Section of the Staff of the French Army (2 volumes Paris 1910). Colonel Picard informed me that he did not intend to print the remainder, thinking that the ground was sufficiently covered by Professor Henri Prentout’s admirable book L’Ile de France sous Decaen. I have, therefore, had the section relating to Flinders transcribed from the manuscript, and used it freely for this book.) Thus, when during the campaign of the Rhine he found that his superior officer, General Jourdan, was taking about with him as his aide-de-camp a lady in military attire, Decaen, with a solemnity that seems a little un-French under the circumstances, condemned the breach of the regulations as conduct “which was not that of a father of a family, a legislator and a general-in-chief.” As for the lady, “les charmes de cette maussade creature” merely evoked his scorn. It does not appear that Jourdan’s escapade produced any ill effects in a military sense, but it was against the regulations, and Decaen was as yet as much lawyer as soldier.
When the revolutionary wars broke out, and France was ringed round by a coalition of enemies, the voice of “la patrie en danger” rang in the ears of the young student like a call from the skies. He was twenty-two years of age when two deputies of the Legislative Assembly came down to Caen and made an appeal to the manhood of the country to fly to arms. Decaen, fuming with patriotic indignation, threw down his quill, pitched his calf-bound tomes on to their shelf, and was the first to inscribe his name upon the register of the fourth battalion of the regiment of Calvados, an artillery corps. He was almost immediately despatched to Mayence on the Rhine, where Kleber (who was afterwards to serve with distinction under Bonaparte in Egypt) hard pressed by the Prussians, withdrew the French troops into the city (March, 1793) and prepared to sustain a siege.
Decaen rose rapidly, by reason not merely of his bull-dog courage and stubborn tenacity, but also of his intelligence and integrity. He received his “baptism of fire” in an engagement in April, when Kleber sent a detachment to chase a Prussian outpost from a neighbouring village and to collect whatever forage and provisions might be obtained. He was honest enough to confess–and his own oft-proved bravery enabled him to do so unashamed–that, when he first found the bullets falling about him, he was for a moment afraid. “I believe,” he wrote, “that there are few men, however courageous they may be, who do not experience a chill, and even a feeling of fear, when for the first time they hear around them the whistling of shot, and above all when they first see the field strewn with killed and wounded comrades.”* (* Memoires 1 13.) But he was a sergeant-major by this time, and remembered that it was his duty to set an example; so, screwing up his courage to the sticking-place by an effort of will, and saying to himself that it was not for a soldier of France to quail before a ball, he deliberately wheeled his horse to the front of a position where a regiment was being shaken by the enemy’s artillery fire, and by his very audacity stiffened the wavering troops and saved the situation.
After the capitulation of Mayence in July, 1793, Decaen fought with distinction in the war in La Vendee. In this cruel campaign he displayed unusual qualities as a soldier, and attained the rank of adjutant-general. Kleber gave him a command calling for exceptional nerve, with the comment, “It is the most dangerous position, and I thought it worthy of your courage.” It was Decaen, according to his own account, who devised the plan of sending out a number of mobile columns to strike at the rebels swiftly and unexpectedly. But though he was succeeding in a military sense, these operations against Frenchmen, while there were foreign foes to fight beyond the frontiers, were thoroughly distasteful to him. The more he saw of the war in La Vendee, and the more terribly the thumb of the national power pressed upon the throat of the rebellion, the more he hated the service. It was at his own solicitation, therefore, that he was transferred to the army of the Rhine in January, 1795.
Here he served under the ablest general, saving only Bonaparte himself, whom the wars of the Revolution produced to win glory for French arms, Jean Victor Moreau. His bravery and capacity continued to win him advancement. Moreau promoted him to the command of a brigade, and presented him with a sword of honour for his masterly conduct of a retreat through the Black Forest, when, in command of the rear-guard, he fought the Austrians every mile of the road to the Rhine.
He became a general of division in 1800. At the battle of Hohenlinden, where Moreau concentrated his troops to give battle to the Austrians under the Archduke John, Decaen performed splendid service; indeed it was he who chose the position, and recommended it as a favourable place for taking a stand.* (* Memoires 2 89.) Moreau knew him well by now, and on the eve of the fight (December 2nd) when he brought up his division to the plateau in the forest of Ebersberg, where the village of Hohenlinden stands, and presented himself at headquarters to ask for orders, the commander-in-chief rose to greet him with the welcome, “Ah, there is Decaen, the battle will be ours to-morrow.” It was intended for a personal compliment, we cannot doubt, though Decaen in his Memoires (2 136) interpreted it to mean that the general was thinking of the 10,000 troops whose arrival he had come to announce.
