by Roy Adkins
General René-Martin Pillet, taken prisoner in 1808 at the battle of Vimiero, also condemned the hulks, having first-hand experience of them at Chatham after breaking his parole:The hulks are moored in the midst of fetid and stagnant mud, which at every tide is left bare. The air which is breathed being putrid, damp, and salt, would be sufficient without ill treatment, or unwholesome food, to impair and destroy in a very short time the health of the most robust . . .The height of the deck of the Brunswick, on board of which I was confined, is exactly four feet ten inches, so that a man of the shortest stature can never stand erect. This is a mode of perpetual punishment which none of those tyrants who have dishonoured the human species, have ever devised against the greatest criminals.4
The low ceilings were not such a problem for seamen serving on board ships, because they had much more freedom to move around the vessel.
Apart from the restricted height, the space allotted to the hundreds of prisoners on board each hulk was also minimal, as Pillet explained: ‘The space allowed to a prisoner to suspend his hammock, is six English feet long, and fourteen inches wide; but these six feet are reduced to four and a half, because it is so contrived that the cords of the hammocks run into each other, and consequently the head of every man in the second rank when lying down, is placed between the legs of two men who are in the first rank of the deck, and his feet are placed between the two heads of those of the third rank, and so on from one extremity of the deck to the other.’5 Many of the foreign prisoners also found the climate in Britain hard to bear, as winters were harsher than today. Pillet complained that ‘the prisons on land or water where Frenchmen are confined in England, never have any glass, although the temperature of that climate is generally wet and cold, and the winters very long. The heat occasioned by the crowding together of the prisoners is so great that the airports [gunports] of one side only, that exposed to the wind, can be shut; and this is done with old rags.’6
Midshipman Bonnefoux likewise commented that ‘in the winter, the cold was excessive during the day, and never was our quarters heated’.7 Pierre-Marie-Joseph de Bonnefoux, like Louis Garneray, had been on board the frigate Belle Poule when it was captured. Many officers were sent on parole to Thame, but Bonnefoux broke his parole in several escape attempts. Of the hulks, he commented, ‘it is, indeed, difficult to imagine a more harsh form of torture. It is cruel to incarcerate and subject to it, for an indefinite time, prisoners-of-war who deserve much consideration and who are arguably the innocent victims of the fortunes of war!’8 Because of family influence, Bonnefoux was released from the hulks at Chatham and allowed to go to Lichfield on parole, but in 1811 he successfully escaped with the help of a smuggler.
For some unfortunate prisoners, these hulks were their home for over a decade, and escape was difficult, because few prisoners could swim, and they were mostly too poor to pay bribes or buy outside assistance. Desperate escape attempts were made, though, often by cutting through the wooden hull. In the spring of 1808 such a daring breakout succeeded at Portsmouth:Early on Thursday morning, the 7th April, eleven French prisoners made their escape out of the Vigilant prison-ship, at Portsmouth, by cutting a hole through one of the ports of the ship, and swimming to the Amphitrite, a ship in ordinary which is fitted up for the abode of one of the superintendant-masters. There they clothed themselves with the great coats of his boat’s crew, lowered down the boat, and went and took possession of one of the finest unarmed vessels in the harbour, called the master-attendant’s buoy-boat. —They immediately got her under weigh, and sailed out of the harbour at about five o’clock that morning, and, it is supposed, reached either Cherburgh or Havre in the evening . . . There were three [British] men on board her, whom they have taken to France.9
In France, the escaped prisoners sold the vessel for £700, which was fitted out as a privateer known as Le Buoy Boat de Portsmouth, but this was captured a few months later, as The Times reported:Arrived this afternoon the cutter called the Buoy Boat of Portsmouth, captured from the French by his Majesty’s brigs Coquette and Daring. This cutter, it will be remembered, was, about nine months ago taken possession of in this harbour by several Frenchmen, who made their escape from the Vigilant prison-ship, and who arrived in her in safety at a French port. From the circumstance of her having been employed as a buoy boat in his Majesty’s service at this port, her name was not changed by those who became proprietors of her in France; and, from her excellent sailing, she was fitted out as a privateer, since which, until the present time, she has bid defiance to our ships, and had great success in capturing British coasting vessels. She took an English vessel on her present cruise, which gave rise to the vigilance of our cruisers at the time of re-capturing and the taking of the above annoying privateer.10
As days of tedium became years of relentless boredom, with little hope of release or escape, a number of prisoners on board the hulks and in the land prisons became addicted to gambling and alcohol. This most desperate group of prisoners even sold their bedding, clothing and rations for gambling, and were reduced to scavenging. Some of these men in the land prisons were taken to the hulks in order to isolate them, and during the winter of 1807 a newspaper reported on one such group:There is such a spirit of gambling existing among the French prisoners lately arrived at Chatham [hulks] from Norman Cross, that many of them have been almost entirely naked during the late severe weather, having lost their clothes, not excepting even their shirts and small-clothes, to some of their fellow prisoners; many of them are also reduced to the chance of starving by the same means, having lost seven or eight days’ provisions to their more fortunate comrades, who never fail to exact their winnings. The effervescence of mind that this diabolical pursuit gives rise to, is often exemplified in the conduct of these infatuated captives, rendering them remarkably turbulent and unruly. Saturday a quarrel arose between two of them in the course of play, when one of them who had lost his clothes and food, received a severe stab in the back.11
Even in this wretched state, the prisoners were a tourist attraction, with visitors being rowed out from shore to the hulks. Colonel Lebertre, who was a prisoner at Chatham after breaking his parole, complained that ‘even the women showed a really shocking indifference. You could see them remain for whole hours with their eyes fixed on the Park where the prisoners were kept, without this spectacle of misery, which would so terribly affect a French woman, making them shed a single tear. On the contrary, an insulting smile was on their lips. The prisoners only knew of a single example of a woman who fainted at the sight of the Park.’12 Some women did live on board these hulks, either as wives of the British officers, or as prisoners, usually the wives of soldiers or sailors.
