Part 19

By great perseverance he persuaded the members of the Academy of Sciences to appeal in favour of Haüy; and an order of liberation was granted. Geoffroy brought it in great haste; and a few days after, Haüy obtained from Tallien the same liberty for Lhomond that Geoffroy and the Academy had obtained for himself. But several of Haüy’s colleagues were still in prison. It was the day before the September massacres; and though nothing of these wild projects was officially known to the public, after the Brunswick manifesto something terrible was expected. Geoffroy, at any price, was resolved on saving his masters from the danger threatening them. On the 2nd of September, at the moment when the massacres had already begun at the Abbaye and La Force, he disguised himself as a commissary of the prisons, obtained access by this means to the prisoners, and informed them of the means he had prepared to facilitate their escape.

“No,” answered one of them, the Abbé D’Keranran; “no, we will not leave our brethren; our flight would make their deaths more certain.”

This sublime refusal grieved Geoffroy, without discouraging him. At night he took a ladder and went to St. Firmin, standing by an angle of the wall that he had taken care to indicate to the Abbé D’Keranran and his companion that same morning. He remained there for more than eight hours without seeing a soul. At last a priest appeared, and was soon safely out of the fatal place. Several others followed. One of them, on climbing the wall too hastily, fell and hurt his foot. Geoffroy took him in his arms, and carried him to a barn near by. He then ran back to his post, and by his help more priests escaped. Twelve victims had thus been snatched from death, when a shot was fired on Geoffroy from the garden, and touched his clothes. He was then on the top of the wall; and, entirely absorbed in his generous task, he did not perceive that the sun was up. He was obliged to come down, and leave both the happy and the miserable at once, for those that he had been unable to save he was never to see again.--(_Life of Geoffroy St. Hilaire, by Isidore Geoffroy._)

_DE CHATEAUBRUN._

1794.

M. de Vaublanc, in his “Memoirs,” relates the following circumstance:--

“A nobleman, named M. de Chateaubrun, having been condemned to death by the revolutionary tribunal, had been placed on the fatal tumbril and taken to the Place de la Revolution, to be put to death. After the ‘Terror’ he was met by a friend, who gave a cry of surprise; and, scarcely able to believe the evidence of his senses, asked De Chateaubrun, to explain the mystery of his appearance. The explanation was given, and I heard it from his friend.

“He was taken away with twenty other unhappy victims. ‘After twelve or fifteen executions,’ he said, ‘one part of the horrible instrument broke, and a workman was sent for to mend it. M. de Chateaubrun was, with the other victims, near the scaffold, with his hands tied behind his back. The repairing took a long time. The day began to darken; the great crowd of spectators were far more intent on watching the repairing of the guillotine than on looking at the victims who were to die; and all, even the gendarmes themselves, had their eyes fixed on the scaffold. Resigned, but very weak, the condemned man leant, without meaning it, on those behind him; and they, pressed by the weight of his body, mechanically made way for him, till gradually, and by no effort of his own, he came to the last ranks of the crowd. The instrument once repaired, the executions began again, and they hurried to the end. A dark night concealed both executioners and spectators. Led on by the crowd, De Chateaubrun was at first amazed at his situation, but soon conceived the hope of escaping. He went to the Champs Elysées and there, addressing a man who looked like a workman, he told him, laughingly, that some comrades with whom he had been joking had tied his hands behind his back, and taken his hat, telling him to go and look for it. He begged the man to cut the cords, and the workman pulled out a knife and did so, laughing all the while at the joke. M. de Chateaubrun then proposed going into one of the small wineshops in the Champs Elysées. During a slight repast he seemed to be expecting his comrades to bring back his hat; and seeing nothing of them, he begged his guest to carry a note to some friend, whom he knew would lend him one, for he could not go bareheaded through the streets. He added that his friend would bring him some money, for his comrades, in fun, had taken away his purse. The poor man believed every word M. de Chateaubrun told him, took the note, and returned in half an hour, accompanied by the friend, who embraced Chateaubrun, and gave him all the help he required.’"--(_Memoirs of M. de Vaublanc._)

_SYDNEY SMITH._

1797.

Commodore William Sydney Smith, afterwards admiral, had been made prisoner at the mouth of the Seine, where he had ventured in his frigate, then stationed at Havre. This enterprise seemed so daring that the English sailor was suspected of having wished to favour a royalist attempt, and of being a dangerous spy. The suspicions as to the nature of his mission seemed confirmed by the fact that his secretary was an exile, named De Trommelin, who had been with him a long time, in the hopes of being in some way useful

to the royal cause. If the nationality of this man had been recognised, he would have been instantly put to death, according to the law then existing in France; but the commodore passed him as his servant. In vain England begged the exchange of Sydney Smith; the Directory refused, knowing how dangerous an enemy to France he was. Imprisoned at the Abbaye, then at the Temple, he was more than once on the point of escaping, in spite of the vigilance of the police. Several ladies, as well as Trommelin, attempted to aid him at various periods. Trommelin’s wife--who could, at least, invoke duty as the motive of her conduct--came to Paris, and hired a house near the Temple. A mason was bribed to open a communication between this house and the Temple, by way of the cellar, and everything seemed sure of success, when the fall of a few stones gave the alarm. The prisoners were more strictly watched than ever. In a short time Trommelin, having a better fate than a man deserves who carries arms against his country, was exchanged; but Sydney Smith was obliged to forego that advantage. After the 18th Fructidor, he was still more rigorously treated; but the moment of his freedom was drawing nigh.

Among the royalists then hidden and conspiring in Paris, was an officer named Philippeaux, formerly the fortunate rival of Bonaparte at the military school, and, since that time, his sworn enemy. Certainly without any idea that Sydney Smith and himself would, two years afterwards, be together in the presence of General Bonaparte at St. Jean d’Acre, and without any other motive than that of injuring the republic, Philippeaux determined to deliver the commodore. He associated himself with other royalists, and notably with an opera dancer, named Boisgirard; and he entered into relations with the daughter of one of the Temple gaolers, by whose aid he succeeded in deceiving her father. Disguised as a prison commissary, and accompanied by his accomplices, wearing the uniform of gendarmes--one of whom, Boisgirard, represented a general--Philippeaux went at night to the Temple. Boisgirard, at the gate, showed an order of release, signed by the minister of foreign affairs, and demanded that the prisoner might be given up. Either bribed, or deceived by appearances, the gaolers and director of the prison obeyed, and Sydney Smith was brought out. Playing his part perfectly, he affected great surprise; and on hearing his immediate transfer to another prison spoken of, he vehemently protested against it. Then, feigning obedience, he followed his liberators, and entered a carriage that conveyed him to Rouen, from whence he crossed to Havre. There he succeeded in getting on board an English ship, the _Argo_, which took him to London. The English captain, Brenton, certifies, in his “History of the Navy,” that he knows, from good authority, that £3000 sterling (75,000 francs), given by the English government, opened the doors of Sydney Smith’s prison, and smoothed all obstacles as far as the coast. He adds that Lord St. Vincent (Jervis) assured him he had seen the order from the Treasury.

_PICHEGRU, RAMEL, BARTHELEMY, DELARUE, ETC._

1797.

A short time after the 18th Fructidor, a certain number of those who had taken part in the counter-revolutionary riots were transported to Guiana. They all belonged, more or

less, to the royalist party. Among them were--Pichegru, one of the greatest soldiers and one of the worst citizens France ever produced; Barthélemy, a member of the Directory; Ramel, adjutant-general, commander of the grenadiers of the Corps Législatif; Delarue, a member of the council of the Five Hundred; and generals Aubry and Willot, who had been among the first arrested. To the names of these party-men it is but right to add that of Letellier, Barthélemy’s servant, who having begged, as a favour, that he might be allowed to follow his master to prison, accompanied him in his exile, and died, at last, the victim of his devotion. At Cayenne, and then at Sinnamary, the deputies saw, with sorrow, several of their companions struck down by the influence of the climate; and, to fly from a similar fate, they resolved on escaping and making their way to Dutch Guiana. Of this adventure we have two very different versions--one by Ramel, who, on his return to London, published the journal of his escape; and the other by Delarue, who, long after, under the restoration, wrote a “History of the 18th Fructidor,” where this escape is related. Seen from our point of view, Ramel’s journal is, in all probability, nothing more than a romance; while the narrative of Delarue, far simpler, seems to be the expression of truth. We give both, beginning with the first:--

“We were accustomed to walk,” says Ramel, “on the ramparts along the river. We often contemplated, with deep sighs, the western coast, but saw nothing, either on land or water, that could give us the faintest hope of escape. At the foot of the bastion, outside the fort and on the edge of the river, there was a small boat, used for conveying the guard to and fro. This little boat, with its moorings, was consigned to the care of the sentinel placed near the battlements of the fort, in which the guards were stationed. We had often looked with longing eyes at this boat; but it was only by degrees, and when impelled by despair, that we became accustomed to the idea of venturing out to sea in so frail a skiff. None of us knew how to manage a boat; we had no compass, and should have been obliged to trust ourselves to some Indian or sailor.”

The first attempt proved fruitless. Pichegru having tried to win over an Indian, who sold vegetables to the fort, this latter spread abroad suspicions which the general’s half offer had created in his mind. But this check was only a temporary one. A person at that time in the fort, whom Ramel does not otherwise specify, gave them much information as to the road they should take, and as to the proper means of insuring their flight. They procured passports under supposed names, and ripened their plans, without divulging them to those of their companions who were not in the plot, and several of whom inspired them with a not unfounded mistrust.

