by Roy Adkins
McGrigor duly led the women below, where, he said:we could distinctly hear the heavy blows of the carpenters at the main mast, which at length fell with a tremendous crash; and getting entangled with the foremast, carried it overboard with it in its fall. The water was still continuing to gain in the leaks. A great deal of stowage was thrown overboard, and all the guns, six only excepted, which were retained for signals. The water increasing much, and the men and officers being exhausted, a last expedient was had recourse to; that of thrumming a tarred sail under her bottom, at the place where the leaks were. But, after a long trial, the men were found to be so much exhausted, as not to be able to accomplish this; and we gained little upon the leaks . . . A great many bags of biscuit were stored in the ward room for exigencies. Over these, in deep sleep, were the midshipmen, who, poor little fellows, had been quite exhausted. In their sleep I observed the fine countenances of young gentlemen or noblemen; some brought up in the lap of luxury, and whose parents no doubt never dreamed of their dear boys being in such a situation as I then saw them.59
Jane Codrington later told her daughter ‘that at first she counted the shocks which the ship received by striking upon the bank, but when they passed one hundred she left off her counting’.60 McGrigor observed their increasingly dangerous state:At this time our situation became truly awful; the vessel appeared at every thump to take in more water . . . As day broke upon us, the spectacle of the wreck was frightful. The whole deck was a mass of ruin, and the sides were all out, torn away in part by the guns in throwing them overboard; one mast, the mizen, only, was standing. We were at this time firing signal guns of distress, every five minutes. We had about eighty women on board, mostly Irish, the wives of soldiers going to their husbands at Walcheren. After every signal from the guns, a general screech and yell followed from the women, who were most troublesome, running about below and above.61
As daylight increased, everyone was looking out for help:A vessel was descried. We made her out to be an American. But to our utter dismay it was observed, that although she must have seen us in our distressed condition, and heard our guns, she bore away from us, and made for Flushing. It was then that an officer of the ship unfortunately was heard to say. ‘We are doomed to destruction. The Venerable will not hold out till other vessels can near us.’ I had never been actually depressed till I heard this . . . We were constantly firing guns of distress, and every volley from them was followed by a general screech from the soldier’s wives. The two ladies however behaved well; Mrs. Codrington, who showed an extraordinary degree of fortitude, was always collected, and prepared to meet the worst. At length another sail was descried from the top of our remaining mast. Every eye was applied to the nearest accessible glass. It was discovered that she was a small vessel, a brig. The utmost anxiety prevailed. To our infinite joy it was discovered that she had observed our signal of distress, and heard our guns, and finally that she made for us. She came not very close, but kept rather at a respectful distance, fearing, I believe, that we might go down and carry her with us in our vortex.62
The ladies were transferred to the brig, along with the papers and plate of Sir Home Popham, as Mary Treacher explained: ‘At about ten o’clock, a brig was seen in the distance . . . but it was one o’clock before we left the Venerable, which we had great difficulty in doing, for she was then high out of the water, and was rolling heavily in a very rough sea. We got down her side, however, without accident, as well as up the less formidable one of the brig, which lay to for us at the distance of a quarter of a mile; she was laden with wine for the fleet, and was going into Flushing.’63 The next day the badly damaged Venerable was brought into Flushing under jury masts and later towed back to England for repair.
