My Adventures During the Late War by Donat Henchy O'Brien Charles Oman

Author:Donat Henchy O'Brien, Charles Oman, [Donat Henchy O'Brien, Charles Oman,]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Memoir, Historical, Nonfiction, History, Military
ISBN: 4066338118585
Google: hzcDMwEACAAJ
Publisher: e-artnow
Published: 2021-11-02T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XI

A fresh incarceration—Stripping a prisoner naked a more effectual detainer than chains and padlocks—Hopes of escape prove delusive—Gaol surgery and gaol diet—A timely loan of books—A short visit from a Swiss captive—Orders to prepare for a return to France—A heavy chain and huge padlock—The mob at Lindau—Leave-taking between a prisoner and the gaoler and gaoler’s wife—The road to France—Going to bed in chains—Strict watchings—Chances of a rescue—Anticipations of the horrors of Bitche—Commiseration of my guards—Crossing the bridge of Kehl—A surrender to the French gendarmes—Captivity in the military gaol of Strasbourg—A kind gaoler and as kind a wife—His gratitude for English kindness when a prisoner of war—Examined by the police—Affectionate leave-taking of the honest gaoler and his wife—On the road to Bitche, heavily chained to eleven Corsicans going to suffer military execution—The horrible dungeon of Niederbronn—A revolting night’s confinement—Dreadful sufferings of two of the Corsican soldiers—Distant prospects of Bitche—Anticipations of a cruel confinement—Arrival at the fortress.

It was on a dreary Sunday night, the 29th of November (1807), that I was led into this gaol. The gaoler and his keepers placed me in a tolerably decent, well-furnished apartment, with a bed, stove, table, and chair. This was ample for the accommodation of unsophisticated man, but external conveniences are not a substitute for the cravings of hunger. I therefore pointed out to my keepers the exhausted state of my body, and begged that I might have some refreshment, however humble or however small. This they granted; but they previously searched me—stripped me—took away the whole of my clothes, with all that my pockets contained—which consisted, however, of nothing but a knife, a razor, and a few pieces of silver. They assured me that all my property should be returned to me at a proper time. But I entreated them to leave me at least my pantaloons. With this they at length complied. With respect to my shirt, as the collar and ragged sleeves were all that remained, I was indifferent to the comfort of preserving it.

I expostulated with my persecutors, and begged to know the reason of such cruel treatment. They surlily replied that it was the custom of their country, and that they would take care to prevent my getting away again. “People who had a great talent for getting out of gaols ought to be treated accordingly,” they said, and they added that they would prevent my escaping from their clutches. Saying this, the morose brutes swung-to the massy door, and my ears were greeted with the noise of locks, bars, bolts, and my eyes with the prospect of chains, that seemed heavy enough to secure the bodies of a regiment or an army.

In this state of nudity and solitude I began, with inexpressible grief and bitter affliction, to meditate upon my unfortunate destiny. At length a thought flashed upon my mind. Although my cell in its masonry seemed as strong as the bomb-proof casemate of a fortress, and my ears had informed me of the massive strength of the

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