Huguenots sent to the galleys—Authentic Memoirs of Jean Marteilhe—Description of galleys—Construction—Method of rowing—Extreme severity of labor—A sea fight—Marteilhe severely wounded—His sufferings—Dunkirk acquired by the English—Huguenot prisoners sent secretly to Havre—Removed to Paris—Included in the chain gang for Marseilles—Cruelties en route—Detention at Marseilles—Renewed efforts to proselytise—More about the galleys—Dress, diet, occupation and discipline—Winter season—Labor constant—Summer season.

No blot upon the reign of Louis XIV is blacker than his treatment of the Huguenots,—most faithful of his subjects could he have perceived it, and the flower of his people. They were hardly more devoted to their faith than they were to France, and it was their faith in God that inspired their patriotism; and yet because they would not abandon their right of conscience they were hounded like a subject, savage people.

A remarkable record of the sufferings endured by one of these victims “for the faith” has come down to us in the “Memoirs of a Protestant, Condemned to the Galleys of France for his Religion.” The author is said to have been one Jean Marteilhe, but the book was published anonymously at The Hague in the middle of the eighteenth century. It purports to be “A Comprehensive Account of the Various Distresses he suffered in a Slavery of Thirteen Years and his Constance in supporting almost Every Cruelty that Bigoted Zeal could inflict or Human Nature sustain; also a Description of the Galleys and the Service in which they are Employed.” The writer states that he was at last set free at the intercession of the Court of Great Britain in the reign of Queen Anne.

Jean Marteilhe belonged to a family which had been dispersed in the Dragonades, and he resolved to fly the country. Passing through Paris he made for Maestricht in Holland, but was intercepted and detained at Marienburg, a town in the French dominions, where he and his companions were imprisoned and charged with being found upon the frontier without a passport. They were called upon to abjure their faith or to be sent instantly to the galleys; they were guilty of endeavoring to quit the kingdom against the King’s ordinance. Then began a weary pilgrimage on foot, handcuffed together, “confined every evening in such loathsome prisons as shocked even us, although by this time familiarised to distress.” On reaching Tournay they were thrown into a dungeon and kept there many weeks, “laying continually upon an old pallet quite rotten and swarming with vermin, placed near a door, through a hole in which our daily allowance of bread was thrown.” They remained six weeks in this situation, when they were joined in prison by two friends,—alleged Huguenots but less resolute than Marteilhe in their belief, for they presently went over and embraced the Catholic religion. Marteilhe sturdily resisted all attempts at conversion, although all were continually importuned by the priests; yet nevertheless entertained hopes of release, which were never realised. They passed on from gaol to gaol until at last they reached Dunkirk, at that time a French port and the home port of six war galleys. On their arrival they were at once separated and each committed to a different ship. Marteilhe’s was the Heureuse, where he took his place upon the bench, which was to be his terrible abode for many years.

The description given by our author of the system in force at the galleys and of the galleys themselves may be quoted here at some length:

“A galley is ordinarily a hundred and fifty feet long and fifty feet broad. It consists of but one deck, which covers the hold. This hold is in the middle, seven feet high, but at the sides of the galley only six feet. By this we may see that the deck rises about a foot in the centre, and slopes towards the edges to let the water run off more easily; for when a galley is loaded it seems to swim under water, at least the sea constantly washes the deck. The sea would then necessarily enter the hold by the apertures where the masts are placed, were it not prevented by what is called the coursier. This is a long case of boards fixed on the middle or highest part of the deck and running from one end of the galley to the other. There is also a hatchway into the hold as high as the coursier. From this superficial description perhaps it may be imagined that the slaves and the rest of the crew have their feet always in water. But the case is otherwise; for to each bench there is a board raised a foot from the deck, which serves as a footstool to the rowers, under which the water passes. For the soldiers and mariners there is, running on each side, along the gunnel of the vessel, what is called the bande, which is a bench of about the same height with the coursier, and two feet broad. They never lie here, but each leans on his own particular bundle of clothes in a very incommodious posture. The officers themselves are not better accommodated; for the chambers in the hold are designed only to hold the provisions and naval stores of the galley.

