My adventures during the late war

by Donat Henchy O'Brien

I was so shocked with this part of the intelligence that I dropped the letter, and proceeded no further, and I hurried to relate the afflicting news to my brother-prisoners. The feelings of indignation it excited were extreme, and though under the absolute power of the enemy, we loudly exclaimed against the barbarity and tyranny of a nation that called itself civilised, and could suffer such a judicial sentence to be passed or executed.

After the first ebullitions of rage and indignation had subsided, one of my friends picked up the letter, and the whole scene was quickly changed; for, on reading further, he found that the sentence of the court had been reversed. Great as was this consolation, it did not alter my feelings towards the chief of the French nation.

The letter went on to inform me that two of our seamen were condemned to the galleys for six years, and that they had actually been sent off to their destination. This I thought was horrible.

I knew both of these unhappy victims. One was an Italian by birth, and the other an Englishman. The former, John Gardner, alias Italian John, I found had been condemned for making out a false passport for the other, one Henry Hudsell, alias Quiz. Hudsell escaped from Bitche, and travelled several leagues with this fictitious passport, before the imposition was discovered. If the reader will only consider the treatment which our prisoners had endured, with no prospect of having an exchange during the war, and that although this said crime may be termed forgery, it was not done to molest or injure any person whatever, but was simply planned to liberate the bearer, I have not the smallest doubt but that he will agree with me in opinion, that it falls very short of deserving a punishment equal to six years, with all denominations of malefactors, in the galleys.

There was an Englishman lately arrived from the galleys, who had served in our army on the Continent, under His Royal Highness the Duke of York; his name, to the best of my recollection, was Barnes. He stated that he, with some others, had been made prisoners by the French, and, by some accident, one of their guards was killed. The whole of the prisoners were accused, and sentenced to twelve or thirteen years’ slavery—I am not confident which; however, he was the only survivor. His time being up, they conducted him to the depot of punishment, still to be considered as a prisoner of war. It surely behoved our government, at the peace of 1814, to direct strict inquiry to be made whether any of our countrymen were still suffering in the galleys!

September, 1808.—I had by this time another plan of escaping in contemplation, and with every hope of success. The arrival of a Mr. Hewson and a Mr. Butterfield, midshipmen (who, in March last, had escaped from Verdun, and had got down to the Gulf of Lyons, in the Mediterranean, where they had been arrested and brought back to Bitche), favoured my plan very much. Mr. Hewson being an intimate friend and very old acquaintance, I communicated to him my plan, and he rejoiced exceedingly at an opportunity so soon offering for another attempt to be off. However, it was necessary to wait some time, as he was placed in the souterrain. In a few days he contrived, owing to real indisposition, to be moved upstairs into a room appointed for the sick. I now only waited for the worthy Hewson; it was necessary to endeavour to get him up into my room—no other prospect was left. He made application by letter to the commandant; and on the 11th of September succeeded. We wanted nothing now but a favourable moment. The next day, Mr. Barklimore, a mutual friend of ours, also received permission to reside in our apartment. This gentleman is at present a surgeon of reputation in Charlotte Street, Bloomsbury. We were, fortunately, only seven in number, in consequence of the other poor fellows being at Metz; and of these seven, three were confined to their beds. The fourth was a Mr. Batley, a dragoon officer of the East India Company’s service, who had been captured in the Bell packet, bound to India. He had been a long time in the room, and informed me that he had conjectured what we were about, and requested to be allowed to join and partake of our danger, which we agreed to. No opportunity of getting past the sentinels yet presented itself. Our friends arrived from Metz, but were put below. I communicated the business to them: they thought it a very dangerous and hazardous plan; however, they would have willingly run the same risk with us, if they could: but that was impossible. On the 12th of September, and the very evening before our meditated attempt to escape from the fortress, the commandant, M. Clement, in passing through the yard in which we were allowed to respire the air, very condescendingly stopped a few minutes to converse with me; when he addressed me by saying, “Well, Monsieur O’Brien, I think now that the Emperor of Austria has joined us, you must relinquish all hopes of escaping, for there is no chance whatever for an Englishman to get off from the Continent.” I replied, “That is very true, Monsieur le Commandant; but if that had not been the case, Monsieur le Commandant, where is the possibility of getting out of this strong fortress, and so well guarded too?” “True,” said he, smiling; “but the attempt has been made more than once, though it has invariably proved unsuccessful, and frequently fatal to some of the party.” He continued by saying, “My opinion is, that if prisoners of war, I mean English, could manage to get out of confinement, their only course would be that towards Flushing or Rotterdam, where they are always pretty certain of finding English smugglers ready to embark them.” I assured Monsieur le Commandant that his remarks were quite correct, and that if I thought there was the slightest chance of escaping from the fort, I would not hesitate to try and do so to-morrow, or as soon as possible. “I believe you truly, Monsieur O’Brien, and I give you credit for your candour,” was his reply; “had you spoken otherwise, I would not have believed you”: and he added with a smile, as he bade me adieu, “you may try and get away if you can, and we shall take care and do all in our power to prevent you.” I could not help thinking this conversation at so critical a moment very extraordinary. However, this opinion of his did not make us alter our intended course for Austria.

It was now the 13th of September, and the third day since my friend Hewson had joined us. The night was very boisterous and inclement, and this we thought proved much in our favour. Everything was got ready. Our rope was tightly wound into a ball and concealed in a pocket-handkerchief. Every moment was anxiously watched and counted. At length darkness set in. It rained in torrents, blew almost a hurricane, the thunder rolled with a tremendous sound, and I scarcely ever witnessed in any part of the globe a more desperate night. All this was so far, we considered, propitious; but, unfortunately, the flashes of lightning were vivid and incessant, and this was a serious source of danger.

We now unlocked our door, and remained at the bottom of the flight of stairs, waiting to see the sentinels go into their boxes. This was about eight o’clock, and four hours did we watch, until midnight, and not a single soul of them left his post. This was the more provoking, for as it poured a deluge of rain, and they were without their greatcoats, we had calculated with certainty upon their requiring and seeking shelter. The reverse was the case, and during the whole time they were as vigilant as if they had suspected our designs.

We at last agreed to return to our apartments until the ensuing night, and to deposit all our apparatus in places we had previously fixed upon for concealment; but, upon second thoughts, we considered that, in all probability, the sentinels that came to relieve the watch at midnight would not be so very hardy or watchful as their predecessors, and that we might yet have an opportunity of putting our scheme into execution. In this expectation or hope we waited, in a state of intense anxiety, until two in the morning; but, to our discomfiture, we found that the sentinels defied the elements, and kept their posts in the strictest sense of duty. Chagrined and vexed, we returned to our apartments, locked the door and went to bed.

The souterrain was opened at the usual hour, and our friends came running up, imagining, from the inclemency of the night, that we must have succeeded in effecting our escape; and greatly were they disappointed at finding us all snug in our beds. I related all the circumstances to them: they shrugged up their shoulders, and expressed their fears that, if we could not get off in such a night as the last, there was little hope of our escaping in fair weather.