On my way to the gaol I reflected on the horrors of being thrown into prison, perhaps cast into a dungeon amongst malefactors of every denomination, and the certainty, in a few days, of being discovered. I also imagined they might treat me with more kindness if I acknowledged who I was. I therefore, after much of conflicting calculations, desired the chief of my escort to conduct me back to the commandant, which he did. I then told them frankly who and what I was, and how I had escaped. He said he thought I was an Englishman; and brought a list of the description of prisoners of war, which he had lately received from France, and pointed out my name before I mentioned it. He asked me where my comrades were. I now discovered that this description had been drawn up on our first escape from Verdun. I assured him I could not tell where they were—perhaps in England; I had parted with them the first day. I was anxious to know what other signalements he had? He desired me not to be inquisitive; said I should be better used now, but must be confined in the common town prison, where, in a few minutes, I was safely deposited, and all hopes of liberty were at an end, at least for the present;[19] for so strong was the love of liberty, so energetic the desire of free action within me, that, even under this overwhelming flood of baffled efforts, of detection, exposure, and punishment, my mind would whisper to me that I might yet have another chance of escape—a chance I was resolved to take advantage of at all possible hazards.
CHAPTER XI
A fresh incarceration—Stripping a prisoner naked a more effectual detainer than chains and padlocks—Hopes of escape prove delusive—Gaol surgery and gaol diet—A timely loan of books—A short visit from a Swiss captive—Orders to prepare for a return to France—A heavy chain and huge padlock—The mob at Lindau—Leave-taking between a prisoner and the gaoler and gaoler’s wife—The road to France—Going to bed in chains—Strict watchings—Chances of a rescue—Anticipations of the horrors of Bitche—Commiseration of my guards—Crossing the bridge of Kehl—A surrender to the French gendarmes—Captivity in the military gaol of Strasbourg—A kind gaoler and as kind a wife—His gratitude for English kindness when a prisoner of war—Examined by the police—Affectionate leave-taking of the honest gaoler and his wife—On the road to Bitche, heavily chained to eleven Corsicans going to suffer military execution—The horrible dungeon of Niederbronn—A revolting night’s confinement—Dreadful sufferings of two of the Corsican soldiers—Distant prospects of Bitche—Anticipations of a cruel confinement—Arrival at the fortress.
It was on a dreary Sunday night, the 29th of November (1807), that I was led into this gaol. The gaoler and his keepers placed me in a tolerably decent, well-furnished apartment, with a bed, stove, table, and chair. This was ample for the accommodation of unsophisticated man, but external conveniences are not a substitute for the cravings of hunger. I therefore pointed out to my keepers the exhausted state of my body, and begged that I might have some refreshment, however humble or however small. This they granted; but they previously searched me—stripped me—took away the whole of my clothes, with all that my pockets contained—which consisted, however, of nothing but a knife, a razor, and a few pieces of silver. They assured me that all my property should be returned to me at a proper time. But I entreated them to leave me at least my pantaloons. With this they at length complied. With respect to my shirt, as the collar and ragged sleeves were all that remained, I was indifferent to the comfort of preserving it.
I expostulated with my persecutors, and begged to know the reason of such cruel treatment. They surlily replied that it was the custom of their country, and that they would take care to prevent my getting away again. “People who had a great talent for getting out of gaols ought to be treated accordingly,” they said, and they added that they would prevent my escaping from their clutches. Saying this, the morose brutes swung-to the massy door, and my ears were greeted with the noise of locks, bars, bolts, and my eyes with the prospect of chains, that seemed heavy enough to secure the bodies of a regiment or an army.
In this state of nudity and solitude I began, with inexpressible grief and bitter affliction, to meditate upon my unfortunate destiny. At length a thought flashed upon my mind. Although my cell in its masonry seemed as strong as the bomb-proof casemate of a fortress, and my ears had informed me of the massive strength of the door and its ponderous securities and fastenings, yet it struck me that there might be some point of weakness of which I might avail myself to effect my escape. I even inferred, from their taking away my clothes, in order to prevent my escape, that they were conscious that the gaol was weak in some point or other. In this pleasant delusion I waited with anxiety till daylight, that I might make all the observations in my power, and I felt determined to be off on the following night, even if I should be stark naked afterwards.
Except when these hopes and frail calculations passed my mind, I was a prey to the most cruel torments. I never slept—I merely slumbered; and in those brief slumbers I was dreadfully agitated. At one time I was seized with the idea that all my late companions were safe, and that I was the only unfortunate wretch of the party that was doomed to suffer. In another paroxysm I was tormented with the thoughts of the ease with which I could have avoided the fatal gateway, had I been aware that I was on the road that passed it. With what bitterness did I reproach myself for want of circumspection: in short, I found myself in a state of distraction. I endeavoured to tranquillise my mind with the hope of being able to get out of my present prison, or, at all events, of escaping from my guards on our march back into France; I had already got away from the most strict guards in the universe, the French gendarmerie. These ideas proved to be a kind of salutary balsam to my tortured bosom. But I found myself excessively cold during the night. A severe frost and snow had set in; and at this season of the year I could not expect it to be otherwise.
In the morning, at an early hour, an old lady (the gaoler’s wife) presented me with a cup of coffee, which I eagerly swallowed. The poor woman felt very much for my distressed situation, and actually shed tears. I begged she would provide me with materials for writing a letter to the commandant; her husband brought me them, and I remonstrated with the Cerberus on his cruelty in having me stripped of my clothes in a gaol (which, to my grief, I now discovered to be too secure), when he could have no idea of my being able to get away from it. I begged, at least, to have a neck-handkerchief and cap returned to me, and desired he would order the money I had been deprived of to be laid out in purchasing a coarse shirt and pair of stockings, which I very much wanted. I also requested I might be allowed one of the military surgeons to dress my feet, that were still in a very bad state. All these demands he had the kindness to grant. The secretary came and informed me that I should be detained until they received orders from the Government at Ulm,[20] which would be in about twelve days. He expressed great sorrow for my misfortunes, and retired. Great consolation was this to a poor devil without clothes!
At length the surgeon came, and humanely dressed my sores; and he expressed his astonishment at how I could have travelled with my feet in so sad a condition. When I looked at their lacerated state my astonishment was not less than his; nor was that astonishment lessened by the extreme pain that they now gave me. I was amazed at how I could have walked such an immense distance with feet so swollen and so cut to pieces.
After the surgeon had quitted me, I went to bed, and I felt a little more calm in spirit; but vain were all my efforts to close my eyes. Pain would keep me awake, and busy thought, cheerless of the past, and hopeless of the future, would crowd into my restless mind.