Our arrival at Verdun—A joyful reception—General Wirion—His indulgence towards the prisoners—The meetings of old shipmates and friends—Mental employment the best antidote againstennuiand dissipation—Restiveness at confinement—Anxiety to be again in the active service of Old England—Meditations upon an escape—Contrivances to avoid a breach of parole or any breach of honour—Three comrades, orcompagnons de voyage—Scaling ramparts—A descent of seventy-two feet—The open country—The march commences—Flying by night, and hiding in woods by day—Heavy rains, dismal roads, and swampy beds, with bad fare and good hearts—Leaping a moat—A dislocated knee—The march resumed, and pursued lamely—The town of Neuville—Extreme sufferings from thirst—Water at length procured, anguish allayed, and the escape proceeded upon with renewed spirits.
Our arrival at Verdun—A joyful reception—General Wirion—His indulgence towards the prisoners—The meetings of old shipmates and friends—Mental employment the best antidote againstennuiand dissipation—Restiveness at confinement—Anxiety to be again in the active service of Old England—Meditations upon an escape—Contrivances to avoid a breach of parole or any breach of honour—Three comrades, orcompagnons de voyage—Scaling ramparts—A descent of seventy-two feet—The open country—The march commences—Flying by night, and hiding in woods by day—Heavy rains, dismal roads, and swampy beds, with bad fare and good hearts—Leaping a moat—A dislocated knee—The march resumed, and pursued lamely—The town of Neuville—Extreme sufferings from thirst—Water at length procured, anguish allayed, and the escape proceeded upon with renewed spirits.
Onthe 16th of July 1804 we arrived early at Fumez. Here an old woman doing the duty of crier attracted my notice. At a corner of one of the streets she began her preamble. She had a small bar of iron in one hand and a large key in the other, as a substitute for a bell. We were allowed to do as we pleased on our arrival, and to go to any inn we liked. Our guard informed us that the commandant of Givet had inserted in ourfeuille de routethat we should be considered as officers on parole and be treated accordingly.
From Fumez we were marched to Mezières, and put up at a tavern, being now officers of rank, which our landladyappeared to have been informed of. This old lady was, if possible, more extortionate than any we had yet met with. We found that, unless we previously made an agreement, particularly specifying what we wished, and regulating the price of every article, we should be liable to the greatest imposition; and this, indeed, is pretty generally the case throughout France. From Mezières we passed through Sedan, Stenay, and a small village, Sivry; and on the 23rd arrived at Verdun, the long-wished-for place of our ultimate destination.
We were received by Captain Brenton, our officers, and countrymen in the most joyful and cordial manner. For two nights, until we could procure lodgings, we were billeted at the inn Les Trois Maures, at which the Emperor Napoleon put up on his return after his splendid campaign in Germany and the Treaty of Tilsit. Two or three days after our arrival, Mr. Pridham introduced us to General Wirion, who gave us permission to walk in the suburbs, provided our commanding officer became responsible for our conduct,corps pour corps; which Lieutenant Pridham had done. In the course of a few days I procured lodgings, recently vacated by adétenu, Sir James de Bathe, with Mr. Ashworth, a midshipman, who had been one of my messmates in our late ship, theHussar. He afterwards died at Minorca, in consequence of wounds he had received off Tarragona, when a lieutenant of H.M.S.Centaur, while in the act of snatching from destruction the unfortunate Spaniards who were being sabred by the French cavalry when rushing into the sea to our boats for protection.[9]
As soon as I found myself a little settled, in conjunction with my much-esteemed friend Ashworth I employed a French master, and pursued my studies with the utmost assiduity. I never left the town, except occasionally on race-days or days of other public amusements. It should be remarked that races, and all species of amusements that can deprive an Englishman of his property, or divert his attention for a moment, were allowed by the general who commanded the prisoners. I have been informed that there were fixed prices for all these indulgences. The hazard-table androuge et noirhave been the destruction of many of our countrymen. Every kind of debauchery and libertinism, I am sorry to add, was permitted and practised in this town. Latterly, from the principal people of fashion and men of property being dispersed, horse-racing ceased, and gambling also, in a great degree.
We likewise engaged a fencing-master, and, as soon as we were tolerably advanced in the French language, we procured an Italian master, and applied ourselves to study under him with the greatest diligence. These literary pursuits were of incalculable advantage to us; for, whilst they strengthened the mind, and spread over it the charms inseparable from the acquisition of useful knowledge, they fortified us against the allurements of dissipation, lightened the weight of our captivity, and saved us from that moral diseaseennui, with all its train of passions and disordered appetites which people are prone to inflict upon themselves by an indulgence in habits of idleness. We were stimulated in our zeal for our studies by reflecting that we were acquiring that which would make us more useful to our country in our profession. However, what we witnessed and what we experienced convinced us of the inestimablebenefits of mental pursuits in mitigating the sufferings of captivity, as well as of the extent to which those sufferings are aggravated by a want of intellectual employment.
In a few months after my arrival, a Mr. M’Grath, a relation of mine, was escorted to this depot, with Mr. Wills, master’s mate, and a boat’s crew of the frigateAcasta. Mr. M’Grath was surgeon’s assistant. They had been made prisoners on the island of Beniget, near Brest. Mr. Wills had been ordered early in the morning to land on that island and load his boat with sand for scouring the decks; and Mr. M’Grath had received permission to accompany him, merely for the purpose of taking a walk and amusing himself while the men were loading the boat; but they had no sooner landed than they were surrounded by a number of French troops that were lying in ambush for them, and had been disembarked the night before for the express purpose of surprising some of the English boats which were daily in the habit of coming on shore. Our poor fellows were immediately secured, embarked, and conducted to the Continent. From the cruel treatment which they experienced on their march, they were so exhausted on their arrival at Verdun that both the officers were seized with a violent fever. Mr. Thos. George Wills, an excellent officer, now a post-captain, recovered in a short time; but his companion lost the use of his limbs, and was confined to his bed, with little or no intermission, until July 1808, when he burst a blood-vessel and expired without a groan. He lived with me the greater part of that time.
But to return to the thread of my own narrative. We continued at Verdun from July 1804, amusing ourselves by study, and in the winter by skating, etc., until August1807, when I began to consider my situation minutely and to deliberate upon my unfortunate captivity. Those deliberations had the effect of making me very uncomfortable and dissatisfied; nor could I afterwards reconcile myself to study or to any amusement whatever. I reasoned with myself that I was losing the prime of my youth in captivity. I saw no prospect of peace or an exchange of prisoners; no hope or possibility of being promoted in my present state, nor of recommending myself, through any personal exertions, to the notice of the Admiralty. I was deprived, while in France, of being able to afford my country, my friends, or myself the least assistance. The youthful visions of the glories of the naval service again came over me; but sadly were my spirits broken when I reflected that my hopes of joining others in the strife of honour and patriotism were destroyed, unless I could rescue myself from bondage.
