by Roy Adkins
After writing this letter, Carslake and Bingham were to spend another three years as prisoners, until released at the end of the war.
For those petty officers and seamen who were in prison, with no prospect of escape, conditions could be intolerable. John Finny, a carpenter’s mate, was pressed into the navy in May 1805, only to be captured a few months later when on board HMS Dove which was taking dispatches to Nelson’s squadron off Cadiz. He spent the rest of the war in prison, initially at Arras, until his release in 1814. In November 1806 he wrote in despair: ‘During the course of this summer, we experienced all the hardships of captivity, having no subsistence from our native country, but was all along flattered with hopes of getting clear by peace, or a general exchange. This continued for some months but alas, to our mortification, instead of a general release our correspondence with England was shut up in consequence of which our enemies now showed themselves in their true colours.’48
Thomas Williams, a merchant seaman from St Ives in Cornwall, was held at Givet prison from April 1804 and described the food that was given to them:
Our provisions from the French were very mean indeed. We had one pound of brown bread, half a pound of beef (said to be beef, but which consisted of heads, liver, lights, and other offal of the bullock, and that not very fat), a little salt, and about a noggin of peas or calavances, which were served to us every four days, and three farthings in money paid once a week; but they would deduct a certain portion from each person for the repairs of the prison, etc … You can easily picture to yourself the state of society in such a place without any restraint. Captain Jahleel Brenton, of the H.M.S. Le Minerve, laid down certain rules for the Commandant of the depot to observe with respect to the prisoners before he left our depot for Verdun as to spirits, beer, etc, which was strictly adhered to, as far as could be done in a direct way.49
Despite Brenton’s strictures, Williams admitted that the naval seamen continued to get drunk as normal: ‘the old men-of-war’s men found out many inventions. Smuggling was carried on in every possible way, and you can easily guess what followed.’50
Conditions in prisons depended very much on local circumstances, such as the gaoler in charge and the wealth of individual prisoners, and from Verdun Captain Brenton helped to improve the conditions of the ordinary seamen. For poorer prisoners, some money was handed out by relief funds administered by charities, like the Lloyd’s Patriotic Fund in London, but constant complaints were heard that the money was not finding its way to the needy. Six years after the end of the war, Midshipman Robert James complained bitterly that many people received allowances who were not eligible:
There was a committee established at Verdun, for the management of the monies, arising from the numerous subscriptions all over England, Ireland, Scotland, for the relief of the prisoners in general, but instead of its being vested in the hands of the naval and military senior officers, it was in the hands of hostages [imprisoned civilians] and distributed among a set of rascals who never dared show their faces in their native land again, for fear of the gallows. One fellow received two guineas per month, a noted highwayman, whose arm had been broke by a gentleman whom he wanted to rob – and escaped … by flight to the Continent.51
The Reverend Robert Wolfe was appointed chaplain to all British prisoners-of-war in France and decided to base himself at Givet:
I found the depôt in the most deplorable state. Both in a moral and physical point of view, it would be difficult to conceive any thing more degraded and miserable … So great was their distress, at that moment, that, unable to satisfy the craving of hunger, they were seen to pick up the potato peelings, that were thrown out into the court, and devour them … The little money that was received by the prisoners, instead of being applied to the relief of their wants, and to make them more comfortable in food and clothing, was spent in riot and excess. On these occasions, sailors are, of all other men, most ready to communicate, and never think of to-morrow.52
Along with hunger, sickness was dreaded. John Robertson, a seaman from King’s Lynn, was held at Arras prison from late 1806 and saw many fall sick: ‘A great number of poor fellows are daily carried to the hospital, from 20 to 30 and sometimes 40 of a day; the complaints is fevers, viz the spotted fever, the putrid fever, and the fever and ague, and many others. Complaints brought on by long imprisonment and bad living.’53 John Finny was also at Arras and wrote of men falling ill all the time. In February 1806, a few months after his capture, he too fell sick:
This day we had an exceeding heavy gale of wind and snow, the deepest that any of the oldest inhabitants can remember, and several of them were smothered in the snow. I was carried to the hospital this day very bad with the fever and was almost starved with the cold. The storm being begun before I left the Citadel I had about three quarters of a mile to go, the four men that carried me on the barrow was very much fatigued with me, as it blowed and snowed so excessive hard.54
