I was not disappointed in my expectations, for I was received with the utmost civility. Every attention was paid to me, and I was provided with a suit of dry clothes. They got me instantly (of which I never before stood more in need) a warm draught, and gave each of my men a glass of liquor, and ordered breakfast for them, with everything else that was necessary to recruit exhausted nature, and to console them under their sufferings and misfortunes. The poor fellows were in a most deplorable state, shivering and shaking like aspen leaves; some of them were so worn out with fatigue, hunger, and the extreme severity of the weather that they could scarcely articulate when spoken to. The French officers informed me also, that the whole of the boats, except mine and one other, from the extreme violence of the weather, had been obliged to make for Brest, and had arrived in the night; whilst they added that they had been under the greatest apprehensions for our safety, as it was not supposed possible, from the size of the boats and the manner they were found, that they could exist through the severity of the night. Lieut. Barker, Mr. Nepean, a midshipman, and now a commander, and Mr. Carey, the boatswain (who afterwards died at Verdun), came on board, from the other French ships-of-war in which they were prisoners, to congratulate me on my extraordinary escape and safe arrival. We were, however, under the strongest and most painful apprehensions that Mr. Robert James Gordon, the midshipman who commanded the boat which had not yet arrived, had perished with his companions.

The next day, the 11th, at 2 P.M., we were all sent on shore to the hospital at Brest, which was the place assigned to us, as each individual was more or less unwell from the hardships he had undergone.

To mark the character of the French seamen and of their naval service, I must here relate that a small leathern trunk or valise, in which I had saved a change of linen, etc., had been taken out of one of our marines’ hands, by a French sailor who spoke a little English, under the pretence of saving him the trouble of carrying it down the ship’s side; whilst the scoundrel, instead of putting it into the boat, handed it in through one of the lower-deck ports. Our marine, who remained on the ship’s gangway, had construed the transaction into an act of kindness, and concluded that the trunk had been safely deposited in the boat which was to carry us on shore; nor was the theft discovered until upon our landing, when the humble, though to me invaluable, property could not be found. I immediately communicated the fact to the officers who conducted us, and they instantly sent on board an order to search for the valise. In fact, they appeared excessively hurt that such an act of villainy should have been committed by one of their crew. They assured me that the perpetrator should be severely punished, and that my little portmanteau should be safely returned. I despaired of this very much, though I entertained little doubts of the first part of the promise being faithfully kept. In the meantime, these officers conducted us to the hospital, and insisted upon my wearing my sword all the way. The captain had refused to receive it on board, observing that I had been unfortunately wrecked, and not taken in fight, and, consequently, that I had no right to lose my sword; and he further remarked, that, in his opinion, we ought to be returned to our native country, and should not be considered as prisoners; but he added that the gaoler on shore would deprive me of my side-arms, which was afterwards the case.

On our arrival at the hospital, or rather prison (as we were closely watched and guarded), the gaoler took away my sword, and appeared very much enraged at my not allowing him to take my belt; this, I observed to him, could do no mischief. I now had the inexpressible happiness of shaking hands with all the officers, excepting Mr. Thomas (carpenter), who was unfortunately drowned in attempting to land in Bertheaume Bay, and Mr. Gordon (midshipman), who, I was very much pleased to hear, was safe at ConquÊt, where he had effected a landing. We expected him and his boat’s crew round to Brest the following day.

On the 14th we had the pleasure of seeing him and his crew safely arrived; they spoke very handsomely of the treatment they had received at ConquÊt and on the march. I now received part of the things that were in the valise, and the thief, I was informed, had run the gauntlet.

We were very well used during our stay here, and were attended by religieuses, or old nuns, which is a general custom in all the French hospitals. They were the most attentive nurses I ever beheld: constantly on the alert; visiting their patients; administering relief wherever it might be wanted; and always solacing the dejected.