In this horrible state, almost of stupefaction, I remained for some days; when my poor friend Ashworth observed to me, that he and Mr. Tuthill, a particular friend, a midshipman also, had been canvassing the cruelty and hardships they laboured under, and had, in consequence, formed the intention, if I would join them, of transgressing, and getting deprived of their permission to go out of town (what the French deemedparole), and making their escape to their native country. This was to me the most flattering intelligence—it was what I had been revolving in my brain for some days. We accordingly met at an appointed place to deliberate on the best method of putting in execution the exploit we were about to commence, and agreed that it was necessary to procure knapsacks, provisions, bladders to contain water, etc., prior toour getting closely confined, as we should be under the necessity of travelling by night, and of concealing ourselves in the woods during the daytime.
Having, therefore, provided all the requisite materials—viz., files, gimlets, saws, and other articles which are needless to mention,—that, in case of being taken, we might be able to break our fetters and escape from the slavery and punishment we were well aware would await us; and Mr. Ashworth and I having waited upon Lieutenant Pridham, to request he would withdraw his responsibility for us, which he accordingly did,—we commenced by missing oneappel; but, to our great astonishment, this breach of conduct was overlooked and forgiven.[10]We next remained out of town very late. This was also forgiven, though we even got into the guard-house. In short, it was several days before we succeeded in being deprived of our passports, or “permissions”; and we suspected, or rather felt confident, from the lenity shown to us, that our design of escape was suspected. Our personal honour, as well as that of the navy,—and, indeed, of the English nation in general,—had precluded the possibility of our attempting to escape whilst we were upon what was deemed, by the French commandant,parole; but now we were literally under close confinement; and with the reflection that, perhaps, so favourable an opportunity of getting away might never again be afforded to us, we were not slow in forming our resolutions.
It was on the night of the 28th of August 1807 thatwe determined to take French-leave of our “prison-house”; and we had provided an excellent rope to enable us to scale the ramparts. Each had procured his portion, or quantum, of between three and four fathoms; but that which Tuthill had obtained was merely thumb-line. This, of course, was tailed on, or put at the bottom of the rope, in order that if it gave way we should have the less distance to fall.
It may be imagined that our hearts beat high with conflicting emotions. That great sufferings were to be endured, and great dangers encountered, but little interested spirits so young and ardent as ours; or they were rather overwhelmed by that love of daring and honourable enterprise which often stimulates youth as well as manhood to the greatest and best exertions. On one side we had to reflect upon the mortification of capture, with an increased severity, and, what to us seemed infinitely worse, a prolonged duration of confinement; whilst, on the other, should success crown our determined efforts, our hearts thrilled with the thoughts of once more walking the deck of a British ship-of-war, in all the elation of a confidence that we were serving our king and our country in a righteous cause.
I returned to my lodgings; but it is necessary for me to observe that on my way I happened to meet with a friend, a Lieutenant Essel of the navy, who, with the greatest frankness, communicated to me that he had come to a resolution to attempt his escape from France, and he expressed how much he wished that I would accompany him. This singular coincidence naturally excited in my mind a suspicion that he had arrived at a knowledge of our secret, and I declined giving him a direct answer forthe present; but I reflected that as he did not mention either of my companions, it was a proof that he did not know of our design, or that he exercised a prudence which might render him worthy of confidence. I quitted him, repaired to my comrades, and communicated to them all that had passed. After a consultation, upon a point to us so momentous, we agreed that he might join our perilous expedition, provided that he was not in debt, and that he could otherwise escape from the town without dishonour. Very high feelings and scrupulous notions of honour pervaded our naval officers. Our new comrade satisfied us upon all these points. He assured us that he had been deprived of his passport, or “permission”; that he had settled all his affairs; and that he had a surplus of £50 to join with our funds in meeting the difficulties we were but too sure to encounter. Under these circumstances we all cordially shook hands; and never did four young adventurers attempt an exploit under a more friendly and gallant resolution to share a common fate.
The time so long expected arrived; and at the hour before midnight we met at the appointed spot. How much were we chagrined and vexed to find that not only at this late hour were the sentinels unusually on the alert, but that—what seemed more extraordinary—great numbers of people were passing to and fro. We were obliged to defer our escape to the night following.
I confess I felt the greatest regret at quitting my poor sick relative, our only other comrade, M’Grath; nor could I make him acquainted with the step I was about to take without experiencing an emotion impossible to be described. His feelings at our separation were as acute as my own.
The sea-coast, of course, was the point fixed upon for our destination; and we agreed that about Étaples was the most likely part to procure a boat.
The anxiety and uneasiness which we felt the next day were beyond description. Some of our countrymen who called to see us,en passant, threw out such insinuations, and made such remarks upon our conduct of late, that we were under the most serious apprehensions of being shackled, and on the road to Bitche, before the much-desired hour, eleven at night. “The ——,” says Shakespeare, “fears each bush an officer.” We were well aware that there were several Englishmen employed and paid regularly for conveying the most trivial occurrence that might take place amongst the prisoners to the French general. I have frequently known prisoners of war, through malice, to be taken out of their beds in the night, fettered, and conducted, under an escort ofgendarmes, to the depots of punishment, without ever being informed of the crime or fault of which they had been accused; and merely from some of those miscreants giving false information, in order to be revenged for any private animosity they might have had against the person so treated.
The long-wished-for moment at length arrived: the intermediate time had passed in great excitement. We met. Everything seemed quiet, and favourable to our escape. We were in the spirit to take every advantage of circumstances, or to create circumstances, if creating them were possible. In a few seconds, by the aid of our rope, and by the assistance of a friend, Alexander Donaldson, many years back my shipmate, a master in the navy, and afterwards a prisoner of war,—he was anative of Portsoy, in Banffshire, but is now no more,—we got down these most formidable ramparts of between seventy and eighty feet high. We descended, to our surprise, with little damage, except the loss of some of the skin from my hands. This was caused by the whipcord part of the line, which we were not able to grasp firmly, and it brought my companions altogether on my back and shoulders, in the ditch, before I could move or extricate myself. Happy were we to find ourselves, so far at least, at liberty. Our course was N.W. Each man buckled on his knapsack, arranged his implements and weapons of defence, and, full of the spirit of determined adventure and of resolute suffering, we started upon our course.
