by Paul Simpson
Nothing further happened until the summer of 1622, when word came that Grevius and Prins were going to be moved to Loevenstein Castle. Sapma knew that any rescue attempt had to be tried before that took place and on the night of 12 June, ladders dyed black were placed against the high walls of the workhouse. A group of men then ascended to the top of the wall, and let rope ladders down the far side into the inner courtyard. It didn’t help that the local dogs were roused by the noise of the men bringing the ladders and the rest of their gear to the prison walls, and it was quite surprising that no one within was woken to raise the alarm.
As the first group were rappelling down the ladders as quickly as they could to get to the rooms where the prisoners were sleeping, and a second group was sitting on the roof, a local man came storming out of his house, his sword drawn, to attack the men who were waiting at the base of the ladders. He tried to raise the alarm, claiming that the men were thieves who were trying to steal the money from the almshouses, next door to the workhouse. The conspirators tried their best to shut him up, and in the end told him the truth – they were helping the Arminian ministers to escape. According to the contemporary report, “the man stood as if he had been thunder-struck, left off crying, looked a little at the work, and then wishing them good success, but in such foul language as the mob are used to utter, retired into his house.” As if that weren’t enough, one of the criminals inside the workhouse heard the noise of the escape attempt, and cried out, “The Arminians are getting out!” Luckily the guards at the workhouse were used to hearing him scream odd things at different times and ignored him.
By this point, the raiding party had reached the cell doors, and used copy keys that they had previously been able to make to open the two locks. Grevius and Prins were quickly assisted to ascend the rope ladders, and go down the other side. Three other prisoners joined in the escape, with all of them getting clean away. The next morning authorities were baffled when they found the empty cells. The locks were still fastened: how could the men have disappeared? It was only when two of the ladders were found outside the prison that all became clear.
Many of the Arminians went into exile until the death of their prime persecutor, Prince Maurice of Orange in 1625; they were formally allowed to reside in all parts of the Republic from 1630. Their propensity for escape has, with the exception of Hugo de Groot, been mostly forgotten over the years!
Sources:
Davies, Charles Maurice: History of Holland from the Beginning of the Tenth to the End of the Eighteenth Century (Parker, 1842)
Murray, John: A hand-book for travellers on the continent (John Murray, 5th edition, 1845)
Brandt, Gerard: The history of the Reformation and their Ecclesiastical Transactions in and about the Low Countries (John Nicks, 1723)
Slot Loevenstein website: www.slotloevestein.nl/ (History/Hugo Grotius pages)
Canadian Journal of Netherlandic Studies, 1985: “Grotius and the Socioeconomic Development of the United Provinces around 1600”
European Journal of International Law, 2003: “Rebels with a Cause? Terrorists and Humanitarian Law”
The Prince and the Pauper
It doesn’t matter what your station in life is: you can be a king or a commoner, a dictator or a peasant. There’s a chance that at some point, you may be locked up. And if you are – particularly if you feel that you have been locked up unfairly, perhaps while your country is being left to the devices of those you feel are your inferiors, and even common decency is being ignored – then you will want to escape. The nephew of Emperor Napoleon I, Louis-Napoleon, later known as Napoleon III, felt that way when he was imprisoned at the Castle of Ham in 1840; he had tried to restore the Bonaparte succession on two separate occasions, and failed each time.
After the final fall of his uncle in 1815, Louis-Napoleon’s parents had been removed from their positions as rulers of Holland, and the young Louis was raised in Switzerland and Germany. In 1830, Louis-Philippe had established the July Monarchy in France, and his opponents, including the Bona-partists, saw Louis-Napoleon as a potential rallying point since he was the legitimate heir within his generation, following the death of Louis’ cousin, the Duke of Reichstadt. (His other uncle, Joseph, was the next in line, but lived in America between 1817 and 1832.) In 1836, Louis-Napoleon tried to stage a Bonapartist coup in Strasbourg, but the soldiers arrested him rather than follow him. Louis returned to voluntary exile in Switzerland, but when his presence there became an embarrassment to the government, Louis chose to leave, and moved to Royal Leamington Spa in Britain. He bided his time there for two years, before trying another coup, this time in Boulogne in August 1840. This too failed to ignite popular support, and this time the French establishment decided to keep him where they could see him – in moderately luxurious quarters (certainly compared with the average prison cell) at a fortress in the town of Ham, part of the Somme region of northern France.
