Chapter V: Anecdotes From a Prisoner of Napoleon (1)

1810-1812

John Stanhope had early evinced a desire to travel. His most youthful venture had been a tour in Wales, whilst his next excursion, the tour to the Hebrides already referred to, had been of a more daring nature; indeed, a man, in those days, who had made such a journey, was looked upon as a traveller of some experience. Not content, however, with having acquired this reputation, young Stanhope, when not yet twenty-three years of age, determined to extend his researches further afield.

He was anxious to investigate the antiquities of Greece, about which little was then known, and having imbued his friend Tom Knox with his own enthusiasm the latter decided to accompany him. On the 29th of January 1810 the two young men therefore embarked on board the ship _Vestal_, which was carrying Mr, afterwards Sir Charles Stuart [1] as Minister, out to Lisbon.

It was a singularly exciting time to venture upon the continent. The very atmosphere seemed permeated with terror of Napoleon. Each country was on the defensive, struggling openly or surreptitiously to preserve its threatened liberty; while the one topic of conversation was the defeat or the success of armies. Thus the correspondence of the young travellers, so eagerly awaited and devoured by the family in Grosvenor Square, serves to throw many interesting sidelights upon continental existence during a period of history with regard to which interest can never wax cold. [2]

John Stanhope and his friend for some time wrote from Lisbon, where, under the auspices of the new Minister, they mixed in the best society, and met the most prominent civil and military residents of the day. Among others, they saw a great deal of General, afterwards Lord, Beresford [3] and were much struck by the discipline of the Portuguese troops under his command.

A field-marshal in the British Army, William Carr Beresford, had, in 1807, been appointed Governor and Commander-in-Chief of the island of Madeira. Subsequent to the Battle of Corunna, at which he was present, he was sent back to Portugal to take command of the troops there, and at the head of 12,000 men he drove back the French. Of the difficulties, however, with which he had to contend in his stupendous task, John Stanhope gives a graphic description.

"At the time," he relates, "when Beresford was appointed to the command of the Portuguese army, it was conspicuous for a lack of discipline which in these days would hardly be credited. To say that it was the worst in Europe would hardly give any idea of its degradation. The Portuguese soldiers were a weak, worthless rabble, without pluck or organisation, and practically useless for the campaign. Nor was the Government of the country in a much better state; a long series of misgovernment had introduced every species of corruption and deteriorated the character of the people."

But the English general at once took a characteristic method of dealing with a complex situation, and produced order out of chaos in the following drastic manner.

"Lord John Russell," relates John Stanhope, "once told me an anecdote of Beresford's first advent in Portugal, which serves so well to illustrate his character that I cannot do better than retail it.

"Upon one of the first occasions of his taking the field with the Portuguese troops, an officer, after having been despatched to a particular post, came galloping back to him.

"'Why are you come here?' asked the marshal, surprised.

"'The fire was so hot,' the man exclaimed, 'that if I had remained there a moment longer, I should certainly have been shot.'

"'_Shot_! but, to be sure, it was to be shot that I sent you there! Now, I will give you fresh directions. I advise you to give in your resignation, otherwise you must go back whence you came and be shot, or else be tried by court-martial, which will come to the same thing!'

"The officer, who was of high rank, took the hint; he gave in his resignation, and the other Portuguese officers learnt that under the English commander it was necessary to make up their minds to be shot."

"Further," John Stanhope adds, "Beresford cashiered the field officers of every regiment in the service. The fury that prevailed in the country at such a measure may be better imagined than described. It was believed that thousands of stilettoes would be raised against the tyrant Beresford. He heard both threats and murmurs with perfect apathy, and immediately put at the head of each regiment young officers belonging to our service, distinguished for their spirit and decision. Raised to a rank above their highest expectations, these young men were anxious to justify his choice by their conduct, as well as to distinguish themselves; and gloriously did they succeed. To content myself with mentioning one instance, I will relate the case of Colonel Campbell, an officer whom I know well here in Lisbon.

"Campbell was appointed to the command of one of the regiments of cavalry, and the first breach of discipline which came under his notice was that of a private striking an officer. Campbell determined to make a signal example of the culprit. He was promptly warned, however, that when, upon some previous occasion, a similar event had taken place, on the officer then in command attempting to inflict punishment upon the delinquent, the entire Regiment mutinied. Campbell, on hearing this, came to a quick decision. He advanced and faced his battalion with a pistol in each hand. He made them a brief speech in which he pointed out how glaring a breach of discipline it was for a private to strike his superior; and he ended by saying that he understood in a similar case the regiment had mutinied. 'I,' he concluded quietly, 'am determined that this man _shall_ be punished; if you intend to mutiny, you must begin with me. I am perfectly ready to receive you.' He then cocked his pistols and waited imperturbably in expectation of the result. No one moved. Awed by his manner and his threat, not a murmur escaped from the soldiers who confronted him, and Campbell's influence over his men was permanently established, so that he soon had the satisfaction of seeing them one of the best disciplined regiments in the service.