The next morning, the 30th August 1807, at about three o’clock the day began to dawn, and as we had run during most of the time since we had quitted our miserable imprisonment, we conjectured that we were at least five British leagues from Verdun. We determined not to approach any houses, nor to expose ourselves during the daytime, except in a case of the greatest necessity.
We were, fortunately, close to the very wood which we had pricked off upon our map for our first halt: it was in the vicinity of Varennes, where Louis XVI., his queen, sister, and two children were arrested in their flight from the Tuileries in 1791, and were conducted back to Paris. We instantly entered this wood, and, after a long search, we succeeded in finding a thick part, though, unfortunately, it was contiguous to a footpath. However, we hid ourselves so well, that, unless information had been spread of our flight, and people came purposely in search of us, we had no apprehension of being discovered. In this our lairwe lay with tolerable comfort and security, until about nine o’clock, when our confidence vanished, and we were greatly annoyed; for we found the pathway to be much frequented, and the voices of passengers, and of children who came to enjoy their Sunday morning in nutting and sporting in the wood, greatly distressed the whole of us. Fortunately none of the nut-trees or bushes were very close to us, and at noon we had the happiness of seeing the intruders hurry home to their dinners. We likewise took our refreshments, and thought it wise to destroy our hats, and to supply their places with white beaver caps, àla Française, with which we had provided ourselves.
At seven in the evening it was tolerably dusk, and, having shouldered our knapsacks and made all other arrangements, we left the wood, and recommenced our march, making a direct N.W. course through the country, over hill and dale, mountain and plain; traversing ploughed fields, wading through bogs and marshes, leaping ditches, and clearing all enclosures with a buoyancy of spirit that gave us astonishing strength and vigour: nothing could intercept or retard our progress. The happiness we felt was inexpressible. The freshness of the open air, the active use of our unconfined limbs, and the hope of ultimate triumph and liberty, made us consider ourselves as regenerated creatures.
But before daylight (on 31st August) it began to rain heavily. We discovered a wood convenient for our concealment, except that it was contiguous to a farmhouse. After much of anxious deliberation, we resolved, however, to secrete ourselves in it; for we reflected that it might not be possible for us to reach another, before daylight might betray us to the stirring peasantry, compared towhich any less chance of danger was preferable. I at this moment perfectly recollect the spot in which we placed ourselves, and even at this distance of time I seem to behold all that passed around us.
We provided ourselves, after a long search—the wood being excessively thin—with a tolerably good sort of hiding-place; but we could distinctly hear the people in the farmyard conversing, which, I need scarcely say, caused us great alarm. Our situation all this day was very deplorable. On entering our hiding-place we were wet to the skin, and it continued raining without ceasing until late in the evening: the wet we received from the branches and leaves was much worse than if we had been in an open field without a tree. Our chief employment was squeezing the water out of our clothes and stockings. Our store of provisions, which principally consisted of light biscuits and sausages, was very much damaged. At dusk, about the usual hour—seven,—after taking a little refreshment, we bundled on our knapsacks and accoutrements, and proceeded on the old course, N.W. We walked a good distance this night, the weather being more favourable.
Just before daylight on the next morning (1st Sept.) we entered a most excellent thick wood, admirably well calculated for night-walkers. We took some refreshment, and endeavoured to sleep a little after the fatigues of the night, and after congratulating one another at being thus far successful. At about ten we were alarmed by the voices of people apparently close to us. We found that they were passing on an adjacent pathway, which we had not before perceived; but we were too well placed to be under any dread of being discovered. The number of squirrels, rats, mice, and vermin about us this day wasvery great. Having made our customary preparations, at seven we got out of our lurking-hole, and proceeded to the border of the wood, on the side towards which we had to direct our course. On our arrival we discovered some labourers still at work in a field close to the outside of the wood, which obliged us to halt until they disappeared. We then proceeded with some anxiety, as we saw a village exactly in our track, and which we could not avoid without making a very great circuit. In about two hours after we had quitted the wood we found our course suddenly impeded by a ditch or moat, and, upon sounding it with our clubs (which, by the bye, were of a tolerably good length), we found it very deep; in fact, its depth by far exceeded anything we could have anticipated. We surveyed this formidable obstruction or barrier, marching first in one direction, and then in another, without being able to come to any resolution, although we all knew and felt that, by some means or other, cross it we must, or submit to be recaptured.
At length I discovered one part which was, or seemed to be, narrower than the rest, and in this case of no alternative, which was becoming more desperate every minute, I resolved to make one great effort and to try to leap over. I accordingly gave myself space for a good run opposite the narrowest spot, and, leaping with all my force, I landed on the opposite bank some feet beyond the margin. The channel turned out not to be so broad as it had appeared, and, knowing that it was exceedingly deep, I had been the more anxious to secure a good landing, lest I should fall back into the stream. The event, however, was like escaping from Scylla to be lost in Charybdis—or rather the reverse; for, in avoiding the water, Ihad to find my injury on the land. The consequence of the great impetus I had given to my leap was, that, the opposite bank being gravelly and hard, and my knapsack lifting and coming down with a sudden jerk immediately my feet touched the ground, I was thrown on my side, and my right knee was twisted in the joint to such a degree that I absolutely thought it was snapped in two.
In this condition I remained extended on the ground; and, whilst in the most excruciating pain, I kept cautioning my companions to be more careful and to guide themselves by my experience. They at last effected the leap, and joined me without injury or inconvenience. They examined the joint, and found, to my inexpressible joy, that the knee was not broken; but so unfortunate an accident, at such a critical moment, deprived me of every hope of being able to prosecute the long and difficult journey that we had to accomplish. These reflections distressed me to such a degree that my ideas became distracted. I could not, of course, expect my comrades to remain with me; and I had the wretched prospect of being abandoned by them, and left either to suffer and perish in the open field, or to be captured, and my recovery to be succeeded by the gaol. Instant death I thought by far preferable; but Divine Providence deigned to interpose its clemency, and taught me the useful lesson—to prefer to despair a confidence in its wisdom and mercy.
My comrades paid every attention to my injury. They chafed the joint, and rubbed it with the small portion of spirits with which each of us was provided. I found great relief from this application, and in a short time, with their assistance, I was able to get up and put my foot to the ground.
I made an effort to step out, but was under the necessity of requesting that one would assist me on each side, which they did. Thus we moved on slowly, and passed the village about which we had been so anxious. My knee, I was happy to feel, was gradually getting better; and we managed to proceed in this state about three leagues, when we discovered a very fine, commodious wood.
