My adventures during the late war

by Donat Henchy O'Brien

I inquired of my companions if they were never permitted to breathe fresh air; and, to my sorrow, they replied that as yet they had never enjoyed that indulgence. It appeared to me an impossibility to exist many days in such a place without it. I told my fellow-sufferers that I thought it would be advisable to solicit the indulgence by a joint letter to the commandant, stating our situation—at the same time requesting immediate death, if it were his intention to deprive us of health, and so cause us to linger away, and terminate a miserable existence by degrees.

This application had the desired effect, and we were allowed to breathe the air every day, between the hours of eleven and one. On this the first day, whilst respiring the air, which proved to us a relief beyond expression, I was informed by one of the gendarmes, that on the day after I had escaped, their commanding officer had issued strict orders to the men of his corps, who had been despatched to scour the woods and the country in search of me, that, in the event of their finding me, they were to scar and disfigure me with their sabres au front et au visage, and to mutilate me in such a manner as would prove an example to deter, in future, any British prisoner of war from attempting to escape. This circumstance I heard frequently repeated afterwards by others of the same corps.

Upon my putting the question to them, whether, in the event of falling in with me, they would have actually put in execution those injunctions, some made an evasive reply and hesitated; while others, more candid, acknowledged that they would have been obliged to obey their orders à la lettre,—and that, of course, they would have been directed to state, in justification of such conduct, that they had no alternative, as I would not surrender, but resisted most desperately. No entreaty whatever could procure us any more cleanliness. We were literally worse off than pigs or dogs.

We now again began to devise and meditate upon plans for escaping. One proposed undermining the dungeon. I saw no prospect whatever of succeeding in this point. I, however, was willing to try every means to regain my liberty. Hammers and chisels with great difficulty were procured, and we carried them always about us, as the dungeon was ransacked every day in our absence. We hung an old coat up against that part of the rock which we intended to begin upon. Rope was necessary to descend the ramparts after we had got out of the dungeon; we accordingly, through some friends, who had obtained permission to come and see us, contrived to purchase some stout linen for shirts (which we really much wanted), and from the shoemakers amongst the prisoners we got, now and then, a ball of twine. We procured needles, bees’-wax, etc., by degrees, and made a rope of four or five fathoms for each, which we marled with the remainder of the twine, and passed tight round our bodies underneath the shirt. Our working time commenced immediately on being locked up after breathing the fresh air. Night would not do, as it would be necessary to have candle-light, and we might have been seen through the bars by our sentinels.

The undermining business was found impracticable, and was consequently dropped. Having a rope, we flattered ourselves we might, some day whilst allowed to breathe the fresh air, be able to elude the vigilance of the sentinels and scale the walls. However, this proved to be a plan so difficult to accomplish that it was abandoned, and our only hope was that we might have an opportunity of using the rope when we should be liberated from our present dungeon and placed in another souterrain or apartment of the fortress.

Christmas night came, but without either Christmas cheer, etc., or cheerfulness. We were reflecting upon our miseries without anything to soothe them. The tune of “Oh, the roast beef of Old England!” would occur to us, and visionary plum-puddings and rich sirloins would torment the imagination. All the hospitality, mirth, and good-heartedness that are displayed in our native isles on this festivity were vividly before us in recollections. “Nessun maggior dolor che ricordarsi del tempo felice nella miseria,” was now fully verified. Intense thought and intense feelings overcame the frame, and I at length fell into a profound sleep. In a short time I was suddenly roused by my friends and violently dragged into a corner of my cell. Upon my inquiring what this meant, I was informed that the sentinel had burnt priming through the bars at Mr. Worth, and had snapped his musket again before I was apprised of it; if it had gone off, the ball must have passed through my body, as I was point-blank opposite the bars. The fellow had desired Mr. Worth to put his candle out, and he had refused, upon which the unfeeling wretch (perhaps intoxicated), without saying a word more, had twice snapped his piece at him—a summary method of enforcing orders. We soon placed ourselves where he could not hit us, even if his musket should go off. The candle was still burning, and this fiery though non-firing sentinel was obliged to turn suppliant, and to beg us to put it out. All the time of his supplication he kept his piece levelled at the candle. We had had an abundance of experience with reference to the character of such rascals, and carefully kept out of his way. At midnight he was relieved, and we made known his conduct to the corporal of the guard, who rebuked him severely, and gave us permission to keep our candle burning. What was the harm? We could hatch no treasons, and contrive no stratagems, by a rushlight; nor were we in danger of setting fire to a damp, vaulted, stone dungeon.

