In the Wake of War: The Imprisonment of Soldiers and Seamen Taken in the Napoleonic and American Wars

By Tessa West

"In the history of war the part of the individual is subsumed in the movement of hostile forces, while the plight of the prisoner of war - the individual removed and neutralised - is quite forgotten. In this book Tessa West reminds us that for the prisoner the struggle is not over. Drawing upon accounts from the long wars with France that occupied

• Language: English
• Publisher: Durpey-Allen Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Sep 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781910317037

Book preview

In the Wake of War

TESSA WEST

The imprisonment of soldiers and seamen

taken in the Napoleonic and American wars

Durpey-Allen

Tonbridge, Kent

2014

For Roger, my brother and friend

—

Durpey-Allen Publishing Ltd

This digital edition 2014

1

First published in Great Britain by Durpey-Allen

Tessa West © 2014

Tessa West asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record of this book

is available from the British Library

ebook ISBN 978-1-910317-03-7

Seven of the stories in this book are fictitious. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in them, other than those clearly in the public domain, are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permissions of the publishers.

Find out more about Durpey-Allen Publishing Ltd

www.durpey-allen.co.uk

Also by Tessa West

Prisons of Promise, 1997, Waterside Press

The Estuary, 2002, Fox Books

The Reed Flute, 2004, Fox Books

Companion to Owls, 2008, Fox Books

The Other Vikings, 2009, Fox Books

The Curious Mr Howard, 2011, Waterside Press

Maps & Poems, 2013, Blurb

www.tessawest.co.uk

Foreword

I remember little of my only direct experience of prisoners of war. I must have been three or four years old when my father, a Quaker conscientious objector, invited several Germans to our house near London to celebrate Christmas. I remember carols by the candle-lit tree. My parents and two older brothers sang Silent Night, Holy Night as our visitors sang Stille Nacht, Helige Nacht. Later, one of them sent me a small wooden doll’s cradle whose ends, I recall, were shaped like hearts.

Introduction

A few years ago, while studying John Howard’s seminal books The State of the Prisons and Prisons and Lazaretto s for my biography of the prison reformer, I came across reports about prisoners of war and the places in which they were confined. While the 18 th century proved enlightening for some people, it was certainly not so for everyone.

Prison camps or depots are quite different institutions from ordinary prisons or gaols, and they have quite different purposes, so when I came across Howard’s work I took the trouble to visit the site – less than one hundred kilometres from my home – of Norman Cross, a purpose-built prisoner of war depot opened in 1796 to house nearly 2000 men taken in the wars against Napoleon.

When I realised that, over a period lasting nearly 20 years, Britain was trying to cope with an aggregate of around 200,000 prisoners of war I was hungry for more information on the subject. I began to read more about such depots and to visit the sites and remains of other similar ones. My career working within prisons had caused me to reflect, in particular, on the relationship between staff and inmates and on their strategies for co-existence. Now I found myself wanting to know how prison communities worked when their inmates were not criminals but prisoners of war, and were held on the authority of enemy powers rather than of courts of law. I was especially keen to find first person accounts of both the kept and the keepers, whether they were housed in a depot or a hulk, or on parole in a town.

I limited my search to the Napoleonic era – from about 1795 to 1815. I quickly learned that while the majority of the Napoleonic prisoners were French, large numbers of them were from countries which were either ones allied to France or which France had defeated. However, the American War of Independence and the Anglo-American War of 1812 took place during the same time frame, so Britain also ended up with plenty of Americans.

This book is about neither war nor politics. Nor does it list rules and treaties. It is about the experiences of seven individuals held as prisoners of war, and of seven of those responsible for their confinement and welfare. The prisoners’ stories are taken from first person accounts written at the time of their imprisonment or soon after. One is the edited extract of a daily diary; several are descriptions of events as told to someone else. Some have been translated. As well as the recollections of prisoners (officers, soldiers and seamen) from France, America and Scandinavia, I have also included those of an English soldier imprisoned in France. The stories of those responsible for their confinement and welfare are the fictional accounts of imaginary characters – such as a militiaman, a gaoler, or a seamstress – created by me and written in their voices. Based solidly on fact, the book provides realistic accounts and images of prisoner of war establishments seen through the eyes of actual former captives and of fictional characters who were their keepers and carers.

A third and contrasting element of the book concerns Napoleon Bonaparte, the titanic figure ultimately responsible for, among other things, the plight of prisoners of war described here. As he himself was finally confined, on the island of St. Helena, I have included accounts of his experiences as a prisoner. He, apparently, kept no record of the circumstances of his captivity, but others did and I have included extracts from their recollections.

Together, these accounts form a picture of the lives lived within, variously, 18th century prisoner of war depots in England and Scotland, hulks, parole towns, a journey through France, and an isolated island in the Atlantic.