Not all prisoners allowed themselves to despair. Many turned their hand to making things - often exquisite artefacts that were sold to the public in markets held in the prisons. These included intricate objects carved out of meat bones, such as models of warships, and many are today on display in museums. On one Sunday, Betsey Wynne (wife of Captain Fremantle) wrote in her diary: ‘Took a ride in the carriage as far as Portchester Castle where we saw the French prisoners, there are 3000 of them; they are industrious and make all kinds of little works. We bought a Guillotine neatly done in bone.’13 Most of the names of the men who made these models are lost, but Corporal Jean de la Porte, who was captured at the Battle of Trafalgar and held at Norman Cross for almost nine years, is known as the artist of a view of Peterborough Cathedral done in straw marquetry.
Other occupations, such as straw-plaiting, where wheat and barley straw were used to make decorative baskets, boxes and bonnets, were less welcome. Making straw hats and bonnets was illegal, and later all straw work was prohibited, in order to protect local industries that were taxed. Even so, a thriving black-market trade existed in many prisons, and the Transport Board issued a plea for ‘the magistrates to help in stopping the traffic with prisoners of war in prohibited articles, straw hats and straw plaits especially’.14 They were also concerned tha
t ‘it has been the means of selling obscene toys, pictures, &c, to the great injury of the morals of the rising generation’.15 At Portchester Castle many prisoners were employed in the lace industry, but complaints from local lace makers led to this being stopped, and the popular theatre run by the prisoners was closed down to prevent competition.
Forgery was another persistent problem, and Dartmoor Prison was renowned for its forgers. In April 1810 it was reported that ‘a great number of Bank of England forged notes and counterfeit seven shilling-pieces, are now in circulation in Plymouth and its neighbourhood: several persons detected in uttering them were taken into custody on Saturday night. They are supposed to be the manufacture of French prisoners, whose ingenuity this way is very astonishing.’16 For murder and forgery, prisoners were subject to civil law and could be sentenced to death.
Dartmoor Prison had been constructed in response to the overcrowding in the hulks at nearby Plymouth and also because of fears that the prisoners were too close to the naval base. It had the worst reputation of all prisons, because it was on top of the moor, very bleak, often bitterly cold and suffered high rainfall. The foundation stone was laid in March 1806 and three years later two and a half thousand French prisoners were transferred there from the hulks at Plymouth, with numbers rising to twelve thousand. That first winter an epidemic led to nearly five hundred deaths, and these men were buried in an adjacent cemetery.
While British officers were held on parole at Verdun, up to four thousand French officers were also on parole in Britain, but they were not concentrated in a single place; instead, they were dispersed among fifty to sixty small parole towns where they could live in the community. Wincanton and Chesterfield had the most Frenchmen on parole.They had to give their word of honour - parole d’honneur - not to travel beyond the boundaries of the town, which were marked by stones. Very few British officers in France broke their parole, as they knew they would be reprimanded, demoted and even ostracised by their family for doing something so dishonourable, but hundreds of French officers broke their parole and escaped. The French authorities did not reprimand these ‘broke-paroles’ but allowed them to continue their employment. Because the officers had money, they were frequently helped to escape, especially by young women bedazzled by the French and by professional smugglers. Advertisements constantly appeared in newspapers offering a reward, such as this one at the beginning of 1810:His Majesty’s Transport Service, &c. do hereby offer a REWARD of FIVE GUINEAS for the recapture of each of the said prisoners, to any person who shall apprehend them, or either of them, and deliver them at this Office, or otherwise cause them to be securely lodged in any of the public gaols. JOSEPH GOUET, Captain, La Josephine, merchant vessel, 30 years of age, 5 feet 5¾ inches high, middle-sized person, oval visage, brown complexion, brown hair and hazel eyes. JACQUES CLEMENDOL, Lieutenant de Vaisseau, La Ville de Varsovie, man of war, 30 years of age, 5 feet 4¼ inches, middle-sized person, oval visage, sallow complexion, black hair, and black eyes.17
Clemendol had been captured in April 1809. His ship, the Ville de Varsovie, was a new warship that had run aground during Cochrane’s fireship attack at Basque Roads and was burned after surrendering.