“The hold is divided in six apartments. The first of these in importance is the gavon. This is a little chamber in the poop, which is big enough only to hold the captain’s bed. The second is the escandolat, where the captain’s provisions are kept and dressed. The third is the compagne. This contains the beer, wine, oil, vinegar and fresh water of the whole crew, together with their bacon, salt meat, fish and cheese; they never use butter. The fourth, the paillot. Here are kept the dried provisions, as biscuits, pease, rice, etc. The fifth is called the tavern. This apartment is in the middle of the galley. It contains the wine, which is retailed by the comite, and of which he enjoys the profits. This opens into the powder room, of which the gunner alone keeps the key. In this chamber also the sails and tents are kept. The sixth and last apartment is called the steerage, where the cordage and the surgeon’s chest are kept. It serves also during a voyage as a hospital for the sick and wounded, who, however, have no other bed to lie on than ropes. In winter, when the galley is laid up, the sick are sent to a hospital in the city.

“A galley has fifty benches for rowers, that is to say, twenty-five on each side. Each bench is ten feet long. One end is fixed in the coursier, the other in the bande. They are each half a foot thick and are placed four feet from each other. They are covered with sack-cloth stuffed with flocks, and over this is thrown a cowhide, which reaching down to the banquet, or footstool, gives them the resemblance of large trunks. To these the slaves are chained, six to a bench. Along the bande runs a large rim of timber, about a foot thick, which forms the gunnel of the galley. To this, which is called the apostie, the oars are fixed. These are fifty feet long, and are balanced upon the aforementioned piece of timber; so that the thirteen feet of oar which comes into the galley is equal in weight to the thirty-seven which go into the water. As it would be impossible to hold them in the hand because of their thickness they have handles by which they are managed by the slaves.”

The writer passes on to the method of rowing a galley and says: “The comite, who is the master of the crew of slaves and the tyrant so much dreaded by the wretches fated to this misery, stands always at the stern, near the captain, to receive his orders. There are two lieutenants also, one in the middle, the other near the prow. These, each with a whip of cords which they exercise without mercy on the naked bodies of the slaves, are always attentive to the orders of the comite. When the captain gives the word for rowing the comite gives the signal with a silver whistle which hangs from his neck. This is repeated by the lieutenants, upon which the slaves, who have their oars in readiness, strike all at once and beat time so exactly, that the hundred and fifty oars seem to give but one blow. Thus they continue, without requiring further orders, till by another signal of the whistle they desist in a moment. There is an absolute necessity for all rowing thus together; for should one of the oars be lifted up or let fall too soon, those in the next bench forward, leaning back, necessarily strike the oar behind them with the hinder part of their heads, while the slaves of this bench do the same by those behind them. It were well if a few bruises on the head were the only punishment. The comite exercises the whip on this occasion like a fury, while the muscles, all in convulsion under the lash, pour streams of blood down the seats; which how dreadful soever it may seem to the reader, custom teaches the sufferers to bear without murmuring.

“The labor of a galley slave has become a proverb; nor is it without reason that this may be reckoned the greatest fatigue that can be inflicted on wretchedness. Imagine six men, naked as when born, chained to their seats, sitting with one foot on a block of timber fixed to the footstool or stretcher, the other lifted up against the bench before them, holding in their hands an oar of enormous size. Imagine them stretching their bodies, their arms outreached to push the oar over the backs of those before them, who are also themselves in a similar attitude. Having thus advanced their oar, they raise that end which they hold in their hands, to plunge the opposite end, or blade, in the sea, which done, they throw themselves back on their benches for the stroke. None, in short, but those who have seen them labor, can conceive how much they endure. None but such could be persuaded that human strength could sustain the fatigue which they undergo for an hour without resting. But what cannot necessity and cruelty make men do? Almost impossibilities. Certain it is that a galley can be navigated in no other manner but by a crew of slaves, over whom a comite may exercise the most unbounded authority. No free man could continue at the oar an hour unwearied; yet a slave must sometimes lengthen out his toil for ten, twelve, nay, for twenty hours without the smallest intermission. On these occasions, the comite, or one of the other mariners, puts into the mouths of those wretches a bit of bread steeped in wine, to prevent fainting through excess of fatigue or hunger, while their hands are employed upon the oar. At such times are heard nothing but horrid blasphemies, loud bursts of despair, or ejaculations to heaven; all the slaves are streaming with blood, while their unpitying taskmasters mix oaths and threats and the smacking of whips, to fill up this dreadful harmony. At this time the captain roars to the comite to redouble his blows, and when anyone drops from his oar in a swoon, which not infrequently happens, he is whipped while any remains of life appear, and then thrown into the sea without further ceremony.”