McGrigor’s first task was to inspect all the hospitals, following which he urged that veteran soldiers be sent from England as orderlies and that local Dutch people should be employed to help. He also stressed that the sick should be evacuated to England in ‘six or seven ships of the line, with no greater complement of men than would be sufficient to navigate them; the guns of the lower deck being taken out, with a sufficiency of hammocks for 500 men’.64 McGrigor also managed to obtain more quinine (bark), which was in such short supply: ‘I learned that an American vessel, which came with a large supply of champagne and claret for the sutlers, had brought some chests of bark on a venture; having most probably heard of the deficient state of the stores of all the belligerents, in that article. I immediately ordered the purveyor to make a purchase of whatever stock of bark the Americans might have; and the supply we obtained [1460 pounds] lasted till the quantities forwarded by the mail coaches at Deal, and thence by packets to Walcheren, arrived.’65
The commander-in-chief, Sir Eyre Coote, wrote constantly to Lord Castlereagh about the dire situation, and on 6 October he informed him: ‘This day I have ordered 1000 sick and convalescents, selected from the whole army, to be put on board ship, and I hope that, if the wind continues fair, they will sail this evening. In the course of a day or two a second embarkation of nearly double that extent will take place, which will tend greatly to clear out our crowded hospitals, and relieve our medical officers of some part of their laborious duty. An experiment is likewise to be tried by sending a portion of the convalescents to board the Asia and Britannia hospital ships, to try the effect of a change of air.’66 He added: ‘Your lordship will also pardon my anxiety to be informed of the intention of his Majesty’s government as to the future fate of Walcheren, as that knowledge will very essentially affect the measures which I shall then deem it necessary to pursue.’67
Only a week later Sir Eyre Coote found out that a treaty had been signed between France and Austria.53 The Grand Expedition had been a disastrous failure. Too late to provide the diversion needed to relieve the pressure on Austria, the attack on Antwerp was not pressed home, and most of the French ships based in the Scheldt had escaped. Part of Napoleon’s naval base was still usable, and many of the troops saved by the naval evacuation of Corunna and Vigo were now lost to malaria. Lack of planning and lack of leadership had reduced the expedition to a shambles.
In late October Sir Eyre Coote was replaced by Lieutenant-General George Don, who also asked the government to send more ships to evacuate the sick, but by the end of the month he was informed that Walcheren should be abandoned and Flushing destroyed. Private Wheeler, who returned to Walcheren towards the end of October in a transport vessel to take off the sick soldiers, outlined what was planned:We . . . dropped anchor between the Islands of Walcherine and South Beveland. Since we left these islands our people have evacuated South Beveland and the enemy has taken possession of it, the troops are so sickly in Walcherine. It is intended to destroy the works and dock yards together with every place belonging to the French Government, then leave the place; we are to remain on board as circumstance shall require; the enemy is throwing up works on the Island they occupy, and it is said they are meditating an attack on Walcherine. The river is full of our Gunboats, which are constantly annoying them, and they in return keep up a constant fire on our boats, so nothing is heard all day and night but the clang of war, and seemingly without effecting any purpose whatever. Our situation here is not very pleasant, the weather is cold and we have not much room to exercise ourselves on deck; one comfort attending us is gin, and tobacco is cheap, so we can enjoy ourselves over a pipe and glass; the cause of our remaining on board is for the preservation of our health.68
All through November and early December, great efforts were made to dismantle everything of use in Flushing, and Gunner Richardson in the Caesar described some of the scenes: ‘A hundred men from eachline-of-battle ship are employed on shore daily in dismantling the batteries and putting the guns and mortars on board the transports: we received nineteen on board of different calibres, some brass and copper. Some are employed in breaking up the piers of the new harbour, and filling it up with rubbish, to prevent the enemy’s ships from entering in and lying up in winter (to be clear of the ice
coming down the Scheldt).’69 On 9 December most of the troops came on board the ships, and Codrington declared that ‘I only wish to get home with the rest of this no longer GRAND EXPEDITION.’70