The Château had been originally built in the thirteenth century, but it was heavily fortified during the fifteenth, and proved to be an excellent holding place for the would-be Emperor. Its moat, high walls and heavy guard were a serious deterrent, particularly when seen from the inside. If Louis went for a walk, even if it was only on the ramparts, then he was accompanied. Warders were stationed at each door and on the stairs to make sure that he was always in sight. Ironically, some of the soldiers sent to guard him were from the two regiments that he had tried to use in his coups in 1836 and 1840, from Strasbourg and Boulogne respectively.
Resigned to his situation, at least initially, Louis-Napoleon spent much of his time writing pamphlets and essays, a few of which discussed his claim to the throne of France, as well as setting out some of the principles by which he would govern. Otherwise he would spend his time cultivating flowers, or playing games of whist with the commandant, General Montholon, and fellow prisoner Dr Conneau.
In 1844, his uncle Joseph died, leaving just Louis-Napoleon’s own father, Louis, between him and the throne – if he were ever to gain it back. There were rumours around the same time of a general amnesty for political prisoners, but Louis did not want to exchange his jail cell for a life of exile. The possibility of travelling to Central America to oversee the building of a canal in Nicaragua was mooted. At the start of 1846, he asked if he could be permitted to visit his father, who was dying in Florence, Italy, but was told that it would only be feasible if he acknowledged his debt to King Louis-Philippe for allowing this. Louis-Napoleon refused to kowtow in this way, and decided that the only way that he would be released to see his father was if he escaped.
Once he’d made that decision, the first thing Louis-Napoleon needed to do was persuade the Commandant that he was waiting for an amnesty, so couldn’t possibly be thinking of planning an escape. By dropping hints in their conversations, he was able to make the Commandant believe that an amnesty was likely to happen in June. At the same time, he decided that the best plan of escape was to arrange for some workmen to come to the fortress, and then disguise himself as one of them, walking out under the noses of the guards.
Even though Commandant Montholon was pretty sure that no escape plan was under way, he didn’t relax his vigilance over his charges, and most of the soldiers under his command thought his precautions were ridiculous. During the night, the guard was doubled; during the day, two guards were stationed at the foot of the staircase leading to Louis’ rooms. However, one of these guards disappeared each day for a quarter of an hour to fetch the newspapers. This brief space would be the only chance that Louis would have.
Luck was on the future Emperor’s side. As Louis was trying to think of a way to organize this, the Commandant informed him that, at long last, permission had been given for repairs to be carried out to the part of the fortress in which Louis was housed. For eight days, Louis-Napoleon carefully monitored their movements, and the way that the guards watched them.
Montholon was taking no chances with the workmen: they normally came in and went out
together. On their entrance, they walked in single file past two guards, and the same procedure was followed on their exit in the evening. If they had to work separately within the fortress, each was carefully watched, but, as Louis realized to his delight, if they had to go back out to collect items, then the scrutiny was more lax. The direct road from the fortress to the town was clearly visible from the walls of the fortress, so were they to do anything unusual, there would be plenty of time to spot it. It was this minor chink in the armour that Louis decided to exploit.
One of the other prisoners who had been incarcerated at Ham with Louis, his valet Charles Thélin, had finished his five years’ imprisonment and was now permitted to go into the local town, St Quentin. The plan therefore was that Thélin would ask permission to head into St Quentin, and would then head back to prison after hiring a cab. When he left, Louis, dressed as a workman, would exit alongside him. This would mean that the guards’ attention was on Thélin, not the “workman”, and hopefully not draw any attention as he made his way down the road.
