Part 27

This judgment of the court-martial has been since, by most naval writers, looked on, if not as quite erroneous, at least as extremely severe. One circumstance made people the more regret it. It was passed at the very time when there lay, encircled by a halo of victory, in Greenwich Hospital, awaiting a State ceremonial, the dead body of Nelson, who before he himself annihilated at Trafalgar the very admirals and some of the very vessels Calder encountered, had openly approved of Calder’s conduct. The public soon veered in Sir Robert’s favour, and the sentence did not prove popular. It was spoken against in Parliament, and it was everywhere felt that a true and valuable British commander had been hardly dealt with. Restitution was subsequently proferred to Calder in the appointment, which he accepted, of admiral in command at Plymouth. But the trial broke his spirit, and it was remarked that he never was the same energetic man again. His amiability, social manners, and sound good sense, however, lasted to his death, and during his final retirement he continued to experience the greatest respect and attention not only from the Admiralty, but from a host of friends and from persons of all rank and station. He died at Holt, near Bishops-Waltham, Hants, on the 31st Aug. 1816; and as he left no issue by his wife, Amelia, daughter of John Mitchell, Esq., of Bayfield, Norfolk, his own baronetcy became extinct. The baronetcy of his family, however, continues, and is now held by his nephew, Sir Henry Roddam Calder, the fifth Bart. of Muirtoune.

TRIAL OF GENERAL SIR ROBERT WILSON AND OTHERS FOR THE ESCAPE OF LAVALLETTE.

One of the most wonderful historic events that occurred on the second Restoration of the Bourbons, in 1815, was the escape from his condemned cell of Marie Chamant, Count de Lavallette, through the means of his devoted wife, Emile Louise, daughter of the Marquis of Beauharnais, niece of the Empress Josephine, and cousin in blood of Napoleon III. This escape was not without parallel, for, just one hundred years before, by a similar act of heroism, a wife, the Countess Winifred, of the noble and illustrious house of Herbert, daughter of William, Marquis of Powis, freed her husband, William Maxwell, fifth Earl of Nithsdale, from the Tower of London, where he lay under sentence of immediate death for joining in the Rising of 1715. It is a curious fact that in either case some suspicion has attached to the Sovereign then reigning of not being altogether uncognisant of, or adverse to, the successful attempt at issue. George I., satiated with Jacobite blood, and not so intent on punishment as his Government and adherents, may not have secretly connived, but certainly did evince satisfaction, at the happy result of Lady Nithsdale’s daring act. “It is,” he exclaimed, “de very best ting a woman can do for a man in his condition.” A still stronger notion exists, to the honour of Louis XVIII., that a hint, if not actual help, as to what Madame Lavallette was to do, came from him. The fury of the supporters of the House of Bourbon at the second Restoration was without control. Labédoyère had been executed; and that still worse piece of cruelty, a deed never forgotten by the public, and eventually fatal to the Bourbon dynasty, had been just consummated—the consignment to a traitor’s death of Marshal Ney, “the bravest of the brave.” France already murmured; and it is natural to suppose that Louis’s own good sense and humanity revolted at continuing such slaughter. He dared not, such was the violence of his party, openly interfere; but one cannot carefully read the whole affair of Lavallette without being struck with some circumstances in it. How was it, for example, that Louis XVIII., after refusing to see Mesdames Labédoyère and Ney, come to beg their husbands’ lives, admitted Madame Lavallette on the same errand, to a personal and private interview, where but little ever transpired of what passed? How was it that the gaoler, without bribe, acted so glaringly in Lavallette’s favour? How, too, did Lavallette live so long sheltered in the Foreign Office? And how was it that the party who harboured him was never brought to account? Then there were the lenient sentence passed on Wilson and his associates, and finally, the ready pardon granted, in a few years afterwards, by King Louis to Lavallette himself. This curious question, however, admits of more discussion than can be accorded to it here. I pass from it, and from the oft-told story, (and nowhere better told than in “Chamber’s Miscellany” and Sir Bernard Burke’s “Romance of the Aristocracy,”) of the evasion from prison of Lavallette, as effected by his wife. I pass over, also, his wonderful concealment in the mansion of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and I come to the actual cause of the following trial, which is connected with our army in this, that two of the accused were British officers, and their object was effected through the facilities then afforded by the British military occupation of France.

Let us, therefore, take it that Lavallette, Postmaster General under Napoleon, had, on news of the famous return from Elba, violently, and, as far as the King’s Government was concerned, treasonably, resumed his place at the head of the Post Office, and had stopped the Bourbon proclamations and forwarded those of his Imperial master. For this complicity, as it was termed, with Napoleon against the royal authority and the safety of the state, Lavallette was, on the 20th November, 1815, tried and condemned to die, and his appeal to the Court of Cassation was rejected. His wife on the eve of his execution had got him out of prison, and he lay precariously hidden in an apartment of the Foreign Office. What followed cannot be better given than from Count Lavallette’s own narrative:

“These,” he writes, “are the particulars. The Princess de Vaudemont, uneasy at knowing me to be still in Paris, though she was not acquainted with the place of my concealment, looked about for persons who might help me away. She spoke of her anxiety to Madame de St. Aignan Caulaincourt, one of the cleverest women born in France, whose kindness is inexhaustible, and whose courage is unbounded: she proposed to the Princess to sound a young Englishman, Mr. Bruce, who used to visit both their houses. Bruce, delighted at the idea of saving an unfortunate man who had escaped the scaffold in so wonderful a manner, accepted with enthusiasm the proposal of the ladies, and went immediately to consult Sir Robert Wilson on the subject.

“Sir Robert shared his young friend’s enthusiasm. He had failed in his attempt to save Marshal Ney, but he hoped to take his revenge in my case. He made quite a military expedition of the business; and, as Bruce was not in the army, it became necessary to find one or two officers, independent men, of liberal opinions, who might be disposed to play off a good trick on the Government of the Bourbons. The road to Belgium, by Valenciennes, was specially assigned to the English army, and it was therefore chosen for my escape. They asked no more than two days to finish their preparations. I received a very particular instruction concerning my dress; no mustacchios, and English wig; my beard shaved very clean, after the manner of the officers of that nation; a great-coat, with buttons of the English Guards; the regimentals and hat were to be given to me at the instant of our departure.

“We held a council, and, as it occurs in most cases, our first steps were wrong. It was looked upon as very necessary to get my coat made by the tailor of an English regiment, but he would want my measure; my friend Stanislaus took it with fine white paper; and instead of the notches that the tailors are accustomed to make, he wrote on it, ‘_Length of the forearm, breadth of the breast_,’ &c., in a fine neat hand, and carried it boldly to the tailor of the regiment of the Guards. He quickly made the coat, however—not without observing that the measure had not been taken by a tailor. M. Bresson had been to buy me another great-coat at an old clothes’ shop, and was naturally obliged to measure it on himself. He was tall and thin, so that in less than forty-eight hours I had two coats, neither of which could be of any service to me. I had no boots, and all our speculations were useless in contriving to procure me a pair. I was forced to put on a pair belonging to M. Bresson: they were at least two inches longer than my foot; I could scarcely walk in them, and we all laughed much at the awkward figure I cut. On the 9th of January, 1816, at eight o’clock in the evening, I at last took leave of my kind friends (at the Foreign Office).

“We stopped at the house, in the Rue de Helder, near the Boulevard: there I took leave of my friend Chassenon. As I walked slowly up the stairs, I was surprised at meeting Mademoiselle Dubourg. There would have been too much danger in our appearing to know each other. I afterwards learned that she was going to M. Dupuis, my Reporting Judge, who lived on the second floor of the house; so that I was going to pass the night under the same roof with the magistrate who had, during my trial, examined me twice at length, and with great severity. This circumstance, however, by no means troubled me. M. Dupuis was an honourable man, to whom I had shown no reserve, who was convinced of my innocence, and did not fear openly to declare it with an energy that might be hurtful to his fortune.

“When I reached the first floor, I saw before me a gentleman of tall stature and noble features: it was Sir Robert Wilson. He introduced me to two persons who were expecting me in the parlour; in one of whom I recognized Mr. Bruce, whom I had met sometimes the preceding winter at the Duchess of St. Leu’s, (Queen Hortense). Mr. Hutchinson, to whom the apartments belonged, was a Captain in the English Guards. He received me in a friendly manner. We seated ourselves round a bowl of punch. Our conversation turned on public affairs, and we talked with as much ease and freedom as if we had been together in London. These gentlemen did not appear to entertain the least uneasiness in respect to our next day’s journey; and at last, after sitting for about an hour, Sir Robert and Mr. Bruce rose, and the former shaking hands with me, said: Be up to-morrow by six o’clock, and be very careful about your dress. You will find here the coat of a captain in the Guards, which you must put on. At eight o’clock, precisely, I shall expect you at the door.” “As for me,” said Bruce, “I am going to spend three days at the country seat of the Princess de la Moskowa, for you will not want me any longer. My wishes go along with you, and I shall receive accounts from you of my friends.”

When they were gone, Mr. Hutchinson offered me his bed; but I had no desire to sleep, and I laid myself down on a sofa.

“At last, after having counted every hour of the night, I heard six o’clock strike; I immediately set about my toilet, and at eight o’clock precisely I found Sir Robert Wilson in the street, dressed in his full regimentals, and seated in a pretty gig. Mr. Hutchinson soon appeared also on horseback, and we set off. The weather was beautiful; all the shops were open, everybody in the street, and, by a singular coincidence, they were just, at that moment, putting up in the Place de Grève the gibbet, which, according to custom, is used to execute in effigy persons declared guilty in contumacy.

“We entered the Rue de Clichy, which leads to the barrier of the same name. As I had on the regimentals and cap of the Guards, the English soldiers we met saluted us in the military manner. Two officers we saw on the road appeared very much surprised at seeing with Sir Robert one of their comrades with whom they were unacquainted; but Mr. Hutchinson went up to them and talked to them while we were approaching the barrier. To the right and to the left were two guard-houses, the one English and the other French. The soldiers drew up under arms. Fortunately the French were National Guards, and it was not probable they could know me, as they did not belong to my quarter of the town. We crossed the barrier with a slow step; and when we were out, I thanked Sir Robert with as much gratitude as if we had crossed the barriers of the kingdom. We went on thus to the village of La Chapelle. There we were obliged to take another horse, to be able to go to Compiègne. This horse had been baited at a large inn. When we approached the house, we perceived four gendarmes standing in front of the large door. Sir Robert went up to them: they separated that we might pass; and, to prevent them from paying attention to us, Mr. Hutchinson began a conversation with them. His inquiries were chiefly directed to the number of stables and the quantity of forage and lodgings that were to be found in the village; from all which they concluded that English troops were expected, and one of them invited the English captain to accompany me to the Mayor. “Not at present,” he answered; “I am going forward to meet the waggons, and in two hours I shall be back.” The conversation could not last long with an Englishman who knew but little of our language. But the horse was quickly changed, and we had the satisfaction, on going away, to exchange salutes with the gendarmes. I then learned that the man who had brought us thus far belonged to M. Auguste de St. Aignan. On the road we met with several gendarmes in pursuit of malefactors, or bearing military correspondence. They all fixed their eyes on us without suspecting anything. I had accustomed myself on seeing them to shut my eyes, but with the precaution of placing my hand on my pistol, fully resolved, if I should be recognized and apprehended, to blow my brains out, for it would have been too great a stupidity to suffer myself to be brought back to Paris.

“We arrived at last at Compiègne. At the entrance of the suburb stood a non-commissioned English officer, who, on seeing his general, turned to the right and marched with gravity through several small streets, until he stopped at a small house in a very lonely part of the town. There we found an officer who received us very well, and we waited for Sir Robert’s carriage, which Mr. Wallis was to bring from Paris with him. That officer had ordered post horses for General Wallis, brother-in-law to Sir Robert Wilson, who travelled under his name. Mr. Wallis arrived about six o’clock, after having been followed a great part of the way by the gendarmes. We had not an instant to lose: the carriage advanced rapidly. We experienced a great delay at Condé, in getting through the town, but it was during the night. At last, next morning, at seven o’clock, we arrived at Valenciennes, the last French city on that frontier. I was beginning to feel more easy, when the postmaster told us to go and have our passports examined by the captain of the gendarmerie. “You forgot, I suppose to read who we were,” said Sir Robert calmly, “let the captain come here if he chooses to see us.” The postmaster felt how wrong he had acted; and taking our passports, he went himself to get them signed. As it was very long before he came back, I began to be tormented by a most horrible anxiety. Was I going to be wrecked in the harbour? Suppose the officer of gendarmes were to come himself to verify the signatures and to apprehend me? Fortunately, the weather was very cold, it was scarcely daylight, and the officer signed the passports without rising from his bed. We got out of the gate. On the glacis an officer of the preventive service wanted to see whether we were in order; but having satisfied his curiosity, we went on and stopped no more. We flew along the beautiful Brussels road. From time to time I looked through the black window, to see whether we were not pursued. My impatience augmented at every turn of the wheels. The postilions showed us at a distance a large house that was the Belgium Custom House. I fixed my eyes on that edifice, and it seemed to me as if it remained always equally far off. I imagined that the postilion did not get on. I was ashamed of my impatience, but it was impossible for me to curb it. At last we reached the frontier: we were on the Belgian territories; I was saved! I pressed the hands of Sir Robert, and expressed to him with a deep emotion, the extent of my gratitude. But he, keeping up his gravity, only smiled, without answering me. About half an hour afterwards he turned to me, and said in the most serious tone possible, “Now, pray tell me, my dear friend, why did you not like to be guillotined?” I stared at him with astonishment, and made no reply. “Yes,” he continued, “they say that you had solicited, as a favour, that you might be shot?” “It is very true. When a man is guillotined, they put him in a cart, with his hands bound behind his back; and when he is on the scaffold, they tie him fast to a plank, which they lower to let it slip thus under the knife.” “Ah, I understand; you did not like to have _your throat cut like a calf_.”

“We arrived at Mons at about three o’clock in the afternoon, and we stopped at the best inn. While dinner was preparing, I wrote a few letters, of which Sir Robert was kind enough to take charge; and after having gone with me to buy some things I wanted, and having given me two letters, one for the King of Prussia and the other for Mr. Lamb, the English resident in Munich, we separated,—he to return to Paris, and I to go farther into Germany and try to reach Bavaria.”

M. Lavallette, once out of the French territory, crossed a part of Germany, and entered Bavaria, the king of which country received him with great cordiality, and protected him against the French ministry, who insisted upon his being delivered up to them. The ever kind and hospitable Queen Hortense, Duchess of St. Leu, the mother of Napoleon III., offered him her house; and her brother, the famous Prince Eugène de Beauharnais lavished on him all the consolations of friendship.

In 1822, letters of pardon, granted by Louis XVIII., restored Lavallette to his native country; but, alas! when he arrived in Paris, in the midst of the congratulations that poured on him from all sides, one voice was wanting to thoroughly cheer him. From that momentous hour, when, with such overpowering energy, she had arranged his escape, and remained an hostage in his place, his wife had not seen him. And now, on his return, she knew him not. The unfortunate lady had lost her reason from the violent agitation consequent on saving him, and from her subsequent lying in when her infant died. M. de Lavallette was overwhelmed at the sight of her. He wrote to King Louis XVIII.:—“Your Majesty has restored to me a country and a home I prized more than life; but all your royal favour can never counter-balance this domestic misfortune.” Lavallette retired from public life, and lived in complete seclusion, which he only once left to go to London in 1826, and support Sir Robert Wilson’s election to Parliament. He repaid his wife by his daily care of her, and by unceasing and fond attention during the remainder of his existence. He died in France in 1830: she survived him many years in a hopeless mental state, and died not long ago. Their only child Josephine who shared in the escape, was well married, and, I believe, still survives.

To return to the Count’s three rescuers. A letter giving an account of the escape, written from Paris by Sir Robert Wilson to Earl Grey in England, was intercepted by the French police, and led to the arrest of all the three gentlemen, viz.: General Sir Robert Thomas Wilson himself, Captain John Hely-Hutchinson of the Guards, a member of the family of the Irish Earls of Donoughmore, and Michael Bruce, Esq., a Scotch gentlemen, and a scion, I am inclined to think, of the Bruces of Stenhouse, county Stirling. Their trial, which took place at the assize court in Paris, on the 22nd April, 1816, created a great sensation and attracted a very numerous auditory. It commenced at eleven o’clock. The president was M. Desèze _fils_; and M. Hua, advocate-general, acted as public prosecutor. The counsel for the British prisoners was the eminent Dupin, whose death occurred on the 10th of Nov. 1865.

Sir Robert Wilson appeared in grand uniform, decorated with seven or eight orders of different European states, one of which was the cordon of the Russian order of St. Anne. Captain Hutchinson wore the uniform of his military rank. When the accused were called upon to give their names and qualities, Mr. Bruce said with energy, I am an English citizen. The President observed, that though relying on their correct knowledge of the French language, they did not ask for an interpreter, yet the law of France willed that the accused should not be deprived of any means of facilitating their justification, even when unclaimed; M. Robert was accordingly named and sworn to that office. Four other prisoners were, for aiding in the escape from prison, tried at the same time, viz.: Eberle and Roquette, gaolers; Bonneville, Lavallette’s valet de chambre; and a chair-porter, Guérin. The trial commenced by a curious attempt to make the procedure of France accord with that of England.

_Mr. Bruce_, speaking in French, said, that although he and his countrymen had submitted to the law of France, they had not lost the privilege of invoking the law of nations. Its principle was reciprocity; and as in England French culprits enjoyed the rights of demanding a jury composed of half foreigners, it appeared to them that the same right, or favour, could not be refused to them in France. The decision of several eminent lawyers of their own nation had strengthened them in this opinion; but the justice which had been already shown them by the Chamber of Accusation, had determined them to renounce this right, and they abandoned themselves without reserve to a jury entirely composed of Frenchmen. That, however, no precedent might be drawn from their case against such of their countrymen who might hereafter be in the same situation, they had made special declaration of the purpose of their renunciation.