Something with an element of fun in it may serve as a relief to the prevalent gloom of this chapter. It has been shown how largely gambling entered into the daily life of the poor wretches on the hulks, and how every device and excuse for it were invented and employed, but the instance given by Captain Harris in his book upon Dartmoor is one of the oddest.
‘When the lights were extinguished’, he says, ‘and the ship’s lantern alone cast a dim glimmer through the long room, the rats were accustomed to show themselves in search of the rare crumbs to be found below the hammocks. A specially tempting morsel having been placed on an open space, the arrival of the performers was anxiously looked for. They were all known by name, and thus each player was able to select his champion for the evening. As soon as a certain number had gained the open space, a sudden whistle, given by a disinterested spectator, sent them back to their holes, and the first to reach his hole was declared the winner. An old grey rat called “Père Ratapon” was a great favourite with the gamblers, for, though not so active as his younger brethren, he was always on the alert to secure a good start when disturbed.’
In justice to our ancient foe I give here a couple of extracts, for which I have to thank Mr. Gates of Portsmouth, from the Hampshire Telegraph, illustrative of generous behaviour towards Englishmen who had been forced to aid prisoners to escape.
Orlop deck of Brunswick Prison Ship, Chatham.
(After Colonel Lebertre.)
Length, 125 feet. Breadth in widest part, 40 feet. Height, 4 feet 10 inches. Number of prisoners, 460.
‘July 20th, 1801. In a cartel vessel which arrived last week from France, came over one Stephen Buckle, a waterman of this town. Three gentlemen had hired this waterman to take them to the Isle of Wight, and they had not proceeded farther than Calshot Castle when they rose upon him, gagged him, tied him hand and foot, and threatened him with instant death if he made the slightest noise or resistance. The boatman begged for mercy, and promised his assistance in any undertaking if they would spare his life; on which he was released, and was told they were French prisoners, and ordered to make for the nearest port in France, at his peril. The darkness of the night, and the calmness of the wind, favoured their intentions, for after rowing two days and nights in a small, open skiff, without having the least sustenance, they arrived safe at Cherbourg. The waterman was interrogated at the Custom House as to the prisoners’ escape; when, after giving the particulars and identifying the persons, saying they threatened to murder him, the officers took the three Frenchmen into custody, to take their respective trials. The poor man’s case being made known to the Government, he was ordered to be liberated, and his boat restored.’
‘September 21st, 1807. Between 9 and 10 o’clock on the evening of last Sunday three weeks, two men engaged Thomas Hart, a ferryman, to take them from Gosport beach to Spithead, to go on board a ship there, as they said. When the boat reached Spithead they pretended the ship had gone to St. Helens, and requested the waterman to go out after her. Having reached that place, one of them, who could speak English, took a dagger from under his coat, and swore he would take the life of the waterman if he did not land them in France.
‘Under this threat the man consented to follow their directions, and landed them at Fécamp. The men appeared to be in the uniform of officers of the British Navy. The waterman was lodged in prison at Havre de Grâce, and kept there for ten days. He was then released on representing himself to be a fisherman, his boat was returned to him, and the Frenchmen gave him six or seven pounds of bread, some cyder, and a pocket compass, and a pass to prevent his being interrupted by any French vessel he might meet with. In this state they set him adrift; he brought several letters from English prisoners in France, and from French persons to their friends in prison in this country.’
CHAPTER VII
TOM SOUVILLE
A Famous Prison-Ship Escaper
In old Calais there is or was a Rue Tom Souville. No foreigners and not many Calaisiens know who Tom Souville was, or what he had done to deserve to have a street named after him. The answer to these questions is so interesting that I do not hesitate to allow it a chapter.
About the year 1785, Tom Souville, aged nine, was, in accordance with a frequent custom of that day, sent to England for the purpose of learning English in exchange for a little English boy who came over to France. He was quartered in the house of the Rev. Mr. Wood, of Dover, whose sailor brother took a great fancy to the little stranger, and made him his constant companion on cruises up and down the Channel, with the result that Tom Souville got to know the Channel coasts thoroughly, a stock of learning which he afterwards made use of in a fashion little dreamed of by the old salt, his mentor.