"Marshal Beresford, who was capable of selecting his subordinates with such perspicuity, did not fail to set them an example which roused their emulation, so that the soldiers soon became proud of their own discipline, and consequently attached to their officers and devoted to their marshal, till the latter, adored by the army, is become completely dictator of Portugal, his word is law, and the regency is little better than the shadow of Government. Moreover, the marshal acts his part to perfection, riding about the town in semi-regal state, surrounded by a brilliant staff. The man who has accomplished all this may not be a genius, but he has a right to be considered an extraordinary man, a man of the highest courage and energy.

"To show the extent of his power and the coolness with which he exercises it, I have only to instance the case of the embargo laid upon horses which are private property. At the instigation of Beresford, an order was issued for all the horses in the kingdom above a certain height to be taken for the use of the army, the Government allowing a fixed price for each. One of the first persons against whom the order was enforced was the Prince Regent; his carriage, under the charge of some officers of his household, was actually stopped in the town and the horses taken out of the vehicle, which was left standing in the middle of the street. The Portugese at once recognized that if the order was executed so strictly against the Regent himself, his subjects were not likely to be treated with more consideration, and the entire nation submitted with a good grace to the inevitable. Portugal, in short, in the manner in which all deferred to the dictation of Beresford, affords an extraordinary proof of how much may be done towards regenerating a people by the hand of a vigorous ruler."

The Regent, however, if ignominiously bereft of horses, appears to have remained the owner of innumerable unique, if useless carriages, which, on one occasion, John Stanhope was taken to see.

"I was extremely amused," he writes, "with these curious specimens of ancient magnificence. Some of the coaches were literally rooms on wheels. They were extraordinarily cumbrous, covered with gilding and lined with velvet, embroidered in gold. Many of them were decorated with pictures on the panels and large gilt figures in front of the boxes. There were, however, some of a more modern construction which had been built in Paris, and one of these was pointed out to me as celebrated for having conveyed the English generals on their entry into Lisbon after the famous Convention of Cintra. Upon this occasion, I understand, it broke down and became the cause of much wit among the generals as to whether it was their personal weight or the weight of their dignity that caused their fall. Had they been superstitious, they might have feared that it was ominous of a yet greater fall!"

At length the two young travellers determined to journey on into Spain; but in order to accomplish this, it was necessary first to buy horses--no easy matter, since all that were available had been seized for the army. After considerable delay Stanhope heard of a pretty little black Andalusian, which belonged to a Spanish gentleman willing to sell it, and lost no time in going to see the animal. He found that it furnished one of the most quaint instances which he had yet come across of the intense hatred to the French then universally cherished. "I took a great fancy to it," he says, "from a curious trick which it had been taught; one, however, which would have proved very inconvenient to me. _The moment it heard anyone speak French, it put back its ears and flew at him!_ As I wished to try this intelligent animal before I made my bargain, I returned to give orders that my saddle should be sent to its stables; but in the meantime, to my great disappointment, the servant in charge sold it to another man, unknown to his master, and for a less price than I should have been willing to give for such a remarkable animal."

At last, having procured the necessary steeds, the travellers started on their journey, encountering many adventures and seeing many interesting sights by the way. On one occasion they were quartered for some days upon a poor Captain Major, whose habitation was a humble hut in a singularly lonely district. Yet they found that he was a learned man, who had his small but treasured library; and in the latter John Stanhope was further astonished to find that one of the volumes which its owner considered most priceless was a Latin translation of Young's _Night Thoughts_.

"It is a curious thing," he remarks, "that this work, held in general in but little estimation in England, is invariably one of those most admired throughout the entire Continent, not only by the Portugese, but particularly by the lively Spanish."

It was men of the rank of their host, he adds, who had given occasion to an amusing mistake on his part upon his first arrival in the country: "According to the Portugese pronunciation," he writes, "_Major_ sounds like _Moor_ or _More_. The first time I met a Captain Moor, I was much surprised at finding a man of that name in Portugal; but when at every turn I found another Captain Moor, I could no longer refrain from expressing my astonishment at meeting with so many of that family, _and all Captains!_ The laugh that was raised at my expense may be imagined!"

The two young travellers at length reached Cadiz, which was then besieged by the French army. Almost one of the first things which struck John Stanhope with regard to the city, he records as a feat both novel and ingenious:--

Situated as Cadiz is, almost in the midst of the sea, the constant
breaking of the waves was sufficient to endanger, not only the walls
of the city, but even the neighbouring houses. A Spanish engineer, Don
Thomas Minoz, undertook to provide a curious security against so
alarming a danger. He effected his purpose by placing, at certain
intervals, large planks extending some distance into the sea; these
intervals he filled up with stones and cemented with a peculiar
species of mortar which had the advantage of becoming hardened by the
effects of time and exposure to weather; the wall above he built in
the shape of a bow; by these means the force of the waves was
effectually broken. But he met with those difficulties that so
frequently are opposed to the efforts of men of distinguished genius.
His labours were, in the first instance, counteracted by the misguided
parsimony of his employers, and subsequently, when completed, the work
was neglected and not kept in repair, in opposition to his express
injunctions, so that a great part of the cliff has since fallen.