Moreau’s plan was this. He had posted his main force strongly fronting the Austrian line of advance, on the open Hohenlinden plateau. The enemy had to march through thickly timbered country to the attack. The French general instructed Decaen and Richepance to manoeuvre their two divisions, each consisting of 10,000 men, through the forest, round the Austrian rear, and to attack them there, as soon as they delivered their attack upon the French front. The Archduke John believed Moreau to be in full retreat, and hurried his army forward from Haag, east of Hohenlinden, amid falling snow.
“By torch and trumpet fast array’d
Each horseman drew his battle-blade, And furious every charger neigh’d
To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills with thunder riven; Then rush’d the steed, to battle driven, And louder than the bolts of Heaven
Far flashed the red artillery.”
Decaen’s division marched at five o’clock on the morning of December 3rd, and shortly before eight the boom of the Austrian cannon was heard. His troops pressed forward in a blinding snowstorm. An officer said that the guns seemed to show that the Austrians were turning the French position. “Ah, well,” said Decaen, “if they turn ours, we will turn theirs in our turn.” It was one of the few jokes he made in his whole life, and it exactly expressed the situation. The Austrian army was caught like a nut in a nut-cracker. Battered from front and rear, their ranks broke, and fugitives streamed away east and west, like the crumbled kernel of a filbert. Decaen threw his battalions upon their rear with a furious vigour, and crumpled it up; and almost at the very moment of victory the snow ceased to fall, the leaden clouds broke, and a brilliant sun shone down upon the scene of carnage and triumph. Ten thousand Austrians were killed, wounded, or taken prisoners, whilst 80 guns and about two hundred baggage waggons fell as spoils to the French. In this brilliant victory Decaen’s skill and valour, rapidity and verve, had been of inestimable value, as Moreau was prompt to acknowledge.
The quick soldier’s eye of Bonaparte recognised him at once as a man of outstanding worth. The Consulate had been established in December, 1799, and the First Consul was anxious to attach to him strong, able men. In 1802 Decaen ventured to use his influence with the Government regarding an appointment to the court of appeal at Caen, for which Lasseret, his old master in law, was a candidate; and we find Bonaparte writing to Cambaceres, who had charge of the law department, that “if the citizen possesses the requisite qualifications I should like to defer to the wishes of General Decaen, who is an officer of great merit.”* (* Napoleon’s Correspondance Document 5596.) He saw much of Bonaparte in Paris during 1801 and 1802, when the part he had to play was an extremely difficult one, demanding the exercise of tact and moral courage in an unusual measure. The Memoires throw a vivid light on the famous quarrel between Moreau and Napoleon, which in the end led to the exile of the victor of Hohenlinden.
Moreau was Decaen’s particular friend, the commander who had given him opportunities for distinction, one whom he loved and honoured as a man and a patriot. But he was jealous of Napoleon’s success, was disaffected towards the consular government, and was believed to be concerned in plots for its overthrow. On the other hand, Napoleon was not only the head of the State, but was the greatest soldier of his age. Decaen’s admiration of him was unbounded, and Napoleon’s attitude towards Decaen was cordial. He tried to reconcile these two men whom he regarded with such warm affection, but failed. One day, when business was being discussed, Napoleon said abruptly, “Decaen, General Moreau is conducting himself badly; I shall have to denounce him.” Decaen was moved to tears, and insisted that Napoleon was ill informed. “You are good yourself,” said the First Consul, “and you think everybody else is like you. Moreau is corresponding with Pichegru,” whose conspiracy was known to the Government. “It is not possible.” “But I have a letter which proves it.” Moreover, Moreau was openly disrespectful to the Government. He had presented himself out of uniform on occasions when courtesy demanded that he should wear it. If Moreau had anything to complain about, he did not make it better by associating with malcontents. “He has occupied a high position, which gives him influence, and a bad influence upon public opinion hampers the work of the Government. I have not fallen here out of the sky, you know; I follow my glory. France wants repose, not more disturbance.” Decaen manfully championed his friend, “I am persuaded,” he said, “that if you made overtures to Moreau you would easily draw him towards you.” “No,” said Napoleon “he is a shifting sand.” Moreau said to Decaen, “I am too old to bend my back”; but the latter was of opinion that the real source of the mischief was that Moreau had married a young wife, and that she and his mother-in-law considered they were entitled to as much attention as Madame Bonaparte received. Pride, jealousy and vanity, he declared, were the real source of the quarrel. Decaen, indeed, has a story that when Madame Moreau once called upon Josephine at Malmaison, she returned in an angry state of mind because she was not at once admitted, bidding a servant tell her mistress that the wife of General Moreau was not accustomed to be kept waiting. The simple explanation was that Josephine was in her bath!
Decaen came to be appointed Governor of Ile-de-France in this way. One day, after dining with Napoleon at Malmaison, the First Consul took a stroll with him, and in the course of conversation asked him what he wanted to do. “I have my sword for the service of my country,” said Decaen. “Very good,” answered Napoleon, “but what would you like to do now?” Decaen then mentioned that he had been reading the history of the exploits of La Bourdonnaye and Dupleix in India, and was much attracted by the possibilities for the expansion of French power there. “Have you ever been to India?” enquired Napoleon. “No, but I am young, and, desiring to do something useful, I should like to undertake a mission which I believe would not be likely to be coveted by many, having regard to the distance between France and that part of the world. And even if it were necessary to spend ten years of my life awaiting a favourable opportunity of acting against the English, whom I detest because of the injury they have done to our country, I should undertake the task with the utmost satisfaction.” Napoleon merely observed that what he desired might perhaps be arranged.
A few months later Decaen was invited to breakfast with Napoleon at Malmaison. He was asked whether he was still inclined to go to India, and replied that he was. “Very well, then, you shall go.” “In what capacity?” “As Captain-General. Go and see the Minister of Marine, and tell him to show you all the papers relative to the expedition that is in course of being fitted out.”
Under the treaty of Amiens, negotiated in 1801, Great Britain agreed to restore to the French Republic and its allies all conquests made during the recent wars except Trinidad and Ceylon. From the British point of view it was an inglorious peace. Possessions which had been won in fair fight, by the ceaseless activity and unparalleled efficiency of the Navy, and by the blood and valour of British manhood, were signed away with a stroke of the pen. The surrender of the Cape was especially lamentable, because upon security at that point depended the safety of India and Australia. But the Addington ministry was weak and temporising, and was alarmed about the internal condition of England, where dear food, scarcity of employment and popular discontent, consequent upon prolonged warfare, made the King’s advisers nervously anxious to put an end to the struggle. The worst feature of the situation was that everybody thoroughly well understood that it was a mere parchment peace. Cornwallis called it “an experimental peace.” It was also termed “an armistice” and “a frail and deceptive truce”; and though Addington declared it to be “no ordinary peace but a genuine reconciliation between the two first nations of the world,” his flash of rhetoric dazzled nobody but himself. He was the Mr. Perker of politics, an accommodating attorney rubbing his hands and exclaiming “My dear sir!” while he bartered the interests of his client for the delusive terms of a brittle expediency.
Decaen was to go to India to take charge of the former French possessions there, under the terms of the treaty, and from Pondicherry was also to control Ile-de-France (Mauritius) which the English had not taken during the war. Napoleon’s instructions to him clearly indicated that he did not expect the peace to endure. Decaen was “to dissimulate the views of the Government as much as possible”; “the English are the tyrants of India, they are uneasy and jealous, it is necessary to behave towards them with suavity, dissimulation and simplicity.” He was to regard his mission primarily as one of observation upon the policy and military dispositions of the English. But Napoleon informed him in so many words that he intended some day to strike a blow for “that glory which perpetuates the memory of men throughout the centuries.” For that, however, it was first necessary “that we should become masters of the sea.”* (* Memoires 2 310.)
Decaen sailed from Brest in February, 1803. Lord Whitworth, the British ambassador to Paris, watched the proceedings with much care, and promptly directed the attention of his Government to the disproportionate number of officers the new Captain-General was taking with him. The Government passed the information on to the Governor-General of India, Lord Wellesley, who was already determined that, unless absolutely ordered so to do, he would not permit a French military force to land. Before Decaen arrived at Pondicherry, indeed, in June, 1803, Wellesley had received a despatch from Lord Hobart, Secretary of State for War and the Colonies, warning him that, notwithstanding the treaty of Amiens, “certain circumstances render desirable a delay in the restitution of their possessions in India” to the French, and directing that territory occupied by British troops was not to be evacuated by them without fresh orders. Great Britain already perceived the fragility of the peace, and, in fact, was expediting preparations for a renewal of war, which was declared in May, 1803.