General Osten, the second-in-command at Flushing captured during the Walcheren expedition, also made his escape. He was living on parole at Lichfield, along with his daughter. As was her right, she returned to Holland in December 1809, taking with her all their heavy baggage. The following February Osten met a Folkestone smuggler by the name of James Moore, who operated as a highly successful escape agent over an extensive area of England and Scotland. Less than two days later the general was back in Holland. Moore used several aliases, but he was known to the French as Captain Harman. Two months later he was helping General Pillet to escape, along with the Italian marine captain Paolucci, both at that time on parole at Alresford. They ‘left their quarters at Alresford, and were met half a mile out by Harman with a post-chaise, into which they got and drove to Winchester, alighting in a back street while Harman went to get another chaise. Thence they drove circuitously to Hastings via Croydon, Sevenoaks, Tunbridge, Roberts-bridge, and Battle, Harman saying that this route was necessary for safety, and that he would get them over, as he had General Osten, in thirty-four hours.’18 The pair were captured and sent to Norman Cross, with Pillet subsequently transferred to the hulks at Chatham for bad behaviour. Harman was arrested but escaped lightly, promising to supply information about these escape routes - but he was back in business before too long.
Jack Rattenbury, from Beer in Devon, was another smuggler involved in assisting French officers to escape. In early 1808 he purchased an oared galley, but during a smuggling run to the Channel Islands he was caught by two revenue cutters, handed over to the press-gang and taken to the coast of Ireland to serve in the Royal Navy. He managed to escape, and back home in Beer he immediately returned to his smuggling ways: ‘I made an agreement with four French officers, who had made their escape from the prison [parole town] at Tiverton, to take them to Cape La Hogue, for which I was to receive one hundred pounds. They came to Beer, and I concealed them in the best manner I was able, in a house near the beach, where I supplied them with such provisions as they wanted. But a vigilant inquiry was commenced; their steps were traced, and the place of their retreat discovered.’19
Rattenbury led a charmed life and managed to extricate himself from this predicament, though the French prisoners undoubtedly forfeited their parole:The next morning, there was a special warrant out against myself and five others, who were connected with the affair, and the constables came to my house, while I was up-stairs considering how I had best act. Finding that my companions had absconded, and being captain of the boat, I immediately surrendered myself to them. I was then taken before the magistrates, where I found the French gentlemen in custody. They were examined through the medium of an interpreter, but their replies were cautious, and they said very little that could tend to implicate me in the transaction. My turn then came; and, in reply to the questions from the bench, I briefly stated that I was engaged to take the gentlemen to Jersey, of which island I understood they were natives. A lieutenant of the sea-fencibles54 being in the room, asked me if I did not know a native of Jersey from a Frenchman; to which I was going to have replied, but my attorney, who was present, said that this was a question which he had no right to prefer, and which I was not bound to answer. The magistrates then conversed together; and, after a little consultation, dismissed me, with a gentle admonition to go home, and not engage in any similar transaction for the future.20
Until 1811 helping a prisoner-of-war to escape was only a minor crime, but then it became punishable by imprisonment or transportation, as in one case the following year:At the late Lewes Assizes, James Robinson, who holds a mill in the neighbourhood of Oswestry; John Hughes, landlord of the Red Lion, andPost-Master at Rye; and William Hatter, fisherman of that town, were convicted before the Right Hon. Lord ELLENBOROUGH, of a conspiracy to effect the escape of General PHILLIPON, and Lieutenant GARNIER, two French Officers, who, in breach of their parole of honour, absconded from Oswestry, on the 30th of June last. The evidence adduced in support of this charge satisfied the Jury, not only that these men were guilty of this conspiracy, but that Robinson and Hatter had actually conveyed the two Frenchmen to the enemy’s coast; and the Jury, without hesitation, found them Guilty. His Lordship, in a most impressive manner, after expatiating on the enormity of this offence, which he declared was scarcely to be distinguished from high-treason, adjudged Robinson and Hughes to be confined in the common gaol of the county of Sussex, for the space of two years, and within the first month to be placed in and upon the pillory on the sea shore, near the town of Rye, and as near as could be within sight of the French coast, that they might be viewed, as his Lordship observed, by those enemies of their country, whom they had by their conduct so much befriended.21
The majority of foreign officers respected the conditions of parole and added a cosmopo
litan air to many towns that had up to now been very inward-looking. Lieutenant Pierre-Guillaume Gicquel des Touches was one of over four thousand prisoners brought to England after Trafalgar. He was placed on parole at Tiverton in Devon but considered it dishonourable to try to escape: ‘The population of Tiverton, moreover, made us very welcome; some of the inhabitants were even kind enough to suggest they should help me to escape . . . I did not have much trouble in resisting these temptations, but it grieved me more to tear myself away from the obsessions of some of my friends, who, not having the same ideas as me about the sacredness of one’s oath, simply wanted me to escape with them.’22
