Chapter XI: British Prisoners in France—verdun—narrative of the Rev. J. Hopkinson

Oh, to be in England,
Now that April’s there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf,
Round the Elm tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the Chaffinch sings in the orchard bough,
In England—now.

BROWNING.

IT has been necessary in the preceding chapters to allude occasionally to the English prisoners in France, and a short chapter on their experiences may be deemed not irrelevant to the scheme of this little history. The author having in his boyhood been personally acquainted with the Rev. John Hopkinson, Rector of Alwalton, near Peterborough, who had been, from February 1804 to April 1814, a prisoner of war in France, will avail himself of the kind permission of this gentleman’s son, the Rev. W. Hopkinson, J.P., of Sutton Grange, Northamptonshire, and commence the chapter with a narrative of his experiences which Mr. J. Hopkinson had himself written, and which was found among his papers after his death in 1853.

The prison at Verdun, where Mr. Hopkinson was confined at times closely, at others on parole, was occupied by the subjects of Great Britain and her allies, the British being the great majority. The prisoners were of the same class as those who were allowed on parole in Britain and who were distributed either in special prisons such as Norman Cross or in parties, which might vary from a few units to 300 or more, in one of the towns enumerated in the footnote, Chapter X, p. 192.

Mr. Hopkinson was the son of the vicar of Morton, near Bourne in Lincolnshire. He was born in 1782 within three miles of the home of Hereward the Wake, and early in life he showed that he was endowed with some of that hero’s spirit—a spirit too adventurous for the quiet parsonage. After various experiences, commencing with his following as a child a recruiting party, and joining it as a drummer boy, he entered His Majesty’s service on the 5th March 1803 as a cadet (first-class volunteer) on board the frigate _Hussar_. This vessel, after some brushes with the enemy while cruising in the Mediterranean, was wrecked off the Isle of Saints on the Coast of France. Mr. Hopkinson’s experiences in this misfortune and up to the date of his entering Verdun are given in his own words, while a brief biography added by his widow brings the narrative up to the date of his release after the first abdication of Buonaparte, and his arrival in England in April 1814, simultaneously with the evacuation of Norman Cross to be described in the next chapter.

“Monday night, February 6th, 1804, weighed from Ares Bay near Ferrol,
bound to England with despatches, made sail and worked out of Ferrol
Bay. Tuesday, Fresh breezes for the best part of the day from the
Rd. Wednesday the 8th—At noon by account Ushant bore from us N. 24
Lat: distant 109 miles, towards the Evening the breeze died away and
became variable, but sprung up from the Southward and Westward at 6
o’clock. At 8 o’clock P.M. Ushant distant 50 miles, went on deck to
keep my watch, the ship steering N.E. by E. by the Captain’s orders,
who had also left orders to be called at 12 o’clock. The breeze
continued, freshening considerably till 10 o’clock, when I was
obliged to leave the deck to attend the Gunner in transporting
powder, which duty we were on the point of finishing at 11.30, when
the ship struck with great violence, put the lights out immediately
and got on deck as soon as possible, where we found every person
struck with terror, it being the general opinion, that the violent
shock which they had felt proceeded from the powder magazine and
expecting every moment to be their last; but when relieved from this
dreadful impression by our appearing on deck, they immediately let go
the small bower anchor and proceeded to take in sail.

“It appears that at the time the ship struck she was going between 8
and 9 knots, which hurried her on the rocks with such violence, that
the tiller was carried away, the rudder unhung from the stern post,
and a great hole made somewhere under the starboard bow, and after
beating over the reef, the ship was running on an immense rock, which
was prevented by the letting go of the anchor. As soon as the sails
were furled we manned the pumps, and found the ship made at the rate
of 15 feet water per hour. At 12, on the turning of the tide, the
ship tailed on the rocks and struck with dreadful violence at times:
let go the best bower anchor, scuttled the spirit room bulkhead to
clear the water from aft. Fired minute guns and rockets at times,
with the signal of distress: discovered a light on our starboard
beam, a small island, but no one on board knew for a certainty where
we were, employed all night at the pumps, and clearing away booms to
get spars out to shore the ship up, as also to be in readiness to get
the boats out if requisite.