When, therefore, the French frigate Marengo, with Decaen on board, arrived at Pondicherry, the British flag still flew over the Government buildings, and he soon learnt that there was no disposition to lower it. Moreover, La Belle Poule, which had been sent in advance from the Cape to herald the Captain-General’s coming, was anchored between two British ships of war, which had carefully ranged themselves alongside her. Decaen grasped the situation rapidly. A few hours after his arrival, the French brig Belier appeared. She had left France on March 25th, carrying a despatch informing the Captain-General that war was anticipated, and directing him to land his troops at Ile-de-France, where he was to assume the governorship.
Rear-Admiral Linois, who commanded the French division, wanted to sail at once. Decaen insisted on taking aboard some of the French who were ashore, but Linois pointed to the strong British squadron in sight, and protested that he ought not to compromise the safety of his ships by delaying departure. Linois was always a very nervous officer. Decaen stormed, and Linois proposed to call a council of his captains. “A council!” exclaimed Decaen, “I am the council!” It was worthy of what Voltaire attributed to Louis XIV: “l’etat, c’est mois.” After sunset Decaen visited the ships of the division in a boat, and warned their captains to get ready to follow the Marengo out of the roadstead of Pondicherry in the darkness. He considered that it would be extremely embarrassing if the British squadron, suspecting their intentions, endeavoured to frustrate them. At an appointed hour the Marengo quietly dropped out of the harbour, cutting the cable of one of her anchors rather than permit any delay.
On August 15th Decaen landed at Port Louis, Ile-de-France, and on the following day he took over the government. He had therefore been in command exactly four months when Matthew Flinders, in the Cumberland, put into Baye du Cap on December 15th.
For his conduct in the Flinders affair Decaen has been plentifully denounced. “A brute,” “a malignant tyrant,” “vindictive, cruel and unscrupulous”–such are a few shots from the heavy artillery of language that have been fired at his reputation. The author knows of one admirer of Flinders who had a portrait of Decaen framed and hung with its face to the wall of his study. It is, unfortunately, much easier to denounce than to understand; and where resonant terms have been flung in freest profusion, it does not appear that an endeavour has been made to study what occurred from the several points of view, and to examine Decaen’s character and actions in the light of full information. A postponement of epithets until we have ascertained the facts is in this, as in so many other cases, extremely desirable.
No candid reader of Decaen’s Memoires, and of Prentout’s elaborate investigation of his administration, can fail to recognise that he was a conspicuously honest man. During his governorship he handled millions of francs. Privateers from Ile-de-France captured British merchant ships, to a value, including their cargo, of over 3 million pounds sterling,* a share of which it would have been easy for Decaen to secure. (* “Prentout, page 509, estimates the value of captures at 2 million pounds, but Mr. H. Hope informed Flinders in 1811, that insurance offices in Calcutta had actually paid 3 million pounds sterling on account of ships captured by the French at Mauritius. Flinders, writing with exceptional opportunities for forming an opinion, calculated that during the first sixteen months of the war the French captures of British merchant ships brought to Ile-de-France were worth 1,948,000 pounds (Voyage 2 416).) But his financial reputation is above suspicion. His management was economical and efficient. He ended his days in honourable poverty.
He was blunt and plainspoken; and though he could be pleasant, was when ruffled by no means what Mrs. Malaprop called “the very pineapple of politeness.” His quick temper brought him into continual conflict with superiors and subordinates. He quarrelled repeatedly with generals and ministers; with Admiral Linois, with Soult, with Decres, with Barras, with Jourdan, and with many others. When General Lecourbe handed him a written command during the Rhine campaign, he says himself that, “when I received the order I tightened my lips and turned my back upon him.” He speaks of himself in one place as being “of a petulant character and too free with my tongue.” That concurs with Flinders’ remark, after bitter experience of Decaen, that he possessed “the character of having a good heart, though too hasty and violent.”
Decaen’s military capacity was much higher than his historical reputation might lead one to suppose. During the fierce wars of the Napoleonic empire, whilst Ney, Oudinot, Murat, Junot, Augereau, Soult, St. Cyr, Davoust, Lannes, Marmont, Massena and Suchet, were rendering brilliant service under the eye of the great captain, and were being converted into dukes and princes, Decaen was shut up in a far-off isle in the Indian Ocean, where there was nothing to do but hold on under difficulties, and wait in vain for the turn of a tide that never floated a French fleet towards the coveted India. Colonel Picard, than whom there is hardly a better judge, is of opinion that had Decaen fought with the Grand Army in Europe, his military talents would have designated him for the dignity of a marshal of the Empire. On his return he did become a Comte, but then the Napoleonic regime was tottering to its fall.
Such then was the man–stubborn, strong-willed, brusque, honest, irritable, ill-tempered, but by no means a bad man at heart–with whom Matthew Flinders had to do. We may now follow what occurred.
CHAPTER 22. THE CAPTIVITY.
At four o’clock in the afternoon of December 17th the Cumberland entered Port Louis, where Flinders learnt that Le Geographe had sailed for France on the previous day. As soon as he could land he went ashore to present himself to the Governor, whom he found to be at dinner. To occupy the time until an interview could be arranged, he joined a party of officers who were lounging in a shady place, and gossiped with them about his voyage, about Baudin’s visit to Port Jackson, about the English settlement there, “and also concerning the voyage of Monsieur Flindare, of whom, to their surprise, I knew nothing, but afterwards found it to be my own name which they so pronounced.”
In a couple of hours he was conducted to Government House, where, after a delay of half an hour, he was shown into a room. At a table stood two officers. One was a short, thick man in a gold-laced mess jacket, who fixed his eyes sternly on Flinders, and at once demanded his passport and commission. This was General Decaen. Beside him stood his aide-de-camp, Colonel Monistrol. The General glanced over the papers, and then enquired “in an impetuous manner,” why Flinders had come to Ile-de-France in the Cumberland, when his passport was for the Investigator. The necessary explanation being given, Decaen exclaimed impatiently, “You are imposing on me, sir! It is not probable that the Governor of New South Wales should send away the commander of a discovery expedition in so small a vessel.” Decaen’s own manuscript Memoires show that when this story was told to him, he thought it “very extraordinary that he should have left Port Jackson to voyage to England in a vessel of 29 tons;” and, in truth, to a man who knew nothing of Flinders’ record of seamanship it must have seemed unlikely. He handed back the passport and commission, and gave some orders to an officer; and as Flinders was leaving the room “the Captain-General said something in a softer tone about my being well treated, which I could not comprehend.”
It is clear that Decaen’s brusque manner made Flinders very angry. He did not know at this time that it was merely the General’s way, and that he was not at all an ill-natured man if discreetly handled. On board the Cumberland, in company with the interpreter and an officer, who were very polite, he confesses having “expressed my sentiments of General Decaen’s manner of receiving me,” adding “that the Captain-General’s conduct must alter very much before I should pay him a second visit, or even set my foot on shore again.” It is very important to notice Flinders’ state of mind, because it is apparent that a whole series of unfortunate events turned upon his demeanour at the next interview. His anger is perfectly intelligible. He was a British officer, proud of his service; he had for years been accustomed to command, and to be obeyed; he knew that he was guiltless of offence; he felt that he had a right to protection and consideration under his passport. Believing himself to have been affronted, he was not likely to be able to appreciate the case as it presented itself at the moment to this peppery general; that here was the captain of an English schooner who, as reported, had chased a French vessel into Baye du Cap, and who gave as an explanation that he had called to seek assistance while on a 16,000 mile voyage, in a 29-ton boat. Surely Flinders’ story, as Decaen saw it at this time, was not a probable one; and at all events he, as Governor of Ile-de-France, had a duty to satisfy himself of its truth. We can well understand Flinders’ indignation; but can we not also appreciate Decaen’s doubt?
The officers, acting under instructions, collected all the charts, papers, journals, letters, and packets, found on board, and put them in a trunk which, says Flinders, “was sealed by me at their desire.” They then requested him to go ashore with them, to a lodging at an inn, which the General had ordered to be provided for him. In fact, they had orders to take him there. “What! I exclaimed in the first transports of surprise and indignation, I am then a prisoner!” The officers expressed the hope that the detention would not last more than a few days, and assured him that in the meantime he should want for nothing. Flinders, accompanied by Aken, went ashore, and the two were escorted to a large house in the middle of the town, the Cafe Marengo, where they were shown into a room approached by a dark entry up a dirty staircase, and left for the night with a sentry on guard in the passage outside.