Towards the end of the war, Midshipman James was moved to Sarrelibre prison, which he hated more than Bitche, where he had earlier been sent as punishment. He particularly disliked having to share rooms with colliers from Tyneside, whom he regarded as his social inferiors, while the colliers in turn loathed Captain Brenton whom they blamed for ranking them too low – on a par with mere midshipmen. James described his situation:
This depôt was for fifteen hundred prisoners, chiefly seamen … The rooms in which we were confined were about twenty feet square … here I was with another midshipman, shut up with a set of coal heavers, mates of Colliers … The Navy was every thing that was bad. The Midshipmen a set of trash. And that fellow Brenton was no better, to rate captains and mates of merchantmen with them. Their conversation dwelt chiefly on coals; canny lads; and brigs with pink sterns.55
James objected that the French at Sarrelibre gave them insufficient supplies: ‘The cloathing was withheld so that the poor fellows used to stalk about in a blanket.’56 John Tregerthen Short, from St Ives, was captured with his cousin Thomas Williams just a few weeks after the crew of Captain Brenton’s Minerve, and he was held at Givet with them. According to Short, ‘We were paid tenpence per man by Bradshaw, a big rascal, clerk to the Captain of La Minerve frigate; this was allowed us by English Lloyds.’57
Even though they had the opportunity, British officers could not escape unless their parole was withdrawn through some misdemeanour, because their word of honour was so binding. If any officer dared escape while on parole, he risked being dismissed from the navy and treated like a social outcast. Midshipman Edward Boys, held at Verdun, described the parole conditions:
Prisoners on their arrival at Verdun were invariably conducted to the citadel, when their names, age, birth place, profession, and description were entered in a book. They were then obliged to sign a paper, promising upon honour to conform to the regulations of the depôt, and not to escape, if permitted to reside in the town. A direct violation of this engagement was so unreservedly condemned by all classes, that during the five first years of the war, I recollect but three who so disgraced their country.58
Most prisoners were not officers and were therefore not held on parole, which gave them the freedom to attempt to escape. Throughout the course of the war, only a few hundred prisoners managed to do so, and most of these were midshipmen who had forfeited their parole. It was easier for those who had access to money and who knew the French language or were able to learn it – which excluded most of the seamen. Escape attempts were something new, despite the experiences of George Mackay, because it was an accepted practice of war that, in time, all prisoners would be exchanged. What helped many escaping prisoners in the police state of France was that they were able to pass themselves off as conscripts for the French army. This explained both their wretched appearance and strange accent, as the conscripts were drawn from way beyond the traditional borders of France. Their escape routes were various, some heading off to northern France and the Netherlands, while others went into Germany, Austria and
Italy. Thomas Williams wrote of one escape from Givet: ‘There happened to be five midshipmen of the English Navy who had broken their parole at Verdun for the express purpose of being sent to a confined depot in order to desert. I had the pleasure of seeing them go over the railings of the prison, some of them dressed in women’s clothes with a basket of potatoes on their backs, as was the custom of the women who came to the prison gate to sell.’59 Williams himself escaped from Givet and reached Ostend where he was recaptured, but happily learned that the midshipmen had all reached England.
Informers were an especial threat – at Verdun alone there were at least fifty. Two midshipmen, William Heywood and James Gale, escaped from Givet in 1808 and hid in a cave, but an informer (apparently their own servant, a marine by the name of Wilson) revealed their hiding place. The guards
went direct to the mouth of the cave where they were concealed. They were ordered to come forward and surrender, which they immediately did, when the first gendarme, with his sabre, cut Mr. Haywood [Heywood] to the ground, and again plunged the sword into poor Haywood’s body until life was extinct, Mr. Gale being also severely wounded; but they spared his life, and he afterwards recovered. The information as to their whereabouts was given by a marine named Wilson, belonging to H.M. frigate La Minerve, who had lost one of his legs in the service, for which he was sure of a pension for life.60
It appalled Edward Boys that Heywood’s body ‘was afterwards taken into the prison-yard, stripped naked, and exposed to the view of the prisoners, for the purpose of intimidating others from the like attempt’.61 Midshipman Edward Boys had been a prisoner since 1803, and after he was moved from Verdun to Valenciennes and his parole withdrawn, he became desperate to escape: ‘Parole had, hitherto, tended, in some measure, to reconcile me to captivity, but being now deprived of that honourable confidence … no obstacle could avert my intention of finally executing, what I now felt a duty.’62 Eventually he was successful in his escape bid.