It was about two o’clock on the 2nd, when my comrades proposed that we should rest in this wood during the ensuing day: they would not, on my account, proceed farther. No determination could be more congenial to my feelings than this. I was excessively dejected and fatigued. Having, at length, found a proper part of the wood, each took his position and enjoyed a little refreshment, and then endeavoured to take rest; but so violently did my knee pain me that I was obliged to have two of my friends lying with their whole weight on my leg, thigh, and right side. They fell fast asleep in a very short time, yet I could not close an eye. The distressing and melancholy reflection of being left behind, in consequence of my illness, still recurred. The thought of being picked up and conducted to some dreadful dungeon, or some other ignominious habitation, was constantly present; and while agitated with such ideas, what mortal could think of sleeping? Thus occupied in thought, wavering between hope and despair, I remained nearly two hours, my friends in a sound sleep the whole time. At last, finding their weight on my side troublesome, I extricated myself from them without awaking them or causing them the least disturbance.
I now imagined that I had an excellent opportunity oftrying whether I could rise and walk by myself, and I accordingly made an effort to stand, which I accomplished with some difficulty; but on attempting to walk, so great was the pain, and so excessive the weakness of the knee, that I immediately fell backwards on the earth. The necessity of proceeding was so urgent that during the ensuing day I availed myself of the opportunity of my companions being asleep to repeat the experiment, but with no better success. In order, however, to encourage my kind and brave associates, I kept answering all their inquiries with assurances that I felt much better.
At the usual hour of the evening, all arrangements being made for pursuing our march, we stole to the edge of the wood, which I never expected to be able to leave. I was supported by a friend on each side, as I had been the night before, and most burdensome must I have been to them. On arriving at the outskirts, we found it too early to leave the wood. There was a very high tree at the point to which we came, and it was proposed that Mr. Tuthill should climb up it to discover the nature of the country that lay before us in our course. This he immediately did in good style, being intrepid and active; and, to our great satisfaction, reported it to be a beautiful plain, without wood, river, or anything to impede our progress. From the excessive height of the tree, we had no doubt that he could extend his view over several leagues.
We at length proceeded, and I insisted that my friends should leave me in the rear, to hobble on and struggle for myself. I felt, I confess, extremely dejected, but was determined not to expose my feelings. At first the pain I endured was terrible; however, confident that there wasno fracture, though with excruciating agony, I at length firmly brought my leg to the ground, and contrived to limp with the assistance of my club. We had not advanced above a league when we perceived a beautiful vineyard right before us. We halted to taste the grapes, which were a heavenly relief to me, as I was almost exhausted. The grapes, though sour, revived our spirits amazingly. After eating a great many, we amply filled our pockets. In a short time I found my knee become more easy, and the gloom that had so very much depressed me was rapidly disappearing, until I at length proceeded in excellent spirits. Indeed, I never was more surprised than at the sudden change in my frame altogether, my knee improving every mile I walked.
At daylight, on the 3rd (of Sept.), we were much alarmed, not being able to make out a wood in any direction. At last, to our unspeakable delight, we perceived at a small distance a copse or kind of little forest, not more than three or four acres in circumference. We repaired to it without hesitation, and found it thick and well adapted for our concealment. Having pitched upon a convenient spot, we deposited our knapsacks, disburdened ourselves of our apples, etc., and, after being refreshed with a little biscuit and sausage, together with a dessert of fruit, which we could now afford, we betook ourselves to rest. I had not closed an eye since I had received the hurt; but at this moment I no sooner extended my weary limbs upon the ground than I was in a profound sleep; nor did I awake until roused by my comrades, who were alarmed by the voices of two men who came to work close to our hiding-place. We could hear them so very distinctly that we were of opinion they could not bedistant more than fifty paces. Their conversation was chiefly respecting the towns of Charleville and Mezières. They continued their work until sunset.
From hearing them mention those towns so repeatedly, in addition to other parts of the conversation, we were convinced of our being too far to the northward of our proper course. Travelling by nights, frequently extremely dark, though we had an excellent compass, it was impossible to avoid sometimes erring a little, more especially whenever a river turned us out of our proper direction. Those labourers being gone, which we did not regret, as the reader may suppose, we commenced our preparations, as we were accustomed, and, at the usual time of the evening, proceeded on our march towards the coast. My knee, when we started, was painful and stiff, but it gradually grew better by exercise.
At midnight we came suddenly upon a small town situated in a valley; nor did we perceive our error until it was too late to retrace our steps to avoid it. However, as it was an open town, we trusted that at so late an hour of the night we might escape through it without danger. We accordingly advanced as quickly as possible; nor did we meet a single soul until we got into the opposite fauxbourg, when we had to encounter a peasant on horseback. Mr. Ashworth asked him the name of the town we had just passed, and he informed us it was Neuville. We thanked him, continued our route, and that night travelled a considerable distance. In our journey we had often experienced a dreadful scarcity or total absence of water; and this night our thirst was very great, but we were able to allay it by the fruit we gathered in the orchards.
At about three o’clock on the morning of the 4th of September we entered a very convenient wood; and here we resolved to lie concealed for that day. We refreshed ourselves with a very small quantity of our biscuit and sausages, and had occasion to remark that our stock was getting very low, notwithstanding we had been so abstinent that strength for our journey could scarcely be supported. The dew was extremely heavy, and the ground very wet; so, making our beds of heath, leafy branches, and grass, we sank quietly to sleep. I found myself happy beyond expression, in consequence of my knee daily getting better.
The next evening, at the usual hour, we quitted our covert, but under distressing circumstances, for our fruit was exhausted, we had not a drop of water, and our thirst was excessive. We moved forward, almost perishing for want of moisture for our parched mouths and throats, and gasping lungs; and in vain we endeavoured to console ourselves by the hope of finding some brook or rivulet to relieve our anguish.
We travelled nearly seven hours in this horrible condition, without being able to discover a drop of water, except at one place, where there was a large ditch in which flax was steeped or deposited. I flew to it for relief, and, though its stench was abominable, I might have drunk copiously, had not my companions assured me that the consequence would be an immediate death. So raging was my thirst that I had still great difficulty in restraining myself; but at last I proceeded without tasting it.
I have been in all climates, almost in all parts of the universe; have endured excessive thirst at different periods of my life; have drunk vinegar, salt water, and even sucked the tarred sails on board a ship to endeavour toassuage that agony; but I solemnly declare that I never felt anything equal to what I suffered from thirst during this night.