Marteilhe fell to a galley commanded by a comite, commonly reputed of cruel character and said to be “merciless as a demon.” Yet the young Protestant, who was of fine muscular physique, found favor with this severe master, who ordered him to be chained to the bench under his immediate charge. Quoting still further from his “Memoirs,”—he writes: “It may not be unnecessary to mention that the comite eats upon a table raised over one of the seats, by four iron feet. This table also serves him for a bed, and when he chooses to sleep, it is covered with a large pavilion made of cotton. The six slaves of that bench sit under the table, which can easily be taken away when it interferes with the working of the vessel. These six slaves serve as domestics to the comite. Each has his particular employ; and whenever the comite eats or sits here, all the slaves of this bench and the benches next it are uncovered out of respect. Everyone is ambitious of being either on the comite’s bench or on one of the lieutenants’ benches; not only because they have what is left of the provisions of his table, but also because they are never whipped while at work. Those are called the ‘respectable benches;’ and being placed in one of them is looked upon as being in a petty office. I was, as already mentioned, placed in this bench, which however I did not long keep; for still retaining some of the pride of this world, I could not prevail upon myself to behave with that degree of abject submission which was necessary to my being in favor. While the comite was at meals, I generally faced another way, and, with my cap on, pretended to take no notice of what was passing behind me. The slaves frequently said that such behavior would be punished, but I disregarded their admonition, thinking it sufficiently opprobrious to be the slave of the King, without being also the slave of his meanest vassal. I had by this means like to have fallen into the displeasure of the comite, which is one of the greatest misfortunes that can befall a galley slave. He inquired whether I partook of those provisions he usually left, and upon being told that I refused to touch a bit, said ‘Give him his own way, for the present; a few years’ servitude will divest him of this delicacy.’

“One evening the comite called me to his pavilion, and accosting me with more than usual gentleness, unheard by the rest, he let me understand that he perceived I was born of a rank superior to the rest of his crew, which rather increased than diminished his esteem; but, as by indulging my disrespectful behavior the rest might take example, he found it necessary to transfer me to another bench. However I might rest assured of never receiving a blow from him or his inferior officers upon any occasion whatsoever. I testified my gratitude in the best manner I was able; and from that time he kept his promise, which was something extraordinary in one who usually seemed divested of every principle of humanity. Never was man more severe to the slaves in general than he, yet he preserved a moderation towards the Huguenots of his galley, which argued a regard for virtue, not usually found among the lower classes of people.”

Constant labor at the oar was terrible enough, but its horrors were accentuated when the galley went into action. Marteilhe was engaged in several sea-fights, one of the fiercest being an engagement with an English warship convoying a fleet of merchantmen to the Thames. “Of the two galleys ordered to attack the frigate,” says he, “ours alone was in a position to begin the engagement, as our consort had fallen back at least a league behind us; either because she did not sail so fast as we, or else her captain chose to let us have the honor of striking the first blow. Our commodore, who seemed in no way disturbed at the approach of the frigate, thought our galley alone would be more than a match for the Englishman; but the sequel will show that he was somewhat mistaken in this conjecture.

