Oh, to be in England,
Now that April’s there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf,
Round the Elm tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the Chaffinch sings in the orchard bough,
In England—now.Browning.
It has been necessary in the preceding chapters to allude occasionally to the English prisoners in France, and a short chapter on their experiences may be deemed not irrelevant to the scheme of this little history. The author having in his boyhood been personally acquainted with the Rev. John Hopkinson, Rector of Alwalton, near Peterborough, who had been, from February 1804 to April 1814, a prisoner of war in France, will avail himself of the kind permission of this gentleman’s son, the Rev. W. Hopkinson, J.P., of Sutton Grange, Northamptonshire, and commence the chapter with a narrative of his experiences which Mr. J. Hopkinson had himself written, and which was found among his papers after his death in 1853.
The prison at Verdun, where Mr. Hopkinson was confined at times closely, at others on parole, was occupied by the subjects of Great Britain and her allies, the British being the great majority. The prisoners were of the same class as those who were allowed on parole in Britain and who were distributed either in special prisons such as Norman Cross or in parties, which might vary from a few units to 300 or more, in one of the towns enumerated in the footnote, Chapter X, p. [192].
Mr. Hopkinson was the son of the vicar of Morton, near Bourne in Lincolnshire. He was born in 1782 within three miles of the home of Hereward the Wake, and early in life he showed that he was endowed with some of that hero’s spirit—a spirit too adventurous for the quiet parsonage. After various experiences, commencing with his following as a child a recruiting party, and joining it as a drummer boy, he entered His Majesty’s service on the 5th March 1803 as a cadet (first-class volunteer) on board the frigate Hussar. This vessel, after some brushes with the enemy while cruising in the Mediterranean, was wrecked off the Isle of Saints on the Coast of France. Mr. Hopkinson’s experiences in this misfortune and up to the date of his entering Verdun are given in his own words, while a brief biography added by his widow brings the narrative up to the date of his release after the first abdication of Buonaparte, and his arrival in England in April 1814, simultaneously with the evacuation of Norman Cross to be described in the next chapter.
“Monday night, February 6th, 1804, weighed from Ares Bay near Ferrol, bound to England with despatches, made sail and worked out of Ferrol Bay. Tuesday, Fresh breezes for the best part of the day from the Rd. Wednesday the 8th—At noon by account Ushant bore from us N. 24 Lat: distant 109 miles, towards the Evening the breeze died away and became variable, but sprung up from the Southward and Westward at 6 o’clock. At 8 o’clock P.M. Ushant distant 50 miles, went on deck to keep my watch, the ship steering N.E. by E. by the Captain’s orders, who had also left orders to be called at 12 o’clock. The breeze continued, freshening considerably till 10 o’clock, when I was obliged to leave the deck to attend the Gunner in transporting powder, which duty we were on the point of finishing at 11.30, when the ship struck with great violence, put the lights out immediately and got on deck as soon as possible, where we found every person struck with terror, it being the general opinion, that the violent shock which they had felt proceeded from the powder magazine and expecting every moment to be their last; but when relieved from this dreadful impression by our appearing on deck, they immediately let go the small bower anchor and proceeded to take in sail.
“It appears that at the time the ship struck she was going between 8 and 9 knots, which hurried her on the rocks with such violence, that the tiller was carried away, the rudder unhung from the stern post, and a great hole made somewhere under the starboard bow, and after beating over the reef, the ship was running on an immense rock, which was prevented by the letting go of the anchor. As soon as the sails were furled we manned the pumps, and found the ship made at the rate of 15 feet water per hour. At 12, on the turning of the tide, the ship tailed on the rocks and struck with dreadful violence at times: let go the best bower anchor, scuttled the spirit room bulkhead to clear the water from aft. Fired minute guns and rockets at times, with the signal of distress: discovered a light on our starboard beam, a small island, but no one on board knew for a certainty where we were, employed all night at the pumps, and clearing away booms to get spars out to shore the ship up, as also to be in readiness to get the boats out if requisite.
“At 6 a.m. daylight discovered to us our situation, that we were upon a reef of rocks, extending from the island of Saints Westward in to the Atlantic, ‘Hinc atque hinc vastœ rupes’ at a distance of half a mile from the island. Got the shores out on the starboard side, lowered the cutter, and sent the master to sound for a passage among the innumerable rocks with which we were perfectly surrounded. At 7 the ship had gained one foot on the pumps, and during the last hour had 3 ft. 8 inches water in the hold, at 8 the master returned, and had only found a narrow passage with 10 feet water in the deepest part, which report together with every appearance of an approaching gale from the S.W. confirmed the opinion already formed, that we were precluded from every means of saving the ship. In consequence of which Capt. W. ordered the third division of seamen, and all the marines to land, and take possession of the island, in order to secure a retreat, and, if possible, the means of escape from the enemy. Got the boats out and landed the force above mentioned, being given to understand by the Gunner, who pretended to know the place, that it was a Military Station, and consequently, that we should meet with some resistance; but on arriving at the town found it only occupied by a few fishermen. Took possession of the church and made use of it as barracks for our ship’s company, whom we were occupied landing all the remaining part of the day, the current running with such rapidity between the rocks, that it was with the greatest difficulty and danger the boats could go to and fro. This was however happily effected without any accident; landed also three days’ provisions: ‘Tum celerem corruptam undis cerealiaque arma expediunt.’