William Robinson also documented the destruction: ‘Previous to our coming away, we did all the mischief we could; we set fire to every thing in the dock-yard, and filled up the entrance of the different canals with stones and rubbish; this obtained for us no good name, for on leaving, we were much ridiculed and jeered by the Dutchmen, who exclaimed that we had brought a large force there, and had done nothing worthy of war, but to knock down their houses, and distress the poor inhabitants.’71 For several days storms prevented the final evacuation from Walcheren, but on the 22nd they got under way, sailed for a mile and a half and anchored again. The following day the entire British force finally set sail and were in sight of Beachy Head on Christmas Day. Richardson felt sorry for those they left behind:The inhabitants of Walcheren, poor creatures, are at this time to be pitied, and they may well call themselves unfortunate: about two years ago the sea broke over the dykes, destroyed much property, and many lives were lost; in the late bombardment their ancient town has been nearly destroyed, and two thousand of the inhabitants slain; and the dread of Bonaparte coming (who they expect will lay heavy taxes on them to make good the works we have destroyed) fills them with despondency. Such is the ruin of warfare! As for our part, we are tired enough of the place; when we left England it was thought three weeks would finish the business.72
Over four thousand troops died in combat or of disease, and another twelve thousand fell sick, mainly of malaria, some of them suffering for years afterwards. The Annual Register was severe in its criticism: ‘The failure of this expedition, in its main object, is beyond all doubt, to be attributed not in any degree to the army or navy, whose alacrity in the cause could not have been exceeded, but by the shameful ignorance of those who planned it . . .The French crowed over the expedition into the Scheldt . . . The British nation acknowledged that the exultation and ridicule of the French was not for once misplaced.’73 Robert Blakeney reckoned that ‘the unwieldy expedition, although it furnished cause of merriment all over the Continent, deluged the British empire with tears. There was scarcely a family in Great Britain which did not mourn the fate of a gallant soldier.’74
Napoleon believed that the expedition should have succeeded. Talking years later with his physician, Barry O’Meara, on the island of St Helena, he expressed his thoughts:I am of opinion, that if you had landed a few thousand men at first at Williamstadt, and marched directly for Antwerp, that between consternation, want of preparation, and the uncertainty of the number of assailants, you might have taken it . . . It was a very bad expedition for you. Your ministers were very badly informed about the country. You afterwards had the stupidity to remain in that pestilential place, until you lost some thousands of men. It was the height of stupidity and of inhumanity. I was very glad of it, as I knew that disease would carry you off by thousands, and oblige you to evacuate it without any exertion being made on my part.75
A Parliamentary Inquiry was held the following year, against the wishes of the ministers, to investigate the causes of the failure, and the American Louis Simond wrote in his diary: ‘April 2.—The Walcheren question was finally decided the day after I was at the house, or rather the next day after that, the debates having been protracted till long after day-light. A small majority of 21 - that is 253 for, and 232 against the ministers - approves all! This is certainly quite contrary to public opinion, which is altogether against ministers . . . The members of Parliament seem to feel singularly relieved by the final termination of this Walcheren question.’76 Three weeks later he wrote:A new panorama is now exhibiting in London; it is of Flushing. The spectator is placed in the middle of the town, on the top of some high building: bombs and rockets pierce the roofs of the houses, which are instantly in flames, or burst in the middle of the streets, full of the dismayed inhabitants, flying from their burning dwellings with their effects, and carrying away the sick and wounded. It is a most terrifying picture. At the sight of so much misery, all the commonplaces about war become again original, and the sentimental lamentations on suffering humanity oppress and sicken the soul, as if they were uttered for the first time.77
FIFTEEN
PRISONERS AND PRIVATEERS
There was something horrid in the treatment of the prisoners in England. The very idea of being put on board a ship, and kept there for several years, has something dreadful in it.
Napoleon in exile on St Helena, talking to his physician, Barry
O’Meara1
Although the Walcheren expedition was a disaster, many prisoners were captured and taken to England. Most would not be released for years. From the resumption of the war in 1803 until its end eleven years later, over one hundred thousand French prisoners were brought back to Britain, as well as thousands of prisoners of other nationalities, such as Spanish, Dutch and Danish - in 1807 more than eighteen hundred Danish prisoners were taken during the bombardment of Copenhagen alone. Soon captured Americans would be added to their numbers. They included seamen and officers from naval, merchant and privateer vessels, some of whom were only boys. While the Walcheren expedition significantly increased the number of captured troops, there was still a greater proportion of sailors than soldiers. This ratio altered as the Peninsular War in Spain and Portugal progressed and large numbers of soldiers were imprisoned.