A pirate captain, named Poisvert, having captured an American ship, commanded by a certain Tilly, the owner of the cargo, brought his capture to Sinnamary, and lodged the crew and their captain in the fort. The American captain soon found out Pichegru, Ramel, and their companions, with whom he was well acquainted, and gave them news of their families and friends. They informed him of their plans, and showed him the boat. After trying to convince them of the impossibility of putting out to sea, and attempting a journey of several days in such a vessel; and seeing, at last, that they were fully determined to perish rather than remain at Sinnamary, the brave Tilly resolved on joining his fate to theirs. “I give up all,” he said, “to save you. I will take my pilot, Barrick, with me, and we will set out together.”

Everything was settled, when they learnt that Tilly was to be immediately transferred to Cayenne. He went away, leaving them Barrick in his place, who soon disappeared, and remained hidden in the wood near by for thirty-six hours, perched on a tree, to escape from the serpents. “It had been agreed that the following day, the 3rd of June, at nine in the evening, he should go down to the edge of the river near the fort, and should jump into the boat on seeing us appear.”

Everything seemed in favour of the fugitives. Captain Poisvert gave a dinner on board the American capture to the commander of the place; and the wine soon began to flow freely both on the ship and in the fort--soldiers, officers, convicts, even, were at the feast. All were soon drunk, except the eight conspirators, who simply feigned intoxication, and quarrelled, to ward off suspicion.

“Night came on. We saw the commander taken home quite insensible, and carried as if he were dead. Silence had succeeded to songs and drunken shouts; soldiers and slaves were lying here and there; the service was forgotten; the guard-house left empty.

“The final hour of our stay at Sinnamary rang at last. At nine o’clock Dessonville, who was watching, warned each of us. We went out and met at the gate of the fort, the bridge of which was not yet taken up. Everything was profoundly quiet. I went with Pichegru and Aubry to the top of the guard-house, and walked straight to the sentinel. He was a wretched drummer, who had worried us to his utmost. I asked him what time it was; he raised his eyes to the stars; I sprang at his throat; Pichegru disarmed him; and we dragged him away, tightening our hold to prevent his crying out. We were on the parapet; the man struggled violently, slipped from us, and fell into the river. We joined our companions at the foot of the rampart, and seeing no one in the guard-house, we ran in and took out arms and cartridges, left the fort, and flew into the boat. Barrick was there, and carried us into the skiff. Barthélemy, an infirm man, and not so active as we were, fell and stuck in the mud. Barrick, with his strong arm, caught him, pulled him out, and placed him in the boat. The cable was cut; Barrick took the helm; motionless and silent we drifted with the current. The tide and the current together impelled our frail vessel. We listened, but could hear nothing but the murmur of the waters, and the land breeze, which soon swelled our little sail. We were then unable to distinguish the tower of Sinnamary. On approaching the watch on the point we took down the sail, so as to make ourselves less visible. We knew that the eight men on guard there had received their full share of the captain’s bounty, and that, consequently, they must be as drunk as their comrades. We were not hailed; the tide carried us across the bar. We left on our right our brave friend Tilly’s ship, and passed close to _The Victoire_, just come from Cayenne, and commanded by Captain Brochet, who was much pleased at our escape, and who certainly would not have opposed it.

“The breeze freshened, the sea was calm; but in going out far we ran the risk of losing ourselves; while, hugging the coast too closely, we were in danger of wrecking the ship on the rocks, which extend as far as Iracouba. The moon shone out suddenly, as if to light up our path. The moment was delicious; we congratulated ourselves; we thanked Providence and our generous pilot, Barrick, who was in a dreadful state from the mosquito bites. We sailed safely on for about two hours, when we heard three cannon-shots--two from the Sinnamary fort, and one from the Point. Soon after the watch at Iracouba repeated the three reports. We could no longer doubt of our escape being discovered. We did not now fear direct pursuit from Sinnamary, where there was not a single boat they could arm; besides, we had a good start. The only thing we dreaded was the detachment from Iracouba, composed, as we knew, of twelve men. They could only have met us in a boat similar to ours, with eight or ten men. We kept sailing on near the coast, all the while preparing our arms, and fully determined on defending ourselves if they attacked, or attempted to bar the passage under the fort of Iracouba.

“At four in the morning two cannon-shots were heard towards the east, and were immediately responded to by a report close to our ears. We were in front of the fort. It was still dark; but at daybreak we found ourselves to windward of Iracouba. We had nothing more to fear from pursuit; the dangers of the sea were all we had to overcome.”

