surmount and persevere with unflinching constancy to the bitter end. The 15th November was chosen for the enterprise, a dark and stormy night, a fresh wind blowing and not a star to be seen; the leaves were falling in abundance, raising a rustling noise on the stones which deadened the sound of footsteps. The fugitives met in the common room to bid adieu to their comrades remaining behind, who seeing them equipped for the road, knapsack on back and rope slung on the shoulder of one of them, were disposed to jeer and laugh at their boast that they meant to be at home within ten days’ time. But they entered into the spirit of the thing and next morning at the regular muster when their comrades were missing answered for them, “ Partis pour l’Angleterre ” (started for England). The start was made at 8 P. M. Every fugitive carried a clasp knife and a small packet of fine pepper, the first for defence if attacked, the latter to be thrown into the eyes of their assailants to cover retreat. Boys and another were to go first to fix ropes and open doors, the rest to follow after an interval of a quarter of an hour; if the leaders were shot the rest could retire in safety; if they in their turn were detected, the others ahead might still gain the open country. All drew their stockings over their shoes to deaden the sound of their movements. Those ahead carried the rope and a couple of stakes on which to fasten it. They surmounted the first wall, passed through a garden, crossed a road and silently climbed the bank at the back of the north guardroom on their hands and feet. They were now at the highest point and in danger of being seen by some of the many sentries, but these for shelter from the bitter wind nestled close inside their boxes carefully crying aloud every quarter of an hour, “ Sentinelle prenez garde à vous ,” the French equivalent for “all’s well.” The stakes, one of them a poker, were driven into the earth on the slant, one behind the other, and the eyelet hole of the draw-well rope slipped over, the other end being dropped into the giddy abyss till it touched the drawbridge below. Boys, who was the first to descend, was three parts down when a brick fell, struck against the side and rebounded on to his chest. This luckily he caught between his knees and carried along without noise. Then he crossed the bridge and waited for Hunter, who descended with equal care and silence. Opposite was the entrance to the ravelin, an arched passage ending in a massive door, securely bolted, against which the picklock was useless, and failure seemed imminent unless they reascended by the rope and tried elsewhere. They thought of dropping into the canal and floating along on their backs—an impossible feat, “there being too little water to swim and too much mud to ford it.” Then a bright idea came to them, to undermine a passage under the door and with their pocket knives they slowly and painfully effected this, being reinforced at the work by the arrival of their companions. Creeping through the aperture, they followed the passage till they met the drawbridge at the end. It was raised but there was room to climb over and pass to the far side by the garde-fous or bars serving as rails for the bridge. A second arched passage led under the ravelin and ended in another great door which, luckily for them, had been left unlocked by the gensdarmes. They were now in the upper citadel and all that remained was to lower themselves over the last rampart and so down to the crown of the glacis. Two narrow escapes ensued: the stake on the cope of the parapet holding the rope gave way, and Boys would have fallen fifty feet had he not caught and held himself by the long grass. One of the others nearly lost himself but Boys took his weight upon arm and shoulder and saved him. They were now free of the fort, having accomplished a perilous and laborious work in less than four hours. It is needless and would be wearisome to follow their progress in detail. They crossed the glacis, gained the high road and were brought to a stop by the closed gates of a walled town; entering the ditch they discovered a subterranean passage and found a secure asylum among the rubbish of some old works. The map told them when daylight came that this was part of the fortifications of Tournay, and after a long rest, feeling they were quite safe for the time being, they fared forth at dusk making for Courtrai and reached it next morning, having now traversed twenty-five miles of the whole distance of sixty that had interposed between them and the sea coast on starting. But the river Lys was in front of them and could not be passed at this fortress town; it was necessary to follow its downward course by the right bank as far as Deynze where they lay in a wood until they mustered up courage to enter the town. Here they gave themselves out as conscripts marching to Ghent and found both food and shelter at a low public house. At four o’clock in the morning, rested and fortified with supplies, they crossed the river and took the direct road to Bruges, twenty miles distant, with only ten miles to the coast at Blankenberg, hard by Ostend. They found a solitary public house on the third night close to Blankenberg, kept by a woman well disposed to the English, who recognised and befriended them, sending them on after a good supper and unlimited gin. Their emotion was intense on reaching the sea which they had last left at the Mediterranean, and they rather hastily imagined their troubles at an end. But it was an impossible task to launch a boat from that flat beach, although many lay on the shore, and rather despairingly they returned to the kind soul at the cabaret with whom they soon bargained to be put across the channel. She agreed to find a boat and a crew to man it at the price of one hundred pounds. Meanwhile she gave them shelter while negotiations were opened with the local fishermen, which began on the 2nd January, 1809, and were continued in the teeth of innumerable contretemps and disappointments for nearly five months. The Flemish seafaring folk were afraid to act, deterred by the close watch set on all boats and the penalties that hung over all who ventured to assist fugitive prisoners. There was endless haggling about terms, great distrust of the methods of payment suggested, suspicion was always rife of treachery in the agents employed, and unexpected difficulties arose as to the choice of a place of embarkation, but at last the island of Cadsand opposite Flushing was chosen and the party made a last halt concealed in the ruins of the fortress of L’Ecluse. Patrols constantly on the alert must be eluded and all movements screened, but at last on the night of the 8th of May news came that the boat was close at hand. At ten o’clock with the weather fierce, the night dark, they marched down to the beach and as soon as the patrol passed, the private signal was made and answered. The boat glided silently inshore with muffled oars; they rushed in and in an instant were safe afloat; each seized an oar and vigorously applying his utmost strength they soon reached beyond the range of shot.

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