The morning following his arrival, young Stanhope was taken to be introduced to Admiral Purvis, then in command of the fleet off that coast; and, having received from him an invitation to dinner, he returned on shore to pay his respects, in the interval, to the Minister, Mr Wellesley. On again boarding the ship he found the Admiral occupied in studying through a telescope a vessel then in sight, which to Stanhope's great excitement he explained was the _Ville de Paris_ returning to England with Lord Collingwood. Overjoyed at the unexpected prospect of seeing, not only his kinsman, but also his brother William, young Stanhope begged to be allowed to accompany Admiral Purvis in paying a visit to the approaching ship. Accordingly they snatched a hurried meal and set off in a small boat. Scarcely, however, had they embarked than they were greeted by the tidings that the vessel which they proposed to visit bore, not the brave Admiral returning to his native land, but his lifeless corpse, worn out with an arduous service sustained too long.

They immediately tacked about and returned to the ship they had just quitted, and thence young Stanhope watched the stately _Ville de Paris_ as she approached over the shining water, while he thought sadly of the gallant life which had thus ended, and of the grief which the news that had thus strangely become known to him would be learnt, many weeks later, by his family in Grosvenor Square. The following day he saw his brother William, now a sturdy youth grown out of all recognition; then the brothers parted once more, William eventually to return to England, his naval career ended, and John to experience a fate which he then little foresaw.

He, with his companion Knox, remained some time in Cadiz, taking great interest in the operations of attack and defence, into which they were initiated by their friend, the celebrated Lord Macduff, [4] an exceptionally keen and gallant soldier, who, however, apparently owed his predilection for war to a singularly horrible event in his life.

"A tragic episode," writes John Stanhope, "has rendered the excitement of active service an absolute necessity to him. His delight in battle arises solely from the loss of a beloved wife, and sadly calculated was the end of the beautiful Mrs Macduff to make the most serious impression on a husband's mind, all the more so, perhaps, in that so fully did she merit that epithet _beautiful_ which was always attached to her name. She had a Newfoundland dog, which one day leapt up in apparent affection, and catching her nose, gave it a bite, which not only seemed little more than a scratch, but as the dog had just sprung out of the water no suspicion attached to him. After some lapse of time, however, Mrs Duff was seized with symptoms of hydrophobia, and soon fell a victim to that dreadful disorder. Such a death for anyone cannot be contemplated without a shudder, but in the case of one in the full pride of youth and exceptional beauty, it appears, if possible, more inexpressibly horrible; and her unhappy husband has subsequently striven to find even a temporary oblivion of it in the greatest of earthly excitements--the din of arms."

Mixing with the most interesting society of Spain, enjoying many novel experiences and encountering many famous people, the days of the young travellers passed pleasantly. The Spaniards at this date cherished the most profound admiration for the English. "They," explains John Stanhope, "consider an Englishman as something superhuman, and, indeed, are anxious that 'George terceo' should come to reign over them." He was also much struck by the "devotion of the entire nation to the forms of their religion"; and he adds: "There is, perhaps, nothing more striking amongst the numerous ceremonies of this superstitious people than the effect produced by what is usually known as the Angelus. On a fine evening in summer, when the Alameda is crowded with Spaniards of all classes, enjoying the delights of a Southern sky and the pure breezes of the sea, at one moment all is noise and animation, the eyes, the tongues, the faces of the fair Andalusians are all in motion and the Spanish _caballeros_ all devoted to the terrestrial object of their adoration: on a sudden, the Angelus sounds, the whole babel stops, a profound stillness falls like a cloud over the gay scene, and everyone remains totally absorbed in prayer so long as the sound of the bell is heard. It is scarcely possible to convey any adequate idea of the effect produced by the instantaneous silence of so vast a crowd. The moment the bell ceases, each addresses a salutation to the person whom chance has thrown near him, and the stillness--so striking, so solemn--is as suddenly broken by the recommencement of all the former pandemonium and a deafening noise of eager tongues.

"Yet in Spain a religion of forms and ceremonies seems to have been substituted for a religion of Christian purity and morality. Although the large majority of the population are devoted to their Church, they yet imagine that if they strictly observe her ceremonies, fast rigidly, and go regularly to confession, they have done all that is requisite. The consequence of this state of things is the prevalence of the greatest profligacy, which is fostered by the innumerable herd of monks who infest the country. Common prostitutes sell indulgences which exempt from fasting in Lent; and by what means they have obtained possession of these it is not difficult to conjecture."

Another great drawback which John Stanhope found to life at Cadiz at that date was the prevalence of a condition of society which entailed that each Spanish lady should have her cortejo, or devoted attendant. "Behind each lady who smiles at you," he explains, "there stands--not a duenna, such a one as is represented on our stage--but a grim, black, ugly grandee, ready to avenge with the stiletto every glance you may chance to give to the lady of his love."

Nevertheless, Stanhope was enveigled into a silent flirtation which he describes thus amusingly:

"Immediately opposite to my habitation are two houses belonging to two merchants, who are either brothers or brothers-in-law. The one has an only daughter, who cannot boast of much beauty, the other has two daughters, the one a very pretty girl of a style rather unusual in Spain, for she has auburn hair, while her sister is a thorough Spaniard, a lively little thing with Andalusian eyes.

