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.