“As we both mutually approached each other, we were soon within cannon shot, and accordingly the galley discharged her broadside. The frigate, silent as death, approached us without firing a gun, but seemed steadily resolved to reserve all her terrors for a closer engagement. Our commodore, nevertheless, mistook English resolution for cowardice. ‘What,’ cried he, ‘is the frigate weary of carrying English colors? And does she come to surrender without a blow?’ The boast was premature. Still we approached each other and were now within musket shot. The galley incessantly poured in her broadside and small arm fire, the frigate, all this while, preserving the most dreadful tranquillity that imagination can conceive. At last the Englishman seemed all at once struck with a panic, and began to fly for it. Nothing gives more spirits than a flying enemy, and nothing was heard but the boasting among our officers. ‘We could at one blast sink a man of war; aye, that we could and with ease, too!’ ‘If Mr. English does not strike in two minutes, down he goes, down to the bottom!’ All this time the frigate was in silence, preparing for the tragedy which was to ensue. Her flight was but pretended, and done with a view to entice us to board her astern, which, being the weakest quarter of a man-of-war, galleys generally choose to attack. Against this quarter they endeavor to drive their beak, and then generally board the enemy, after having cleared the decks with their five pieces of cannon. The commodore, in such a favorable conjuncture as he imagined this to be, ordered the galley to board and the men at the helm to bury her beak in the frigate if possible. All the soldiers and sailors stood ready with their sabres and battle-axes to execute his command. The frigate, who perceived our intention, dexterously avoided our beak, which was just ready to be dashed against her stern, so that instead of seeing the frigate sink in the dreadful encounter as was expected, we had the mortification of beholding her fairly alongside of us,—an interview which struck us with terror. Now it was that the English captain’s courage was conspicuous. As he had foreseen what would happen, he was ready with his grappling irons and fixed us fast by his side. His artillery began to open, charged with grape-shot. All on board the galley were as much exposed as if upon a raft. Not a gun was fired that did not make horrible execution; we were near enough even to be scorched with the flame. The English masts were filled with sailors, who threw hand-grenades among us like hail, that scattered wounds and death wherever they fell. Our crew no longer thought of attacking; they were even unable to make the least defence. The terror was so great, as well among the officers as common men, that they seemed incapable of resistance. Those who were neither killed nor wounded lay flat and counterfeited death to find safety. The enemy perceiving our fright, to add to our misfortunes, threw in forty or fifty men, who, sword in hand, hewed down all that ventured to oppose, sparing however the slaves who made no resistance. After they had cut away thus for some time, being constrained by our still surviving numbers, they continued to pour an infernal fire upon us.

“The galley which had lain astern was soon up with us, and the other four who had almost taken possession of the merchantmen, upon seeing our signal and perceiving our distress, quitted the intended prey to come to our assistance. Thus the whole fleet of merchant ships saved themselves in the Thames. The galleys rowed with such swiftness that in less than half an hour the whole six had encompassed the frigate. Her men were now no longer able to keep the deck, and she presented a favorable opportunity for being boarded. Twenty-five grenadiers from each galley were ordered upon this service. They met with no opposition in coming on; but scarce were they crowded upon the deck when they were saluted once again À l’Anglais. The officers of the frigate were entrenched in the forecastle, and fired upon the grenadiers incessantly. The rest of the crew also did what execution they were able through the gratings, and at last cleared the ship of the enemy. Another detachment was ordered to board, but with the same success; however it was at last thought advisable, with hatchets and other proper instruments, to lay open her decks and by that means to make the crew prisoners of war. This was, though with extreme difficulty, executed; and in spite of their firing, which killed several of the assailants, the frigate’s crew was at last constrained to surrender.”

Marteilhe was seriously wounded in this fight, and he graphically details his sufferings as he lay there still chained to the bench, the only survivor of his six companions at the oar. He says: “I had not been long in this attitude when I perceived somewhat moist and cold run down my body. I put my hand to the place and found it wet; but as it was dark I was unable to distinguish what it was. I suspected it, however, to be blood, flowing from some wound, and following with my hand the course of the stream, I found my shoulder near the clavicle was pierced quite through. I now felt another gash in my left leg below the knee, which also went through; again another, made I suppose by a splinter, which ripped the integuments of my belly, the wound being a foot long and four inches wide. I lost a great quantity of blood before I could have any assistance. All near me were dead, as well those before and behind me, and those of my own seat. Of eighteen persons on the three seats, there was left surviving only myself, wounded as I was in three different places, and all by the explosion of one cannon only. But if we consider the manner of charging with grape-shot our wonder at such prodigious slaughter will cease. After the cartouche of powder, a long tin box filled with musket balls is rammed in. When the piece is fired the box breaks and scatters its contents most surprisingly.

“I was now forced to wait till the battle was ended before I could expect any relief. All on board were in the utmost confusion; the dead, the dying and the wounded, lying upon each other, made a frightful scene. Groans from those who desired to be freed from the dead, blasphemies from the slaves who were wounded unto death, arraigning heaven for making their end not less unhappy than their lives had been. The coursier could not be passed for the dead bodies which lay on it. The seats were filled, not only with slaves, but also with sailors and officers who were wounded or slain. Such was the carnage that the living hardly found room to throw the dead into the sea, or succor the wounded. Add to all this the obscurity of the night, and where could misery have been found to equal mine!

