Every Man Will Do His Duty (51 page)

I had not been too prompt in thus installing myself. The door was opened presently and perhaps a dozen men entered. They gabbled away as only Frenchmen can, and then they made an attack upon the faggots. The pile was pretty thick or I should have suffered more than once from the points of their swords, which they thrust in here and there. One active gentleman got a well-pointed stake which he propelled through the heap, and it hit the wall disagreeably close to where I lay doubled. This apparently satisfied him, as he exclaimed in French, “He is not there,” Despite the critical aspect of affairs I could not help remarking in my mind, “What a lie.”

I was immensely relieved when the sound of their voices and footsteps assured me of their retreat; but the relief was not permanent. They came back even in stronger numbers than before, and began a fresh inquisition upon the faggots. Fortune certainly favoured me under these ordeals, or I should have, beyond a doubt, been pinked most uncomfortably. Again I rejoiced to hear sounds of their departure. Only one remained, and then, whilst I was speculating on his motives for lagging, all my new-born hopes were scattered beyond redemption by hearing him declare that if I was anywhere in the house I was in the faggots, and he would not go until he had searched every bundle. Confound your perseverance I almost said, as the abominable old foe began to carry out his promise. I have already alluded to the cap I wore. When the gendarme had taken away most of the faggots, and had left relatively a few sticks between us, his eye suddenly caught the glitter of the gold tassel. It was all up with me: he tore down the topmost faggot and revealed your humble servant, with anything but an easy assurance displayed on his countenance.

“Ah vous
…” he cried; for the particular expression denoted by a blank there is an authority in one of Sterne’s narratives which may or may not be familiar to my reader. In reply to this salutation I crawled out, and submitted myself a third time a reluctant captive. An investigation at the bureau, of course, impended, and I was presented formally to the authorities as a fugitive prisoner. Captain F. W. Fane of the English Navy was then awaiting his papers of permission to return to England. He had commanded the
Cambrian,
and now the fact that he had treated some French prisoners with great kindness having come to the knowledge of the emperor, the latter had ordered his release, and he was now on the point of leaving the French
country for his own. He witnessed my introduction and the company in which it was made. I made known the details of my case to him, whereupon he promised to inform a personal friend of mine at the Admiralty of my position. I am sorry to relate that he forgot to redeem this pledge. All remembrance of the poor lieutenant whom he had left in bondage in a foreign land became dissipated in the excitement and joy of recovering his own release.

The French general examined me himself, and was anxious to ascertain how I had descended the wall of the convent. “By my hands,” I replied. This assertion he could not believe, of course, as my hands bore no marks of the friction usually sustained in such undertakings. A great many other questions were applied, to most of which I answered evasively. At the termination of these I felt dry and parched, and asked for a glass of water. I was refused somewhat abruptly, and the general turned to the gendarme, directing him in almost the same tone of voice to take me to his—the general’s—wife, and bid her give me the best bottle of wine in his cellar. I asked for my parole, promising that if I received it I should respect it; but this he explained was out of his powers to grant.

In the course of this process a tin case was brought into the room, which invested me with anything but favourable anticipations; for Whitehurst had repeatedly terrified me with the prospect of compulsory confession elicited by those means which, of all things, I most dreaded—namely, the thumb-screws. However, there was nothing to terrible as this in store. I was merely handcuffed and led away along the ramparts of the town to the Porte Chaussée—a prison situated over the gates of the town.

1811–1812

On arrival at my new prison I found there were three occupants, one of them being a music-master. I suspected one of the other two of being a spy, but he called himself a captain in the English Army, an old joke even in those days. Nevertheless it was largely due to the kind assistance of this friend, whom I was now misjudging, that I was enabled subsequently to make good my escape from France, as will be explained later. The third occupant was a lieutenant in the East Indian Service, and bore a despicable character. This much for my associates—so far I stuck to the music-master. While at Porte Chaussée I became acquainted with a military lieutenant outside, named George Beamish, who tendered me his good offices in attempting to escape. He visited me frequently, always bringing with him
a piece of line. I was to let him know when I was prepared for action, and began my designs at once. In the planks above our heads I detected an unsound corner, and by standing on the shoulder of a companion, who in his turn was elevated upon the bed, I established a hole there one evening through which I squeezed and then fastened the line to the parapet. This having been accomplished, I went back to help the others. It was then understood that each should wait until the others had ascended, and then slip down the parapet in order. I first assisted up the East Indian and then the “military captain,” who, being stout and awkward, made a great noise getting through the hole. This scared the East Indian, who, in complete defiance of the previous arrangement, rushed to the rope and let himself down into the embrace of a gendarme. The stout party, ignorant of his companion’s mishap, quickly emulated his example, but not being an expert in the art of gymnastics, he let the rope slide through his fingers and fell heavily to the ground, breaking his thigh in the fall.