The Transport Board (a department of the Admiralty) had responsibility for all prisoners. Lower-rank prisoners and those officers who refused to give their parole or broke their parole were interned on board prison hulks - known to the French as les pontons - and in land prisons, called depots. Initially these depots were close to southern ports, such as Millbay in Plymouth, Stapleton near Bristol, Forton near Gosport and Portchester Castle near Portsmouth, and there was also a prison at Norman Cross near Peterborough. As prisoner numbers increased, more land prisons were constructed across the country, including Dartmoor in Devon and Valleyfield near Penicuik, south of Edinburgh.
It was the hulls of obsolete naval vessels, both British and captured foreign ships, that were used as prison hulks - usually two- or three-deckers, with their masts removed. Hulks were used by many countries as prisons, for both civilian convicts and foreign prisoners-of-war, but in Britain exceptional numbers of prisoners-of-war (up to one-third) were held in hulks. Most of these were moored at Plymouth, Portsmouth Harbour, nearby Langstone Harbour and along the River Medway at Chatham. Conditions for prisoners varied, and some were cruelly treated and the victims of corrupt contractors supplying poor-quality food and clothing, but the worst conditions for prisoners were in the hulks, which were very cramped and with poor ventilation. After his release Captain Pierre-Charles-François Dupin of the French naval engineers complained to his government:The Medway is covered with men-of-war, dismantled and lying in ordinary [with no masts and the upper deck roofed over]. Their fresh and brilliant painting contrasts with the hideous aspect of the old and smoky hulks, which seem the remains of vessels blackened by a recent fire. It is in these floating tombs that prisoners of war are buried alive - Danes, Swedes, Frenchmen, Americans, no matter. They are lodged on the lower deck, on the upper deck, and even on the orlop-deck . . . Four hundred malefactors are the maximum of a ship appropriated to convicts. From eight hundred to twelve hundred is the ordinary number of prisoners of war, heaped together in a prison-ship of the same rate.2
Some of the prisoners wrote accounts of their experiences, and one of the most detailed was by the Frenchman Louis Garneray, who had been on board the frigate Belle Poule, which was captured with the Marengo in March 1806 when Rear-Admiral Linois was trying to return to France. Arriving at Spithead, Garneray was handed over to the Prothee hulk (a warship captured from the French in 1780), and in a vivid narrative of his many years as a prisoner, he claims to have been transferred to the Crown hulk about three years later and then to the Vengeance. It is of
ten difficult to isolate the factual comments from his somewhat fictionalised account, but it is certain that he was not reduced to the squalor experienced by many prisoners. He learned English and became an interpreter, and also developed his skill as an artist. After his eventual release, Garneray followed a career as a marine artist for four decades. He gave a description of his living quarters:You know that on the upper deck of a vessel there exist the forecastle and quarterdeck, which are linked by the gunwale and by a large opening which leaves uncovered part of the gun deck . . . This open area and the forecastle were the only places where the prisoners were allowed a little air and to walk - and that not always. With the ironic gaiety that never fails the French in adversity, the inmates referred to this open area by the pompous name of the Park. It was about 44 feet long and 38 feet wide. The forecastle, the second place to walk on board the hulks, was not so big and was therefore not so well regarded as the Park; moreover, the chimneys, which were right up close, enveloped it almost always with a thick cloud of coal smoke, which was a horrible nuisance . . .The lower gun deck and the orlop deck were the parts of the hulk given over to the living quarters of the prisoners; this gun deck as well as the orlop measured about 130 feet by 40 feet. It was in this narrow space that we were accommodated, to the number of almost 700!3