“At 6 a.m. daylight discovered to us our situation, that we were upon
a reef of rocks, extending from the island of Saints Westward in to
the Atlantic, ‘_Hinc atque hinc vastœ rupes_’ at a distance of half a
mile from the island. Got the shores out on the starboard side,
lowered the cutter, and sent the master to sound for a passage among
the innumerable rocks with which we were perfectly surrounded. At 7
the ship had gained one foot on the pumps, and during the last hour
had 3 ft. 8 inches water in the hold, at 8 the master returned, and
had only found a narrow passage with 10 feet water in the deepest
part, which report together with every appearance of an approaching
gale from the S.W. confirmed the opinion already formed, that we were
precluded from every means of saving the ship. In consequence of
which Capt. W. ordered the third division of seamen, and all the
marines to land, and take possession of the island, in order to
secure a retreat, and, if possible, the means of escape from the
enemy. Got the boats out and landed the force above mentioned, being
given to understand by the Gunner, who pretended to know the place,
that it was a Military Station, and consequently, that we should meet
with some resistance; but on arriving at the town found it only
occupied by a few fishermen. Took possession of the church and made
use of it as barracks for our ship’s company, whom we were occupied
landing all the remaining part of the day, the current running with
such rapidity between the rocks, that it was with the greatest
difficulty and danger the boats could go to and fro. This was
however happily effected without any accident; landed also three
days’ provisions: ‘_Tum celerem corruptam undis cerealiaque arma
expediunt_.’

“The wind all this day very boisterous from the S.W. with heavy rain,
and every symptom of an approaching gale. Towards dusk, mustered the
ship’s company, put them all into the Church and placed sentries over
them, patrol’d the island all night, employed all the forenoon in
burning the remnants of the ship, and fitting 13 sail of fishing
boats, besides our Captain’s barge for our departure for England: the
Captain’s boat distinguished by the Union Jack being destined to lead
the way, and the other boats being formed into three divisions,
commanded by the three Lieuts. with distinguishing names to follow in
due order, the wind being fresh from the S.W.

“I may now begin to speak on a smaller scale, and only mention the
proceedings of our own boat, with occasional remarks concerning the
others. At noon, made sail from the Island, scudding under a fore
and main sail alternately. At 4, finding the wind heading us fast,
hauled on a wind to endeavour to keep off shore as much as possible,
in order to get on the Beniquet if necessary, most of the other boats
being in sight, the Captain’s just perceptible ahead. At 6, strong
gales and squally, with rain and a tremendous heavy sea. Observed
the Hay stacks on our lee beam: at 6.30, observed the oars and
rowlock of the Captain’s barge floating to leeward which made us
fear, ‘_fraguntur remi_,’ that he had perished. At 7, passed to
leeward of the Parquet, which was very perceptible by the roaring and
breaking of the sea, which was awful in the extreme.

“At 9, finding we could not weather St. Matthew’s, Mr. B. and the
commanding Officer, ‘_O socii passi graviora_,’ of the boat addressed
the crew, to consult concerning the best means of saving their lives,
when it was unanimously decided to bear up for Brest, a dire, but
unavoidable alternative. Employed continually pumping and baling the
boat, over which the seas were continually breaking. At 10.30, spoke
one of our boats, which was laying broadside to the seas dismasted,
but could not give her any assistance. At 11 were hailed by the
batteries, did not answer, but hauled close to the land; they fired
at us several times, but without effect.

“At 11.30 ran alongside a line of Battle ship which caused an
immediate uproar on board of her. They threw us a rope, but no one
could hold it, on account of the cold and numbed state of all on
board. The ship (which proved to be the _Foudroyant_) immediately
manned her boat, and boarded us, and when the Officer understood who
we were, he took us out of our boat, which he left moored to a buoy,
and put us on board of _L’Indienne_ frigate, the tide running too
strong to regain his own ship. We were uncommonly well treated on
board, one of the Mids made me change my clothes, and they gave us
every refreshment in their power, after which I fell asleep till 3
a.m., when I was called to go on board the _Foudroyant_, the ship to
which we had first surrendered. Here the Captain behaved to us in a
handsomer way than we had any right to expect, giving up his own
cabin for our use, furnishing us with linen, and every delicacy he
had to offer. Got up at 6 and walked the deck with the French
midshipmen, who gave me to understand that our countrymen had been
coming in the harbour at all hours of the night, and they also told
me that our boat had gone to the bottom. After breakfast with the
Capt. he expressed the greatest concern at being obliged to send us
on board the Flagship. We accordingly at 10 o’clock left him,
impressed with the highest sense of his humanity and generosity.

“On our arrival on board the Flagship we had the inexpressible
pleasure of meeting with a great many of our shipmates, of whose fate
till then we were totally ignorant. After dining on board, we were
all ordered on shore to be confined in the hospital, until the will
of the Minister of War should be known. When in the Hospital we were
mustered and found that the following were missing, Capt. W. and his
crew making altogether 12, whom some seamen affirmed to have seen
sink, which statement was partly corroborated by our having seen his
oars. Mr. Gordon, midshipman and his crew, 15 in number, who, when
last seen, were a long way to windward, and Mr. Thomas the En. who
was drowned in landing. The next day to our great astonishment Mr.
Gordon and his crew joined us and gave us slight reasons to hope that
Capt. W. had reached the Beniquet.

O’BRIEN. SUTTON. VINE. GRAHAM. MAHONEY. NEPEAN. HEYDON. MASCALL. GORDON. NICHOLLS. NEWMAN. PRIDHAM. ASHWORTH. MATHIAS. COREY. LUDWRIDGE. SMITHSON. MYSELF. SIMPSON. BARKER. LITCHFORD.

“During the next week we were visited by the Commissary of War, who
told us that the Minister of War had given orders for our being
removed to Verdun, and advised us to prepare as much as possible for
our march to that place; he also had the goodness to send us a banker
who gave money for bills on the Government, a thing that was very
acceptable, as by the length of time we had been at sea all our
Lieuts. had some pay due, and they supplied the Midshipmen with small
sums, which, added to the allowance of the French, 1_s._ 3_d._ _per
diem_, might enable us to travel very comfortably.

“On the 17th we were told to hold ourselves in readiness to march the
next morning at daylight. We consequently were drawn up in the
hospital yard the next morning to the number of 264—21 of whom were
officers, the rest seamen. ‘_Unus absit._’ We left Brest at 7 a.m.
escorted by a strong guard of infantry and about twenty horsemen.
The morning was fine and pleasant. After marching about two hours we
came to the summit of a hill, whence we had a fine view of Brest
harbour and roads, with the adjacent coast, bounded by the Atlantic,
on which, at about the distance of 15 miles, we could plainly see our
whole Channel Fleet standing in, under easy sail—this sight,
mortifying as it was, became still more so, by the jeerings of the
French Soldiery, which, to his credit be it spoken, were repressed as
much as possible by the Officer who conducted us. About 1 p.m.
reached Landernau, a small town, distant from Brest about 5 leagues.
We went on in this way till the 24th, when our escort was relieved by
another of a similar kind at St. Brieux, a small seaport town. The
officer on leaving us, requested us to give him a paper testifying
his good treatment of us, to which we readily assented, his behaviour
to us having been uniformly kind.

“To repeat every day’s march would be useless, suffice it to say,
that after passing thro’ Rennes, Alençon, Versailles, St. Cloud, St.
Denis, within a mile of Paris, and divers other places of less note,
we arrived at Verdun on Sunday, March 25th, having marched a distance
of 204 leagues.”

Mr. Hopkinson, when liberated; did not continue in the service, but went to Clare College, was ordained, became Precentor of Peterborough Cathedral, and later Rector of Alwalton (about three miles from Norman Cross), where he died in 1853. The following note was added to the prisoner’s own account by his widow:

“And here with this interesting account of his shipwreck and the
consequent imprisonment of himself and shipmates, the narrative
ceases, and all that can be told of the eleven years’ captivity must
be imperfect. But, young and full of energy, after the first trial
it was a time of mixed pain and pleasure. From the age of fifteen to
twenty-five is not often the period of despondency. He formed during
this time friendships and attachments which only ceased with life:
and be it observed the circle which was bound together so closely,
was composed entirely of those of honour and principle. While there
were unfortunately very many who by their conduct were a disgrace to
their country, this small knot of friends to whom he belonged, who
shared each other’s purse and each other’s poverty, left in France a
reputation unsullied.

“Many years after when he visited, under such different
circumstances, these scenes of his youth with his brother, he was
received everywhere with a warmth of affection and respect affecting
to witness. The friendships formed at this period under mutual
hardships and privations were very lasting and peculiar; each saw the
other without disguise and selfishness—that bane of worldly
friendship could not exist, where all had the same privations. He
would tell of times, when penniless, he positively was without food,
and the means of procuring it, till he and his friend, both good
fishermen, procured a meal by fishing in the Meuse. Many were the
anecdotes they would relate when meeting under what seemed happier
circumstances. There were times when they heard nothing of home or
England for a length of time. On one occasion on the arrival of
fresh prisoners, one of them unloosing his cravat, let fall a piece
of newspaper, which he had wrapped in it to stiffen it; how anxiously
was it snatched up by those poor captives. In this piece of waste
paper he read of some promotion to his brother in his profession when
only to know that he lived was joy unspeakable.

“He always spoke well of the French in general: it is true and must
have been mortifying, they were on some occasions led out to be gazed
at by the populace, as kind of trophies, and when Nelson died, their
grief was embittered by the jeerings of the vulgar, ‘Votre Nelson est
mort’—such is the fate of prisoners of war—but as a body he always
said they were a kind people.

“At the return of peace in 1814, hailed and welcomed as it was in
every quarter of the globe, what must have been the joy of him, who
had passed inactive wearisome years separated from his native land!
The long march homeward was never wearisome. Arrived in London, he
repaired to the Hotel, where his brother was expecting him. He had
just stepped out. Anxious and excited my husband went out too,
hoping to find him: in the meantime his brother returned, and being
told of his arrival, awaited him on the step of the door. When he
came back, the foreign look and dress at once assured his brother
that it was himself, and he stood in his way. Impatient at an
impediment to entering the house, he hastily begged him to step
aside, when the words, ‘John, do you not know me?’ told him he had
found his brother. Both were so changed that they should not have
known each other. How often, and with ever new delight, did he
recall this meeting!

“He returned home, and tho’ much, very much had happened to cloud his
happiness, the feeling of liberty so long unknown, was in his heart!
He brought home, not only from his own superior Officers, but also
from those of the French, testimonials of good conduct, having most
rigidly preserved his parole, tho’ with a fair chance of escape often
urged to break it, and having suffered by close imprisonment for the
breach of it in others.”

Mr. Hopkinson, during his imprisonment at Verdun, kept a register of his fellow prisoners, and in his later years he filled in as far as he could the after history of his prison comrades. This, being probably a unique document, is, by the kind permission of his son Mr. W. Hopkinson, reproduced in the appendix. {232} From this register it will be seen it was not only the French prisoners at Leek and elsewhere who fought duels. Four deaths from fatal wounds received in these affairs of honour are recorded. The duel, one hundred years ago, was the customary and generally acknowledged method of settling questions of honour, libels, etc., which are now in this country settled in the law courts. As Mrs. Hopkinson says in her note, the naval cadet never broke his parole, but on three occasions when held captive, not by his word of honour, but by bars and bolts, his respect for these did not prevent his attempting to escape; for the first attempt he was confined in a cell for one month, for his second attempt two months, and for his third, three.

Thirty-eight years after the termination of the war, Mr. Hopkinson thought he would take his son to Verdun, to the spot where he, the lad’s father, had spent ten years of what should have been the best period of his life. He found the chamber in which he had been confined unaltered, and utilised as a barrack room. Examining a bar in one of the windows, he showed his son a cut three parts through it.

“That,” said Mr. Hopkinson, “was made by me and some comrades with a
file made from a watch-spring more than forty years ago, when we were
on the eve of an attempt to escape. We had almost finished cutting
the bar, and a little midshipman was in the act of coiling the rope
which one of our party had managed to secure from the well in the
barrack yard, when the tread of the guard was heard coming to our
room; the poor little midshipman dropped it, making sure that he
would be killed. The steps came nearer, and another of the party,
quick as lightning and with the skill of a seaman, coiled it in the
high earthen pitcher-shaped jar, in which was our supply of water.
Hardly had he finished, when the guard entered and looked round, for
the rope had been missed; they searched in the bedding, but not in
the jar, and we escaped detection.”

This sketch of a young naval cadet’s experiences at Verdun represents, no doubt, fairly faithfully what was going on at Norman Cross, and in many another part of England, in those days of the terrible war. {233}

Before quitting Verdun, we may mention that it was not the only town where English prisoners were confined. They were also at Amiens, Auxonne, Dunkirk, Saumur, Tangiers, Tours, Vitré, Givet, Saarlouis, and other places.

For those guilty of misconduct, breach of parole, or attempts at escape, the subterranean dungeons at the Fortress of Bitche were reserved. If the accounts of the lives of French prisoners in England are scanty, those of the British in France are meagre in the extreme, being confined principally to short notices of the _détenus_ in Verdun, generally well-to-do people, and naval and military officers, who were fairly well treated. As to the prisoners in general we read:

“The distress under which the British seamen suffered in France was
excessive. The scanty pittance allowed each man daily consisted of a
small square piece of bullock’s liver, a slice of black bread, and a
glass of new brandy. Had it not been for the relief they received
from the Patriotic Fund, forwarded to them through a private channel,
many of them must have perished from want.

“The object of the French, in treating our seamen with such
inhumanity in this respect, was to make them dissatisfied with their
own Government, by inducing a belief that they were neglected by it,
and thus to tempt them to enter the French service. Numerous were
the offers made to them for that purpose, which, to the honour of our
brave but unfortunate tars, were usually rejected with contempt and
indignation.

“They resolved to perish, rather than prove traitors to their
country.”

The following extract from a letter from Lieutenant Tucker, who was captured with Captain Woodriff, gives a brief and good description of the life of a prisoner of his position:

“Lieutenants were allowed 56 francs a month from the French
Government, which just paid their lodging. No cause to complain of
indulgence, allowed to walk or ride 6 miles in every direction,
provided they were in before the shutting of the town gates at 9
o’clock at night. Captains were obliged to sign their names every 5
days, Lieutenants once a day, all other prisoners twice a day. No
other restrictions, could lodge where they pleased, and as they
liked. There was a first class of society, very good, but very
extravagant; they are chiefly people of fortune, who were detained
when travelling at the commencement of the war. The senior naval
English officer was Captain Gower, late of the _Shannon_, then
Captain Woodriff and 5 others, besides 38 Lieutenants.

“There were 2 clubs, where there were all the French, and sometimes
the English newspapers: in short, if a prisoner has health, he may
spend his time pleasantly enough.

“There is no society between the English and French; the latter are a
few Military, and tradesmen, who had made their fortunes by the
extravagance of Englishmen since the war.”

A fairly reliable picture of the life at Verdun may be gathered from a comedy in two acts, called _The Prisoner of War_, by Douglas Jerrold, produced at Drury Lane in 1812; the scene of the play is laid at Verdun. Making allowance for dramatic licence, the situations are probably fairly accurately described from the recollection of people known to the author. There is the competition among landlords for prisoner lodgers, there is the Jew money-lender who fattens on them, there are the breaches of regulations, the escapes and punishments at the Fortress of Bitche, the latter corresponding to the hulks at Chatham for delinquents in England.

From various detached sources we obtain other fragmentary glances of Verdun, and learn that only British were confined there, the Austrians and Prussians being at Chalons. As late as 1805 ordinary sailors were also confined there, as it is recorded that a party managed to escape to England in May of that year.

In the latter part of the same year a party of 150 were removed from Verdun to Valenciennes. “The march took eight days. The _real gentlemen_ were allowed on parole; the _négociants_, or merchants, were confined.” The best account is from the portfolio of a _détenu_, published in 1810. One quotation must suffice:

“The number of prisoners of war at Verdun has generally amounted to
400, consisting chiefly of naval officers and masters of
merchant-ships, and including a few officers of the Army, who had
been shipwrecked on the French coast, and some passengers who had
been taken on their voyage from the East Indies. Add to these some
common seamen, who, instead of being sent to Givet or Saarlouis, the
usual depots for sailors, were permitted to remain at Verdun at the
intercession of any persons of respectability who would take them
into their service.”

There is another brief account by James Forbes, a member of the Society of Antiquaries, who was detained for some months. Beyond the fact that he was a prisoner in the town, and had to answer the daily roll-call, his lot was not a hard one. By the interest of Sir Joseph Banks, the “Savant Anglais” was released.

His book is valuable as giving the text of the release forms, etc. As throwing light on the lot of the rank and file of the army and the ordinary seamen, information has been culled from the article, “Prisoners of War,” published in _Chambers’ Journal_, 1854. This article deals shortly with the treatment and conduct of the British prisoners in France. The writer says that on the long march into the interior they were often treated cruelly and harshly, occasionally handcuffed; they were escorted by soldiers of the line, the character of their treatment depending, naturally, greatly upon the officer in command. This writer confirms the dietary mentioned already. The prisoners were paid by the French Government a sou and a half (not quite three farthings) a day; this was supplemented by a penny a day from a fund raised by public subscription in England, the masters and mates of merchantmen participating in this small but welcome addition to their subsistence. In accordance with the directions of Othello quoted on our title page, we must quote from the article the remarks on the conduct of our countrymen in captivity.

“Brandy and spirits being cheap, the Britishers often got intoxicated
and gave endless troubles to the incensed officials. Their conduct
was that of the proverbial, reckless British seaman. They did no
work, but spent their time in playing rough games of every
description, singing, speechifying, fighting, drinking, and taunting
and defying the French, Frog-eating Mounseers, all and sundry, who,
by the way, often made them rue their rough pranks. Insubordination
was commonly punished by separate confinement with bread and water,
and worst of all, and unendurable to English Jack, a total
deprivation of tobacco. . . . Any personal assault on the soldiers
or the gendarmes was a most serious offence, the punishment of death
being assigned to the striking a gendarme. In some instances this
terrible and outrageous penalty was actually carried into effect.”

It will be in the recollection of the reader that the British Government provided the clothing of their subjects who were captives in a foreign prison of war. The dress is described by the author of the article in _Chambers’ Journal_ as a gray jacket and trousers and a straw hat; it contrasted favourably with the suit of many colours in which our Government clad their French prisoners.

In the paragraphs in which the article deals with the British prisoners in Denmark, the anonymous writer shows a sympathy with Denmark which may account for the severe language in which he deals with the British prisoners in that country. In describing their gambling propensities and consequent moral depravity he uses almost the actual words used by Captain Woodriff and others when they described Les Misérables and their class in the English prisons.

Possibly some future searcher in the bypaths of history may take up the subject of British prisoners of war in the countries of their captors, and we may hope that the result of his researches will form a picture of our countrymen more agreeable to the British eye than that depicted by the writer in _Chambers’ Journal_. {238}