That Flinders had no doubt that he would soon be released, is shown by the fact that he wrote from the tavern the following letter to the captain of the American ship Hunter, then lying in Port Louis: “Sir, understanding that you are homeward bound, I have to represent to you that I am here with an officer and nine men belonging to His Britannic Majesty’s ship Investigator, lately under my command, and if I am set at liberty should be glad to get a passage on board your vessel to St. Helena, or on any other American who does not touch at the Cape of Good Hope* and may be in want of men. I am, Sir, etc., etc., MATTHEW FLINDERS.
“If it is convenient for you to call upon me at the tavern where I am at present confined, I shall be glad to see you as soon as possible.”
(* He did not wish to call at the Cape, because if he got clear of the French frying-pan he did not want to jump into the Dutch fire.)
Early in the afternoon of the following day Colonel Monistrol came to the inn to take Flinders and Aken before the General, who desired to ask certain questions. The interrogatories were read from a paper, as dictated by Decaen, and Flinders’ answers were translated and written down. In the document amongst Decaen’s papers the French questions and answers are written on one side of the paper, with the English version parallel; the latter being signed by Flinders. The translation is crude (the scribe was a German with some knowledge of English) but is printed below literally:
“Questions made to the commanding officier of an English shooner anchored in Savanna Bay, at the Isle of France, on the 24th frimaire 12th year (on the 17th December, 1803) chasing a coaster, which in consequence of the declaration of war between the French Republic and Great Britain, had intention to avoid the poursuit of said shooner. Said shooner carried the next day in the harbour of Port North-West, where she anchored under cartel colours, the commanding officer having declared to the officer of the health boat that his name was Matthew Flinders, and his schooner the Cumberland.
“Demanded: the Captain’s name?
“Answered: Matthew Flinders.
“D.: From what place the Cumberland sailed?
“A.: From Port Jackson.
“D.: At what time?
“A.: The Captain does not recollect the date of his departure. He thinks it is on the 20th of September.
“D.: What is the purpose of his expedition?
“A.: His only motive was to proceed on to England as soon as possible, to make the report of his voyages and to request a ship to continue them.
“D.: What can be the reason which has determined Captain Flinders to undertake a voyage on board of the so small a vessel?
“A.: To avoid losing two months on proceeding by China, for a ship sailing from Port Jackson was to put in China.
“D.: Does not Port Jackson offer frequent opportunities for Europe?
“A.: There are some, as he has observed it above, but that ship putting in China is the reason which determined him not to proceed that way.
“D.: At what place had the Cumberland put in?
“A.: At Timor.
“D.: What could be the reason of her putting in at Timor?
“A.: To take fresh provision and water. He has left Timor 34 days ago.
D.: What passports or certificates has he taken in that place?
“A.: None.
“D.: What has been his motive for his coming at the Isle of France?
“A.: The want of water. His pumpers (sic) are bad, and his vessel is very leaky.
“D.: To what place does Captain Flinders intend to go to from this island?
“A.: Having no passport for the Dutch Government, he cannot put in the Cape, according to his wishes, and will be obliged to stop at St. Helena.
“D.: What can be the reason of his having none of his officiers, naturalis, or any of the other persons employed in said expedition?
“A.: Two of these gentlemen have remained in Port Jackson to repair on board of the ship Captain Flinders expected to obtain in England,* and the rest have proceeded on to China. (* “Pour s’embarquer sur le vaisseau que le Cap. Flinders a espoir d’obtenir en Angleterre,” in the French. That is to say, Brown and Bauer remained behind till Flinders came out again with another ship.)
“D.: What reason induced Captain Flinders to chase a boat in sight of the island?
“A.: Being never to this island, he was not acquainted with the harbour. Seeing a French vessel he chased her* for the only purpose of obtaining a pilot, and seeing her entering a bay he followed her. (* It is singular that Flinders did not take exception to this word “chased” in the translation when he signed it. The French version of his statement is correct: “il forca de voile, NON POUR LUY APPUYER CHASSE mais pour luy demander un pilote.” The German translator boggled between the French and the English.)
“D.: What reason had he to make the land to leewards, the different directories pointing out the contrary route to anchor in the harbour.