Everything was made ready for the morning of Saturday 23 May 1846. A disguise had been smuggled in for Louis, and he was all set to change into it when he was told that some friends whom he had met in England had arrived to see him. Their arrival was quite fortuitous in one way: Louis was able to borrow their courier’s passport, on the pretext that his valet was about to make a journey. Otherwise plans were put on hold until Monday, since Louis needed to be sure that there were sufficient workmen around the place that one of them leaving wouldn’t be so noticeable. To ensure that there were, Thélin asked if they could build him some shelving.
On the morning of Monday 25 May, Louis, Dr Conneau and Thélin waited impatiently for the workmen to arrive. The one guard they really didn’t want to be on duty had been placed in front of Louis’ door overnight: he had a bad habit of keeping a close eye on all of the workmen, interrogating them about their activities as the day progressed. Chances were he wouldn’t be relieved until 7 a.m., much later than Louis wanted to leave his departure. However, by luck, the previous day, the shift pattern had been changed, and this particular guard went off duty at six.
The workmen arrived at five, as normal, and were inspected as they entered the castle. Louis’ disguise was as a joiner, but, at least initially, there weren’t any among the working party. He also had prepared a special pair of sabots, the wooden shoes which the workmen normally wore: these would boost his height by four inches, adding to the disguise. However, the workmen weren’t wearing them that Monday.
The combination of the two setbacks was enough to persuade Dr Conneau to counsel delaying the escape attempt. The point of no return would come when they shaved off Louis’ distinctive moustache: if they didn’t proceed with the plan, and the Commandant spotted Louis’ lack of hirsuteness, he would immediately become suspicious.
Louis wasn’t going to give up his hope of freedom. He ordered his valet to remove the moustaches, and packed the few items he was taking with him: a small dagger, a package containing two letters from his mother, and one from his uncle Napoleon in which he told Louis’ mother that he hoped Louis would grow and “make himself worthy of the destinies which await him”. He then put on the rest of his disguise: a dirty shirt and pair of trousers, a blue linen apron, a long black-haired wig, and a bad cap. His hands and face were painted with red and black, and then, after a cup of coffee, Louis donned his sabots, put a clay pipe in his mouth and prepared to leave.
At 6.45 a.m. Thélin called the workmen over and invited them to have their morning drink, which got them out of the way. He then went down the stairs, where one of the workmen had been repairing the balustrade. Two guards were stationed there as normal; Thélin distracted one of them so that he couldn’t see who else might be coming down the stairs. He chatted with the guard, who wished him a pleasant journey – Thélin was carrying a coat, and had explained he was collecting Louis’ dog to take him for a walk.
Louis exited from his room, and picked up a plank, which he placed on his shoulder before going down the stairs. The other guard moved back out of the way of the plank, which Louis had positioned so that his face wouldn’t be visible. He followed Thélin and the first guard towards the two wicket gates, and passed through them into the courtyard without incident. As Louis crossed the courtyard, a young locksmith’s boy ran across, apparently about to start a discussion with him. Thélin intercepted him, and sent him back upstairs before he could talk to Louis.
No one else gave Louis more than a brief glance. When he accidentally dropped his pipe in front of a soldier, the guard simply continued pacing up and down. He then passed various officials, as well as over a dozen guards who were lounging around outside the guardhouse. Thélin followed close behind, now with Louis’ dog eagerly bounding along beside him.
The guards at the first gate eyed Louis a little suspiciously, but they weren’t sufficiently worried to cause an alarm. Louis walked through the gate, with Thélin close behind. Just one more gate to go – but as they approached it a pair of workmen were entering the fortress. As they came closer, the other workmen were surprised that they didn’t know Louis, but then as their paths crossed (and Louis was beginning to worry that he was about to be discovered), one of them said, “Oh, it’s Bertou!”
