Every Man Will Do His Duty (53 page)

We went on to Paris. When landing in the yard, the lady, a very pretty woman, came to me and in the kindest manner said, “If she could be of any service to me, she would render it with the greatest pleasure.” I felt her kindness much, but my object was to go ahead; and I secured a place in the diligence for Caen, and took a voiture to drive about Paris to beguile the time, taking care to change my coachman once or twice.

I started for Caen next morning, taking my seat by the guard. I kept my handkerchief to my mouth, hoping that my neighbours would believe me to be tormented with toothache. At the dinner-time who should sit
alongside of me but the great man before whom I had been taken with Whitehurst. He said, “Will any gentleman join me with a bottle of burgundy?” I saw that he had been eyeing me, so that I thought it best to put a good face on the matter, and signified my readiness to do so. We then left the room, and a gendarme came in and demanded to see our passports. I gave him mine—“Grieme, watchmaker”—was the name on my passport, and he went out with it. That I enjoyed my meal much in his absence cannot be supposed. However, he did not keep me long in suspense, for he soon returned and handed me my passport as well as the rest. Dinner over and the diligence ready, nothing occurred to interrupt our journey to Caen.

Arrived there, I went out at once to my old friend and made arrangements for getting on to the seaside. At the end of the week he brought me intelligence that he had found a man that would take me in until a fair wind offered. On the day when we were to leave Caen, I was attacked with earache. However, that did not alter the hour—nine o’clock—when he punctually made his appearance. Heavy rain had set in just before we started and fell in torrents during the whole of our nine-mile walk. Of course we were wet through before we had accomplished one. It would not have signified, perhaps, if I had not been obliged to stop at the corner of a wall toward the end of our journey, where I had to wait for half an hour in the bitter cold wind. The night was pitch dark and I dare not move, as my conductor had strictly enjoined silence. On his return he brought a man with him and duly handed me over to him, and I took leave of my sound-hearted friend.

My new acquaintance bade me follow him, and we went to a house with a sort of a stable directly opposite it, in which was his horse. Above was a loft just high enough in the centre for me to stand up. It was half-full of straw, to which he pointed, signifying that it was my home, and that I must make the best of it. Then he wished me good-night and took away the lantern. There was I in agony with the earache, which soon doubled, for as my clothes dried on me so did the pain increase in the other ear, and there I was for a fortnight. I could not hear a word, and I was in a state of utter wretchedness; while the discharge from my ears was so offensive that my hostess could scarcely bear to come near me. I thought I could not last long; and they were in a stew as to how to dispose of my body when dead.

However, at the end of three weeks I heard a bell, and in a few days, with plenty of food, became myself again in strength. One day the landlady asked me to let her bring her daughter, as she had never seen an Englishman, and at my next meal she made her appearance. A very pretty girl about fifteen or sixteen years of age came to me, as I sat on the straw, and presented her cheek for me to kiss, and twice turned it so that I had three; and she expressed much the same sentiment as her brother had done before.
Their astonishment was great that an Englishman could be so good-looking, as I was the first they had ever seen. The compliment was equivocal.

At last the hour arrived when the father and son came to me about ten o’clock at night, and helped me to launch a flat boat, and gave me a pole with which I poled my way to a fishing-boat at anchor, and in “quarter less no time” I had cut her cable and was a free man on the ocean. I got an oar out, put her head the right way, and away she drifted. Of course, being in the dark, I had to feel for everything, so that it was some time before I could step the foremast and lash a light spar over the bows; but it was done in time to get out of sight of the land when daylight dawned.