On the 18th we received information that we should commence our march towards our depot on the following morning; and accordingly, on the 19th, we were ready at a moment’s notice. At about eight o’clock we were all drawn up in the hospital yard. Mr. Mahoney and myself (being the senior midshipmen) took our stations, as we were accustomed, next to the lieutenants; but, to our great surprise, on the names being called over, we were moved, together with Mr. Carey, the boatswain, and Mr. Simpson, the gunner,[6] and placed next to the seamen. At the same time, each of us was offered a loaf of brown bread for the day’s subsistence, which we declined. We demanded of the French officers an explanation of this extraordinary conduct, and they informed us that we were of a class (master’s mates) different from any in their navy, and that they had, therefore, ranked us as adjutants, or sous-officers, and they insisted that they could not make any alteration. Lieut. Pridham now interfered in our behalf. It appeared he had been made acquainted, on the preceding night, that we should be thus ranked; but not being versed in the regulations and titles of the French military service, he had supposed that an adjutant was equal to a rank between a midshipman and a lieutenant in our navy; and this, of course, he thought our proper place. After remonstrating for a long time against the impropriety of our being degraded to the ranks and put among the people, the officer agreed to go to the Minister of Marine[7] to have the business, as he termed it, arranged. He shortly returned; the Minister of Marine was out, but we received an assurance from his head clerk or secretary that the mistake should be rectified the moment he returned, and that a courier would be despatched after us to the next stage with another feuille de route. Thus far reconciled, we commenced our forced march—and, as we were informed, for Verdun, in Lorraine,—although our crew appeared quite indignant at this insult or disrespect offered to their officers, and refused to move until we persuaded them to be obedient.

At about seven in the evening we arrived at our first stage, the small and miserable village of Landernau, about twenty miles N.E. of Brest. I anxiously expected every moment the arrival of the courier, so little was I then acquainted with the nature of French promises and with the French character. Here, as a great favour, we were permitted to mix with the officers. Our allowance was eleven sous, or 5½d. per diem; whilst the youngest midshipman or volunteer had fifty. The allowance to the men, I believe, was only five sous.

At daylight, on the 20th, we commenced our march, rather more dejected than the day before. In the evening we arrived at Landiviziau, a distance of five or six leagues from Landernau, than which it was much smaller. Here we halted for the night, and the people were placed in stables, barns, etc. At daybreak, on the 21st, we commenced our march towards Morlaix. At about two in the afternoon, at four or five miles’ distance from the town, we were met by a captain of gendarmerie and two gendarmes, who, we understood afterwards, came out to escort us into that place. They had not long joined us when I happened to discover one of our ship’s boys lifting his hand to strike a young midshipman. I immediately ran up and chastised the youngster with a switch I fortunately had in my hand; but mark my amazement! when I beheld this blustering captain of gendarmerie foaming at the mouth, and riding up towards me at full speed, with his sword drawn. He appeared to be in a very great rage, swore vehemently, and wielded his sword repeatedly over my head. As I did not understand a syllable of what he spoke, but was certain it must be abusive language, from the passion he put himself into, I, parrot-like, repeated his own expressions as well as I could; which irritated him to such a degree, that had not the officer of infantry who was escorting us, and our own officers, interfered, I do not know to what length he might have carried the outrage. The officer of infantry expostulated with him on the impropriety of drawing his sword upon a naked prisoner, who could not even understand a word that he said. He declared, and persisted in it, that I spoke as good French as he did; that we were all prisoners alike; that we were now in a country where every man enjoyed liberty; and he would take care that whilst we were with him we should not tyrannise over one another; or, in other terms, that the officers should be on an equality with the men. I observed that some of the crew understood him, and that they explained his meaning to others, which seemed to please them extremely.

We had not, however, marched more than a mile when a circumstance took place which gave us all a fine specimen of the liberty boasted of in this land of republicanism and equality. A poor man, who appeared to be at least seventy years of age, happened to be conducting a cart along the road, and as he was approaching us this lover of liberty called to him to turn his horses aside until we had passed; but the poor unfortunate old man not hearing, and continuing his way, this brute rode up to him, and beat and mauled him so unmercifully that the seamen literally hissed him, and asked repeatedly, “If that were the liberty he had so much vaunted about a few minutes before?”