Finding no chance of obtaining water, at least in our direct course, we unanimously agreed to approach the first village we should discover, for the purpose of procuring a supply from some of the inhabitants’ wells. An opportunity soon occurred, and we directed our steps with the greatest eagerness to this much-desired spot; but previously to our arrival at the village we descried a small orchard. My friend Tuthill, always on the alert, and naturally, as I before observed, active and expert, scaled the orchard wall in a very short time, notwithstanding the constant barking of a dog on the premises, and he returned with a supply of apples. They were very small, and of the wilding kind; but they answered our purpose, and alleviated our distressed state. We passed through one extremity of the village, got a supply of what we stood so much in need of, and proceeded; keeping more to the westward than we had lately done, in consequence of our discovery concerning Charleville. Having plenty of water, we now got on apace, with lighter hearts and brighter spirits.
The journey pursued—A bivouac in a wood—Dangers of being shot—Making free with an orchard—Crossing the Oise—A mode of obtaining provisions—A cabaret and a villagefête—Kindness of the peasantry—Petit Essigny—Wringing drenched garments, and drying them over fading embers—A miserable landlord—A change of quarters—Luxuries of a hay-loft—A Samaritan of a hostess—Wretched sufferings of Mr. Essel—Resort to another village—A kind landlord—Sympathies for deserters—“A fellow-feeling makes men wondrous kind”—The luxuries of a clean bed—Resort to another village—A motherly hostess—A lucky road-acquaintance—Virtue and happiness in humble life—The charitable baker—Dangers from sportsmen to gentlemen hiding in woods—Mr. Essel’s illness disappearing—Increased speed not always safe to fugitives—Coldness of the weather—An hospitable farmer—A French harvest-home—Hesdin—Nieuville—Étaples—Turned out of a straw-bed—A new inn, with agendarmein disguise in the kitchen—Bribing a landlord—No boat to be had—An old shepherd too cunning for a young lieutenant and midshipmen—Extreme difficulties—High hopes—Despondency and resources.
The journey pursued—A bivouac in a wood—Dangers of being shot—Making free with an orchard—Crossing the Oise—A mode of obtaining provisions—A cabaret and a villagefête—Kindness of the peasantry—Petit Essigny—Wringing drenched garments, and drying them over fading embers—A miserable landlord—A change of quarters—Luxuries of a hay-loft—A Samaritan of a hostess—Wretched sufferings of Mr. Essel—Resort to another village—A kind landlord—Sympathies for deserters—“A fellow-feeling makes men wondrous kind”—The luxuries of a clean bed—Resort to another village—A motherly hostess—A lucky road-acquaintance—Virtue and happiness in humble life—The charitable baker—Dangers from sportsmen to gentlemen hiding in woods—Mr. Essel’s illness disappearing—Increased speed not always safe to fugitives—Coldness of the weather—An hospitable farmer—A French harvest-home—Hesdin—Nieuville—Étaples—Turned out of a straw-bed—A new inn, with agendarmein disguise in the kitchen—Bribing a landlord—No boat to be had—An old shepherd too cunning for a young lieutenant and midshipmen—Extreme difficulties—High hopes—Despondency and resources.
Duringthe next day, the 5th of September, nothing particular occurred. At dawn, having found a convenient wood, we concealed ourselves, as usual, during the day. At night we resumed our journey, and at about eleven we came to an immensely broad road.
About midnight we found ourselves all of a sudden at the beginning of a street, the buildings of which were large, and the town surrounding it appeared considerable.This discovery astonished us the more, as the place had neither rampart nor fortification of any description, and hitherto we had been of opinion that there was not in France a town of this magnitude that was not well fortified. However, we had no time for debate or consideration, for we perceived lights in many of the windows; dogs were barking; we heard human voices in different directions; and our danger was extreme. Luckily at this moment we happened to perceive an opening, towards which we instantly made, and found it a by-lane which conducted us clear out of the town; but we still remained entirely ignorant as to what place this was, which made us determine to inquire at the first house we should approach, and in a few minutes an opportunity offered.
We perceived several huts on the roadside. Mr. Ashworth and myself advanced, leaving our companions concealed; and, knocking at the door of one of the huts, a man (as we supposed, in bed) asked what we wanted. We answered we were poor, distressed travellers, quite hungry and faint, and should be glad to know what distance we were from the next town. He told us, not above a mile from Montcornet.[11]We then proceeded, anxiously wishing for daylight, that we might ascertain on the map whereabouts Montcornet was situated.
A little before daylight, on Sunday the 6th, having crossed an inconsiderable river called the Serre, we halted in a wood not more than three leagues from this town. It was very thin, which made us shift and change our position many times before we could find any part calculatedto conceal us. At last we selected a spot, which we made tolerably comfortable by breaking branches and placing them all round us.
At about two in the afternoon we were alarmed by a fowler and his pointer. The dog approached us very near, and as soon as he perceived us began to bark and yell. The master came also close to us, and kept whistling and calling to his dog, which at this time was a great distance from him, having retired precipitately on discovering us. The man kept on in a direct line in pursuit of the pointer: we perceived his legs and feet distinctly as he passed; but, from our position, were certain he did not see us. Our trepidation may easily be imagined, as well as our extreme joy at our hair-breadth escape.
At the usual hour we quitted our lair, and had the happiness to find that some apple-trees just outside the wood were covered with very excellent fruit; with which, I need scarcely observe, we all filled our pockets and knapsacks. What little biscuit we had now remaining was literally crumbled to dust, which made this supply of a juicy fruit almost a luxury. The night was excessively dark, and we had a number of awkward and severe falls.
Lieutenant Essel was now getting very much exhausted. His fatigue was extreme, and he became unable to keep up with us. From the great alteration which we had observed in his appearance during the last two or three days, we began to apprehend that he would not much longer be able to pursue the journey at any pace, and would be obliged to stop on the way. We resolved, however, at all events, to keep with him as long as possible. The alternative would be very painful.
On the next day, Monday the 7th, we surveyed ourstock of provisions, and found it miserably low. We were alarmed at the discovery that of biscuit, or rather biscuit-dust, we had not even a pound, and of our only remaining article of food, sausage, our store was about in proportion. What to do in this critical situation we were very much at a loss to know. One thing, at least, was certain, that to exist we must eat, and that to eat we must have food; and hence the conclusion was evident, that our plan, in which consisted our safety—the system of avoiding towns, keeping away from houses, and shunning the approach of anything connected with human nature—could not be adhered to much longer, whilst it was difficult to conceive what other scheme could be adopted.
After a very long and not a very pleasant discussion, we came to the conclusion that as Messrs. Tuthill and Ashworth were the most meagre in their appearance amongst us, and, consequently, the most like Frenchmen, they should endeavour to procure some bread at the first retired and lonely habitation we should see early in the night. Accordingly, at about nine o’clock, we perceived a house directly in our course, which appeared to answer the description required. The two Frenchified gentlemen advanced to try their address: Lieutenant Essel and myself remained seated close to a thick-set hedge. We continued in that position some time, waiting the result of our friends’ embassy—my poor companion complaining grievously of the alteration in his health. Finding they did not return, we imagined that they had, perhaps, met with a good reception and were enjoying themselves; and we agreed, as the house was directly in our way, to pass by it carelessly, and, accordingly, we walked on. Just as we had passed the door, they made their appearance, witha young man dressed like a peasant. They joined and informed us they could procure no relief at that house; but that there was a small village within a few hundred yards of us, and that this young man was going to show them a public-house in it, where they could get supplied with everything. I was decidedly of opinion that this was a great deal too kind on his part; and I advised them, therefore, to send this guide back, as we certainly could find the house without his assistance; but he insisted on conducting us—inquired if we were also of the party; and presently the village was in view, and was very small, at which I rejoiced greatly. Many people were moving about, and our guide informed us it was afêteday.
The public-house was now before us, and the young man pointed to it, saying, “You may enter without fear,” and quitted us. I did not like this last observation. However, we were by this time on the threshold—a number of people were in the doorway; there was no alternative, and in we went. The house was crowded with both sexes, dancing and amusing themselves. The dancing ceased immediately after we entered; every eye was fixed upon us. We called for a place where we could sit and refresh ourselves, and were shown into a room. We asked for some bread, cheese, and wine; got them and ate heartily, although we could not boast of much comfort or of being much at our ease. Several of the peasants and their wives came and seated themselves close to our table, pressing us to take some of theirgâteaux. From our general appearance, and particularly from our caps and knapsacks, they evidently mistook us for conscripts going to the army. We told them we were going to Guise, and were obliged to travel day and nightby forced marches, in consequence of our regiment being ordered away, and of our having remained at home too long. Fortunately for us they were not an inquisitive people, and did not question us about the number or the officers of the regiment, nor about any of our circumstances. We called for our bill, and desired our host to bring us a large loaf of bread and a bottle of brandy, as we might want them before our joining our regiment at Guise. This being done, they all wished us success, and we parted from them, most glad to get rid of their company.
At daylight we stopped at a wood joining a farmhouse, on the banks of the Oise. About seven in the evening of Tuesday the 8th we recommenced our march, after having been greatly alarmed by a genteelly dressed lady and two children that had passed us, with a servant, who went before her shaking the brambles and knocking the wet off the trees. They came so close to us as to touch the very bush that covered us. About half-past eight we crossed the Oise in two places, and once more were obliged to pass through a village to get to the bridge that led over that river.
At daybreak of the 9th, after a tedious and difficult march, having traversed a number of deep-ploughed fields and stubble fields, over hills and across valleys, we found ourselves again in the open plains, with poor Essel scarcely able to move. This was by far the worst situation in which we had been placed since we began our journey. On surveying, with the utmost anxiety and attention, all around us, we thought we could descry trees; but they were at a considerable distance, and out of our course. We nevertheless approached them. It commenced raining very fast; and when we had reached the much-desiredspot, it proved to be only a thin orchard, with a few scattered apple-trees. We still kept walking on, being well assured there was no shelter for us in our rear—at least none that was not at a great distance. We soon discovered a little village in the very direction we were going, and near it appeared a small wood. We advanced tolerably fast. Poor Essel was obliged to lag a great way behind. Meeting an old peasant, we inquired the name of the village, and found it to be Petit Essigny. He told us there was a pathway on the right of it, if we wished to avoid passing through. We were, he said, five leagues from St. Quentin. This old man’s remarks appeared to us very singular: he took his leave, and we walked on. It rained, and the morning was advancing, it being now nearly eight o’clock. What we imagined to be a wood, adjacent to the village, proved, upon approaching it, to be only a few shrubs; on arriving at which we found they were pretty thick, and the grass very high, the enclosure being surrounded by a quickset hedge. We instantly got through this hedge, and lay close down. Our situation was very unpleasant. The grass, which was excessively wet, added to our misery, having been nearly soaked to the skin before we entered it. The rain off the bushes came literally upon our poor bodies in sluices; but this was considerably preferable to the risk of going into the village, where we suspected thatgendarmesmight be lurking, the place being so near a large town. We continued in this wretched plight until about four o’clock, when Mr. Essel became quite weak and exhausted, and the rest of our little party were not much better. This induced us to quit this inhospitable place and endeavour to get shelter in a house, let the consequence be what it might.
Accordingly we approached a single hut at a short distance from the village; entered it, and found in it a poor old peasant and two lads, who proved to be his sons: they were shivering over a few cinders, and appeared to be very poor and miserable. We requested that they would make a good fire and allow us to dry our soaked clothes and to warm ourselves; and this they did, but not until we had promised a liberal payment. They seemed to be astonished at our appearance, and greatly at a loss to know who and what we could be. The fire being at last made, we gladly proceeded to wring the water out of our clothes and endeavour to get them dry. We made the old peasant bring us some bread: he also gave us a little butter, which by chance he had in the house; the old dame, his wife, having taken all the rest that morning to St. Quentin market.
We imagined that we should do extremely well if the old man would allow us to remain all night, even by his fireside, as it rained so excessively hard that it was absolutely impossible to attempt to travel. This was intimated to our venerable host, accompanied by an assurance that he should have his reward; but, without hesitation, he declared to us in the most positive manner that this was impossible. What were we to do, for it seemed that sort of night which made the gentle Cordelia declare that she could not turn out her enemy’s dog; and yet we, Christians, and gentlemen, and officers to boot, seemed to be in danger of becoming the wretches whose “houseless heads and unfed sides” were so pitied by the mad King Lear. Our reflections were not of a very consolatory character.
At length the old curmudgeon of a host told us thatthere was a public-house in the village, where we could get supplied with everything; and he added, that, as it was so very near, there could be no great difficulty in our getting to it. At this moment two peasants were passing his door, and, determined at any rate to turn us out, he called these two fellows to guide us to the place. The men appeared very civil, but, had it been the reverse, there was no alternative; so we paid the old Cerberus for his scanty fire, his mouldy brown bread and sour butter, and left his house with the disposition to shake the very dust, or rather, in this case, the very mud, off our shoes on his threshold. The figure of this flinty host of ours is still before me. He was a tall, thin, misshapen fellow; and the effects of his cadaverous and hideous countenance were not improved by a most sinister squint, and a malign, ill-natured sneer, that might well warn the unfortunate that they had little of humanity to expect at his hands.