"A general flirtation was soon established between us; the heiress made me a sign every morning, upon which I descended into the street; she then threw out a most beautiful rose, which I picked up, and, pressing to my lips, returned to my balcony. This was certainly something like swearing allegiance, but I must confess that the fair cousin with the auburn hair, who lived next door to her, was the real object of my admiration; she was very modest and shy, and would only favour me with an occasional smile, but there was a sweetness in that timid, blushing smile which surpassed that of all the roses of Andalusia. She used also to serenade me on the piano by playing _God save the King_, to which I responded politely by playing some of the national airs of Spain. This silent flirtation continued for some time, when one day while I was on my balcony, I was not a little surprised to find standing beside me the servant from the house of the modest little lady with auburn hair. He at once accosted me in French, and, _sans cérémonie_, asked me which of the two young ladies I admired. "It is not _that_ one, I am sure!" said he, pointing to the lady of the roses. "No," said I, somewhat ungratefully, and pointed to her fair cousin. The servant instantly disappeared; a conscious smile from the beauty rewarded me for my preference, but--no more roses!"

An episode of a very different nature is described in another letter from Cadiz. "An extraordinary execution took place the other day," he writes; "extraordinary both from the manner in which it was carried out and the circumstances under which it took place. The unfortunate man was strangled by means of a machine of a new construction. It was an iron case or collar that was fitted round his neck and drawn closer by means of a screw till it occasioned strangulation. I did not follow the general example and attend the execution, as I did not feel sufficient curiosity about this new instrument of death to tempt me to witness so distressing a sight.

The sufferer was one of the principal judges in Madrid, and had rendered himself peculiarly odious by the severity which he had exercised towards the patriots, many of whom he had condemned to death. The guerrillas had, in consequence, signalled him out as their victim, and nothing can perhaps better illustrate the extraordinary state of Spain at this moment and the power of the guerrillas than the daring nature of their attempt and the success with which it was attended.

Having received information that the judge was to be present at a ball given on the occasion of the marriage of one of his servants at a village a short distance from Madrid, a guerrilla chief determined to take advantage of the opportunity which this offered. He accordingly made his appearance at the ball, and accosting the judge, requested him to come at once to the door of the house, as he had something important to communicate to him. No sooner had the judge reached the door than he was seized, placed upon horseback, and hurried off. From the actual vicinity of the capital, in a part of the country thickly occupied by troops, he was thus carried away, and finally brought to Cadiz, where he was condemned to atone for his treachery by his death. Previous to his execution, he acknowledged the justice of his sentence, but declared that there are now in Cadiz many men far more deserving of punishment than himself, some of whom are actually in the employ of the Government."

At length John Stanhope decided that, in June, he would embark for Gibraltar, intending to proceed thence to Carthagena, Valencia and Majorca. At this juncture, however, Tom Knox, reluctantly listened to the persuasions of his family, who feared his inability to stand a hot climate, and decided to return home. How fortunate it was for himself that he decided to do so, events were subsequently to prove.

John Stanhope, in company with some other friends, next made an agreement with an English merchant to take them to Gibraltar. The man, however, played them false, and sailed without them; whereupon they took passage on board a wretched boat called the _Liverpool Hero_, on which they endured extreme discomfort. One of Stanhope's greatest wishes had been to set foot on the coast of Africa, but owing to the unseaworthy nature of the vessel on which they found themselves, combined with the extreme roughness of the weather, they were driven from the coast, and only after a most dangerous passage did they eventually arrive at Gibraltar. As they entered the bay, the first object which met their eyes was the ship in which they had originally intended taking their passage. She had only just dropped her anchor, and as they passed she hailed them. "On going on board," relates John Stanhope, "the captain gave us a detailed account of a most melancholy occurrence which had marked their voyage. Their few hours' advantage in starting had enabled them to effect what we had in vain attempted--the weathering Cape Espartel. There were on board the actual passengers who had cut us out of our berths. They had felt as anxious as I had done to plant their feet upon the coast of Africa. They accordingly got into a boat and landed. They were amusing themselves with walking a little way into the interior when a party of Moors, who had apparently been watching them, stole gently through the brushwood with which the coast was covered, and, getting between them and the coast, cut off their retreat. The Moors killed two of them, one being a boy, to whose head they deliberately put a gun and blew his brains out. The third they carried away captive.

"We could not help shuddering at the thoughts of our narrow escape. Had we fulfilled our original intention and occupied the berths which we had actually taken on board that vessel we should undoubtedly have been in the place of these unfortunate men, and should have experienced the horrible fate which befell them."

A strange illustration of the fluctuations of fortune peculiar to those days next came under the notice of young Stanhope, on his way to Carthagena. "We passed," he writes, "the house of a Spaniard whose history is singular enough. He was originally a poor peasant, but during the last war with England he happened to be upon an island near the coast, in company with one of his friends, when they observed two sailors land from an English vessel. They promptly concealed themselves so that they might observe the proceedings of these men without themselves being seen. The sailors whom they watched dug a hole, put something carefully into it, and then covered it over; after which they re-embarked.