This fellow’s conduct, however, had been so outrageous that we determined to report him to the commandant the next day, and we endeavoured to compose ourselves for the remainder of the night, thanking Providence that, by his musket missing fire, we had escaped his murderous intentions.

Accordingly, during the time we were out, I made what had happened known to the maréchal de logis, Monsieur Mitchell, who was second in command. I pointed out to him the inhumanity of this wretch, in endeavouring to deprive poor prisoners of war of their lives, who had been placed already in the most horrible state imaginable, for having an inch of candle burning on Christmas night. He replied with a vast deal of sangfroid, “But his piece did not go off; none of you were hurt; and where is the use of taking any more notice of it?”

23rd January 1808.—We were, at length, conducted from the dungeon to a miserable hole under ground, to which I descended by thirty steep stone steps, where Messrs. Tuthill and Ashworth, with fifty of our countrymen, were already buried alive. Here I remained, planning and scheming everything possible to effect my escape, but in vain. I, however, wore the rope constantly round me; yet the guards were so watchful that I had very little hopes of ever being able to make the intended use of it.

This continued during the months of February, March, April, May, and June; at the expiration of which the commandant had the kindness to allow me to go up into a small room, where there were already twelve more. This indulgence, he had the courtesy to say, was in consequence of my good conduct. Messrs. Tuthill, Ashworth, and Brine were of the number. The latter wore his rope as I did, and was the only person of the party, then in the room, who knew I had one. We became daily more intimate from this confidence in each other; and after a vast number of fruitless endeavours, on the 17th of July 1808 the term of our slavery appeared to be drawing to a conclusion: I was on that day told in confidence by one of the seamen—a young Irishman, whose name I forget—that a party had thoughts of breaking out that night from the souterrain; that he was one of them; and he informed me who the rest were. I began to regret having ever left the cave. However, I imagined there was a probability of getting down to them for the night. I accordingly waited upon the heads of this party during their time for breathing the air, and, without intimating my motives, I requested that they would allow me to visit them in the cave, or souterrain, that evening. They stared, and the oddness of the request made them suspect that I had a knowledge of their designs. Knowing their complete confidence in me, I did not hesitate to tell them the truth. With everything complimentary in their opinions of me, they still refused to comply with my request; for they assured me that they could not deviate from their fixed plan, and that was, that none of those upstairs were to be admitted below. The motive of this was a dread to excite suspicion, for it was necessary to obtain permission from the maréchal de logis for us to go to the lower cell, and even asking it might put the authorities on the qui vive. Greatly did I feel mortified at my exclusion from the enterprise. At the usual hour, six in the evening, they were made to descend, in order to be locked up, but as they went below I told them that I did not despair of joining them that evening. After their doors had been locked, I had observed that it was the habit of the maréchal de logis to quit the fortress for some time, and this night I anxiously watched his departure. At about half-past six I saw him go out; at seven it was our turn to be locked up. The interval was to me momentous—no time was to be lost. Never was I in a greater state of anxiety. At last I went boldly up to the gendarme on guard, whose name was Buché, and told him that I had been invited to celebrate the anniversary of an old friend’s birth-night in the souterrain, and that he would oblige me greatly by allowing me to descend. He hesitated. “Nay, my kind Monsieur Buché,” I said most civilly, “what apprehensions can you possibly be under? Am I not by far more secure in the souterrain than in the cell upstairs?” This well-timed observation satisfied him, and I received his permission to descend.