At length the destined hour arrived for our leaving this celebrated city and for pursuing our forced and cheerless marches to the place of our imprisonment. Accordingly, at about eight in the morning of the 17th of March, St. Patrick’s day, a day of great festivity in my native isle, we were put en route, and we arrived at the little town of Albert, in the department of the Somme, at five in the afternoon. Here we were halted for the night. The next morning our kind officer astonished us by a most elegant breakfast, consisting of everything that the small town could supply. We had made it a point never to allow him to pay any of his personal or table expenses when he conducted us to an inn, and his breakfast was given, I suppose, much to his honour, as a complimentary requital.

From Albert we marched to Bapaume, a small fortified town in the department of Pas de Calais. The inhabitants boast that it has never been taken, even though the Duke of York was so close to it in 1793. The road was excessively dirty and bad. Our men were so exceedingly weak this day, the weather being very severe, and raining so incessantly, that our good officer made some of his cuirassiers take three or four of their prisoners behind on their horses. It was about four in the afternoon when we arrived. The officer took us to a tavern. We, dripping wet, were shown into a spacious apartment, where a large table was laid out, and a number of genteel-looking citizens were sitting round a stove that was fixed in the centre of the room. They did not appear to take the smallest notice of us, nor to make place even for the officer, who was wet to the skin. However, he took the liberty of requesting they would allow him to approach, which they did with seeming reluctance. We now endeavoured to dry ourselves, and get into the best plight we could; having ordered, at the same time, something for dinner, or rather supper, as it was about seven o’clock. We were given to understand that it was the election day for a new mayor, in consequence of which the aldermen and civic officers had ordered a dinner; which being served up, left us in full possession of the stove, a circumstance that pleased us greatly.

Those gentlemen did not, in point of appetite, appear to deviate from their namesakes in a certain great metropolis, although I could not perceive that they had any turtle soup; champagne appeared to be the only wine they relished. Our supper was placed on a small table near the stove; and those gentlemen, as they became inspired with the generous juice of the grape, condescended to become more familiar with the English prisoners and the officer that had them in charge. They insisted upon our touching glasses, and even on our drinking champagne with them; and in the course of the evening these very people, who, on our arrival, had not vouchsafed to treat us with common civility, or even humanity, became so exceedingly hospitable, cordial, and pressing as to prove an absolute annoyance. They even lavished in their cups a number of encomiums upon the “noble nation” to which we belonged. “What a great pity it is,” they cried, “that Englishmen and Frenchmen are not unanimous! They would then carry everything before them, and conquer the whole world.”

We were now doomed to suffer a sad mortification and misfortune. The friendly officer who had conducted us from Rouen with so much humanity, and, I may say, delicacy, now informed us that he was superseded, and was no longer to be our guard or escort. He even added that he had applied to be allowed to conduct us to our place of final imprisonment, and, to his mortification, had received a refusal. He appeared very much hurt at the disappointment, and left us for the night with much emotion, assuring us that we should not leave the town without bidding each other farewell.

At daylight, on the 19th of March, a sergeant awakened us, with the unwelcome news that he had brought a guard of dragoons to conduct us to Cambray. We were obliged to get up immediately, and to make the best arrangements we could for our unpleasant journey. Our old officer and friend, as we considered him, made his appearance. He spoke of us with much warmth of good-nature, and recommended us very strongly to the kind consideration of the sergeant. He then took an affectionate farewell of each individual, and literally shed tears at parting from us. Much did we regret his loss. He was tender-hearted and compassionate, and reflected honour on the nation that gave him birth, and even upon Nature herself. Under this excellent man, with the indulgence he bestowed upon us, and with the confidence he reposed in our honour, not one of us would have taken an advantage of even the most favourable opportunity of escape. Each would have felt it a disgrace to the character of our country, and a proof of an individual badness of heart and insensibility to honour.

At half-past eight o’clock we had to commence our march to Cambray. All the elements seemed to combine with every circumstance to make us feel our altered condition. It was a most severe morning, bitterly cold, and the north-east wind blowing fiercely in our teeth. It hailed and rained violently and without intermission. Our poor crew were half-starved, miserably clad, and without shoes or stockings, and some of them even without shirts. They were in rags and tatters. With starved stomachs and broken spirits, they were forced upon this long march to the cheerless bourn of a gaol. Under the new escort of dragoons we pursued our march to Cambray, where we arrived about four in the afternoon, in a truly pitiable state. We were a mass of dirt and filth, exhausted, and without that alone which can make nature endure extreme difficulties—the prospect of amelioration or relief. The consciousness of the merits of the past we had, but of prospects of the future we were miserably destitute.

In this state we were marched through Cambray, the gaze of the people, who rejoiced to see a procession of English captives. They felt an extraordinary exultation at witnessing prisoners of a country that had been so proud and so triumphant. After passing this ordeal we were lodged in the citadel.

If in the first part of the captivity I and my companions had been degraded and subjected to hardships as private seamen, here I had my retribution, for we were all four now called captains; and, in virtue or honour of our rank, we were, pro tempore, allowed accommodation in the canteen. This was, in fact, an increase of misery, for our poor seamen were put into the dungeons, or souterrains.

It was only by our strenuous exertions that we could procure for the poor fellows some fresh straw, for which we paid an exorbitant price, for their miserable repose. In this straw they enjoyed what warmth they could, making it into ropes, and twisting it round their exhausted limbs and bodies, after refreshing themselves with a sort of soup which we provided for them, and paid for also dearly. This was what the French called soupe grasse, and was made in the following manner:—They fill a large pot, or marmite, with water. When it begins to boil, they throw one or two handfuls of salt into it, according to the quantity of water, chop up some cabbage or herbs, which they also put in, and, last of all, a ball of hog’s lard, kitchen-stuff, dripping, or any other grease they may have. They then allow it to boil until the materials are well done. It is afterwards served up in soup-plates or dishes, into which has been previously put bread, cut into very thin slices. The charge is twopence, and sometimes more, for each plateful. I saw our landlady at SeÉz, a village near Rouen, after she had cooked us some beef-steaks, put all the gravy into the pan, fill it up with water, and after she had kept the pan boiling for some minutes, pour the whole contents into a large pot of water which she had boiling on the fire, previously prepared with salt and herbs: this she served out as soup to our poor seamen, at a most exorbitant price.

We remained at Cambray until the 21st, when a severe frost, with snow, set in; and we had to march, with the wind and snow and hail at intervals right in our faces, to Landrecies, at a distance of nearly six British leagues. Our people were there put into the gaol, and we were allowed the honour of stopping at the Palais National tavern. They were very fair here in their demands. At daylight, on the 22nd, we commenced our route to Avesnes, in the Pays-Bas, where we arrived at about four. They put us all indiscriminately into the town gaol. About five the town major came to speak with us, and obtained us permission to go to a certain inn, which he pointed out, and where we were egregiously imposed on. The men were left in the gaol. The 23rd we had another guard of dragoons, under the command of a sergeant, to escort us to our depot. At about three we arrived at a poor little village called Hirson, where, having no gaol, they billeted both ourselves and the seamen upon the inhabitants. I and my companions were quartered at a collar-maker’s house. The poor people were extremely civil, and provided us with tolerably good beds. We paid them for every necessary with which they supplied us.

The next morning (the 24th) we had to take our leave of the collar-maker and his family, and were put upon our march to the village of Maubert Fontaine, which was by far more poor and miserable than even Hirson. Here we were again billeted upon the inhabitants; and quarters in private houses were so preferable to confinement in a gaol that the difference easily reconciled us to the smallness of the town. The people with whom we were placed were very great impostors, and extorted double prices for everything with which they supplied us.

On the next morning (the 25th), however, we parted from these unfeeling knaves, and were put upon our march to Rocroy, in the Ardennes. The distance was short, and we arrived early; and our people were immediately put into the common gaol. My companions and I exerted all the interest and rhetoric that we could muster to be allowed, as officers, to go to an inn; and the request at last was conceded. Here we rested twenty-four hours, and had the misfortune to find our landlord a most consummate scoundrel, who took advantage of every opportunity—or, rather, made opportunities—both to defraud and insult us. The next morning, at our departure, he presented us with an account of a sum-total or gross amount of his demand, without condescending to specify a single item in detail. We expostulated with him upon the nature of his bill and upon its enormous amount, and wished to know how he could possibly make it so great; for, in fact, we had been particularly economical, as our funds were getting very low. The impostor flatly refused any explanation whatever, but peremptorily insisted upon immediate payment, bestowing upon us insulting and provoking epithets, in numbers and of a character that brought conviction to our minds that he had no ordinary talents for this species of assault and battery. We were obliged to submit to all his furious and disgusting abuse; and, what in our situation was still worse, we were compelled to pay the bill, or rather the no bill, for it was an extortion without a bill. To the great disgrace of the French military character, I must repeat that in no instance did the officer in charge of us protect us from these gross impositions, which were rendered more shameful and cruel from our helpless condition.

The demand being satisfied, and the torrent of abuse digested with as little bile as possible, we took our leave of Rocroy; and, turning our backs upon our host, the dragoons put us upon our march on the road to the little village of Fumez, on the Meuse, so famous for its slate quarries, where we arrived early in the day, and were all of us billeted upon the inhabitants, whom we found extremely civil and obliging.

We were now but one stage from Givet, with its citadel of Charlemont, and at eight o’clock the next morning, the 28th of March, we commenced our last day’s journey.

At three in the afternoon we entered Givet, or Charlemont, our place of destination, and thus did we terminate our distressing march from Brest, a distance, by the dÉtour we had gone, of nearly 700 miles, performed in thirty-nine days, including resting-days, through inclement weather, bad roads, and under every circumstance calculated to destroy life, or to embitter it whilst it lasted.

Givet is a fortified town in the department of Ardennes and bishopric of LiÈge, divided by the Meuse. That portion on the south side of the river is called Little Givet. This town is commanded by a very strong fort and citadel (Charlemont), built upon an immense rock: the fortifications were constructed by Vauban. A communication between Great and Little Givet is kept up by means of a pontoon bridge: the centre boats are placed so as to be hauled out occasionally to admit vessels to pass up and down, which frequently happens. The people appeared very much disposed to be friendly with us; but we were kept so very close and strict that it was impossible to form any acquaintance. Every necessary of life is cheap in this town: their beer is tolerably good. Wine is rather dear, as there are very few vineyards in the neighbourhood.

Our prisoners at the commencement were confined in this place; but when they became numerous they were moved down to the horse-barracks, from a dread, I suppose, of their revolting some day and taking possession of citadel, town, and all. Had they once possession of one, the other would be entirely at their mercy and disposal. During our stay at this depot, four of the seamen escaped from their prison, two of whom belonged to our late frigate. On their being missed the following morning, parties of gendarmes on horseback were despatched by the commandant to search for them in all directions, with strict orders to mutilate, and, in fact, not to bring them back alive; “that it might prove an example” (using his own expression) “to the rest of the prisoners.” However, fortunately for those poor fellows, they escaped their pursuers—at least for that time. They were afterwards taken at Dunkirk as they were about to embark in an open boat. The commandant was also frequently in the habit of riding into the prison-yard, and taking his pistols out of the holsters, examining the priming in order to terrify us. This he did generally in the evening, and the prisoners could not refrain from laughing at such foolish conduct.

Upon our arrival here, we found, as prisoners of war, the crews of the Minerve and the Shannon, frigates that had been commanded by Captains Jahleel Brenton and Gower, who, with their officers, were at Verdun. There were also in confinement a number of English seamen that had been captured in merchant vessels. We were immediately visited by a Mr. Bradshaw, one of Captain Brenton’s clerks, sent here by him, who was permitted to reside in the town, in order that he might act as that officer’s commissary.[8] Mr. Bradshaw introduced me and my companions to Captain Petervin, of the gendarmerie, who was commandant of the prisoners of war. A Jersey man, named Goree, was employed as interpreter, and he explained to Captain Petervin our rank in the English service; but the captain, though unwilling to put us under close imprisonment, seemed at a loss what to do with us, as we had been sent to him as private seamen. He hesitated, and for a long time remained undecided; but at last he consented that we might go to La TÊte de Cerf tavern that night. To La TÊte de Cerf we joyfully proceeded with Mr. Bradshaw, after giving Monsieur le Commandant a thousand thanks for his condescension. We found that we had been sent to a very decent tavern, the first in the town, which convinced us that the captain of the gendarmerie entertained a favourable opinion of the English adjutants. We justified his acuteness by ordering a good dinner. Mr. Bradshaw dined with us, and exhilarated our drooping spirits by assurances that the commandant would be induced to permit us to lodge in the town. We ordered an additional bottle of wine on the strength of this good news, and passed the evening as cheerfully as possible under the recollection of past sufferings, and with the dismal prospect of a long imprisonment, apart from the glorious services which our profession was then rendering to our country.

