On arrival at Bitche they were consigned to the Little Souterrain, only thirty-one steps down and occupied by the better class of prisoners. Our friends soon became habituated to their new quarters, which were less objectionable than they had expected. They were permitted to hire beds, bedding and linen from the town and purchase cooking utensils. Provisions cheap and plentiful were brought for sale at the gate, but all were marched down in turn under escort to do their shopping in the town. They had been deprived of their watches and money on their first arrival, but all valuables were presently restored to them. Trouble came with the warm weather and with it intermittent fever, when the sufferers were almost distracted with the noises around them,—dancing upon the benches, singing, carousing. One of the party, luckily for himself, had friends at court and was removed into a room upstairs, the inmates of which had matured a plan for escape and were on the point of putting it into execution. He was let into the secret, his coöperation accepted and in a few days more he was gone; it was one of the first of the successful escapes made.
CHAPTER X
LATER RECORDS
Perpetual attempts to escape from Bitche—Brutal measures of oppression—Many casualties from accident and murderous assault by guards—Fresh attempt at escape by Captain Ellison and comrades—The majority of the party captured—All taken back to Bitche—Again committed to the cachot, then to the Grosse Tête—They escape through the floor above and descend to the outer ramparts—Painful pilgrimage to the Rhine, which they cross—They land in Baden and finally arrive at the Austrian frontier—They are passed on to Trieste where they take ship for Malta and England—Mr. Boys, a young naval officer, escapes with others from Valenciennes—Returns to the Dutch coast with a sloop of war to assist in bringing off other prisoners still waiting for rescue—Last words about Verdun—Reforms under a new governor of high character—The invasion of the Allies in 1813-14 breaks up the war depots—Prisoners are withdrawn into the interior to be finally released on the abdication of Napoleon.
AS the winter approached, a fresh attempt at escape, this time from Bitche, was undertaken by Mr. Seacombe Ellison and his comrades. After a careful reconnaisance of the lay of the land, it was resolved to break through on the far side of the barracks they occupied. After collecting and secreting the usual materials—gimlets, pick-locks and ropes—they eventually got through a door of communication leading on to the ramparts. It was the 8th of December, a dark night, blowing hard with sleet and snow. The door passed, they descended a flight of stairs into the yard and after cautiously ascertaining that the coast was clear, they crossed to the outer wall, where it overlooked the steep incline leading to the main gate. Their rope was affixed to a heavy stone brought on purpose; it was lowered on the far side, and crowding into the embrasure, the first to descend were on the point of climbing out when a couple of the French soldiers came up to the next embrasure and stood there talking for a time, but they presently disappeared, having discovered nothing. As soon as their backs were turned the drop was made by all, but in such haste that everyone’s hands were terribly lacerated by the rope. It seemed unlikely that any further descent was possible, but when all were lowered and the incline reached, it was seen that the drawbridge was down; all crossed it and proceeded on a dreary journey beset with enemies, the wind howling in their ears, the sleet beating their faces and the blood trickling from their finger ends.
The prisoners now broke up into parties and made for the town, on reaching the outskirts of which they heard the gun announcing their escape. They pressed on by any road that offered until they reached the first wood, where they lay down to rest and await daylight, which came about five o’clock, when they could examine their appearance and the effect of the night’s adventures. The sight beggared description.
“I was the only one,” says Ellison, “who had the use of my fingers, having escaped with merely two large blisters, one on the inside of my fore-finger and the other on the inside of the middle one, both on the right hand: but my companions were in a dreadful state; some of their fingers were stripped to the bone and none of them had a sound finger on either hand. Here was a situation! No plasters, no bandages, no comforts of any sort, save a bladder of brandy that I had secured—exposed to the elements, with no covering but the leafless trees and the canopy of heaven. My task was an arduous one, for I had to do almost everything for them; and began by cutting off the laps of their shirts and binding up their fingers, which I did as well as my materials would permit, having neither needles, nor thread, nor pins, nor anything save the linen to keep the cold from their wounds; in fact, we were starving both within and without. K. had charge of a ham which he was carrying down the wall in his teeth, but unfortunately he lost it and we found ourselves with only a piece of a loaf and the brandy. I had a new pair of shoes and a pair of warm stockings in my pockets, which I put on, expecting that they would have warmed my feet; but in that I was sadly deceived, for they became much colder afterwards than they were before and were so benumbed that I was almost uncertain during the whole day whether I had any feet at all. I never since suffered anything like it however wet or cold the weather. In the middle of the day the sun came out, which by melting the snow on the trees over our heads did not add to our comfort.
“At the edge of dark, when we were about quitting our retreat, a curious scene took place. Some of us found great difficulty in rising we were so benumbed; we stretched out first one limb and then another, until we were able to set our bodies in motion, and after we had so done, it was some time before the circulation of the blood was restored. Leaving the wood, we saw a cottage, and hunger being importunate we went up to it. A man was standing at the door, who told us he had nothing for himself but potatoes. We asked him the road to Strasburg, which he pointed out and telling us we had chosen bad weather for our journey, bade us good night. The road we were on was bad—in many places knee deep in mud—poor K. often crying out, ‘O Ellison, put up my shoe heel;’ and I exerting my patience as often put it up; until at last I inadvertently used one of my wounded fingers which tore off the blister, and then I could not help showing some of the infirmity of my disposition. We passed a number of foundries, which illuminated our way; and about eleven o’clock came to the small town of Niederbrun which we at first took for a straggling village. While considering how to proceed one of our companions was suddenly seized with violent pain and lay motionless in the middle of the road. What was to be done? If we left him there the consequence would have been certain death; for it had then begun to freeze. It was agreed that two of us should go into the town to reconnoitre. Dacres and I volunteered and found all quiet; returning, we went up to a window in which was a light and where we saw a tailor at work; he came to us, but not understanding a word of French and we not much of his provincial dialect, we were not able to obtain any information. He pointed out to us a wine house. ‘Are there any gensdarmes?’ we asked. ‘Nicht the gensdarmes, nichts the gensdarmes,’ was his reply. We bade him good night but staid a little to watch his motions.