Under our civil guides we soon arrived at the village, and, to our inexpressible joy, found it to be a small and miserable place. Our guides showed us the public-house and took their leave. We entered this poverty-stricken hovel, and found that the good landlady had nothing to give us but bread and eggs; and further, that there was not a bed in the house, her guests being accustomed to sleep in a loft where there was plenty of clean hay. This, however, was luxurious to poor wanderers, who had fed and slept in the manner in which we had ever since we had escaped from prison. But we had to study appearances, and, as there was no other inn (as they termed the wretched hovel) in the village, we seemed to hesitate whether we should remain here, or proceed to the next considerable town or to St. Quentin, and we accordinglyinquired how far it was off. Our hostess replied that it was not above three or four miles to a tolerably large village, but that St. Quentin was two leagues distant. We pretended to be much chagrined at this information, and told her that it rained too hard for us to go that distance, and, inconvenient as it was, we would remain with her and sleep in the hay-loft that night, in preference to being exposed any longer to the inclemency of the weather. We had a good fire made, completed the drying of our clothes, got some supper, and retired to the hay-loft. The kind woman gave us two blankets to cover us. We found this accommodation sufficiently good, and we very soon fell fast asleep.
The next day, fortunately for us (as it kept us under cover), was very bad, raining without intermission. We continued in our loft, except one of us, who went to procure breakfast, and to inform the landlady (who we found was a widow) that we would stay until evening, in hopes that the rain might cease. We sent her our tattered garments, stockings, etc., to mend. We could move about without much fear in this place, as we found they were utter strangers to the sight of agendarme. The good lady took us for conscripts, and commiserated our situation. She had a brother in the army, then in Prussia; and she brought us a letter to read that she had lately received from him. I said that I had served in the same regiment, with which she was very much pleased.
At about seven we paid this worthy old hostess, and took our leave. It was a clear, starlight night, and the weather promised favourably; but the ground was so excessively slippery and muddy that we could scarcely prevent ourselves from falling every step we took. Atabout ten, Mr. Essel was seized with a violent bleeding at the nose and mouth. We feared that he had burst a blood-vessel. This, together with a dysentery which he had been troubled with for some time, rendered him so excessively weak that he could not move a step. We were greatly affected at this misfortune, and agreed to convey him to the next house we should find. Fortunately, the village alluded to by our landlady, when we first arrived at her house, was in sight, and the view of it gave our sick friend fresh courage; but we were apprehensive it was too large for our security; however, we were resolved at all events to procure him a lodging there, and to be vigilant, and if we perceived any danger, to be off instantly. About half-past eleven we arrived at this village, and, to our joy, it proved to be by far inferior to what we had expected. Mr. Ashworth went into a public-house to reconnoitre, and to inquire if food and shelter could be supplied to our suffering friend. He returned shortly with the glad tidings that he had succeeded, and he assured us that, from all he could observe, he was convinced that we should incur no danger by remaining at the inn for the whole night, and even for the next day. The joy this intelligence spread amongst us is hardly conceivable. We all accordingly agreed most cordially to remain with our unfortunate friend, sincerely hoping that he might by the next night get rid of his malady and recover some portion of his strength. The bleeding had ceased, a symptom which we construed to be much in his favour, and at last we all entered the public-house, the sick gentleman and myself bringing up the rear.
We were very civilly received by the landlord, a decent young man, who showed us into a nice, clean, and comfortableback-room, in which there was a separate bed for each of us. It was rather startling, however, to hear him assure us that “we were perfectly safe with him”; for this guarantee of safety, even if sincere, at least implied that we were objects of suspicion. Our doubts, however, were soon dispelled, for he added, to our great relief, “I have been situated in a similar manner once myself, and shall ever have a fellow-feeling for others under such unhappy circumstances. When I quitted the army as a conscript, I travelled several hundred miles by night, and concealed myself in woods in the daytime.” This was consolatory, and we gave himnodsof assent and approbation; for it was dangerous to speak, as a word or two would have led to a conversation, in which it might not have been convenient to answer questions with truth, and not easy to evade them by ingenuity, or even to defeat them by falsehood.
We took our refreshment with the keenness which showed that we had not lately been accustomed to good cheer, and we found, or flattered ourselves that we found, that our sick friend was already getting better. Each retired to his bed, as happy as any creature in the universe. Heavens! What a paradise! It is not in my power to express or to give any idea of the delight and happiness I felt at being once more in a comfortable bed, with everything neat and clean about me. We had been thirteen days and nights without once taking off our clothes, except the preceding night in the hay-loft, when we had our garments repaired, and those days and nights had been passed, the former in sleeping, as chance might be, in mud, bog, or quagmire, or on dry or wet green leaves, whilst the latter had been spent in toiling, upon emptystomachs and with parched throats, over all the bad grounds and awkward impediments which must be encountered by travellers who have private reasons for avoiding highways or beaten tracks. Such sufferings are wonderfully conducive to make men feel and be thankful for the comforts of a good bed; and I need not observe that we all remained in bed, not only throughout the night, but throughout the greater part of the next day [Friday, 11th].
As soon as it became dusk we paid our bill, which was moderate, with gratitude; and, taking a most friendly leave of our simple-minded and kind-hearted host, we again buckled on our knapsacks and resumed our habit of travelling at night-time. Essel was greatly refreshed; we found ourselves comparatively quite strong and well, from the last night’s repose.
At daylight on the 12th it began to rain incessantly and in torrents; we were then very near a small village. Our late success made us more bold than we had been at our first setting out, and having no wood to shelter us, we resolved to go into the village. We found it very well calculated for our purpose, and got admitted into a public-house; where, after procuring something to eat, we requested permission to lie down to rest a little in any place, expecting to be shown into a hay-loft,—but we were agreeably surprised; for our good old landlady put sheets on the only two beds she had, and told us we might rest ourselves on them until night. We perceived that she also supposed we were conscripts. She got Mr. Essel something warm, and appeared very attentive. At dusk we paid the good dame, and, as usual, began our march. Poor Essel complained a great deal, and my feet began to swell; althoughthey were not painful, I feared some bad consequence from their swelling. About ten, our friend declared he could not advance a step farther; consequently, we sat down to allow him time to rest. We agreed to wait with him a day or two, to see if he should improve, but were greatly at a loss where to take him for this night. Thus meditating, we were joined by a man going our road. He saluted us very kindly, and expressed his sorrow at seeing our comrade so ill. The worthy fellow was in a cheerful mood, and evidently of a communicative nature, and seemed disposed to let us know all about himself and his affairs, which was by far more convenient to us than had he expected equal frankness on our part. He informed us that he was a baker, and was returning from the place where he had been at work the whole week, to his little family, in a village about two miles off. The honest fellow appeared to derive a sort of melancholy satisfaction in dwelling upon the memory of his wife, who, he added mournfully, had recently died, leaving him three young orphans. The good-hearted man concluded his unsophisticated, open garrulity, by informing us that he had two good beds, to which he assured us that we were welcome, and he gave us this welcome with such a frankness and warmth that no cynic could suspect guile in such a character, or could be unwarmed by gratitude at his benevolent nature. The honest baker added to his other assurances that he would procure for us everything we could want or might desire. It was evident that we were always to be mistaken for conscriptson a retreat, for this our jolly companion assured us with a knowing look, adding, “that his village was small, and that there was no danger with him.” Our heartsfelt the truth of this, and withal its inestimable value.