— — —

It should be noted that it has not been possible to arrange the extracts into accurate date order, and that Napoleon was not, of course, imprisoned at the same time as the other French prisoners described here. Some were freed when he abdicated in 1814, and others when he claimed political asylum in 1815. The extracts about Napoleon are spread throughout the book, and each of them refers to events between 1815 and his death in 1821.

— — —

I would like to acknowledge the help of the scholar, Ian MacDougall, whose fascinating and authoritative All Men Are Brethren helped me on my way, and who kindly provided me with a translation of Paul Kaald’s journal. I also gained benefit from a tour arranged by the Friends of Norman Cross to Portchester Castle. Paul Chamberlain’s excellent commentary contributed greatly to the visit. I am also grateful to the Scottish Borders Archives for permission to publish extracts from French Prisoners of War in Selkirk, being the reminiscences of Sub Lieut. Adelbert J Doisy.

And my special thanks too to my brother Roger and to my partner Ralph, for their close readings of the ms. and their useful comments.

Contents

Josiah Cobb, American prisoner of war, Dartmoor

Napoleon, Rochefort

Caleb Featherstone, Militiaman, Dartmoor

Napoleon, St Helena

Charles Andrews, American prisoner of war, Dartmoor

Napoleon, St Helena

Roderick Blair, Militiaman, Esk Mills, Scotland

Napoleon, St Helena

Benjamin Waterhouse, American prisoner of war, Dartmoor

Napoleon, St. Helena

Eliza Munro, Seamstress, Norman Cross, Huntingdonshire

Napoleon, St Helena

Adelbert Doisy, French prisoner of war on parole,Selkirk, Scotland

Napoleon, St Helena

Frederick Musson, Agent, Mill Bay, Plymouth, Devon

Napoleon, St Helena

Louis Garneray, French prisoner of war, Portsmouth

Napoleon, St Helena

Henry Fowler, Gaoler, Liverpool

Napoleon, St Helena

John Tregerthen Short, English prisoner of war, France

Napoleon, St Helena

James Hunt, Surgeon, Portchester Castle, Hampshire

Napoleon, St Helena

Paul Kaald, Norwegian prisoner of war, Greenlaw, Scotland

Napoleon, St Helena

Felix Starr, Interpreter, Perth, Scotland

Napoleon, from St Helena to France

Notes

Sources

Bibliography

JOSIAH COBB

AMERICAN PRISONER of WAR

DARTMOOR

Cobb was imprisoned in Dartmoor for six months in 1815. The Treaty of Ghent had been signed but not yet ratified. When his frigate was captured he was transferred to an English sloop-of-war in preparation for setting sail for England.

It was some time before we could all get below; for those who had hammocks were sent down first to swing them, as best they could in the dark, and when there were no more who had them to swing, the other prisoners followed. However unpleasant our berth places were on board the frigate, we did not need the aid of a light to know that here, they were far worse, and infinitely more so than one could imagine. The space allotted for us to spend two-thirds of each twenty-four hours in, was not sufficiently large for all to lie down, although somewhat higher than where we were confined aboard the frigate. Yet, by a part swinging their hammocks and keeping in them, the others could barely squeeze underneath; and when stowed close, each found the room allotted him. We obtained no relief from the air above, as the hatches were battened down the moment we went below, leaving no opening except a small aperture, sufficiently large to admit one’s body to pass through; and even this was much obstructed, by the two guards-men sitting with their feet hanging below, to be in readiness in case of a revolt of the prisoners, of which the officers of the ship were evidently afraid, as was manifest from many other circumstances that afterwards occurred, not necessary to mention, besides that of taking from us our knives.

The hot air in our sleeping apartment soon became exceedingly unpleasant and almost suffocating. This, together with the steam arising from our wet clothes, which had not in the least been dried since the soaking they received in the boat, while coming from the frigate, filled the hold with a noxious vapour, that was as difficult to breathe, as it proved unpleasant to our olfactories. My clothes did not become dry, till the third day after sailing, which gave me a severe cold, and from which I was not relieved for four months afterwards.

Besides being prohibited from exercising ourselves by walking the deck, alone, a serious deprivation after the many hours of confinement below, we were much worse fed than when in the frigate. The bullocks were slaughtered as they were wanted, and the meat given to us boiled in its fresh state, without a particle of salt, and bull beef, withal; about as nauseous a dish as flesh and water can make, or as mawkish a stew as flesh and blood can stand.

The only pastime we had, was to munch our allowance of Portuguese bread, given to us each day, which differed from every thing of the bread kind I had ever before heard of. It appeared to me to be made of cracked Indian corn, baked in irregular angular-shaped balls, about the size of an egg, without salt, and so exceedingly hard, that it required an hour’s tough work, with a good set of teeth, to get through one of them. The five or six each of us received daily, generally gave us employment till we were piped below; and even there, in that place of utter darkness, could be heard, in different parts of the hold, men whose teeth were such as would not enable them to complete the task during their hours on deck, gnawing at these bread-balls of granite hardness and grit, whilst, as regards taste and digestion, they were closely allied to anthracite.