Louis was free. While Thélin headed into Ham to fetch a cabriolet, which he was going to drive himself, Louis started to walk towards St Quentin, still carrying his plank, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Louis had reached the cemetery of St Sulpice, around two miles from St Quentin, when he heard the sound of an approaching cabriolet. Louis was about to throw his plank to the ground when he heard a second cabriolet approaching from St Quentin; Thélin slowed down to allow this one to pass him, and Louis maintained his disguise until it was well out of sight. He then got rid of the plank and his sabots, then mounted the cabriolet, and took the reins.
When the two men reached St Quentin, Louis hopped down from the cabriolet, returning the reins to Thélin. Louis went round St Quentin, to wait for Thélin on the other side. Thélin meanwhile went to collect a fresh carriage and horses; he was also able to scrounge some breakfast for his master. By 9 a.m. Thélin had collected Louis and they, accompanied by the dog, reached Valenciennes by 2.15 where they were picking up a train to Brussels. At 4 p.m. they got on the train. From there it was an easy route, via Brussels and Ostend, back to Britain.
Louis’ unorthodox departure wasn’t spotted for nearly twelve hours. The governor kept sending for him, but Dr Conneau replied that Louis couldn’t be disturbed, since he had taken medication which made him drowsy. Eventually the governor lost patience, and came over to Louis’ rooms. When he entered the bedchamber, he discovered a dummy in the bed – but by that time, Louis was already far across the border. Conneau was given three months’ imprisonment for aiding the escape; Thélin was condemned in his absence to six.
Louis never got to visit his father; the older Louis died a month after the flight from Ham. He stayed in Britain until after the revolution in February 1848 which removed Louis-Phillippe from the throne of France. He stood in the direct elections for the presidency of France in December that year and won a landslide majority. Three years later, he became dictator, and a year after that, on 2 December 1852, he became Emperor Napoleon III, ruling France until he was captured at the Battle of Sedan in the Franco-Prussian War in 1870. He was held captive in Germany for six months before being exiled to England, where he died in 1873. One of his lasting legacies to France: the establishment of a penal colony in French Guyana, which has come to be known by the title of its smallest component part – Devil’s Island. Its inhabitants were not given the opportunities to escape that Louis himself had used.
Sources:
Briffaut, F.T.: The Prisoner of Ham (T.C. Newby, 1846)
Simpson, Frederick Arthur: The Rise of Louis Napoleon (Frank Cass & Co. 1909)
The Free Lance-Star, March 19, 1912 “Louis Napoleon’s Escape”
The Outlaw’s Last Escape
There are quite a few prison breaks that have entered mythology – from the exploits of Papillon Henri Charriere, to the prisoner-of-war escapes involving the Wooden Horse or gliders from Colditz Castle. But not that many have inspired a pageant. The escape from the Lincoln County Courthouse of Henry McCarty, otherwise known as Billy Antrim, Henry Antrim, Kid Antrim, Billy Bonney and William H. Bonney, but renowned as Billy the Kid, was first memorialized in a pageant in Lincoln County, New Mexico, in 1940, with many of the actors direct descendants of the participants in the bloody shoot out. The pageant continues to this day.
Billy the Kid has become the stuff of American legend – in addition to multiple written retellings of his story, there have been songs (notably by Billy Joel), and even a ballet dedicated to the cowboy who was only twenty-five when he died. Born around 1856, his first escape from custody supposedly occurred in 1875, a year after his mother’s death when he was mostly working as a general labourer and cowboy. According to legend, at that time, the Kid was still using the name of Henry McCarty (he started calling himself Antrim, after his stepfather, shortly after this incident), and was arrested initially for stealing two pounds of butter from a ranchman living near his home in Silver City, New Mexico. He was released when he promised to behave better, but shortly afterwards he stole $70, a not inconsiderable sum, from a Chinese man, known as Charlie Sun, in Georgetown. This time he was thrown into jail by Grant County Sheriff Harvey Whitehill.
The young outlaw was held in the Silver City lock-up, and complained to Whitehill that the jailer there was mistreating him, keeping him in solitary confinement and not allowing him to take any exercise. Whitehill therefore ordered the jailer to let the Kid out of his cell to wander around a corridor. The sheriff gave two different stories of what happened next: