by Roy Adkins
In early November the French General Laurent Gouvion St Cyr crossed into Spain on his way to Barcelona to relieve the beleaguered Duhesme, who was cut off. Rather than besiege the fortress of Gerona, St Cyr decided to march past with his thousands of troops, but before that the town of Rosas, a key point of Spanish resistance, needed to be destroyed. This small coastal town lay 10 miles to the east of his route, just south of the border, and it had an excellent harbour that was used by British warships and was a potential landing point for Spanish guerillas. The surrounding land was marshy, but the town was guarded by a dilapidated citadel, while a mile away the harbour was protected by the formidable Fort Trinidad - Fort Trinity - built high on the cliffs.
When Cochrane arrived on 21 November, Rosas and Fort Trinidad were under siege and had already been heavily bombarded. Despite help from other British warships, the citadel was on the point of collapse and the Spanish were preparing to evacuate the area. Cochrane went on shore to assess the situation and decided that Rosas could be held for some time yet if assisted by the Imperieuse. Possibly the appearance of his ship persuaded the enemy forces to act, for Cochrane had not long been back on board before they tried an assault on Fort Trinidad, as he recorded: ‘After pounding away at the fort for several days, the French made up their minds to storm, but on coming within range of musket-shot, they got such a reception from the garrison as to render a hasty retreat imperative. As their discomfiture was visible from the ship, we fired a salute of twenty-one guns by way of sarcastic compliment, but the enemy had not the politeness to return the courtesy.’34 Cochrane followed up his salute by moving against the French: ‘The Imperieuse now got under weigh, and cleared for action, taking up a position to the left of the citadel, and within musket-shot of the French lines, into which we poured such a storm of shot as to drive out the enemy.’35 After this a French gun battery on top of the cliffs began to shower the Imperieuse with shells, forcing Cochrane to move away from the shore.
From his reconnaissance Cochrane knew that although the French had a gun battery on the cliff above Fort Trinidad, they could only fire on one small area of the fort. The fort itself backed right on to the cliff edge - making it easy to defend, but almost impossible to evacuate in an emergency, except by ropes down the cliff to the sea, as he described:The Castle of Trinidad stood on the side of a hill, having by no means a difficult descent to the sea, but this hill was again commanded by a higher and more precipitous cliff, which would have enabled an enemy to drive out the occupants with ease, but for the peculiar construction of the fortress. Next to the sea was a fort constructed with strong walls some 50 feet high. Behind this and joined to it, rose another fort to the height of 30 or 40 feet more, and behind this again was a tower rising some 20 or 30 feet still higher, the whole presenting the appearance of a large church with a tower 110 feet high, a nave 90 feet high, and a chancel 50 feet. The tower, having its back to the cliff, as a matter of course sheltered the middle and lower portions of the fortress from a fire of the battery above it. Nothing, in short, for a fortress commanded by adjacent heights could have been better adapted for holding out against offensive operations, or worse adapted for replying to them.36
Being the key to Rosas, Cochrane decided to hold Fort Trinidad for as long as possible, in the hope of Spanish reinforcements arriving from Gerona - if they did not arrive, he would demolish it. After an attempt to destroy the French gun battery failed, Cochrane landed on the 24th with over a hundred men to repair the fort and strengthen the garrison, leaving the Imperieuse to bombard the French positions. He continued his comparisons with church architecture in describing how the French created a hole high up in the tower:In consequence of the elevated position of the enemy’s battery on the cliff, they could however only breach the central portion of the tower, the lowest part of the breach being nearly sixty feet above its base, so that when practicable, it could only be reached by long scaling ladders. A pretty correct idea of our relative positions may be formed if the unnautical reader will imagine our small force to be placed in the nave of Westminster Abbey, with the enemy attacking the great western tower from the summit of a cliff 100 feet higher than the tower, so that the breach in course of formation nearly corresponded to the great west window of the abbey. It will hence be clear that, in the face of a determined opposition, it would be no easy matter to scale the external wall of the tower up to the great west window, and more difficult still to overcome impediments . . . so as to get down into the body of the church. These were the points I had to provide against, for we could neither prevent the French from breaching nor storming. 37
The fort was under constant heavy bombardment, especially the tower, from which Cochrane evacuated all his men, but he also set up explosives to destroy the fort: ‘The next object was to prepare trains for the explosion of the magazines, in case evacuation of the fort became compulsory. This was done in two places; the first deposit of powder being placed underneath the breach, with the portfire [fuse] so arranged, as to go off in about ten minutes; the other beneath the remaining part of the fortress, with a portfire calculated to burn until we ourselves were safe on board the frigate.’38
With everything in place to cover their retreat and destroy Fort Trinidad, it was now a case of holding on as long as possible, but the French bombardment had caused another breach in the defences, as Cochrane recorded:Our men were now engaged in blocking it up as fast as it was made, and working as they did under cover, no loss was sustained, though every shot brought down large masses of stone within the fortress; the French thus supplying us with materials for repair, though rendering a sharp look-out against [stone] splinters necessary. On this day I received a wound, which caused me intolerable agony. Being anxious, during an ominous pause, to see what the enemy were about, I incautiously looked round an angle of the tower towards the battery overhead, and was struck by a stone splinter in the face; the splinter flattened my nose and then penetrated my mouth. By the skill of our excellent doctor, Mr. Guthrie, my nose was after a time rendered serviceable.39
Two days later, after a midnight assault, the French managed to overrun the town of Rosas. All the pressure of the French forces was now directed towards Fort Trinidad, but despite bombardments and assaults the fort continued to hold out and refused a French offer of honourable surrender. On the morning of the 30th Cochrane awoke with a premonition:Long before daylight I was awoke[n] with an impression that the enemy were in possession of the castle, though the stillness which prevailed showed this to be a delusion. Still I could not recompose myself to sleep, and after lying for some time tossing about, I left my couch, and hastily went on the esplanade of the fortress. All was perfectly still, and I felt half ashamed of having given way to such fancies. A loaded mortar, however, stood before me, pointed, during the day, in such a direction that the shell should fall on the path over the hill which the French must necessarily take whenever they might make an attempt to storm. Without other object than that of diverting my mind from the unpleasant feeling which had taken possession of it, I fired the mortar. Before the echo had died away, a volley of musketry from the advancing column of the enemy showed that the shell had fallen amongst them, just as they were on the point of storming.40
The sound of the mortar roused the defenders, and, as Cochrane put it, ‘to the purposeless discharge of that piece of ordnance we owed our safety, for otherwise they would have been upon us before we even suspected their presence’.41 Several waves of infantry were thrown against the fort in this assault, and Cochrane was particularly impressed by the Italians:They were gallantly led, two of the officers attracting my especial attention. The first was dropped by a shot, which precipitated him from the walls, but whether he was killed or only wounded, I do not know - probably wounded only, as his body was not seen by us amongst the dead. The other was the last man to quit the walls, and before he could do so, I had covered him with my musket. Finding escape impossible, he stood like a hero to receive the bullet, without condescending to
lower his sword in token of surrender. I never saw a braver or prouder man. Lowering my musket, I paid him the compliment of remarking that so fine a fellow was not born to be shot down like a dog, and that, so far as I was concerned, he was at liberty to make the best of his way down the ladder; upon which intimation he bowed politely, as though on parade, and retired just as leisurely.42
Having repulsed this attack the garrison experienced a relative lull for a few days, during which time the Imperieuse was joined by the Fame and Magnificent warships. On 5 December it became clear that the French had been waiting for reinforcements and were now massing for a final assault - it was time to evacuate Fort Trinidad using rope ladders. Boats from the ships came in to the shore below the fort to take off the garrison, and when they realised what was happening, the French ceased firing: it was more important to them to remove the obstacle of the fort than kill a few more of the enemy. With all the garrison on board the ships and the fuses burning, Cochrane waited for the fort to blow up: ‘The French having become practically acquainted with some of our devices were on their guard, and did not take possession of the castle immediately on our quitting it, and it was lucky for them that they did not, for shortly after we got on board the first explosion took place, blowing up the portion of the fortress which they had been breaching; but the second train failed, owing, no doubt, to the first shock disarranging the portfire. Had not this been the case, scarcely one stone of the castle would have remained on another.’43
Nevertheless, Cochrane was pleased with the outcome, having delayed the French for a number of days, giving the Spanish more time to organise their defences and demonstrating once again the vulnerability of the coast road to attacks from the sea. He pointed out that ‘in the defence of this fortress, we lost only three [British] killed and seven wounded; the loss of the Spaniards amounting to two killed and five wounded . . . The destruction of the French must have been very great. We who were cooped up in the fortress had only one collision with them, but in that they suffered fearfully, whilst we escaped scot free. But the fire of the ships must have told upon them to a great extent.’44 The nearby citadel of Rosas was not so lucky, because over two thousand Spanish troops were taken prisoner.
Through the summer and autumn of 1808 Cochrane had created chaos along the main French invasion route from the Rhône Valley in France to southern Spain at the many points north of Alicante where the road ran along the coast. As he commented, ‘actions between line-of-battle ships are, no doubt, very imposing; but for real effect, I would prefer a score or two of small vessels, well handled, to any fleet of line-of-battle ships’.45 Collingwood was delighted with Cochrane’s success, praising him in successive letters to the Admiralty. In one he commented: ‘Nothing can exceed the activity and zeal with which his Lordship pursues the enemy. The success which attends his enterprizes clearly indicates with what skill and ability they are conducted; besides keeping the coast [of France] in constant alarm, causing a total suspension of the trade, and harassing a body of troops employed in opposing him.’46 The Admiralty, however, did not share Collingwood’s enthusiasm and even went so far as to reprimand Cochrane for using more ‘gunpowder and shot than had been used by any other captain in the service’. 47 By looking merely at cost rather than cost-effectiveness, the penny-pinching Admiralty took a blinkered view of the war in the Mediterranean and threw away the opportunity to encourage other captains to emulate the exploits of Cochrane, who was destined to remain the only one with the title of ‘sea wolf’.
TWELVE
BY LAND AND SEA
It appeared to me a physical impossibility to escape from it, and I was filled with despair. Nothing but madness could entertain a thought of attempting to escape.
Judgement of Midshipman O’Brien when
he first saw the fortress of Bitche1
While Cochrane was doing his best to disrupt the French occupation of Spain, some of the British prisoners in France, most of whom had been captured at sea, were becoming tired of waiting to be exchanged for French prisoners in Britain and began planning their escape. In September 1808 Midshipman Donat Henchy O’Brien successfully broke out of the high-security prison fortress of Bitche in north-east France after over four and a half years in captivity. The escape was to become a legendary episode of the war.
Having been shipwrecked in the Hussar, O’Brien was initially held at Givet, mistaken for an ordinary seaman, but he was transferred, in July 1804, to the officers’ prison at Verdun. Another prisoner there, Midshipman Edward Boys, 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.’2 Even midshipmen were honour-bound not break their parole, but they were still obliged to turn up for roll-call twice a day, as Boys explained: ‘Captains in the navy, and field officers, once a month; lieutenants, every five days; midshipmen and others twice a day (thus calculating the word of a midshipman as equal only to one-sixtieth part of that of a field officer).’3
It was generally assumed that prisoner exchanges between the two countries would be rapidly agreed, as had occurred earlier in the war. After Boys was captured off Toulon in August 1803 and was being marched to Verdun, he met some English détenus at Nîmes, who ‘considerably allayed the ennui and mortification of captivity, by confidently assuring us, that an exchange of prisoners had been arranged between the two governments, and that in six weeks we might rest satisfied of a happy return to the service of our country’.4 Six weeks turned to six years - and more. Negotiations between the British and French for exchanging prisoners made no progress, and Napoleon invariably failed to honour his side of the bargain whenever French prisoners were returned. One officer lucky enough to be exchanged was Lieutenant William Dillon. Although technically not a prisoner-of-war (having been captured under a flag of truce) Dillon had not given his parole, yet he never made an attempt to escape from Verdun. He was eventually exchanged for a French officer, Captain Éléonore-Jean-Nicolas Soleil, who had been captured in September 1806. Dillon reached England in September 1807, only the fourteenth naval officer to be exchanged since the resumption of war over four years earlier. Most prisoners were destined to be held in French prisons, well away from the sea, until the peace in 1814, and inevitably a number of them died in captivity.
By 1807, after three years at Verdun, Midshipman O’Brien had no hopes of release, and he was in a state of despair: ‘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.’5 Around the time that Dillon was exchanged, O’Brien decided to escape with three trustworthy friends, Midshipman Christopher Tuthill, Midshipman Henry Ashworth and Lieutenant John Essel, but they first honourably settled their affairs and deliberately set out to have their parole withdrawn by various misdemeanours.
O’Brien and his party were terrified of being found out, because of paid informers among the prisoners: ‘These spies were so numerous,’ O’Brien complained, ‘. . . that it was morally impossible to know them all; consequently [even] the most watchful and cautious amongst us were liable to be entrapped.’6 Throughout the course of the war only a few hundred prisoners from a total of some twelve thousand managed to escape, and informers were an especial threat - at least fifty at Verdun alone. On 28 August 1807 O’Brien and his friends escaped and made their way towards the Channel, but three weeks later they were recaptured near Boulogne. During their interrogation before a local court, O’Brien was asked how they had managed to find their way from Verdun without guides, so he replied provocatively ‘that English sailors could always steer with sufficient
correctness by the stars; and that, when those celestial objects were visible, they were never at a loss’.7 Next the court wanted to know how well he knew the French coast. ‘It struck me,’ O’Brien remembered, ‘that the shipwreck of the Hussar was a pretty clear proof that there was one part of the coast, at least, of which it would appear we had but an imperfect knowledge.’8 Instead, he smiled and answered ‘that every naval officer of England was by far better acquainted with the French coast than even with his own . . .That we could hardly go up and down Channel without acquiring a knowledge of the northern coast of France.’9
As punishment, the four were ordered to the terrible penal depot of Bitche, a mountain fortress that was dubbed ‘the place of tears’. 10 Along with other prisoners, they were marched to their destination and had no opportunity to escape until the final day of their journey, when they were left unfettered. Three of them, including O’Brien, managed to run for the cover of a nearby wood, where they split up, but towards the end of November O’Brien was recaptured at Lindau in Germany and escorted back to Bitche:At about noon, on the 21st of December, 1807, the high turrets and massive towers of the gloomy fortress in which I was going to be incarcerated, presented themselves to my sight. Their very appearance was sufficient to strike the mind with horror . . . The prospect of being shut up in that detestable fortress, perhaps for the remainder of my days, could only be relieved by the probability that my length of life would be shortened by the nature of my imprisonment. Death itself was preferable to protracted persecution, and I sometimes devoutly wished to be at rest.11