On the twenty-fifth of January, early in the morning, there was an unusual stirring on deck; and when eight o’clock came, the hour for the prisoners to go up, we were told to remain where we were; that but two at a time could go to the deck, and then only by permission. I soon had an excuse to go above, and managed to stay there long enough to see what was going on, when I was obliged to tramp below, to make room for others, whose necessities or inquisitiveness were as strong as mine. I framed, feigned and plead excuses to get on deck three several times, at each making such observations as my awakened curiosity prompted. This, with the little I could gather from the orders given to the men by their superiors, enabled me to learn the reason of the precaution of keeping us below, and calling the crew of the ship to quarters. A sail was discovered dead to the windward of the sloop-of-war, bearing down under a heavy press of canvass, which the captain supposed to be an American privateer, as was evident, by all hands being at their stations, the ship hove-to, ports shut, and the vessel otherwise disguised so as to appear not as a man-of-war. She was manoeuvring with the intention of decoying the stranger within the range of her guns, when she would be at once within her grasp.

As the schooner was coming within the range of her long-tom, the anxiety was exceedingly great. It showed no colours, but came boldly on till within range of the guns of the ship, when it was supposed she could not be an enemy, and thus run directly into the jaws of destruction; still, the anxiety was not lessened, although all former fear of her impudence had passed away. She came within hailing distance, but did not shorten sail nor heave-to. While passing close astern of the ship she answered the hail, and proved to be a Portuguese schooner, but four days from England. To the question, What news? she answered distinctly in English, so as to be heard by all on deck — "Peace is declared between Great Britain and the United States of North America."

It was now, hurrah! my boys—tumble up, prisoners—bear-a-hand, my hearties—stand by for three-times-three for Great Britain and the United States. Now was all hail-fellow-well-met, and nothing thought of but cheer and joyous hilarity. The officers of the sloop-of-war enjoyed the good news equally as well, to all outward show, as did we the prisoners, and for a time relaxed the taut-strained discipline of the ship. There was not a boy on board that was not rejoicing and showing his merriment by the many antics he was striving to display about the decks, his joy quickening his agility to the nimbleness of the monkey. All was congratulation, good humour, and jollity.

From this time till our arrival in England, we had a greater range of the deck and were permitted to converse more freely with the crew than previous to receiving this news, which not a little lightened our captivity the remaining few days we were on ship-board. We also were assured by the officers, that no sooner than reaching port, we should be transferred to a cartel, and immediately sent back to our homes, which we had but so lately left. Our fare varied not, however, from what it had been, except, in lieu of fresh beef, the bullocks being all slaughtered, we had our allowance in salt-junk, which we found infinitely preferable to a boiled marrow-bone, without salt. We suffered much by thirst, not only by the scantiness and putrid state of the water, but by the manner it was dealt out to us—but once a day, and at a time, perhaps, when many did not require it.

We likewise suffered severely from the severity of the weather, it being intensely cold, bringing with it sleet and hail, for two or three days before reaching our port of destination. Still we did not mind it, as we were buoyed up with the prospect of soon being on our return home, where many of us now wished ourselves in safety. I, for one, was no little disappointed at the prospect of thus suddenly being sent back the same track, I had but so recently come, wishing to see something of England, that I could say hereafter, I had been abroad.

It was supposed that we should be enabled to reach the harbour of Plymouth at about two o’clock on the morning of the thirtieth; and more than once I feigned an excuse to go on deck, for the purpose of seeing the entrance to this far-famed naval station. But at twelve o’clock, the ship was struck with a squall, and taken directly aback; when, in wareing round, she came very near being capsized with the violence of the wind; this obliged her to put out seaward for more room, and she ran before the gale several hours, with a velocity much greater than she had previously done, whilst endeavouring to gain the shore.

A midshipman, during this boisterous night, for some misdemeanor, was compelled to take a two-hours’ look-out from the mast-head, as did the delinquent dandy on board of our brig, some two nights before she was captured. I happened to go on deck just as his mast-heading service ended, when he came down literally covered with icicles, and so benumbed with the cold, as scarcely to be able to speak.

When morning came, the cliffs that we were viewing the day before, were out of sight, with little indications of our again seeing them for the day. However, the wind chopped about till it came to a favourable quarter, when all sail was crowded on the yards, that could be spread, and shortly we were again within sight of land, which appeared more and more cheerful to the eye of the beholder, each hour as we drew nearer and nearer to it. At ten o’clock, a.m. we came to anchor far up in the harbour of Plymouth, having passed numerous vessels, when running in, of every fashion and rig; as well as many forts and views which were not only picturesque, but extremely interesting to those who never before had seen the entrance to this romantic harbour.