“After seeing him resume his work, we returned and found our companion something better. We promised if he would exert himself we would stop at the first lonely wine house we came to. He arose; and when we arrived opposite the house which the tailor had shown us we held a consultation if it would be safe to enter and concluded it would not. After walking about two miles farther we came to a solitary house and seeing a light still burning, went in and found the landlord a civil fellow, understanding French. He asked no questions, and at our request brought us some supper. When he observed me cutting the meat for the others, he asked, ‘What is the matter with your hands?’ We answered that we were conscripts, escaped from one of the Flemish fortresses and had maimed them descending the walls. Although we were nearly famished when we entered the house, the heat of the stove made the room so oppressively hot that it turned us all sick and destroyed our appetites. He was sorry for our situation and told us we were seven leagues from the Rhine. This surprised us, to find that after walking a night and a half we had only shortened our distance nine miles. He directed us to a neighbouring village, where, he said, we were sure to find a faithful guide. Seeing that he took such an interest in our welfare, we asked if he could not provide us one. He replied, ‘There is one belonging to the village; I will go and see if he be at home.’ He soon returned with a smart looking young man who said if we would walk at a quick pace he would have us across the Rhine before daylight. After making a bargain with him and paying our worthy landlord, we started. The idea of being so soon out of Napoleon’s grasp inspired us all with renewed vigour, especially the invalid, and we marched with spirit. In a short time we passed round the ramparts of Haguenau. Our guide then left the road, going through woods and across marshes. The moon now rose beautifully bright and the frost had been so intense that we walked, where the water was shallow, over the ice. Occasionally I served out a little brandy, and although heated with walking my hands became so benumbed during the operation that I could scarcely tie the bladder up again. Proceeding onward we came to a small rivulet where K., miscalculating the width and losing sight of the French proverb, ‘Il faut retirer pour mieux sortir,’ made a spring and reached the opposite side; but the weight of his body being behind the perpendicular of his heels he could not keep his standing and leaped backwards up to the middle in water. He was soon in a dreadful state, his wounded hands smarting with cold and his pantaloons frozen stiff as boards.
“As the day approached, the sky became overcast; a cold easterly wind sprung up, and we felt as if it went straight through us; our guide discovered that he had missed his way; and the bleak dreary scene around us was altogether dispiriting. There was no wood in sight; and if there had been the cold was so intense that we could not have borne it. At a little distance was a village upon approaching which we came to a barn where two men were thrashing by candle light. We offered them a crown each, and they promised to conceal us until night. Then mounting upon the straw we covered ourselves all over and regained some little heat. Our guide became troublesome, wanting his pay. We told him he had not fulfilled his contract and therefore ought not to expect it. Finding we could not pacify him we promised to double the sum as soon as he should put us into a boat. With this he appeared contented and we lay unmolested until about half-past three, when we were discovered by a man and a woman who caught hold of us and said we were thieves. We replied that we were honest men. ‘Then,’ said they, ‘you shall not be molested; therefore make no resistance; it will be in vain as the whole village is aroused. Come with us into the adjoining house.’ We did so and there found the mayor and a posse of villagers. We went to the opposite side of the room and had no sooner faced about than the good woman pointed with her finger to another door. We took the hint and bolted.
“They chased us for a little distance, but we soon lost sight of our pursuers. A little before dark we entered a wood which our fear caused us to penetrate so far that we had great difficulty to find our way out again. I had run with my shoes in my hand by which means I bruised one of my feet and scratched the ankle, which afterwards laid me up. Having regained the road, almost famishing for lack of food and perishing with cold, we proceeded at the best pace we were able and had not gone far ere we found ourselves so close to a man on horseback that we could not escape him. He passed us a few yards and returning, entered into conversation. K., seeing that he was armed, went up to him and said, ‘You are a gendarme.’ ‘No,’ said the man, ‘I am not; I am a douanier,’ (custom-house officer). K. said, ‘I do not believe it; you are a gendarme and I will tell you plainly that we are Englishmen and if you attempt to obstruct or betray us we will murder you.’ The man again protested he was a douanier. ‘Then, can you get us across the Rhine?’ we asked. ‘Yes, if you will remunerate me according to the risk, for I am,’ said he, ‘a poor man, with a wife and a large family and a little ready money will be a great help.’ ‘What is your demand?’ ‘Fifteen louis.’ ‘That is too much, we will give you ten.’ ‘I will not undertake the business for anything less, seeing I run the risk of losing my situation, and being sent to the army. Give me only my price and I will brave the danger and have you over in half an hour.’ The man acted his part so well and made so hard a bargain that we began to waver. The proposal was almost irresistible in our painful state; we therefore held a parley and put it to the vote, when K., Dacres and B. were for it; and away they marched alongside of the man, some of them with their hands upon the horse. In a little time we crossed a bridge and coming to a house near it the fellow called out, ‘Tuez-moi ces coquins-ci’ (kill me these rascals)—and drawing his sword, made a cut at K. Then from behind the house started out twenty or thirty armed men, some mounted, some on foot, and told us to surrender.