The next day the commandant received us with the politeness for which his countrymen had at one time been so proverbial. We explained through our interpreter the excessive injustice and cruelty of being sent to the seamen’s depot, and treated differently from our brother officers. He sympathised with us in all we said, assuring us that he would send off a despatch to General Wirion at Verdun (who was commander-in-chief over the British prisoners) and state the case to him. At the same time, he advised us to write to our commanding officer, and promised to have our letter forwarded. He desired us to remain quietly at our tavern, and assured us that he would do everything in his power to alleviate our distresses. We gave him our best thanks, took our leave, and returned to the TÊte de Cerf.

Upon an overhauling of our finances, we had the mortification to find that we could not remain many days at a tavern, not having a farthing allowed us for our subsistence; the fivepence halfpenny per diem ending at the moment we arrived at the depot. Mr. Bradshaw could not render us any pecuniary assistance without Captain Brenton’s permission; consequently our situation was becoming every moment worse and worse. As lodgings, we were informed, were excessively cheap in the town, we concluded that we had better apply to the commandant for leave to hire a couple of rooms, with cooking utensils, etc., than continue any longer as we were. However, we dreaded that he might order us into the barracks with the seamen if we began so early to demand favours. We therefore agreed to be extremely economical and to wait a few days longer. Those days being expired, we made the intended application, and with success. He approved of our plan, and gave us a written permission to walk about the town. This he did entirely upon his own responsibility, and assured us that he relied upon our honour not to go without the limits of the town; adding that if we abused this indulgence we would be severely punished. We declared our intentions were not to cause him the smallest trouble or uneasiness, and we were particular in the observance of our promise.

The same day we hired two rooms at Madame de Garde’s, the widow of a ci-devant general. She provided us with two beds for us four, cooking utensils, and everything necessary for housekeeping, and at a very moderate price. We acquainted Mons. le Commandant of our success, who congratulated us, but, at the same time, appeared sorry that we lodged with this old lady, observing that she was une Jacobine, and of the old school. All persons at this time who were known to be attached to the English were reprobated as Jacobins; and I need not say that we liked the old dame the better for this information, though we took care to disguise our feelings and to conceal the fact. Our mÉnage commenced the following morning. We took the daily cooking and different duties by rotation; but were soon able to get rid of these unpleasant services, for we procured permission for an infirm old man named Allen, who had been our captain’s steward, to live with us as our cook and servant. Our dishes were certainly not very varied or exquisite: soup and bouilli, with vegetables, constituted our daily fare; and even this, we apprehended, would soon be beyond our rapidly decreasing finances.

All April and May had dismally passed and no answers to our letters had been received from Verdun. Our rent was in arrear, and our purses at the point of exhaustion. We solicited Mr. Bradshaw to grant us the sailor’s allowance of a pound of meat each per diem; but even this he could not do without the authority of Captain Brenton. This, however, was received from Verdun by return of post. The pound of meat proved of very material service to the poor adjutants, and they were most thankful to their humane chief, Captain Brenton.

At length arrived the glorious 4th of June, the birthday of our sovereign, George the Third; and for this one day at least were our sufferings forgotten and our sorrows cast to the wind. We were resolved, if possible, to make some demonstration in honour of the day; and at last, low as were our pecuniary circumstances, we did contrive to give a birthday dinner to the commandant and to the paymaster of the depot. From this latter officer, whose name was Payne, we had received many civilities.

The day altogether passed off very agreeably until about sunset, when the time arrived for locking the seamen up in the different wards of the gaol. They now gave three tremendous cheers, which flowed from the heart, in commemoration of the day that gave birth to their gracious sovereign; and, as the last cheer stunned and terrified the astounded Frenchmen, they hauled in the colours of different nations that they had kept all day streaming out of each window, taking care to have the French tri-coloured flag under all, which was never noticed by either commandant or guards. The enthusiastic cheers of nearly a thousand men made a most powerful noise: it was music to our ears as we sat at table, our lodgings being contiguous. The commandant, who was greatly alarmed, imagined that the seamen had revolted and had actually got out of prison: so great was this officer’s hurry that he made but one step from the top of the stairs to the bottom. We had some little trouble in getting him on his legs again, and were greatly rejoiced in finding that he had received no injury from this step, or rather fall—assuring him there was no foundation whatever for his fears. However, he would be convinced in person: he therefore went to the prison, and was rejoiced to find everything perfectly tranquil.