“A.: He came to windwards, but the wind shifting contrary he took to leewards and perceiving said vessel he followed her and anchored in the same bay. He has no chart of the island.
“D.: Why has he hoisted cartel colours?
“A.: He answers that it is the custom, since Captain Baudin coming to Port Jackson hoisted the colours of both nations.
“D.: Was he informed of the war?
“A.: No.
“D.: Has he met with any ship either at sea or in the different ports where he put in?
“A.: He met one ship only, by the 6 or 7 degrees to the east of the Isle of France. He did not speak her, though desirous of so doing, being prevented by the night. He met with no ship at Timor.
“In consequence of the questions made to Captain Flinders respecting to his wreck, he declares that after putting in at Port Jackson with the ship under his command, he was through her bad condition obliged to leave her, being entirely decayed. The Governor at that time furnished him with a ship thought capable of transporting him to Europe. He had the misfortune to wreck on the east coast of New Holland by the 22 degrees 11 minutes of latitude south on some rock distant 700 miles from Port Jackson, and 200 miles from the coast. He embarked in the said ship’s boat, taking with him 14 men, and left the remainder of his crew on a sand bank. He lost on this occasion three charts respecting his voyages and particularly Golph Carpentary. After 14 days’ passage he arrived at Port Jackson. After tarrying in said place 8 or 9 days, the Governor furnished him with the small vessel he is now in, and a ship to take the remainder of the crew left on the bank. This vessel not being a government ship and bound to China, proceeded on her intended voyage with the officers and the crew which had been left on the bank.
“Captain Flinders declares that of the two boxes remitted by him one contains despatches directed to the Secretary of State and the other was entrusted to him by the commanding officer of the troops in Port Jackson, and that he is ignorant what they contain.
“Captain Mw. Flinders to ascertain the legality of this expedition and the veracity of what he expose,* (* “La verite de son expose,” i.e., the truth of his statement.) has opened in our presence a trunk sealed by him containing the papers having a reference to his expedition, and to give us a copy by him certified of the passport delivered to him by the First Consul and His Majesty King of Great Britain; equally the communication of his journal since the condemnation of his ship Investigator.
“Port North-West, Ile of France, the 26th frimaire 12th year of the French Republic (answering to the 19th December, 1803).
“(Signed) MATTW. FLINDERS.”
Flinders corroborates the statement regarding the taking of papers from the trunk, stating that they consisted of the third volume of his rough log-book, which contained “the whole of what they desired to know,” respecting his voyage to Ile-de-France. He told Decaen’s Secretary to make such extracts as were considered requisite, “pointing out the material passages.” “All the books and papers, the third volume of my rough log-book excepted, were then returned into the trunk, and sealed as before.” It is important to notice that at no time were papers taken from the trunk without Flinders’ knowledge and concurrence, because the charge has frequently been made, even by historical writers of authority,* that his charts were plagiarised by the cartographers of Baudin’s expedition. (* In the Cambridge Modern History, for instance (9 739): “The French authorities at Mauritius having captured and imprisoned the explorer Flinders on his passage to England, attempted by the use of his papers to appropriate for their ships the credit of his discoveries along the south coast of Australia.”) Flinders himself never made any such allegation, nor is there any foundation for it. On the contrary, as will be made clear hereafter, neither Decaen and his officers, nor any of the French, ever saw any of Flinders’ charts at any time.
Immediately after the examination the General, on behalf of Madame Decaen, sent Flinders an invitation to dine, dinner being then served. At this point, one cannot help feeling, he made a tactical mistake. It is easily understood, and allowance can be made for it, but the consequences of it were serious. He was angry on account of his detention, irritated by the treatment to which he had been subjected, and unable in his present frame of mind to appreciate the Governor’s point of view. He refused to go, and said he had already dined. The officer who bore the invitation pressed him in a kindly manner, saying that at all events he had better go to the table. Flinders replied that he would not; if the General would first set him at liberty he would accept the invitation with pleasure, and be flattered by it. Otherwise he would not sit at table with Decaen. “Having been grossly insulted both in my public and private character, I could not debase the situation I had the honour to hold.”
The effect of so haughty a refusal upon an inflammatory temper like that of Decaen may be readily pictured. Presently an aide-de-camp returned with the message that the General would renew the invitation when Captain Flinders was set at liberty. There was a menace in the cold phrase.