The gendarmes were now gathered round the spot, and in the confusion the East Indian seized a favourable opportunity and eluded his captor, getting clear away to the appointed place where Beamish was expecting us, from whom he derived the benefit intended for me. Seeing the game up, I made for the room again and was snug under the bedclothes when the jailor opened the door. Appearances are deceptive. So thought the jailor, I presume, for he approached the bed and drew off the sheets, of course discovering me habited for a journey. “Ah,” he exclaimed, “I knew you had a hand in it; I was sure that nobody thought of breaking out unless you put it into their heads.”

This little affair brought the lieutenant of the gendarmes down about the middle of the night, perhaps called from the enjoyment of a pleasant party, as he was in anything but a mild humour. I was the main object of his strictures, and he spared no pains to convince me of his displeasure. He said, “You have given us all a great deal of trouble, Mr Jackson; I have already doubled the sentries on your account, and now I must add fresh precautions. I have therefore given them strict injunctions, should you repeat to-night’s experiment, to fire at you without hesitation, and I leave it entirely at the discretion of the jailor to place you or not in the black hole.”

“And I, sir,” I retorted, “beg to inform you that I have not had my parole, and despite all your threats I am determined to escape if I can—whether your sentries fire or not.”

The jailor didn’t presume upon his authority, but allowed me to go quickly to bed. The only penalty I suffered after all was being called upon to pay for the damage done to the rotten planks. A fresh accession to our small
circle in the prison of Porte Chaussée was soon made by new-comers in two relays. On arrival of the second batch we were put under orders for Bitche
⁶
.

This intelligence instilled fresh energy into me, and after dinner, on the day when it was received, I stood up and addressed them in my room as follows—they were six in number: “Gentlemen, we are all of us bound for Bitche; there is a prospect of escape if you like to take advantage of it.” A man named L’Estrange
⁷
, a lieutenant of the 71st Foot, immediately exclaimed, “I will,” I then requested the music-master to play on the piano which one of the prisoners was allowed to keep in the room, and to select the loudest piece he could choose. All hands then proceeded at my instigation to make a rope out of the sheets. It was rapidly done, and each wound a portion of it round his body beneath his clothes.

The prisoners in the adjoining room were indulging in a somewhat boisterous mirth, and so between them and the piano, upon which our friend was doing most laudable execution, we had plenty of noise.

The rope disposed of, we rang for the jailor and supplied him with the usual reason for allowing us to leave the room. We gained by this means access into the next compartment, where I had previously scented out another spot in the planks above; and we would be left here until we chose to summon the jailor to reconduct us to our own quarters, not so conveniently appointed. I arrested the conviviality for a moment to introduce the subject in contemplation, and it was gladly accepted
nem. con.
I then begged them to continue their jollification, and to sing and shout as if nothing was in the wind.

To prevent surprise I asked a doctor who was present, a very timid man, to watch the gratings in the door, and when the jailor or his wife approached to pop out his head and call for a jug of beer. This post he accepted, and I set to. The plank was started in a few minutes, and I was shoving away with all my heart, when I heard sundry smothered remarks on all sides, such as “Hush, hush, Jackson.” I, not dreaming of danger, merely turned my head for a moment, when lo, the poor cowardly doctor had bolted, and the jailor’s wife was calmly watching my proceedings from the deserted gratings. Down I dropped like a stone from my eminence, and tried hard to look unconcerned, with very lame results I am afraid. The jailor came and restored us to our proper places, and the question arose what should be done with the ten ropes and how account for the missing sheets, as we were to start in the morning.

The ropes were ultimately packed into two of the midshipmen’s bags, and I undertook to manage about the sheets.