At about five in the afternoon we arrived at Morlaix. Our people were lodged and treated for the night much as usual; but the officers, including myself and Mr. Mahoney, were allowed to go to a tavern. On inquiry I found that this redoubtable captain of the gendarmerie had been a weaver before the Revolution, and by his perfidy had got advanced to the rank he held. I was informed that he visited our people in the night, and used his utmost exertions to make them turn traitors and enter into the French service. Most glad am I to say that he found all his efforts fruitless; and to the honour of our country be it related, that every proposal he made, every temptation he offered, was treated with disdain.

On the 22nd, about eight, we again commenced our route, and, after a long march, arrived at a small village, Belle-Isle-en-Terre, where we remained for the night, disagreeably situated, the village being excessively poor and small, the people extorting double prices for everything; however, this I have since found to be almost general throughout France.

On the 23rd, at the usual hour, about eight, we recommenced our route towards Guingamp, where we arrived tolerably early. It is a spacious town, and appeared well peopled. We rested here during twenty-four hours, and were pretty well treated. The country, though late in the season, appeared beautiful. It is very fertile, and yet the peasantry seemed excessively poor and distressed.

On the 25th, at daylight, we recommenced our march towards St. Brieux, the last town on the sea-coast that we had to touch at, and we arrived at about four o’clock. We were very closely guarded, which certainly was necessary, as the town was only a mile and a half from the sea, and it was the intention of a great number to slip their fetters; however, this proved impossible. We had another guard ordered, which we all regretted, as the officer who had conducted us from Brest to this place was a perfect gentleman, and preserved the utmost moderation towards the prisoners—who were not, by the bye, at all times very well behaved. I here planned an escape, but could not accomplish it.

At daylight, on the 26th, we recommenced our route with our new guard. About ten, in passing close to the sea, we were halted; the guard loaded their pieces, examined their locks, and did everything to intimidate us and overawe any desire to resist them. They appeared to be alarmed lest we should attempt to escape, though they were nearly as many as their prisoners in number. It would have been a desperate business, and no vessels were near in which 300 men could be embarked; but the bare possibility of our escape had nearly induced us to run the risk.

About five we arrived at Lamballe, and on the 27th, at eight, we were put upon our march for Rennes. We arrived at our place of destination on the 29th. The officers were allowed to go to a tavern, but we who were still ranked as adjutants were conducted to the common gaol; and, notwithstanding a number of representations and remonstrances conveyed to the general commandant of the town, we were kept in confinement until the 2nd of March, having had at Rennes what was styled a day’s sÉjour. Much rather would I have continued en route, as in this gaol we were associated with malefactors and criminals of every denomination, and, in despite of every effort, we found ourselves covered with vermin. We had at length another guard placed over us, joined our officers, and were very much pleased at being once more in the pure air.

We were now put upon our forced route to VitrÉ, where we arrived at about eight o’clock on the evening of 2nd March, having on this day walked the distance of nearly ten leagues, or about twenty-five English miles. At this town we met with but sorry treatment under our mortification and distresses. We had great difficulty to gain admittance into any inn, and still greater to procure refreshments of any sort. Upon remonstrating with the landlord about our miserable supper, and at the exorbitant price he charged for it, he retorted by calling us “English dogs,” and told us that we ought to be glad to get anything, and that the officers and public authorities were to blame for not placing us in a stable, or in some other place better appropriated to such brutes than an inn. If he had his will, he added, he would very soon treat us as such dogs deserved. In this strain he continued—a strain much less to our annoyance than his bad supper and extravagant charges. This specimen of the national feeling of France, at this period of excitement, shows that the French thought well of English bulldogs, at least with respect to their digesting a long bill of fare. The river Vilaine runs through VitrÉ, and the town seems supplied abundantly with fish.