“The wounded were thrown indiscriminately into the hold,—petty officers, sailors, soldiers and slaves; there was no distinction of places, no bed to lie upon, nor any succor to be had. With respect to myself, I continued three days in this miserable situation. The blood coming from my wounds was stopped by a little spirit of wine, but there was no bandage tied, nor did the surgeon once come to examine whether I was dead or alive. In this suffocating hole, the wounded, who might otherwise have survived, died in great numbers. The heat and the stench were intolerable, so that the slightest sore seemed to mortify; while those who had lost limbs or received large wounds went off by universal putrefaction.

“In this deplorable situation we at last arrived at Dunkirk, where the wounded were put on shore in order to be carried to the marine hospital. We were drawn up from the hold by pulleys and carried to the hospital on men’s shoulders. The slaves were consigned to two large apartments separate from the men who were free, forty beds in each room. Every slave was chained by the leg to the foot of his bed. We were visited once every day by the surgeon-major of the hospital, accompanied by all the army and navy surgeons then in port.”

Better fortune came to Marteilhe when he recovered. He was appointed clerk to the captain of the galley, being maimed by his wounds and no longer fit for the oar.

“Behold me now,” he writes, “placed in a more exalted station, not less than the captain’s clerk, forsooth. As I knew my master loved cleanliness, I purchased a short coat of red stuff (galley-slaves must wear no other color) tolerably fine. I was permitted to let my hair grow. I bought a scarlet cap, and in this trim presented myself before the captain, who was greatly pleased with my appearance. He gave his maÎtre d’hÔtel orders to carry me every day a plate of meat from his own table and to furnish me with a bottle of wine, luxuries to which I had long been a stranger. I was never more chained and only wore a ring about my leg in token of slavery. I lay upon a good bed. I had nothing fatiguing to do, even at times when all the rest of the crew were lashed to the most violent exertion. I was loved and respected by the officers and the rest of the crew, cherished by my master and by his nephew, the major of the galleys. In short, I wanted nothing but liberty to increase the happiness I then enjoyed. In this state, if not of pleasure at least of tranquillity, I continued from the year 1709 to 1712, in which it pleased heaven to afflict me with trials more severe than even those I had already experienced.”

England acquired Dunkirk by special treaty with France in 1712. Upon the transfer the English troops entered the city and took possession of the citadel. The French galleys were to remain in port until the fortifications were demolished, and it was agreed that no vessel should leave Dunkirk without permission from Her Britannic Majesty. The galley-slaves remained on board their ships, but by some strange oversight it was not stipulated that the Protestant prisoners, with whose sad condition the English fully sympathised, should be released. The French government was still determined to retain them, and planned to carry them off secretly into France before any demand could be made for their release. In the dead of night they were embarked to the number of twenty-two on board a fishing boat and taken by water to Calais, where they were landed to make the long journey on foot, chained together, to Havre-de-Grace. Here they were held close prisoners in the Arsenal, but fairly well treated. After some weeks, orders came for their removal to Rouen, en route for Paris and eventually to Marseilles. Through the kindness of their co-religionists, who came charitably to their aid, they were provided with wagons for the journey in which all were carried to the capital, where on arrival they were lodged in the ancient castle of Tournelle, formerly a pleasure house belonging to the royal family, but by now converted into a prison for galley-slaves. It is thus described by Marteilhe: “This prison, or rather cavern, is round and of vast extent. The floor is made uneven by large oak beams, which are placed at three feet distance from each other. These beams are two feet and a half thick, and ranged along the floors in such a manner that at first sight they might be taken for benches, were they not designed for a much more disagreeable purpose. To these were fastened large iron chains, a foot and a half long, at intervals of two feet from each other. At the end of each chain is a large ring of the same metal. When the slave is first brought into this prison, he is made to lie along the beam till his head touches it. Then the ring is put round his neck and fastened by a hammer and anvil kept for the purpose. As the chains are fixed in the beam at two feet distance from each other, and some of the beams are forty feet long, sometimes twenty men are thus chained down in a row and so in proportion to the length of the beams. In this manner are fastened five hundred wretches in an attitude certainly pitiful enough to melt the hardest heart.

ChÂteau D’If

Fortress on a small island two miles southwest of Marseilles: one of the scenes of Dumas’s novel “Count of Monte Cristo,” and the place of captivity of several celebrated persons, among them Mirabeau and Philippe ÉgalitÉ.