"No sooner were they out of sight, than the two Spaniards came out from their place of hiding, and hastened to the spot, eager to ascertain what it could be that had been so mysteriously buried. Great was their delight when they dug up what proved to be a treasure of great value, a heavy bag of gold. They divided the spoil, and returned home wealthy men. Subsequently, however, one of them, either feeling scruples with regard to the possession of the booty or else in the due order of confession, unburdened himself to his priest, who at once impressed upon him the sinfulness of retaining the stolen treasure and the obligation of endeavouring to find the rightful owners and restoring it to them. The penitent, therefore, went to explain these views to his fellow-thief, who appearing fully convinced by such reasoning, at once promised to undertake on behalf of both himself and his friend the researches necessary for the restoration of the stolen property. Believing this assurance, the repentant man at once gave up to his friend his own share of the treasure, only to discover, when too late, that his less scrupulous comrade had not an intention of carrying out any such obligation, but having thus got possession of the whole of the gold, he kept it, and is now one of the richest and most influential men in this part of the country, while his more honest dupe is still a poverty-stricken peasant."

In short, as John Stanhope was soon to find to his cost, it was not an age when a sense of honour dictated the actions of the majority of men. It happened soon afterwards that, unable to procure a satisfactory passage to Majorca, Stanhope was constrained to embark upon a small vessel, the appearance of which was singularly unprepossessing. But untrustworthy as was the boat, its captain proved to him a greater source of danger. Ignoring the undertaking he had given to the young Englishman, he traitorously sailed for Barcelona, where he delivered up his passenger to the French authorities, and John Stanhope thus unexpectedly found himself doomed to the fate which Esther Acklom had so ingeniously escaped, that of being a prisoner of Napoleon.

After various vicissitudes, and having been for eight weeks confined in a dungeon in hourly expectation of death, he was at length ordered with other prisoners of war to the dépôt at Verdun. Part of the journey thither was accomplished on foot, part driving in a diligence. The weather was bitterly cold, and the windows of the vehicle, which on this account were perforce closed, were chiefly of wood, so that not only was the view excluded, but the greater part of the journey was passed in darkness.

During part of the time, his only _compagnon de voyage_ was a French soldier, who had just obtained his _congé_ and was returning home after a long period of foreign service. "Poor fellow," writes John Stanhope, "his happiness was unbounded! He could think and talk of nothing but the moment of his first arrival at home, amusing himself with discussing the various modes in which he might surprise his family. At length that which he seemed inclined to adopt was to apply for a billet upon his own people; to enter the house with all the swagger of a soldier quartered on strangers-- in short, to enact the part which he had often played in Germany and so many other countries, and after having well tormented and frightened the whole household, to throw himself into his father's arms with--"Mon père, embrassez votre fils!" I enjoyed the thought of the _dénouement_--so truly French--but with envious feelings; not to draw a contrast between our relative situations was impossible, and I kept thinking, When--if ever-- shall I be able to surprise my family with my unexpected return?"

At another period of his journey one of Stanhope's fellow-travellers was a certain Captain Reid, who had been aide-de-camp to General Reding, [5] and had been taken prisoner. He told Stanhope the following curious story, "which," the latter suggests, "Walter Scott would probably hail as an additional proof of the reality of the art of divination. Captain Reid's mother, many years ago, having heard of the fame of some fortune-teller, resolved, out of pure frolic, to have her fortune told. She therefore disguised herself as her own maid and went to see the woman. She was at that date a wife and the mother of five children. The fortune-teller informed her that she would have, in all, fifteen children; that, out of those, two only would survive their infancy, and of those two, she would only have comfort from one. The predicted number of children were born. Reid and his sister alone lived to grow up, and 'what the future may produce, I know not,' Reid concluded, 'but as I am a prisoner in a foreign land, she certainly has no comfort in me."

With many anecdotes of General Reding did Captain Reid likewise regale his fellow-prisoner: "--that distinguished but unfortunate officer," says John Stanhope, "who at length fell victim to anxiety of mind arising from the difficulties with which he had to struggle and disappointment at finding that he commanded men who were not brave like himself. One day when Reding was about to engage the French (I rather think it was to make an attack on Barcelona) he sent his aide-de-camp, Reid, to a Spanish general, with imperative orders to be at a certain post, at a certain time, with his division. Just as Reding was on the point of moving forward to commence the projected attack he perceived the Spanish general riding leisurely towards him. 'What, _you_ here!' he exclaimed, horror-stricken, 'Why are you not at your post?' 'I have received no orders,' was the reply. 'Reid!' shouted the Swiss general in an overpowering fury and raising his sabre over the head of his aide-de-camp, 'why did you not give my orders to the Spaniard?' Reid, knowing his General's irritable temper, thought that instant death was before him. 'I did!' he asserted emphatically; 'there stands his aide-de-camp who was present at the time--let him deny it if he dare!' Fortunately the aide-de-camp was too much a man of honour to deny the truth. Reid was acquitted in his General's eyes; but the old Swiss turned away heart-broken at the recognition that all his schemes at this important juncture had been defeated by this act of treachery or cowardice on the part of the Spaniard, and, in unconcealed disgust, he gave the order for a retreat.

"Reding while on active service usually drank three bottles of wine a day, and never slept for more than three hours; he and his men were always in motion, yet Reid, though pursuing the same _regimen_, declared that, in common with his General, he was never in better health or happier at any time of his life."

Of another famous general, Stanhope also records some interesting observations. Arrived at Dijon, which was a dépôt for Spanish prisoners, he went to call on an English fellow-prisoner, and found him having breakfast in company with two Anglo-Spanish officers, both of whom had served at Saragossa. "I therefore," he relates, "felt great interest in talking over with them the events of that memorable siege, in which they had acted an important part. Of course, to judge from their own account, to them and to other Hibernian-Spanish officers was due the honour of having conducted the defence of Saragossa; but what was indeed of interest was to find that of Palafox [6] they spoke but slightingly, and seemed to consider him merely as the nominal commander. All this was so new, so incredible to me, that I could not help openly expressing my doubts on the subject; these, however, were met by an argument to which it was impossible not to attach considerable weight--that Palafox was at that moment on parole in a town in France. 'Do you really think,' asked they, 'that if he were the powerful man he is represented to be he would be left in comparative liberty? No; the Emperor is too wise for that! If Palafox were what he has been supposed to be, _Napoleon would consider that no prison in France is strong enough to hold him!_'"

At length young Stanhope arrived at Verdun and entered upon a period of detention there to which he could foresee no prospective conclusion. "There was no positive suffering of which to complain," he wrote afterwards, "yet there is a weariness, an utter hopelessness in the life of an exile which none can understand who have not experienced its intensity." The patriotism which had gilded the voluntary exile of Collingwood was perforce absent from the imprisonment of John Stanhope. No glory of martyrdom dignified his forcible detention; he was merely the victim of mischance. And the outlook was singularly hopeless. "The negotiation for the exchange of prisoners has totally failed," he writes. "The hope of the conclusion of the war appears to be more distant than ever. Whilst the Emperor lives, peace seems to be impossible, and he may live twenty years without the least diminution of his energy or his ambition ... there is but one source from which we can any of us derive the slightest consolation, and that is from the character of Napoleon himself. His insatiable ambition, after having prompted him to the execution of everything that is practicable, may finally urge him to attempt impossibilities. Alexander wept because he could find no more worlds to conquer; Napoleon may find there are too many worlds for him. Universal dominion is not now so easy an acquisition. 'Give him rope enough and he will hang himself!' is in all our mouths!"

With this slender consolation the luckless prisoners endeavoured to cheer themselves; but meanwhile, as Stanhope points out, they existed "a thousand people of different characters, ranks and habits collected together in one town, without any occupation to divert the tedium of their lives." Nor were there wanting additions to their society of an undesirable character, men who had voluntarily fled across the Channel to escape the consequence of nefarious dealings in horse-racing and gambling. One of these, indeed, was described by the French Minister of War as "the worst monster which England in her wrath has yet vomited across the Channel"; and the enforced idleness to which the prisoners were subjected, rendered them for the most part ready victims to the designs of such unscrupulous villains, while it tended to make the life of the town peculiarly demoralising. One source of satisfaction alone did Stanhope find in his altered conditions. His family, who for many months had believed him to be dead, were now overjoyed to hear of his safety, and to find themselves once more able to communicate with him; none the less it was impossible to ignore the constant danger to which his position still exposed him. At any moment he or his fellow _détenus_ might be sacrificed to the vindictiveness of Napoleon or to the exigencies of some political situation, and he had not been long at Verdun before a recognition of this fact was unpleasantly brought home to him.

Lord Blayney, [7] an Irish friend of his, was suddenly arrested one day in the streets of Verdun and hurried off to the citadel. There he was informed that by order of the French Government he was to answer with his life for the safety of a French prisoner in England, who, having been detected in some treasonable intrigue, was condemned to close confinement and likely to be shot. Thus for a long time subsequently Lord Blayney remained a prisoner in hourly peril of instant death.

There were also other evils to be reckoned with. The governors in whose charge the prisoners were placed were too often unscrupulous men, who, so long as they were secure from detection, did not hesitate to employ tyranny or fraud in the endeavour to further their own advancement, either by the pretended discovery of imaginary plots, thus giving a fictitious impression of their own zeal to the ministers, or by extorting money through terrorism from their defenceless victims.

A story in this latter connection is told by John Stanhope. It appears that a certain General Wirion, who had at one time been attached to Moreau's party, had succeeded in getting into favour with Napoleon, who made him Governor of Verdun. Forthwith, the General's principal object was to devise some means of extracting money from the prisoners resident there, towards whom his conduct, on all occasions, was peculiarly atrocious.

Among the _détenus_ he soon observed a young man of more fortune than wit, whom he at once recognised as a victim ready to his hand. He accordingly sent for this youth one morning, and informed him that he would give him leave to reside in a village a little way beyond the limits, for so the imaginary boundary was always designated within which the prisoners were confined by their parole. Although surprised at a permission for which he had not even applied, the young _détenu_ naturally was delighted, and, utterly devoid of suspicion, he lost no time in availing himself of his increased liberty.

Shortly afterwards, the Governor caused a bogus order to be posted in the office in Verdun to which the prisoners went at fixed periods to sign their names. It announced that the Minister of War had issued a decree commanding that all prisoners found out of the limits should be shot.

This notice the young prisoner in question either did not see, or ignored, thinking that in view of his having received special permission for his departure from the Governor, it could not apply to his individual case. From this false security, however, he was suddenly awakened one morning by the appearance of a detachment of _gendarmerie_, who, without any circumlocution, presented him with a copy of the order, and informed him that, as he had been found out of the limits, he was included in the number of those to whom the decrees applied, and that their orders were to carry the sentence into immediate execution.

So sudden, so unexpected an announcement of instant death might well have shaken a man of stronger nerve. As it was, the condition of the poor youth was pitiable. In vain he protested his ignorance of the notice and his innocence of any intentional disobedience to the Government; to all such representations his captors turned a deaf ear. Still more, no means were neglected by them, no note of preparation omitted, that could tend to increase the agony of his terror.

At last, at the very moment when not a hope of life remained to him, a Gallo-Irishman, the chosen confidant of the Governor, made his appearance, as if by accident. At the sight of this man, one last chance of escape presented itself to the miserable youth, and he entreated the fellow to save him. The Irishman replied decisively that he could hold out no hope; the orders of the Minister of War had been imperative, and any chance of eluding them was impossible.

"But I have the General's permission to reside beyond the limits!" pleaded the youth eagerly.

"True, but the General exceeded his powers in giving you that permission; you cannot expect him to sacrifice himself for you. It is unfortunate, but you must be the victim!"

"Is there no possibility of your doing anything? You are so intimate with him, cannot you save me?"

"I fear not."

"But at least make _one_ effort!"

"It is a hopeless case!" the Irishman assured him. Then, after consideration, he said: "Well, I will _try_, but upon one condition, and one only."

"Name it!" was the eager reply.

"That you give me _carte-blanche_ to act as I see fit!"

The condemned man did not hesitate. He agreed readily to all the Irishman suggested; and the villain having given orders to the _gendarmes_ to await his return, departed triumphantly. After an interval which appeared sufficiently long for him to have journeyed to Verdun and back, he reappeared and informed the poor youth, who meanwhile had been awaiting his verdict in a state of indescribable anxiety, that the mission had been successful. This had not, however, he explained, been accomplished without the greatest difficulty, as General Wirion trembled at the serious responsibility which he was about to incur in disobeying the Minister's express orders; nevertheless, the Governor would consent to spare the Englishman's life on condition of his paying down immediately the sum of £5000. The young man was startled by the largeness of the amount, but in the position in which he was placed, it required few arguments to convince him of the worthlessness of money when his existence was at stake. He accordingly consented to the proposal, signed a draft for the specified amount, and was set at liberty. When, however, in a calmer frame of mind he came to consider the transaction and to discuss it with his friends, he felt convinced that some trickery had been employed towards him. He thereupon wrote to his banker, cancelling the order for the money. But this only made matters worse for him; for the General, furious at such an attempt to defeat his machinations, enforced payment, not merely of the £5000 originally demanded, but of an additional £200, under pretext of having incurred that latter expense in trying to substantiate his lawful claim to the larger sum!

Needless to say, robberies of this description were perpetrated without the knowledge of the Ministers; but a rumour of some disgraceful transaction on the part of Wirion having at last reached them, he was summoned to Paris to undergo examination before a court of inquiry. In consequence of what then came to light, upon the next public occasion at which he was present, the Emperor turned his back upon the General. The latter understood the hint. He left the presence of Napoleon, got into a hackney coach, drove to the Bois de Boulogne, and there shot himself.

Occasionally, however, Napoleon himself was outwitted by the cunning of the villains in his employment. Wirion's successor at Verdun, Colonel Courcelles, a less daring but more clever scoundrel, found favour with the Emperor by a very simple expedient. He had lost one of his legs in _partie de chasse_, a loss which gave him the valuable air of a gallant veteran, and of which he knew how to take the best advantage. Passing through Verdun to join his army, the Emperor spied the apparently maimed hero, and at once honoured him with a special notice. "_Monsieur le Colonel_" he inquired with a note of respect, "_où avez-vous perdu la jambe?_" Courcelles, sufficiently quick-witted to convey the impression he desired without risking the utterance of any lie, replied truthfully: "_Sire, j'étais à la bataille de Marengo!_"

Courcelles succeeded in robbing the prisoners who were in his charge in a more cautious manner than his predecessor; he, in short, contrived to subtract something for himself from any remittances which reached them, and paid them francs for livres. But if in many instances the prisoners suffered at the hands of the French authorities, on one occasion the position was reversed, and a French commandant became the victim of a prisoner's cunning.

The hero of this incident was Lord Blayney, the Irishman before referred to. A certain General Cox, formerly Governor of Almeida, owned a very nice little Andalusian horse, Sancho, which had distinguished itself as one of the first racers in Verdun. Lord Blayney offered a challenge for Sancho to run against a horse which he promised to produce for the event, and his bet was accepted with alacrity. He thereupon sent to an Englishman who was in young Talleyrand's service, and who was a recognised connoisseur in horseflesh, instructing this man to send him a particular English race- horse which had formerly figured at Verdun, and in the capabilities of which Lord Blayney still apparently had confidence, although it was now pretty well advanced in years.

Nevertheless, when the animal reached Lord Blayney's stables, sundry alterations were made in its appearance which would prevent its being recognised as an old acquaintance by those who had seen it formerly; and thus when the date for the race arrived, an unknown beast entered the lists against Sancho.