At daylight, on the 3rd of March, we quitted our polite and hospitable host, and were marched towards Laval, a tolerably large town on the Mayenne, renowned for its linen manufactories. We arrived about five in the evening, and were kept some time in the market-place, as a spectacle for the inhabitants, before we were shown to our respective places for the night. Some of the people who could speak English came to inform us that our gracious sovereign, George the Third, had been dead several days and that the result would be a general peace. We spurned at their intelligence, and, much to their annoyance, assured them that we did not give them the smallest credit.

From Laval we passed through PrÉz-en-Paille, a very small town, to AlenÇon, where we arrived on the evening of the 5th, and were allowed to rest for twenty-four hours. Never was rest more needful to the desponding and weary. We had now marched many days through bad roads during an inclement season, and under all the feelings that deprive the traveller of the elasticity of spirits which supports bodily health, and enables him to conquer all difficulties, to undergo all fatigues, and to disregard all privations. Hitherto our whole ship’s company, with their officers, had been kept together, but now even this consolation was to be destroyed. At AlenÇon the high-road branches off in two directions, the one leading to Paris through Versailles, the other striking off to the N.E. to SeÉz, Bernay, and Rouen. Unhappily the French rulers had ordered that what they termed “the officers” should travel to their journey’s end by the former route, whilst the crew should proceed to their destined place of imprisonment by the road through Rouen. Here the mistake as to my rank by the Minister of Marine most seriously affected me. I was not to be included in the grade of officer. The lieutenants, midshipmen, and other officers were therefore ordered to march on the road to Paris, whilst I and Mr. Mahoney, with the boatswain and gunner, as adjutants, or no officers, were ordered to proceed with half of the ship’s company by the road through Rouen to Charlemont, or Givet, in the department of the Ardennes.

I confess this separation grieved me extremely. Parting with my messmates and friends in a foreign country, together with the insult and injustice of being placed in an inferior rank to my brother officers, could not fail of producing the depression so natural to any honourable mind. The feeling was reciprocal on the part of my brother officers, and we separated with regret, they on the Paris route, and I and my companions on the more dreary road of the north.

Leaving AlenÇon, we passed through SeÉz and Bernay, and at length arrived at Rouen, at about two in the afternoon of the 12th. The hardships we underwent were inconceivable.

This large and splendid city, with its magnificent cathedral and manufactures, and with the beautiful scenery that surrounds it, might excite expectation and joy in the approaching traveller, but no such sensations can be roused in him who has been exhausted in a prison, worn out by fatigue, disgusted by ill usage, and who has the prospect only of a long confinement.

Upon our arrival at Rouen we were all put into the common gaol, and it was of a character to give us not a very favourable idea of prison management or discipline in France. But I cannot pass over a circumstance that had happened before our arrival. Trivial as it is in one respect, it still illustrates the French character with respect to impositions in inns, even in the provincial towns or small villages.

About nine in the morning of the day on which we entered Rouen, we were halted at a village on the banks of the Seine, in order to procure refreshment, and yet all we could get were eggs and bread. But if an egg is to be eaten with a spoon, the spoon must bear some proportion to the egg: here, however, we were supplied with pewter spoons of no ordinary dimensions. I observed to the French officer who had us in custody, that smaller spoons would be more convenient; and, as he could not deny a truth so palpable, he asked the old lady of the house if she had any. She replied in the affirmative, and, with alacrity, opened a large coffer, and taking thereout six silver tea-spoons, placed them on the table. With these spoons we ate our eggs, and, having finished our poor repast, we called for our bill; but what was the surprise of us poor and exhausted prisoners when, in our wretchedness, we found that the old hag had charged us—what in a French village is not a trifle—a penny each for the use of her silver spoons! Even the French officer was quite amazed, and asked her what she could mean by such a demand. The old mercenary creature, who proved herself a compound of extortion and nationality, replied with sang froid, “You see, sir, these Englishmen are so particular that they cannot even eat like other people. My spoons have not been out of my chest for a number of years, and I am determined they shall pay for the trouble they have put me to.” The officer in charge ought to have resisted the imposition, but he made no such attempt; and, being defenceless, we paid our pennies, and respectfully wished the honest old lady a good morning.