As the day opened the wind lessened, and nearly all that day—Sunday—was a calm, so I had nothing to do but calculate my chances. One doubt was whether the rickety old thing I had got into would bear a sea. It was an old patched-up boat with a rudder belonging to some craft twice her size, and it took me four hours before I could ship it, although calm, it being so heavy that I could scarcely lift it. As to getting the mainmast up, it was quite out of the question. Towards evening the wind sprang up again from the south, and I gently glided over the silent waves, with the full moon shining surrounded with the largest halo I have ever seen; and as I had nothing else to occupy my mind, I speculated as to whether it might prognosticate a storm or fine weather. I put up an oar and made the top-sail fast to it to act as a mainsail, and then fixed the main yard-arm as far out over the quarter as I could rig it. Thus I contrived to get my small vessel to move over the water. Of course, through the night I steered by the North star, and in the forenoon of Monday I saw the Isle of Wight, and in the afternoon I could see I was approaching a convoy As I neared them I put my black handkerchief up on an oar. On seeing a man-of-war brig—the
Mutine
—I stood towards her, and they soon recognised me, and to my delight I saw them draw towards me.

We soon closed off the Owers, and she ran alongside of me in a very pretty style, threw a rope into me, and two or three midshipmen ran down, laid hold of me, and helped me up the side. Of course, I bowed to the captain and stated who I was. The officers of the gun-room invited me down to take some refreshment, and the purser, Mr Morgan, lent me a clean shirt. The captain questioned me very much about the coast, and promised me that he would take back the boat, as it evidently belonged to a poor man, though I heard afterwards he put her on the beach somewhere on the coast of Sussex. Being near a little gun brig going into Portsmouth, he put me on board her with the lieutenant in command.

I went to the admiral’s office, where I was introduced to the flag lieutenant—a very kindhearted old fellow, who saw that I was much fatigued,
and said he knew my brother, and told me that if I would go over to the George Inn and get a good night’s rest, he would have my brother there by nine o’clock the next morning. About that time I was handed into the presence of two admirals, one resigning, Sir Roger Curtis, the other, Sir Richard Bickerton, taking office. Neither of these important functionaries deigned to notice me. The flag lieutenant asked them if they had any commands for this gentleman, to which he received from each the curt answer, “No,” and he beckoned me to go out with him. He then told me that my brother had arrived, and on emerging from the admiral’s office, he discovered my brother, saying to him at the instant, “There, Jackson, that’s what I’ve brought you.”

My brother was greatly affected at this unexpected meeting. He had been summoned by the flag lieutenant that morning to appear at the admiral’s office, without being informed for what purpose, and as he had made up his mind that something unpleasant was afloat, the deception was all the more powerful. He had considered me dead long since, as it turned out that Captain Fane to whom I had entrusted a message for my surviving parent—my mother—had forgotten to deliver it.

I now lost no time in going home to join my mother, and here I reaped in the embraces of a kind and rejoicing parent a full reward for the toils and hardships of the last few painful years of my life.

Quite remarkably, Jackson experienced little animosity while a fugitive in France. In fact, he recounts many instances of kindness, even admiration, behind enemy lines. For the two frigates that treated Captain Shortland’s
Junon
so roughly, however, no succor was available. They received payment in kind by the Royal Navy. On May 20, 1811, the
Renommée
was taken along with the frigate
Néréide
off Madagascar, while
Renommée’s
consort, the Clorinde, fled in ignominy, abandoning her mates to a squadron of four British frigates. (The
Renommée
was taken in to the Royal Navy and renamed the
Java
; she surrendered to the USS
Constitution
in 1812.)

While Jackson relentlessly pursued escape on the continent, James Durand, an American sailor, embarked on a lengthy and unexpected cruise of his own. His account shows the grim reality of Britain’s frequently wanton practice of impressment, a condition that exacerbated the growing animosity felt between the United States and Britain and that, in part, led to the War of 1812. On another level, it is a tale that exhibits once again the resilience and resourcefulness of an able-bodied seaman, no matter his nationality.

¹
He was killed in the
Junon
while beating off a boarding party of the enemy in the action of December 13, 1809, when the
Junon
was captured by the French.—
ED.

²
Fr., storeship.

³
“Damn ’em, Jackson, they’ve spoilt my dancing.”
[Later on March 6, 1811] As the 28th Regiment—now the 1st Gloucesters—were about to go into action at the storming of Barrosa Ridge, in the Peninsular War, their commanding officer, Colonel Belson, gave the order, “Fire at their legs and spoil their dancing.”

⁴
Thomas Appleby, a midshipman.

⁵
A slow cargo vessel.

⁶
Bitche, Bîche, or Bitsch
is a town in Lorraine. The citadel is built upon a rock 250 feet above the town. There had been an old castle here, on the site of which Vauban had later constructed a fortress. After the capture of the town by the French in 1624, the defence works were destroyed prior to restoring it to Lorraine.

In 1740 the fortress was repaired, and proved impregnable in all the succeeding campaigns. Even in the Franco-Prussian War of 1870, though closely invested by the Germans, it held out until the end. A deep well within the fort is sufficient to keep the garrison supplied. A good deal of the fortification has been made by excavating the actual rock. There is a tale that Louis XIV, on being informed as to the cost of these works, asked if the fort had been built and paved with bullion.

In the Napoleonic wars, Bitche, besides being the special receptacle for deserters and others who had been accused of grave military crimes, was found to be a convenient and fairly secure place of detention for recalcitrant British prisoners of war, that is to say, those who would not give their parole, and who had made or were suspected of being about to make attempts to escape. Other British officers than Jackson and L’Estrange did actually succeed in getting away from Bitche; some of them, incredible as it may seem, by negotiating the ramparts, though at least one of such attempts ended in the death of the fugitive (Sub-Lieutenant John Essel).

⁷
Edward L’Estrange
was a lieutenant in the 71st Foot. After separating from Jackson at Verdun, he succeeded in reaching Bordeaux, where he took a boat and got on board the
Hanni
b
al,
74, Captain Sir Michael Seymour, who immediately wrote a strong letter in his favour to headquarters. On his arrival in England, three months after Lieutenant Jackson, he was received at the Horse Guards by the Duke of York in the most gracious manner, and was allotted three years retrospective rank as captain with indulgences, and in two years attained his majority. This treatment is in marked contrast with that meted out to Lieutenant Jackson, who had no one of consequence to take an interest in his career. Jackson, on arrival at Portsmouth, at once reported himself to the Port Admiral. However, he had not the satisfaction of being greeted with even a word of approbation. Nor, on repairing to the Admiralty, could he obtain either an interview with the First Lord, or the slightest notice from any one in authority.

B
ORN IN
C
ONNECTICUT IN
1786, James Durand turned to the sea following a five-year apprenticeship as a farmer. He entered the United States Navy in 1804 and served on board the
John Adams
and the
Constitution
in the Mediterranean. At the beginning of this passage, he is serving on board a Swedish merchant brig that is about to sail from Plymouth, England. HMS
Narcissus
, the crew of which so rudely interrupts Durand’s repose, is a fifth rate of thirty-two guns built in 1801.

AT LENGTH
we were ordered out to sea. The men wished for a little pleasure on shore before we sailed and asked the captain for permission.

“I have no objections,” he said, “but there is a very hot press on shore and you’ll all do better to stay on board.”

This caution had no effect on the plans of the men and they accordingly went. I was afraid of the press and stayed on board.

While they were away, about 11 o’clock at night, there came along side a boat belonging to the
Narcissus
frigate. They boarded our brig and they came below where I was asleep. With much abuse, they hauled me out of my bed, not suffering me to even put on or take anything except my trowsers.

In this miserable condition, I was taken on board their ship but did not think to be detained there for a term of seven years. Had I known my destiny that night, I would have instantly committed the horrid crime of self-murder. In this sorrowful condition I spent the night. At day light, I found
my way on deck and soon after heard the word given to un-moor the ship and get her ready for sea.

At this, I was overcome by grief. I ran below and tried to procure some paper, pen and ink from the members of the crew, offering any price. I was able to offer money, as I had concealed some of my savings by tying the coins in a handkerchief about my neck. The robbers who took my money from my belt did not find this horde. However, no member of the crew durst sell me pen, ink nor paper, as they guessed my intention of writing for aid to escape from a hateful service.