It was soon patent to all that the age of this competitor made its chance of success but small; and, in fact, General Cox's fleet little horse won in a canter. Everyone laughed loudly at Lord Blayney's folly in imagining that so obviously incompetent an animal could run against the beautiful little racer Sancho; only Lord Blayney himself seemed stupidly surprised at his own failure. None the less, he bore his loss with amiability, and as he had previously invited his antagonists to dine with him that night he did not omit to make them welcome.

General Cox and the backers of Sancho were, not unnaturally, in the highest spirits that evening; and when wine had loosened their tongues, they expressed their triumph rather incautiously in loud praises of their favourite horse. Lord Blayney likewise appeared to drink heavily, and at last, seemingly elated by this fact, or stung past endurance by the taunting remarks of his adversaries, he swore that he would again match his horse against Sancho and for a yet larger sum of money. Cox, delighted, instantly closed with the offer, and Lord Blayney shortly afterwards, as though overcome by the wine he had drunk, fell asleep.

His guests sat on drinking till at length their host awoke, when it became evident to them that, sobered by his nap, he was ready to view matters in a more cautious light. "Cox" he observed anxiously, "I will give you a good sum down to be off the bet I made just now." "Oh, no! no!" cried General Cox. "It is too late to withdraw it--you cannot show the white feather." "Well, then," shouted Lord Blayney, with apparent angry recklessness, "I'll double the first bet!" "Done!" cried the General, enchanted at the certainty of extracting a still larger sum from the pockets of the foolish peer. So delighted was he, in fact, that he generously arranged for several of his most intimate friends to share his prospective good fortune, and seeing an unparalleled opportunity for currying favour with the Commandant, he invited the latter to participate in such exceptional luck.

One man alone saw through the whole transaction. This was a certain friend of Lord Blayney's who is mentioned in John Stanhope's letters by his nickname of "Paddy Boyle," [8] which had apparently been conferred upon him on account of his exhibiting certain characteristics which are more usually illustrative of an Irish than a Scottish nationality. Lord Boyle went to Lord Blayney with the unwelcome announcement: "By Jove, my Lord, I'll tell of you!"

"You'll do nothing of the sort!" rejoined Lord Blayney; "I'll give you a hundred pounds to hold your tongue!" The bargain was struck and the secret was kept.

The eventful day arrived. So large a bet had attracted universal attention. "I will not attempt to describe," writes John Stanhope, "the intense interest felt by all present at the commencement of the race, nor the confusion and dismay of the Cox party when they saw the previously incompetent animal now cantering away from Sancho with all the ease and style of a true English racehorse; nor will I attempt to give the crimination and recrimination that followed. I will content myself with transcribing the observation with which the poor Commandant consoled himself for his loss. '_Les Anglais prétendent que Lord Blayney est fou; je reconnais à mes dépens qu'il est plus fin que les autres!_'"

With regard to Lord Boyle, who so intelligently fathomed the intended ruse in this instance, Stanhope subsequently relates some amusing anecdotes. "During the time of our races," he writes, "Lord Blayney had invited a large party to dine with him on the race ground. Instead of putting myself in the path of the prospective host, as did most of my friends, I studiously avoided him, and thus escaped an invitation, as I was anxious to do, for I had little doubt that there would be a profusion of wine which would lead to its inevitable consequences at Verdun--a good deal of quarrelling. I rode to the course with Lord Boyle, who congratulated me on my prudence. I never heard a man talk more reasonably or eloquently than he did upon the state of the society at Verdun, and particularly upon the reprehensible consequences which invariably arose from successive drinking. The first thing I heard next morning was that Paddy Boyle had, after dinner, _insulted every man at the table but one_, uttering sarcasms founded doubtless upon truth, but as biting as they were clever. _From every individual except the one who had escaped his attacks he had just received a challenge_, which he had been forced to meet by sending round a circular apology. He had thus given a pretty practical illustration of the truth of the remarks with which he had favoured me on the previous evening!"

Subsequently Lord Boyle afforded another illustration of his "strange admixture of shrewdness and muddle-headedness." On an occasion when, it must be emphasized, he was entirely sober, he was discovered going out into the garden at twelve o'clock at night with a hand-candle in order to ascertain what was the correct time by the sun-dial!

But in a society which comprised men of so many different types and varying calibre, there were not wanting some of the survivals of a France which was rapidly becoming extinct An inhabitant of Verdun frequently referred to by Stanhope was the Chevalier de la Lance, an aristocrat of the _ancien régime_, who piqued himself upon possessing the peculiar grace of manner belonging to a bygone day, and which he carried to such a point of exaggeration as often to render himself ridiculous. "He is nevertheless a kind-hearted, gentlemanlike and amiable old man. Like most others of his rank who are still alive, he emigrated at the beginning of the Revolution. He retired to Germany, where he lived for some time under the assumed character of a humble music-master. He tells me that one of his most pleasant experiences was the surprise of his various pupils when, upon leaving the place of exile, he sent them back all the tickets for lessons which they had given him, and for which he no longer required payment He did not, however, return to France alone; in the country-house of some of his pupils he had met a lady whose heart was touched by the misfortunes of the exile. She was related to one of the leading families of the Austrian Empire, but had learnt to feel compassion for the unfortunate emigrant, and as compassion is akin to love, it soon grew into a warmer sentiment, and she at length agreed to unite her destiny to his."