The jailor took his inventory before we left, and I explained that the sheets had been sent on an emergency to the washerwoman, but as it was not probable she would return them when she knew of our departure, I honourably offered to pay for them. This honest conduct on my part raised me considerably in the estimation of the jailor, who was perfectly contented with the arrangement and took quite an affecting leave of me.

A new system was adopted for our security on the road in the march now impending, and one not at all favourable to our ideas of pleasant locomotion. We were handcuffed in pairs, and a long chain run through all the irons—thus ensuring close quarters to all. Some of the handcuffs were small and exceedingly painful. Mine were of this character, and I suffered severely.

Our journey to Bitche was accomplished in seven days. The aspect of the place was not inviting. The prison has been described as like a ship bottom upwards in a saucer. Our new quarters were good enough, considering all things. We were packed sixteen into one room with three beds, under which the fuel was stocked. During the first night a midshipman
named H. Leworthy, a tall powerful young fellow, possessing also good qualities of mind as well as of body, was my bedfellow. When he awoke in the morning he began to attack me, saying, “Hallo, Jackson, have you been bunging up my eyes in your sleep? What on earth is wrong with my face?” A general cry of “bugs” was now raised. Every one was more or less affected by their visitation except me. This time, marvellous to say, for I was generally marked out as a signal victim to misfortune, I had unwittingly defied the enemy. How it was I can’t explain, because poor Leworthy was a mass of bites, and unable to see for them. We had been expecting this evil sooner or later as a sort of necessary sequence to our vermin troubles.

After an interval we were better accommodated. I had a room to myself and belonged to a mess of eight persons, all of whom were tacitly resolved to make our connections as pleasant as possible. We were divided from the other half of our fellow-prisoners by mutual consent, on account of a quarrel which had arisen between us and a man named C, who had played me a dirty trick soon after our arrival at the prison. It was the habit of those who could afford it to hire furniture from some dealer in the town, to replace that supplied by the authorities; and I sent for what articles I required as soon as a room had been placed at my service. Amongst the things was a French bedstead, and on its way to my quarters it was levied upon by Mr. C for his own use, and in spite of all representation he persisted in keeping possession of it. When this came to my ears I accused him of committing a mean, ungentlemanly action; and this caused no small indignation to himself and his friends. Upon this disagreement we split ourselves into different communities.

Some merchant captains, several midshipmen, an elderly gentleman—a
détenu
—named Throgmorton, a Mr Melville and myself constituted our mess.

Almost from the moment of our entrance I commenced to prepare for my escape. Economy was my first consideration, and in pursuit of it I made every sacrifice consistent with propriety. I wore the coarsest and commonest things and purchased nothing I could by reasonable means do without. My prison allowance was fifty francs a month, £2, Is. 8d., and upon this I managed to live, independently of my English pay which it was my object to save for an emergency. In drawing my quarterly bill I almost lost one-third of it in the exchange, which was, however, refunded to me eventually by the English government.

Our occupations and amusements at Bitche were limited to those of the most primitive nature. No gambling was tolerated amongst us; our principal recreations were out of doors, where we practised athletic and other games such as lay in our power to promote.

Bitche had been used as a prison for the lower class of English prisoners, but most of them had been removed before we had been sent there, and only sufficient left to perform the duties of servants. These were placed in the
souterraines,
where they reigned supreme and legislated for their community upon principles of their own, administering reward and punishment to all who deserved one or the other—but woe betide the offender whoever and whatever he might be. He was allowed no money, and was kicked, cuffed, or tossed in the blanket as the contingency required. The latter system of retribution was that most frequently adopted and most dreaded. The rank of a man was of no avail as soon as he appeared in the
souterraines,
and if any one with a voice amongst the men owed the visitor a grudge, master or no master, the latter was sure to pay the penalty. A man named Spillier was the presiding genius of this place, and to him were referred all questions of arbitration. When any remarkable act of justice was on the eve of consummation, he usually apprised me of the event. And if I felt inclined, as I am sorry to say I always was, to witness the spectacle, I repaired forthwith to the scene under his convoy. There was a lieutenant at Bitche who was an especial object of aversion to the underground community, and they never were so anxious to get a man into their power as they were to catch him. He was of an exclusive overbearing disposition, and in some way or other had raised their ire; but he was far too knowing to trespass on their limits, and so avoided their vengeance.