I was much surprised at the sudden and great number of boats, which were awaiting for the ship to anchor, loaded to their gunwales with eatables and gewgaws of every description to entice the hard-earned money from the pockets of the sailors. Many of these boats were occupied by those who were prepared for traffic;—longbearded Jews, woolly-mouthed Christians, blarney-primed Irish, burley-bellied English, and skip-jack grinning Frenchmen, were all eager to show off the good qualities of their merchandise, and depreciate that of their neighbour, each with an earnestness, dialect, and grimace peculiar to himself. But the greater portion of the boats contained the wives and children of the seamen, who came off to welcome again their husbands and fathers to their homes. I could not account for this prepared reception, till I was informed the ship had been telegraphed early in the morning of the day previous, and that her arrival was anticipated with certainty.

It being on Sunday that we arrived, the people from the shore had a better opportunity of visiting the ship, than they would have had on any other day in the week, which accounted for the vast number of persons who came off to see their friends, all claiming relations on board, which procured them permission to enter with freedom. I thought at one time, half the people of England had the largest share of their relatives in this vessel, so numerously they appeared, and so constantly were they going and coming this entire day of our arrival.

That sailors had a wife in each port they touched at, I was aware, but this adding legions to the number, I was not prepared to see, and only proved my ignorance in these matters. But were all wives to provide as liberally as these did, it certainly is not so uncomfortable to have them in abundance. To show the number of females that flock to these men-of-war, as they return to port, I will relate what a man has since told me, who had served for seven years, as quartermaster on board of a seventy-four. At a time when in harbour, he had the curiosity to ascertain the number of women on board, and went round asking a pin from each, with a request, should he call a second time to be refused. He continued his gatherings till he had upwards of seven hundred, and yet from none, did he take more than one pin.

About an hour earlier than usual, on the morning after our arrival, the prisoners were piped up, with the command, as near as we could learn, from the deep growl of the boatswain, to bear-a-hand, and go ashore. Depend upon it, said someone, this early going ashore before breakfast is served out, means nothing more nor less than tramping to prison.

So it proved; for in less than thirty minutes after we were called, the prisoners were tumbling over the side of the ship, bag and baggage, into a launch prepared for the purpose. Each sixth man, as he passed the gangway, had thrust into his hands or pockets, the mess’ rations for the day, of hard biscuit and a piece of raw salt beef, dripping from the briny tub, out of which it was but just taken, and transferred to us, who could make no use of it on our march, in its uncooked state. This was all we had from twelve o’clock the day previous till the day following.

The distance from the anchorage to the landing, as near as I could judge, was from two and a half to three miles, and lay amidst the shipping of the port, the majority of which were men-of-war of the first class. We passed some of the largest forts of the harbour, as well as within full view of Plymouth and its environs. We ran close by the side of the late American frigate Essex, which was laid up and dismantled, and saw distinctive marks of the unequal contest, in which she was captured. We, likewise, passed close under the stern of Lord Nelson’s one hundred and ten gun ship, Victory, on the deck of which he received his mortal wound, during the battle of Trafalgar.

Many others were pointed out, whose names have become renowned in the history of naval warfare. The row was the most interesting imaginable, and went far towards making me forget that I was going to a dismal prison for an unlimited period. I was still buoyed up with the hope of being shortly on a return to that home, from which, it appeared I had been absent years, by the circumstances that had transpired since I had left it, only eight weeks past.

The ratification of the treaty of Ghent, which was there signed the twenty-fourth of the month previous (December, 1814), not yet being consummated, was the cause of our detention, the board of admiralty not having altered the order previously adopted, of sending ‘all prisoners of war to the Depot at Dartmoor, as soon as arriving from sea, at a contiguous port.’ So now I had a prospect of indulging my curiosity of going ashore.

When landing at Plymouth Dock we found a company of soldiers drawn up to receive us, and under whose escort we were to march to prison. During the short delay, after getting upon the wharf, I was highly amused at the bystanders, who were numerous, wondering that we were Americans; many of them, no doubt, expecting to see savages in their wildest nature, with tomahawks yet reeking with the blood of the many victims we had murdered, scalped, and eaten; at least, their strange wonderment could not otherwise be interpreted by me.

The morning was cold, thick, and lowering, with indications of rain. I had determined in my own mind, when landing, to walk, and if possible, to keep at the head of the column; although I was offered, on account of my debilitated state, a ride upon the top of the baggage, with three others, who had taken their places in the wagon, being alike unwell with myself. But, no; I felt a renewed vigour, when again standing on terra firma, and was resolved to tough it out, if for no other reason than to let my shipmates see that I flagged not nor gave up at any thing, enough of them always standing ready with their ridicule to launch their cutting jeers at