We soon arrived at this poor man’s dwelling, and he seemed as glad to receive us as if he had by good fortune unexpectedly found some friends or kindred that had been long absent and dear to his heart. He made a blazing fire, and bade the children get up and prepare the beds for our reception. This they cheerfully did, and then retired to their loft. We felt that we were particularly safe with this poor hospitable stranger, and the whole domestic scene was at least calculated to impress upon us the truth that contentment, happiness, generosity, and the best feelings of our nature are not the exclusive heritage of the rich. We warmed ourselves over his glowing hearth, wished him good-night, and gladly sank into our comfortable beds.
The next day our hospitable friend procured us all the things we wanted. In every respect nothing could have been more kind and liberal than the conduct of this unpretending, humble, and good man; and the reader, in the sequel, will have further proofs of my just estimate of his character.
As we had promised our friend Essel, we waited until dusk on Sunday the 13th, and then paid our host liberally for all we had received. He escorted us a mile or two on the road and took his leave, as if sorry to part, but full of satisfaction that he had had an opportunity of so well performing a duty to those who were in the extremities of need.
At a little before daylight on the 14th (September), we entered a wood, and found a very convenient place for our concealment. We conjectured that we were about fiveleagues from Arras. At about eleven we were alarmed by the noise and whistling of a fowler with a dog, and in a few minutes we heard the report of his gun; the shot rattled through the bushes in which we lay, and a partridge perched close to us. This circumstance alarmed us prodigiously, as we could hear the man and dog advancing towards the very spot. To move would have been imprudent, since he was so very close that it was impossible to avoid being discovered. We waited the event, without the smallest hope of escaping from being seen—the dog advanced—flushed the partridge nearly at our feet—the fowler close to us. Fortunately the bird took an opposite direction to the spot where we remained concealed, and the master and dog followed, and in a few minutes relieved us from the consternation they had thrown us into.
At the usual hour, on the night of the 14th of September, we left our leafy concealment to commence our nocturnal progress; and we were put into good spirits by finding our friend’s health greatly improved. We walked a great distance this night, in order to make up for our recent delays and stoppages; but we had nearly been victims to the old proverb, “The more haste the worse speed”; and we found that it was less essential to our safety to travel fast, than to contrive to stop, at or before daybreak, within the reach of some wood sufficiently large and thick to hide us. At dawn, however, on Tuesday the 15th, to our great dismay, we found ourselves on an open plain, and we anxiously stretched our eyes in every direction, but could not discern the least appearance of a wood, although, to our alarm, we beheld several villages. As our comrade was much better, we determined to proceed, avoiding human habitations as much as possible. Afterwe had passed by the first village, we discovered a copse or shrubbery near the second; so we quickened our pace, and, advancing rapidly, we entered it at its part the most remote from the village. It proved to be merely a nursery, and but thinly stocked with small trees, or even shrubs; but we selected the spot most favourable to our object, and happily we contrived to conceal ourselves in it until darkness afforded us the usual motive to our sortie. At eleven, as we were passing a small village, being excessively thirsty, and not able to discover any watering place, we agreedto border close, in the hope of being able to procure some water at one of the wells with which these villages abound. Mr. Ashworth and our sick comrade were employed in getting some, while Mr. Tuthill and myself retired to a small distance, under cover of a quickset hedge. Two women and a man passed close by us. The women continued to walk on, but the latter halted and turned on his heel. I was next to him. He eyed me closely, and exclaimed, “Vous-êtes Anglois?” To which I replied, “Je suis aussi bon François que vous, je l’espère.” This was the only time in the whole course of my life that I had felt afraid to acknowledge my country. The women, hearing the conversation, called to the fellow “to come along and mind his own business.” He appeared to wish to remain; but, on their repeatedly calling him, he left us. Having been joined by our companions, we proceeded.
At break of day on Wednesday the 16th, we got into an excellent thick wood, and found a material change in the weather as we advanced to the northward; sometimes there was a sort of grey frost, which made us extremely cold before the rising of the sun; nor could we at all times receive the benefit of that heavenly body until noon, owingto the thickness of the part of the wood that we were (when practicable) obliged to occupy. We found an abundance of filberts, filled our pockets with them, and felt particularly happy at succeeding thus far. This was the last wood we expected to inhabit prior to our seeing the sea-coast; and we were, at times, replete with the idea of its being the last night we should remain in the land of usurpation and tyranny. At the usual time we commenced our route, and left the town of St. Pol about two miles on our left-hand side.
At about ten our progress was impeded by the river Canche. After examining it in several directions without success, we agreed to send Mr. Ashworth to a farmhouse hard by, to inquire the nearest place that we could cross; from whence he returned in a few minutes with one of the farmer’s men, who had been desired to direct him, and assured us the people were extremely civil. It appeared to him to be a good place to get a supply of provisions—we were excessively hungry,—and, as the passage across the river was immediately at the end of the farmhouse, and as they had already discovered our number, we mutually consented to put the farmer’s hospitality to the test, and, if possible, to procure what we wanted. We advanced with the man, who showed us in; and we were very kindly received by the master of the house, who conducted us into a decent back-room. The kitchen, when we first entered, was full of peasantry at supper.
The farmer’s harvest had been that day finished, or gathered in, and he was giving his labourers a feast on the occasion, which, we were told, was an immemorial custom in that part of the country, throughout which many things reminded us of our own. In fact, we were now in themidst of a French harvest-home; and, though the scene was gratifying, yet in our peculiar situation we should have been by far better pleased had we been alone. All was joy and happiness under this rustic and hospitable roof, if I except the twinges of apprehension that now and then would disturb me and my friends. Nothing, however, could surpass the attention and kindness of this good farmer. He supplied us spontaneously with everything that his house could afford. Certain it is that he took us for Frenchmen and conscripts, and thought, perhaps, that we were going to fight for the glory of France, under the eagles of the new emperor. Little did he suspect that we were English naval officers, encountering all dangers and enduring all hardships, for the sake of once more fighting under