‘The French at Forton continue extremely restless and turbulent, and cannot bear their captivity with moderation and temper though they are exceedingly well supplied with provisions and every necessity their situation requires. A sailor made a desperate attempt to disarm a sentinel through the bar of the compartment where he was confined. The sentry with great exertion disengaged himself, and fired at the offender, but wounded unfortunately another prisoner, not the aggressor. Friday se’nnight, the guard discovered a plot by which several prisoners had planned an escape over the wall by tying together their hammocks and blankets. The sentry on duty fired in at the windows, and hit one of the rioters, who is since dead.
‘Three French prisoners were dangerously wounded while endeavouring to escape from Forton. One of them with a drawn knife rushed upon the guard, a private of the Anglesea Militia, who fired at him. The Frenchman seized him by the coat, whereupon the guard ran the offender through the body.’
General Hyde, the Commandant at Portsmouth, ordered, in consequence of the insubordination fomented by the French political excitement of the time, that no prisoners should be allowed to wear the national cockade, or to scribble seditious statements on the prison walls, or to play any national music, under penalty of the cachot. It is almost unnecessary to say that the enforcement of these orders was physically impossible.
In 1794 an epidemic at Forton caused the deaths of 200 prisoners in one month.
In 1806 the great amount of sickness at Forton brought about an official inquiry, the result of which was the superseding of the head surgeon.
In 1807, a fire broke out one day in the prison at 2 p.m., which continued until 9 a.m. The prisoners behaved very well, helping to put the fire out, and not attempting to escape.
In November, 1810, no less than 800 prisoners were on the sick list.
In 1811, Sous-lieutenant Doisy de Villargennes, of the 26th French line regiment, arrived at Portsmouth, a prisoner of war, taken after Fuentes d’Oñoro, and was allowed to be on parole ashore pending his dispatch to an inland parole town. He knew that his foster-brother was in prison at Forton, and got leave to visit him. I am particularly glad to give the testimony of a French prisoner of war to the improved state of affairs—at Forton, at any rate. He says:
‘Il y régnait l’ordre le plus parfait, sous un règlement sévère mais humain. Nous n’entendîmes pas de sanglots de désespoir, nous ne vîmes point la tristesse dans les yeux des habitants, mais de tous côtés, au contraire, c’étaient des éclats de rire ou des chansons patriotiques qui résonnaient. . . . Mon frère de lait me conduisit vers un petit coin confortable qu’il occupait en compagnie d’un camarade. J’y remarquai un lit de bonne apparence, ainsi que d’autres meubles modestes qu’ils avaient pu acheter avec leur propre argent. La cuisine occupait le compartiment voisin; elle servait à 200 hommes, et l’odeur qu’elle répandait ne faisait nullement présumer que les habitants pussent être affamés. Je restai à dîner. Je ne dirai pas que le repas était somptueux, mais les mets étaient suffisants et de bonne qualité, et bien que servis dans des plats et assiettes d’étain, avec des couteaux et des fourchettes du même métal, ils étaient accompagnés d’une si cordiale réception que le souvenir de ce dîner m’a toujours laissé sous une agréable impression.’
There were no wines or liqueurs, but abundance of ‘the excellent ale which England alone produces’. Doisy asked whence came the money to pay for all this abundance. His host told him that, being a basket-maker’s son, and knowing the trade, he got permission to work at it and to sell his goods. For a time this was very successful, but the large output of cheap, untaxed work from the prison brought remonstrance from the straw-workers of Portsmouth, Barnstaple, and other places, with the result that Government prohibited it. But the ingenious Frenchman soon found another string for his bow, and he became, with many others, a manufacturer of ornaments and knick-knacks, boxes, combs, toys, and especially ship models, from the bones of his food. These beef and mutton bones were carefully saved on all sides, and those who could not work them, sold them at good prices to those who could. Germain Lamy, his foster-brother, told Doisy that he and his comrade worked at the bone model of a seventy-four, with rigging made of hair, for six months, and sold it for £40.
Lamy was released at the peace of 1814. He took back to France 16,500 francs; bought a little farm, married, and settled down, but died of cholera in 1832.