I had another opportunity in Rouen of witnessing French shrewdness. I observed a number of brigs and small craft laid up in the river, in a dismantled and totally neglected state, and I could not help expressing, to one of the Frenchmen confined with us, my astonishment that those vessels should not have been equipped and sent to sea upon some commercial venture. “And where, sir,” replied the Frenchman, “would be the use of the attempt when the English would have the vessels before they had completed one voyage?” This was unanswerable.

The prospect down the Seine was grand and beautiful. My view, however, was now changed to one of a very different character. The transition from the delightful scenery, with Nature’s freshness and exhilaration, to the miseries of a common gaol, was rapid, and much increased, in this instance, by the gloomy countenance of the gaoler and his dear companion of a wife. They exhibited to us a perfect specimen of matrimonial concord, for both cordially agreed in accosting us in very antipathetic terms; and they were still more matrimonially harmonious in their assurances that if we did not instantly pay for two nights’ lodgings we should be placed in cells not of the best description and with culprits of the very worst. We could not entertain the slightest suspicion of the veracity of these worthy people, nor could we conceive a doubt that we were under the dominion of absolute and irresponsible power; and, notwithstanding we knew that what these kind people had said was a law, we took the liberty of asking why they demanded payment for two nights; and in matrimonial concord they replied, “That we were going to enjoy one day’s rest in the gaol, and that the officer who had escorted us had assured them of the fact.” There was no resisting such logic, nor could we maintain the position that the French Government ought to provide for its prisoners of war; and we were reduced to the necessity of paying for the comfort of a two-nights’ lodging in gaol which we had the happiness of occupying for only one whole day.

This French officer, whose name, to the best of my recollection, was Galway, lived with us in all the small towns through which we passed, professing a great deal of friendship for us, whilst we were paying his expenses, and repeatedly declaring that he would prevent our being confined in the gaol of Rouen—would be himself responsible for us on account of our gentlemanly conduct, and by that means enable us to remain at an inn. But, alas! so shallow was this honourable gentleman’s memory that he even forgot to leave us our last day’s allowance, or prisoner’s money, of eleven sous, or fivepence halfpenny sterling, and did not recollect to give to his successor in power over us the certificate he had received from our officers, stating our rank, and explaining the unfortunate mistake that had been made upon this subject at Brest. His keeping the point of honour, and of honesty and duty, would have been of material service to us; but I suppose that he did not even recollect, after he had disposed of us, that there was a gaol in the city, for we never saw him or heard of him after we had been placed under bars and bolts.

It was now that we came into terms with our host and his rib, and paid them a sum, equal to two shillings each, for the two nights’ lodging. This pleased them so much that they were convinced that we were officers and gentlemen; and they conducted us, with a great deal of respect and politeness, into an apartment in which there were two prisoners and three beds. Two of the beds were assigned to us. Our room-mates, we soon discovered, were debtors. The landlady very charitably observed that she was certain that we must be faint and in want of refreshment; and she kindly added that she would send us some bread and a bottle of good wine for the present, and would procure us, pauvres enfans! a comfortable dinner in about an hour’s time; and then she and her husband, after a thousand curtsies and bows, withdrew, not forgetting to turn the key in the door and to take it with them. We all agreed that this was a considerate, charitable, good woman; but much more did we extol her when we saw the bottle of wine and loaf of bread. The man who brought it was a smart, active turnkey, who said, “Mistress is very busy in cooking dinner for the English captains. I have had the pleasure of waiting very frequently on British officers in this prison—they were very extravagant, and liked to live very well,” etc. But this conversation did not by any means suit his present guests; so we made signs to the fellow to be off. He quitted us, taking the same precaution that his master had done. Our finances were ebbing fast, and we began to fear the dinner which was preparing for us would not help to relieve them. I have already observed that we had fivepence halfpenny per diem allowed us; but we were very frequently cheated even of that miserable pittance, and had we not each procured a little cash at Morlaix on our private bills, we should certainly have perished of want. The table was now prepared with a cloth, a rare decency in a common gaol, and in a short time dinner appeared, with two bottles of wine. It consisted of a little fresh fish and a small joint of boiled mutton. The dishes were cleared in a short time, without the smallest hope of a second course. We were anxious to ascertain what the generous good dame could or would demand for this sumptuous repast, and inquired of our active waiter, who went to his mistress; and forthwith she very kindly replied, “not to make ourselves uneasy, it would be time enough the next day.” We accordingly waited until the next day; but were determined to have nothing more until we knew what we were in debt.

Our fellow-prisoners were particularly polite and attentive to us, and gave us a hint that we were greatly deceived in our opinion of the landlady; which we easily perceived the next morning when we insisted upon hearing how much we had to pay for what she called dinner and wine. She very coolly informed us, fifteen shillings! We imagined it might have been about seven. However, it was in vain to attempt to explain; we paid the bill, and were resolved to be more circumspect.

At about eleven o’clock some French naval officers came to inspect our people, and gave some of them pieces of money, with an intention to induce them to enter the French service. This I saw, as it was publicly done in the gaol-yard, and I happened to be looking out of the window at the time. I desired them to be particular in what they were about. One man, a Dane (Hendrick Wilson, a very fine fellow, upwards of six feet high, who had been taken by us and had volunteered into our service), replied, “We will take what money they choose to give us, sir, and that shall be all they will gain by coming here.”

On the morning of the 14th, about eight o’clock, a guard of cuirassiers rode into the yard. The gaoler was very expeditious in giving us notice that they came to conduct us on our march; so the bills were paid, and everything settled to this man’s and his good dame’s satisfaction. We were then conducted down into the yard and joined by the people. The gaoler observed to the French officer and cuirassiers that we were des bons garÇons. This officer appeared to be a very affable, good kind of person, of the true old French school before the character of the inhabitants had been demoralised by the Revolution. He informed us that Mr. Galway, his predecessor, had left him no certificates; but he assured us that with him it should make no difference. All matters being arranged, we commenced our march towards Amiens, where we arrived, after a fatiguing march through the towns of NeufchÂtel and AumÂle, on the 16th of March.

Our humane officer was as good as his word. In the small villages between Rouen and Amiens he always took us to an inn and dined with us himself; but in Amiens he could not prevent our being put into the gaol. He, however, came frequently to see us, and remained with us for some time. Understanding that there was an Englishman, a Mr. S. Pratt, who kept an eating-house in this city, we sent to inform him that there were some of his countrymen, prisoners of war in the gaol, who wished to speak to him; but the only answer we received was that he was busy. However, he sent Mrs. Pratt, who even shed tears at seeing the distressed condition of her poor, dear countrymen.

This benevolent Christian appeared overpowered by the kindness so natural to her sex, and by a generosity, for the display of which she possessed a peculiar eloquence, she assured us that “if she had it in her power she would give all the seamen shoes and stockings, of which they stood so much in need, and a good dinner—that she would; but, at all events, she would go and instantly get a good dinner for us, poor, dear creatures! for we must be famished.” To this she added a great many similar tender expressions.

She took a cordial leave of each of us, and said that she would not come again until late in the evening, for fear of her visits being noticed; but she assured us that an excellent dinner should be sent as soon as possible to her poor, dear countrymen. In about an hour we received a small roasted leg of mutton, without any vegetables, with two knives and forks, a little salt in a paper, and two bottles of very inferior wine. We expected to have the opportunity in the evening of expressing to the lady in person our sense of the excellence of the dinner; but she never came near her “dear, dear countrymen!” She took care, however, to send her man with the bill, the charges of which exceeded those of the gaoler’s wife at Rouen!