Many midshipmen thought that they could not really be considered as on parole, because they had to muster twice a day at Verdun, and after hearing a rumour that they would be moved to Sarrelibre, Midshipman Robert James and Assistant Surgeon William Porteous decided to escape from Verdun. They reached Ulm but were discovered and taken in irons to Bitche in bitterly cold weather. James found the prison as bad as he expected, being forced to live underground:
The souterrains were kept as clean as the situation would admit of but it was so infested with rats that they would appear in droves and destroy all our cloathing and provisions. We were obliged to burn candles all day. The little light came from the windows [and] was never sufficient to read by. In the forenoon we were allowed two hours to breathe fresh air on deck [the courtyard] and the same in the afternoon. It was in this infernal place many a youth became the victim of all kinds of vices. Drinking raw spirits, gambling and smoaking were a continual repetition – and generally ended in boxing matches. The place was so humid that our blankets looked as if a heavy dew had fallen on them [and] consequently ended in giving the strongest constitution rheumatisms for life, and the weak ones became cripples.63
James added: ‘The Frenchman may say what he pleases against the prison ships [hulks] in England, but the worst of them was a palace compared with the Fort of Bitche.’64 To John Robertson at Arras prison, it was folly to try to escape. At the end of 1808 he recorded:
Sent off for Bitche this morning two people for desertion [escaping] … and in the evening two more deserters were brought back, and close confined. I am much astonished to see so many people deserting when they have so many sad proofs of an impossibility of effecting their escape, and daily being brought back, and adds sorrow to sorrow, till their troubles are really past bearing … We may say that Liberty is sweet, so it is, but it is dear buying it at the hazard of our lives.65
Midshipman James related one attempted escape from Bitche:
Two clever fellows formerly belonging to the Minerve, Capt. Brenton, of the names of Cox and Marshall, one was a carpenter, the other a blacksmith. They undertook to open the strong doors and liberate all their fellow prisoners … Nine o’clock was the hour to start. Rendezvous were given, and these fine fellows Cox and Marshall were to lead the way. The lights were put out, silence was observed by everyone as they proceeded. About half way in a long, narrow passage, Cox heard some person endeavoring to stifle a cough just before him. He asked Marshall if he did not hear some noise. Shortly after some person touched Cox on the arm. He asked Marshall if it was him. No, says he, Damme get on, don’t be afraid. At that moment Cox dropt dead at his feet, a sword had gone through his heart.66
French soldiers had been alerted to the escape attempt by spies among the prisoners and were lying in wait. Marshall was also killed, and many of the other prisoners seriously wounded. The next day, James related, ‘The bodies of Cox and Marshall were brought into the court yard naked and mutilated as they were, and placed as a spectacle as well as an example to the rest.’67
On board the Minerve, William Cox had his son with him, too young to be rated a boy. He had previously tried to escape from Givet with his son, then about five years old, but had been caught and sent to Bitche. On the death of his father, the young boy was sent to Verdun, and actually tried to escape: ‘[He] was one of four venturous little boys who descended one of the angles of the citadel of Verdun, without a rope: they were taken about five leagues distant, brought back, and whipped for their temerity.’68
Despite the informers, there were always officers willing to risk assisting escape attempts, provided that they did not involve breaking parole. Lieutenant George Jackson was taken to Verdun but was actually refused parole as he had tried to escape on the march there, and so he had no qualms about continuing his escape attempts. In the end, he was sent to Bitche and through sheer bravado became one of the few prisoners to succeed in getting out of the impregnable fortress. In December 1812 he made his way to Verdun with his companion, an army officer, who decided to stay in hiding there and not continue to England. This was very awkward, but, Jackson recorded, ‘I found a new friend in J. Carslake, who was a perfect stranger to me. He was a Lieutenant in the Navy, and he procured for me a passport as a Swiss clockmaker. Furthermore, he made arrangements with a man to take me a certain distance from Verdun.’69 This was John Carslake who had leased a house the previous year with his friend John Bingham, being convinced that they would be prisoners for a long time.
Some seamen and officers continued to join the French Navy as a means of escaping prison. When Midshipman James and his drunken seamen (who most likely had been pressed a few months earlier) were shipwrecked on the French shore, James mentioned that ‘their insolence to me was beyond bearing. They exulted in the idea of being made prisoners and snapped their fingers at me, saying that on shore Jack was as good as his master.’70 They tried to join the French Navy, provoking James to fury: ‘And as for you, Traitors that you are, and undeserving the name of Britons, can you hesitate between honor and infamy? Return back with me to your prison, and … show yourselves worthy of a country like England.’71
At Givet prison, Thomas Williams said that when the French army was in Spain, they were so desperate for troops that prisoners-of-war were recruited: ‘They sent officers to each depot of prisoners to recruit men to form an Irish brigade. Accordingly … any men who would say they were Irish might go, not regarding what nation they really belonged to on the French books, so that in a very few days, such was the desire to get clear of the prison, they enlisted 400 or 500 men from our depot only.’72 Late in the war, James related, many of Napoleon’s troops passed through Verdun, including the Irish brigade of the French army:
While I was standing by a coffee-house, two soldiers, one a sergeant, came up to me and asked me how I did. I did not recognise them at first on account of the dress and mustachios. I was too soon convinced they were two of my own men, and because I would not go into the coffee room and drink with them, they loaded me with
a deal of abuse. I got away from them, nor did I go out until the regiment was gone. There were also three midshipmen in their service, two of them enlisted at Givet and the other at Bitche!! I have learned since that one of them is now a lieutenant in our own naval service!!!73
A good number of prisoners-of-war never made it back to Britain but died either during escape attempts or in prison itself. At Arras, John Robertson recorded, ‘There is only one burying ground belonging to the prison where all is buried, the inhabitants as well as the prisoners without any distinction to sorts of religion … it stands a full mile from the town. At the entrance of the ground stands a mount, about sixteen feet high in the imitation of Mount Calvary; and on that is erected a Cross.’74 George Jackson’s family thought he was dead, not realising that he had been captured, and he was one of the few to make a successful escape across the Channel. The day after his arrival at Portsmouth, his brother Caleb was brought to him: ‘My brother was greatly affected at this unexpected meeting. He had been summoned by the Flag Lieutenant that morning to appear at the Admiral’s office, without being informed for what purpose … He had considered me dead long since.’75 Many others were not so lucky – John Short compiled a list of the deceased at Givet from 1804 until the prisoners’ release in 1814, and he reckoned that over three hundred men died there alone, while John Finny at Arras said that ‘In the three years and six months we have been in this place there is about six hundred deaths which is a great number in the time.’76