“The wind all this day very boisterous from the S.W. with heavy rain, and every symptom of an approaching gale. Towards dusk, mustered the ship’s company, put them all into the Church and placed sentries over them, patrol’d the island all night, employed all the forenoon in burning the remnants of the ship, and fitting 13 sail of fishing boats, besides our Captain’s barge for our departure for England: the Captain’s boat distinguished by the Union Jack being destined to lead the way, and the other boats being formed into three divisions, commanded by the three Lieuts. with distinguishing names to follow in due order, the wind being fresh from the S.W.
“I may now begin to speak on a smaller scale, and only mention the proceedings of our own boat, with occasional remarks concerning the others. At noon, made sail from the Island, scudding under a fore and main sail alternately. At 4, finding the wind heading us fast, hauled on a wind to endeavour to keep off shore as much as possible, in order to get on the Beniquet if necessary, most of the other boats being in sight, the Captain’s just perceptible ahead. At 6, strong gales and squally, with rain and a tremendous heavy sea. Observed the Hay stacks on our lee beam: at 6.30, observed the oars and rowlock of the Captain’s barge floating to leeward which made us fear, ‘fraguntur remi,’ that he had perished. At 7, passed to leeward of the Parquet, which was very perceptible by the roaring and breaking of the sea, which was awful in the extreme.
“At 9, finding we could not weather St. Matthew’s, Mr. B. and the commanding Officer, ‘O socii passi graviora,’ of the boat addressed the crew, to consult concerning the best means of saving their lives, when it was unanimously decided to bear up for Brest, a dire, but unavoidable alternative. Employed continually pumping and baling the boat, over which the seas were continually breaking. At 10.30, spoke one of our boats, which was laying broadside to the seas dismasted, but could not give her any assistance. At 11 were hailed by the batteries, did not answer, but hauled close to the land; they fired at us several times, but without effect.
“At 11.30 ran alongside a line of Battle ship which caused an immediate uproar on board of her. They threw us a rope, but no one could hold it, on account of the cold and numbed state of all on board. The ship (which proved to be the Foudroyant) immediately manned her boat, and boarded us, and when the Officer understood who we were, he took us out of our boat, which he left moored to a buoy, and put us on board of L’Indienne frigate, the tide running too strong to regain his own ship. We were uncommonly well treated on board, one of the Mids made me change my clothes, and they gave us every refreshment in their power, after which I fell asleep till 3 a.m., when I was called to go on board the Foudroyant, the ship to which we had first surrendered. Here the Captain behaved to us in a handsomer way than we had any right to expect, giving up his own cabin for our use, furnishing us with linen, and every delicacy he had to offer. Got up at 6 and walked the deck with the French midshipmen, who gave me to understand that our countrymen had been coming in the harbour at all hours of the night, and they also told me that our boat had gone to the bottom. After breakfast with the Capt. he expressed the greatest concern at being obliged to send us on board the Flagship. We accordingly at 10 o’clock left him, impressed with the highest sense of his humanity and generosity.
“On our arrival on board the Flagship we had the inexpressible pleasure of meeting with a great many of our shipmates, of whose fate till then we were totally ignorant. After dining on board, we were all ordered on shore to be confined in the hospital, until the will of the Minister of War should be known. When in the Hospital we were mustered and found that the following were missing, Capt. W. and his crew making altogether 12, whom some seamen affirmed to have seen sink, which statement was partly corroborated by our having seen his oars. Mr. Gordon, midshipman and his crew, 15 in number, who, when last seen, were a long way to windward, and Mr. Thomas the En. who was drowned in landing. The next day to our great astonishment Mr. Gordon and his crew joined us and gave us slight reasons to hope that Capt. W. had reached the Beniquet.
Sutton. | Vine. | Graham. | |
Mahoney. | Nepean. | Heydon. | Mascall. |
Gordon. | Nicholls. | Newman. | Pridham. |
Ashworth. | Mathias. | Corey. | Ludwridge. |
Smithson. | Myself. | Simpson. | Barker. |
Litchford. | |||
“During the next week we were visited by the Commissary of War, who told us that the Minister of War had given orders for our being removed to Verdun, and advised us to prepare as much as possible for our march to that place; he also had the goodness to send us a banker who gave money for bills on the Government, a thing that was very acceptable, as by the length of time we had been at sea all our Lieuts. had some pay due, and they supplied the Midshipmen with small sums, which, added to the allowance of the French, 1s. 3d. per diem, might enable us to travel very comfortably.
“On the 17th we were told to hold ourselves in readiness to march the next morning at daylight. We consequently were drawn up in the hospital yard the next morning to the number of 264—21 of whom were officers, the rest seamen. ‘Unus absit.’ We left Brest at 7 a.m. escorted by a strong guard of infantry and about twenty horsemen. The morning was fine and pleasant. After marching about two hours we came to the summit of a hill, whence we had a fine view of Brest harbour and roads, with the adjacent coast, bounded by the Atlantic, on which, at about the distance of 15 miles, we could plainly see our whole Channel Fleet standing in, under easy sail—this sight, mortifying as it was, became still more so, by the jeerings of the French Soldiery, which, to his credit be it spoken, were repressed as much as possible by the Officer who conducted us. About 1 p.m. reached Landernau, a small town, distant from Brest about 5 leagues. We went on in this way till the 24th, when our escort was relieved by another of a similar kind at St. Brieux, a small seaport town. The officer on leaving us, requested us to give him a paper testifying his good treatment of us, to which we readily assented, his behaviour to us having been uniformly kind.
“To repeat every day’s march would be useless, suffice it to say, that after passing thro’ Rennes, Alençon, Versailles, St. Cloud, St. Denis, within a mile of Paris, and divers other places of less note, we arrived at Verdun on Sunday, March 25th, having marched a distance of 204 leagues.”
Mr. Hopkinson, when liberated; did not continue in the service, but went to Clare College, was ordained, became Precentor of Peterborough Cathedral, and later Rector of Alwalton (about three miles from Norman Cross), where he died in 1853. The following note was added to the prisoner’s own account by his widow:
“And here with this interesting account of his shipwreck and the consequent imprisonment of himself and shipmates, the narrative ceases, and all that can be told of the eleven years’ captivity must be imperfect. But, young and full of energy, after the first trial it was a time of mixed pain and pleasure. From the age of fifteen to twenty-five is not often the period of despondency. He formed during this time friendships and attachments which only ceased with life: and be it observed the circle which was bound together so closely, was composed entirely of those of honour and principle. While there were unfortunately very many who by their conduct were a disgrace to their country, this small knot of friends to whom he belonged, who shared each other’s purse and each other’s poverty, left in France a reputation unsullied.
“Many years after when he visited, under such different circumstances, these scenes of his youth with his brother, he was received everywhere with a warmth of affection and respect affecting to witness. The friendships formed at this period under mutual hardships and privations were very lasting and peculiar; each saw the other without disguise and selfishness—that bane of worldly friendship could not exist, where all had the same privations. He would tell of times, when penniless, he positively was without food, and the means of procuring it, till he and his friend, both good fishermen, procured a meal by fishing in the Meuse. Many were the anecdotes they would relate when meeting under what seemed happier circumstances. There were times when they heard nothing of home or England for a length of time. On one occasion on the arrival of fresh prisoners, one of them unloosing his cravat, let fall a piece of newspaper, which he had wrapped in it to stiffen it; how anxiously was it snatched up by those poor captives. In this piece of waste paper he read of some promotion to his brother in his profession when only to know that he lived was joy unspeakable.
“He always spoke well of the French in general: it is true and must have been mortifying, they were on some occasions led out to be gazed at by the populace, as kind of trophies, and when Nelson died, their grief was embittered by the jeerings of the vulgar, ‘Votre Nelson est mort’—such is the fate of prisoners of war—but as a body he always said they were a kind people.
“At the return of peace in 1814, hailed and welcomed as it was in every quarter of the globe, what must have been the joy of him, who had passed inactive wearisome years separated from his native land! The long march homeward was never wearisome. Arrived in London, he repaired to the Hotel, where his brother was expecting him. He had just stepped out. Anxious and excited my husband went out too, hoping to find him: in the meantime his brother returned, and being told of his arrival, awaited him on the step of the door. When he came back, the foreign look and dress at once assured his brother that it was himself, and he stood in his way. Impatient at an impediment to entering the house, he hastily begged him to step aside, when the words, ‘John, do you not know me?’ told him he had found his brother. Both were so changed that they should not have known each other. How often, and with ever new delight, did he recall this meeting!
“He returned home, and tho’ much, very much had happened to cloud his happiness, the feeling of liberty so long unknown, was in his heart! He brought home, not only from his own superior Officers, but also from those of the French, testimonials of good conduct, having most rigidly preserved his parole, tho’ with a fair chance of escape often urged to break it, and having suffered by close imprisonment for the breach of it in others.”
Mr. Hopkinson, during his imprisonment at Verdun, kept a register of his fellow prisoners, and in his later years he filled in as far as he could the after history of his prison comrades. This, being probably a unique document, is, by the kind permission of his son Mr. W. Hopkinson, reproduced in the appendix. [232] From this register it will be seen it was not only the French prisoners at Leek and elsewhere who fought duels. Four deaths from fatal wounds received in these affairs of honour are recorded. The duel, one hundred years ago, was the customary and generally acknowledged method of settling questions of honour, libels, etc., which are now in this country settled in the law courts. As Mrs. Hopkinson says in her note, the naval cadet never broke his parole, but on three occasions when held captive, not by his word of honour, but by bars and bolts, his respect for these did not prevent his attempting to escape; for the first attempt he was confined in a cell for one month, for his second attempt two months, and for his third, three.