Being returned, he observed that the English were des braves gens, and he would drink another glass of wine in commemoration of King George’s birthday. The national dish, roast beef with plum pudding, which we had made ourselves, was not forgotten upon this occasion. Monsieur liked the well-done or outside part of the former extremely; but the latter neither of our guests would touch for a long time. At last, by dint of persuasion, they condescended to taste it; and so sudden was the transition made upon them by that taste that we had some pains to secure ourselves a part, though it was a pretty sizable pudding. They exclaimed as they gulped it down, “SacrÉ bleu, comme il est bon!”—“Ma foi, oui!” repeated each alternately. We felt highly pleased at the sight, and laughed heartily.

At a late hour, or rather, in regard to the morning, an early one, Messieurs took their leave, evidently in great spirits, and we retired to rest.

Since our arrival at this depot, several of the stoutest and apparently most healthy of our men had died of a fever supposed to have been caught in some of the gaols on the road. Our poor servant, Allen, was seized with it, and expired in a few days. With respect to comforts, our prisoners were badly off; but the French medical officers at Givet were certainly humane and attentive.

In the latter part of June, to our surprise and chagrin, the commandant appeared much altered in his manner towards us. We were unable to imagine what could be the cause of so sudden and total a change. Mr. Bradshaw, however, informed us that he had observed to him, “that the English officers” (as he was kind enough to style us) “were excessively proud.”

“I never meet them,” said he, “but I take my hat off, whilst they only lift theirs to me.”

Certain it is, that, with all mankind, a slight or insult, real or imaginary, intended or casual, produces more rancour than an injury. By the accidental hurry or carelessness of using a wafer instead of sealing-wax to a letter, the Prime Minister of England, at a crisis of the country, for a time lost the support of one of the wealthiest and most influential dukes of the political world.

But our commandant’s anger was not soon appeased. He one night sent a guard of gendarmes to take us from our lodgings to the guard-house, for being in the streets after nine o’clock, when it was scarcely dark at that time of the year, and although we had no regular time prescribed by him to be indoors. In the guard-house we remained, on a cold pavement, all night, at a loss to know of what we had been guilty. Our guards assured us that it was merely the caprice of the commandant. At noon Mr. Bradshaw visited us, but without affording any hopes of release. The commandant had informed him that we were confined for not answering a sentinel on his post who had hailed or challenged us. This we positively denied, as we had not passed a single sentinel that night. Monsieur Brasseur, the second in command, then came to visit us, and expressed great sorrow at seeing us thus confined without any cause. He waited on the commandant, became responsible for our conduct, and had us removed to our lodgings, where we were commanded to confine ourselves until “further orders.”

Our excellent landlady received us with the greatest joy imaginable, bathed us with her tears, and had refreshments ready for us, though she had sent us a very good breakfast to the guard-house, and was herself very poor. In three days we were once more liberated; but henceforth we were always confined whenever a religious procession or public ceremony took place, and which at this particular time was very frequent. Our chief amusement was a game at billiards, and a walk round the ramparts, or rather ruins. We frequently met with military officers at the billiard-table, who always behaved with the strictest politeness, and made us an offer of the table the moment we entered the room, which, of course, we declined until they had finished.

From the commandant’s conduct of late, we were constantly under apprehensions of being closely confined with the sailors: he appeared more inveterate against me than any of the rest. However, about the 10th or 12th of July we received a letter from our commanding officer at Verdun, stating that General Wirion had at last sent an order for Mr. Mahoney and myself to be conducted to the Verdun depot. The commandant received the order by the same post. Mr. Bradshaw had also a letter from Captain Brenton, who had kindly and considerately directed him to supply us with cash to enable us to proceed. All this intelligence arriving at the same time, nearly overwhelmed us with joy; but the two other poor fellows that were to remain—the boatswain and gunner—were not only disconsolate at the inequality of their fate, but full of apprehensions that as soon as we had left them the offended commandant would become both more mean and cruel in his severity.

At last, on the 16th of July, we were to leave Givet for Verdun. Mr. Mahoney had a bad foot, and a cart was therefore provided, in which I had the privilege of riding. Everything was at length settled for our departure, and we had previously been permitted to see our ship’s company—a pleasure of which we had been deprived for some weeks. This scene was sadly interesting, and we left the brave fellows with reciprocal good wishes. We took an affectionate farewell of our two shipmates and of our good landlady, and began our route to Verdun, under the escort of two gendarmes.