The French prisoners did not visit the Selkirk townsfolk, for the ‘classy’ of the latter had come to the resolution not to associate with them at all; but the priggish exclusiveness or narrow prejudice, or whatever it might have been, was amply atoned for by the excellent friendships formed in the surrounding neighbourhoods. There was Mr. Anderson, a gentleman farmer, who invited the Frenchmen to fish and regaled them in typical old-time Scots fashion afterwards; there was a rich retired lawyer, whose chief sorrow was that he could not keep sober during his entertainment of them: there was Mr. Thorburn, another gentleman farmer, who introduced them to grilled sheep’s head, salmagundi, and a cheese of his own making, of which he was particularly proud.
But above all there was the ‘shirra’, then Mr. Walter Scott, who took a fancy to a bright and lively young Frenchman, Tarnier by name, and often invited him and two or three friends to Abbotsford—Doisy calls it ‘Melrose Abbey’. This was in February 1812. Mrs. Scott, whom, Doisy says, Scott had married in Berlin—was only seen some minutes before dinner, never at the repast itself. She spoke French perfectly, says Doisy. Scott, he says, was a very different man as host in his own house from what they judged him to be from his appearance in the streets of Selkirk. ‘Un homme enjoué, à la physionomie ordinaire et peu significative, à l’attitude même un peu gauche, à la démarche vulgaire et aux allures à l’avenant, causées probablement par sa boiterie.’ But at Abbotsford his guests found him, on the contrary, a gentleman full of cordiality and gaiety, receiving his friends with amiability and delicacy. The rooms at Abbotsford, says Doisy, were spacious and well lighted, and the table not sumptuous, but refined.
Doisy tells us that what seemed to be the all-absorbing subject of conversation at the Abbotsford dinner-table was Bonaparte. No matter into what other channel the talk drifted, their host would hark back to Bonaparte, and never wearied of the anecdotes and details about him which the guests were able to give. Little did his informants think that, ten years later, much that they told him would appear, as Doisy says, in a distorted form rarely favourable to the great man, in Scott’s Life of Bonaparte. He quotes instances, and is at no pains to hide his resentment at what he considers a not very dignified or proper proceeding on the part of Sir Walter.
Only on one prominent occasion was the friendly feeling between the prisoners and the Selkirk people disturbed.
On August 15, 1813, the Frenchmen, in number ninety, united to celebrate the Emperor’s birthday at their café, the windows of which opened on to the public garden. They feasted, made speeches, drank numberless toasts, and sang numberless patriotic songs. As it was found that they had a superabundance of food, it was decided to distribute it among the crowd assembled in the public garden, but with the condition that every one who accepted it should doff his hat and cry ‘Vive l’Empereur Napoléon!’ But although a couple of Frenchmen stood outside, each with a viand in one hand and a glass of liquor in the other, not a Scotsman would comply with the condition, and all went away. One man, a sort of factotum of the Frenchmen, who made a considerable deal of money out of them in one way and another, and who was known as ‘Bang Bay’, from his habit, when perplexed with much questioning and ordering, of replying ‘by and by’, did accept the food and drink, and utter the required cry, and his example was followed by a few others, but the original refusers still held aloof and gathered together in the garden, evidently in no peaceable mood.
Presently, as the feast proceeded and the celebrants were listening to a song composed for the occasion, a stone was thrown through the window, and hit Captain Gruffaud of the Artillery. He rushed out and demanded who had thrown it. Seeing a young man grinning, Gruffaud accused him, and as the youth admitted it, Gruffaud let him have the stone full in the face. A disturbance being at once imminent, the French officers broke up chairs, &c., to arm themselves against an attack, and the crowd, seeing this, dispersed. Soon after, the Agent, Robert Henderson, hurried up to say that the crowd had armed themselves and were re-assembling, and that as the Frenchmen were in the wrong, inasmuch as they had exceeded their time-limit, nine o’clock, by an hour, he counselled them to go home quietly. So the matter ended, and Doisy remarks that no evil resulted, and that Scots and French became better comrades than ever.
Another event might have resulted in a disturbance. At the news of a victory by Wellington in Spain, the Selkirk people set their bells ringing, and probably rejoiced with some ostentation. A short time after, says Doisy, came the news of a great French victory in Russia (?). The next day, Sunday, some French officers attended a Quakers’ meeting in their house, and managed to hide themselves. At midnight a dozen of their comrades were admitted through the window, bringing with them a coil of rope which they made fast to that of the meeting-house bell, and rang vigorously, awakening the town and bringing an amazed crowd to the place, and in the confusion the actors of the comedy escaped. Then came the Peace of 1814, and the Frenchmen were informed that on April 20 a vessel would be at Berwick to take them to France. The well-to-do among them proposed to travel by carriage to Berwick, but it was later decided that all funds should be united and that they should go on foot, and to defray expenses £60 was collected. Before leaving, it was suggested that a considerable increase might be made to their exchequer if they put up to auction the structure of the theatre, as well as the properties and dresses, which had cost £120. Tarnier was chosen auctioneer, and the bidding was started at £50, but in spite of his eloquence the highest bid was £40. So they decided to have some fun at the last. All the articles were carried to the field which the prisoners had hired for playing football, and a last effort was made to sell them. But the highest bid was only £2 more than before. Rather than sell at such a ridiculous price, the Frenchmen, armed with sticks and stones, formed a circle round the objects for sale, and set fire to them, a glorious bonfire being the result.
The day of departure came. Most of the Frenchmen had passed the previous night in the Public Garden, singing, and drinking toasts, so that all were up betimes, and prepared for their tramp. Their delight and astonishment may be imagined when they beheld a defile of all sorts of vehicles, and even of saddle-horses, into the square, and learned that these had been provided by the people of Selkirk to convey them to Kelso, half way to Berwick.
Says Doisy: ‘Nous nous séparâmes donc de nos amis de Selkirk sans garder d’une part et d’autre aucun des sentiments de rancune pouvant exister auparavant’.
Mr. Craig-Brown relates the following anecdote: