A Frenchman's Walk in Ireland by The Chevalier De Latocnaye

CHAPTER I - London-Quiberon

After a sojourn of more than two years in Scotland, the famous 'Land of Cakes,' well treated by everybody, but, like Partridge, 'often in danger of starving in the midst of compassionate friends,' the late Lord Dreghom, who had had the goodness to read my observations on the country, persuaded me to print them.
The idea of publishing in Scotland a book on Scotland may be thought singular. 'Why should you take it on you to instruct us about our own country?' said some. 'We know Scotland only too well,' said others. After much reflection I came to the conclusion that talk about ourselves is precisely what we do like, and so I published my book, which succeeded perfectly.
Lord Dreghom was kind enough to read the proof sheets as they passed through the press. I was not in the best of humours at the time, and so there met his eyes a good many would-be satirical remarks. My good old judge was lenient. 'This is very funny, very original,' he said, 'everybody will laugh, ourselves excepted. My advice to you is, "Don't make the dogs bark until you are out of the village,"' and so I corrected and cut away until at last he himself could smile at the joke.
It was just at the time when the news came of that cursed expedition to the shores of France, in which so many of our exiles perished uselessly; and I resolved at once to go and see my friends at London, to bemoan our case and console those who were bereaved. My way lay through Berwick, where I met the good folk who welcomed me when I came to Scotland, and was glad to find that they had not forgotten me.
Two English companies who have leased the Tweed salmon fisheries maintain a service of smacks—light little vessels—from this port. Some of them have salt-water wells in the hold—these are supposed to carry the salmon alive to London, but many die on the way. Others take the salmon packed in ice, in deal cases—the fish in these arrive in good condition, although the voyage is one of more than four hundred miles.
In order to get a little profit out of these forced journeys, the proprietors carry a few passengers, who are not badly fed, getting tea twice a day and a good bed in the cabin for the very small sum of fifteen shillings. To make any money at this rate, the companies must calculate that the majority of the passengers, being unaccustomed to the sea, will be sick for three days, which is the average duration of the voyage.
I engaged a berth in one of these smacks, and made the voyage with the salmon. Unfortunately, bad weather and contrary winds delayed us, giving me occasion to tell the captain, after I had recovered from my sickness, that if he did not hurry I would certainly ruin him.
We were eight days en route, and during that time sailed often so near to the shore that the coast towns were easily distinguished. First appeared Flamborough; then Scarborough, one of those towns famous for the idlers who flock to it under pretence of sea-bathing; its castle situated on a rock is a striking and beautiful object. Off Yarmouth the sea was covered with boats passing to and fro like barges in a canal.
Several times when the vessel struck out for open sea I regretted having adopted this way of travel. It would have been disagreeable to have fallen in with Carmagnoles, who would have done me the kindness to take me to Paris when I wanted to go to London—it is always annoying to have one's travelling plans disarranged. It was with much pleasure then that, at last, I saw opening before us the mouth of the Thames, and as the customs authorities take no account of smacks, we kept straight ahead and disembarked at the Tower of London. It was a great joy to me to find myself once more in a city where I had so many relations and friends, after two years of separation spent entirely among strangers.
However, the time of my arrival was anything but gay. The news of the frightful disaster at Quiberon had just arrived; there was hardly a French family in London that had not to deplore the loss of a father, a husband, or a brother: people shunned each other—all the bonds of society seemed to be broken; a blind and sullen grief seemed to alienate the few friends who remained. These had divided into two parties, the one supporting M. D'Hervilly and the other M. de Paisaye, and mutually accused each other, or defended him whose cause they had adopted. I was a neutral, and could admire the fiery courage of the one without believing the other to be a traitor, although I was far from approving his conduct. Certain it is that what he promised was executed almost to the letter; only the relief which was to effect the junction between the disembarked and a great number of Chouans failed to arrive. This disastrous expedition cost the lives of a great part of the nobility of Brittany and of a very great number of former officers of the French navy who were uselessly sacrificed.
It appeared that when the corps made prisoners had laid down their arms, the intention of the republican chiefs was not to put them to death; there were more than fifteen hundred of them, while their escort was a guard of only three hundred men. The night was very dark, and to keep themselves from losing their way they held on to each other by the skirts of their tunics; some, however, did get out of touch, and were obliged to cry out loud and long before any came to secure them. Some republican officers, who foresaw what the fate of the captured would be, suggested, I am told, to several of their acquaintances—prisoners—that they should make escape, but these, having given their word, did not wish to profit by the kindness of the captors making the proposal. They were taken to Vannes and kept there, prisoners on parole, for a few days; but at last the order for their death arrived, and after the mockery of a trial they were shot. A few, however, succeeded in escaping, and it is from these that the details of the bloody tragedy have been learned.
It appears from their story that the inhabitants of the town and the troops were horrified at their fate. The Chouans were masters of the country, but nevertheless a handful of strangers (Liegeois), ministers of the barbarous wills of the tigers employing them, succeeded by the terror they inspired in sending the prisoners to their doom. Thus it is that the most atrocious acts of the revolutionists have been committed. The nations of Europe have marvelled oft at the bravery and energy of the people of Paris—it is rather its cowardice and weakness that should astonish them. The bulk of mankind is a vile herd always ready to run at the bark of the dog whose bite they fear. Who can doubt that of the soldiers who assisted at the martyrdom of Louis XVI, seven-eighths of the number would have seen him escape with pleasure, and among the remaining eighth there were very many indifferent? It may seem paradoxical if I say that I do not believe that more than a dozen men were eagerly set on his slaughter, and the ardour of these twelve, which served the rage and ambition of a few, was, perhaps, not their own. I shall have cast up to me, of course, the astonishing victories and brilliant successes of the republican armies. But did we not see, before there was any French Revolution, the great Frederick beat the kings of Europe with their own subjects? Do we forget the 40,000 Saxons, his prisoners of war, enrolled, in spite of themselves, among his troops? When the armies face each other the opinions of individuals composing them go for nothing—they must fight for personal safety; the dangers of desertion are so great that, unless in very special circumstances, few will dare to brave them. Besides it was no longer a case of war for or against the king, it was, unfortunately, obvious that it was for or against France. In this case every individual had a powerful interest in defending his country, no matter what may have been the colour of his political opinions.
Reports of the expedition to Quiberon brought emigrants from the four corners of the earth, alas! only to hear, on arrival, the harrowing tale of its disastrous termination. The king's brother came from the heart of Germany, and learned the news only when he set foot on English shores. Nevertheless, the Vendéean war went on, and the brave defenders of royalty eagerly demanded the assistance so long promised. An expedition in their aid was at last decided on—had the forces lost at Quiberon been sent at first to them they would have effected a considerable diversion in their favour.
It does not seem that the project was taken very seriously. Certain landowners of this country offered their services as volunteers for the fleet, intending simply to be landed and then to endeavour to do something for the arming of the peasantry; but they were told that their offers must be refused unless they made a definite engagement. However the expedition did, at length, get away and carried the prince to L'Isle-Dieu, and then, after much fatiguing exertion, the fleet returned two months later without striking a blow. In spite of all sources of trouble, I found the emigrants in London, to my great astonishment, much better off than at the time of my departure for the north and Scotland two years earlier. In whatever situation Providence may see fit to place us, time and resignation make our case supportable. Some I found occupied by little industries which supplied the means for existence; the ladies embroidered, and the Government allowed them a small pension, as they did also to the priests and to persons over fifty years of age. Those who suffered most were the (formerly) rich landlords of France who, accustomed to live on their large revenues without work, and without thought for the morrow, were without the resourcefulness which developed in their poorer compatriots.
After a short time devoted to renewal of acquaintanceships my genius for observation would not permit me to rest. I frequented all places where men assemble, from tavern to parliament-house, from church to street-crowd, and everywhere, like Solomon, I found only vanity and vexation of spirit.
I was possessed of kindly-given letters of recommendation, some of them to men of great wealth. Oh the droll faces of some when I approached them!—they didn't like the name of émigré, and to a certainty it was still more displeasing to me.
Several, however, who had read my Walk through Great Britain suggested that I should go to Ireland and write a book about my travels in that country. I had nothing to do, it was a new country for me, magnificent passports and letters of recommendation were forthcoming, and I was tempted.
Before my departure I wished to find out what those amiable and learned (?) gentlemen, the booksellers, had done with my books, and I soon learned to distinguish the character of my man at the first step in his shop. If the book-monger met me with a smile and an honest look, I did no more than put my question and take my departure. If, on the contrary, he treated me to sour looks, I was sure that he had sold my books, and refused to leave him until he paid up.
I was witness of the civil way the king was received by Parliament at the beginning of 1796. The frenzy of the populace surprised me greatly, it seemed to me that the consequences must be alarming. I had with me an old English officer. 'It's nothing,' said he, 'they will be as quiet as ever in a short time; it's only their way of expressing their good will to His Majesty.' The yells were appalling, and two rather pretty young woman, frightened at the row, threw themselves, tremblingly, into our arms. After having examined the one who fell to mine I kissed her cordially by way of reassurance; as for my English friend he put his two hands into his pockets immediately, evincing fear and surprise: I am inclined to take the different actions on this occasion as fairly representative of the manners of the two peoples.
I found myself one day in a political club of a kind abounding in London. After having regulated the destinies of Europe, one of the speakers remarked in a loud voice, 'This Clairfaix must be a clever fellow, he has saved Germany by taking the Rhine'; then, turning with an important air to me. the self-revealed foreigner, he added, 'You have been in these parts, no doubt, and will know that it is a very strongly fortified town.' 'It is certainly a great place for water,' I replied. One of the company, laughing immoderately at this, put on a wise air and, addressing me, said, 'Will you please tell me what was the name of the French admiral on this occasion? '
When I let them know that the Rhine was a river not much wider than the Thames at Chelsea, they were astonished that they had heard so much about it—'for,' said they, with much sagacity, 'there's nothing easier than crossing a river in a boat.'
By coach I made my way to Beacon's Fields and there, at the house of Mr. Blair, spent a very agreeable week. From here I went to Bath, where I gladly found amusement in the attractions and distractions of the gay city. But, spite of all that was done for them, I noticed that the idlers were bored to death, yawning from the springs to the card-table, from the card-table to the ball, from the ball to the bookseller's, and from the bookseller's to their beds, where, perhaps, for a few hours they cease to feel the burden of their existence.
This city, infinitely agreeable in so many respects, ceases to be so after a short stay, if one has not made or found friends. Everybody runs so much after pleasure that pleasure runs from everybody—and nobody seems to be able to catch it.
I found at Bath a few of my exiled compatriots doing much better than at London, where they only worried each other. I noticed how much the city had been enlarged since my previous visit—entirely new quarters on magnificent scale had been built, proving that the place is still growing in favour with the dwellers in Great Britain.
Leaving Bath I travelled to Bristol, intending to embark at once for Ireland, but the wind being contrary I was obliged to stay for a few days. To occupy my time I went to one of the fashionable assemblies, where at once I found myself on familiar terms with the company, I was asked to play cards with the ladies; I accepted and—lost.
Tired of waiting for the wind I went after it. The machine which carried us with the mails, and with as little ceremony as was accorded to the mail-bags, rattled along with such speed that I saw on this long journey little or nothing, and wished that it had entered into the heart of the powers to make a decent road and a convenient port for the arrival and departure of the boat.
This part of Wales is broken up into little hills and shallow valleys which seem to be very fertile. The peasant women wear, ordinarily, a man's old coat over their petticoats, and a big straw hat which shades them entirely. The houses are not unlike those of the Highlands of Scotland; the language is a form of Celtic with a strong resemblance to our low Breton.
Swansea is a port of considerable size, and serves for Bristol and the South of England. All that I was able to remark in the way of special manners in these parts is, that at Carmarthen the inhabitants use for salmon fishing a boat, or rather a basket, covered with horse skin. They sit in the middle and preserve equilibrium very cleverly, and, fishing over, they carry the boat home with them, where it serves as a cradle for the children.
The cemeteries also attracted my attention. Instead of filling them with an incongruous assortment of tombstones with ridiculous inscriptions, the relations of the lost cultivate on their graves flowers and plants, coming often to care for them, so that the cemeteries are more like gardens than homes of the dead. People practising such a custom must be of gentle manners, and I was very sorry that I could not live for a while among them. But I was on my way to Ireland, and hurried on to Milford Haven, an ugly hole in which the anxious traveller may eat up to his last penny while waiting for a favourable breeze. Three or four times we set sail, and as many times were we forced by the waves to return to port. On the fourth endeavour we stopped at Dale, a little village at the mouth of the bay, and there we stuck for eight long days.
In the ordinary course of affairs, how impatiently I should have chafed at the delay, in spite of the sight of the large and beautiful bay and singular country! But chance had settled that I should engage a place in the same boat as that which was to carry an amiable Scotch family, and an Irishman who had served a long time in France, and I found myself in such good company that I began to fear, rather than to desire, a favourable wind. We made the crossing at last, and rather rapidly, for we reached the Irish coast within twenty-four hours.
The customs officers claim tribute on both sides of the water, demanding from the passengers half a crown per head, for the permission to ship or disembark their luggage. One who refused to pay had his bag tumbled and turned over in a cruel manner. The price of the passage is exorbitant—a guinea and a half in the cabin—and the packet was far from being either comfortable or clean. I had chosen the route from motives of economy, and found the charges to mount to double those of the Holyhead route. We entered the river Suir, at the mouth of which is a strong castle seated on a rock jutting out into the sea. Mr. Latin, who travelled in the boat, was kind enough to ask me to his house at Drumdouny, and so from the very first day I spent on Irish soil I had the good fortune to enjoy Irish kindness and hospitality.