In such a vessel, which was so small, and so light that the waves filled it at every moment, and had to be baled incessantly with a gourd, the fugitives were in imminent danger of perishing. A movement of Ramel’s, who wished to catch his hat, which fell in the water, almost upset the boat; and Pichegru, who had been unanimously chosen captain, severely reprimanded him. Without a compass, and without the necessary instruments to show them the way, without food, and with two bottles of rum as their sole sustenance, if Ramel is to be believed, they suffered acutely from hunger for eight days. But their moral strength kept them up, and they even had the courage to joke about their misery and their hunger, which they bore with great patience.

After being fired at on their passage in front of fort Orange, because they would not hoist their flag, they were thrown by a storm upon the coast. On the following day they were reconnoitred by some Dutch soldiers. There was at first some slight difficulty as to their admission to the Dutch territory; but that being soon settled, they found themselves the objects of the most generous hospitality.--(_Journal of the Adjutant-General Ramel._)

According to Delarue, the convicts enjoyed great liberty at Sinnamary: they could go about, so long as they kept within certain limits; they had guns and ammunition, and could shoot. The post of Sinnamary, guarded by a few soldiers, had no resemblance whatever to a fort; it was only a poor village, inhabited by Indian or Creole fishermen; and the boat they used for their escape belonged to a German, whom they knew to be engaged in smuggling between Surinam and Cayenne. It was thought that such a state of things did not guarantee much for the security of the convicts, and it was decided to transport them to a much less healthy part of Guiana. By the advice of Tilly, who could not accompany them, as he was being transferred to Cayenne, and with the certainty of the help of Barrick, his pilot, they determined to escape. They quietly went one night with their firearms to a wood, where Barrick awaited them, without all the attending circumstances of revelling Ramel speaks of. They had no sentinel to disarm, but only to give help to a negro, who was trying to master a turtle. The boat contained provisions--scanty, it is true, but still more than sufficient to last them till their arrival in the Dutch possessions. So they did not suffer a week from hunger, as Ramel says: they heard no cannon fired, to signal their departure; in short, they escaped without most of those episodes with which Ramel has thought proper to embellish his recital.

_COLONEL DE RICHEMONT._

In the year 1807 the Baron de Richemont, a French colonel, was taken by an English privateer in the ship bringing him from the Mauritius to Europe. The town of Chesterfield was assigned to him for a residence. Richemont had been in England about eighteen months, and every proposal of exchange had been refused, when one morning he saw something in his newspaper which made a deep impression on his mind. “I had just been reading,” he says in his memoirs, “an account of Colonel Crawford who had escaped from Verdun, where he was a prisoner on parole, and who, not being willing to take the command of his regiment, until his conduct had been approved of, had appealed to a jury. The jury had declared, that he being detained prisoner against the law of nations, had acted rightly in breaking through the obligation imposed on him. This narrative interested me very much, and I read it several times over with deep attention. I found all the details of the escape plainly set forth, with an account of the ruse to which he had recourse to ensure without fail the success of his plan. He had petitioned the French Government for permission to drink the waters of Spa, promising to return and deliver himself prisoner again at Verdun, and he had taken advantage of this favour, granted with the confidence always inspired by the word of a gentleman, to return to England.

“The various thoughts that such a recital gave rise to in my mind are more easily felt than described. I also was detained against the law of nations, and my position admitted of a far different statement from that of the English colonel’s, a decree of the high court of admiralty having declared neutral the ship on which I had been arrested. I had officially protested against the injustice of my detention. I was moreover free from any kind of engagement by the declaration of the jury who had pronounced the acquittal of Colonel Crawford. I was not troubled now with the slightest scruple of delicacy.”

Having made up his mind, Richemont joined himself to a Frenchman, a marine officer who had already proposed to him to escape. They first decided on their plan, and then Richemont wrote a letter to the gentlemen of the transport-office, in which he declared his intention of leaving England, at the same time giving his reasons, and reminding his gaolers of the verdict of their own countrymen in the Verdun case. “This letter, posted two hours after my departure from Chesterfield, reached the gentlemen of the transport-office on the day that I arrived in London, and I only left England eight or ten days afterwards. I evidently gave them all the necessary time to make their search; but in all conscience they could not expect me to surrender myself to their generosity.” The two fugitives, calling themselves Spaniards, and having a well-filled purse, reached the capital without any difficulty. They then immediately posted to Folkstone to the house of a certain smuggler, about whom Richemont had very precise information. “I knocked, and went in. The girl who had opened the door showed me into a very clean and comfortably furnished parlour, where I found the man alone, smoking his pipe, with a glass of grog before him. I nodded to him, and asked if I had the honour of speaking to Mr. W. G----.

“‘Yes sir,’ he said; ‘I am the man.’

“Then going straight to the subject, I told him that we were two Frenchmen, who looked to him for the means to return to France.

“‘What do you take me for?’ said he in an angry tone.