Now, had Flinders bottled up his indignation and swallowed his pride–had he frankly recognised that he was in Decaen’s power–had he acknowledged that some deference was due to the official head of the colony of a foreign nation with whom his country was at war–his later troubles might have been averted. An opportunity was furnished of discussing the matter genially over the wine and dessert. He would have found himself in the presence of a man who could be kind-hearted and entertaining when not provoked, and of a charming French lady in Madame Decaen. He would have been assisted by the secretary, Colonel Monistrol, who was always as friendly to him as his duty would permit. He would have been able to hold the company spell-bound with the story of the many adventures of his active, useful life. He would have been able to demonstrate his bona fides completely. It is a common experience that the humane feelings of men of Decaen’s type are easily touched; and his conduct regarding the Napoleon-Moreau quarrel has been related above with some fulness for the purpose of showing that there was milk as well as gunpowder in his composition. But Flinders was angry; justifiably angry no doubt, but unfortunately angry nevertheless, since thereby he lost his chance.
He learnt afterwards that “some who pretended to have information from near the fountain-head hinted that, if his invitation to dinner had been accepted, a few days would have been the whole” of his detention.* (* Flinders Voyage 2 398.) That seems probable. He had no better friend than Sir Joseph Banks; and he learnt to his regret that Banks “was not quite satisfied with his conduct to the Government of Mauritius, thinking he had treated them perhaps with too much haughtiness.” His comment upon this was, “should the same circumstances happen to me again I fear I should follow nearly the same steps.”* (* Flinders’ Papers.) That is the sort of thing that strong-willed men say; but a knowledge of the good sense and good feeling that were native to the character of Matthew Flinders enables one to assert with some confidence that if, after this experience, the choice had been presented to him, on the one hand of conquering his irritation and going to enjoy a pleasant dinner in interesting company with the prospect of speedy liberation; on the other of scornfully disdaining the olive branch, with the consequence of six-and-a-half years of heart-breaking captivity; he would have chosen the former alternative without much reluctance. There is a sentence in one of his own letters which indicates that wisdom counted for more than obstinacy in his temperament: “After a misfortune has happened, we all see very well the proper steps that ought to have been taken to avoid it; to be endowed with a never-failing foresight is not within the power of man.”
That the view presented above is not too strong is clear from a passage in an unpublished portion of Decaen’s Memoires. He stated that after the examination of Flinders, “I sent him an invitation from my wife* to come to dine with us, (* Flinders does not state that the invitation came from Madame Decaen. He may not have understood. But the refusal of it would on that account have been likely to make the General all the more angry.) although he had given me cause to withhold the invitation on account of his impertinence; but from boorishness, or rather from arrogance, he refused that courteous invitation, which, if accepted, would indubitably have brought about a change favourable to his position, through the conversation which would have taken place.”* (* Decaen Papers Volume 10. Decaen said in his despatch to the Minister: “Captain Flinders imagined that he would obtain his release by arguing, by arrogance, and especially by impertinence; my silence with regard to his first letter led him to repeat the offence.”) Here it is distinctly suggested that if the invitation had been accepted, and a pleasant discussion of the case had ensued, the detention of the Cumberland and her commander would probably not have been prolonged.
Further light is thrown on these regrettable occurrences by a manuscript history of Ile-de-France, written by St. Elme le Duc,* (* Bibliotheque Nationale, nouveaux acquisitions, France Number 1 775.) a friend of Decaen, who possessed intimate knowledge of the General’s feelings. It is therein stated that Decaen received Flinders “in uniform, the head uncovered,” but that “Captain Flinders presented himself with arrogance, his hat upon his head; they had to ask him to remove it.” The same writer alleges that Flinders disregarded all the rules of politeness. It is fair to state these matters, since the candid student must always wish to see a case presented from several points of view. But it must be said that only an intense feeling of resentment could have unhinged the courteous disposition which was habitual with Flinders. A gentler man in his relations with all could hardly have been found. He was not more respectful to authority than he was considerate to subordinates; and throughout his career a close reading of his letters and journals, and of documents relating to him, can discover no other instance of even temporary deviation from perfect courtesy. Even in this case one can hardly say that he was to blame. There was sufficient in what occurred to make an honest man angry. But we wish to understand what occurred and why it occurred, and for that reason we cannot ignore or minimise the solitary instance wherein a natural flame of anger fired a long train of miserable consequences.
What, then, did Decaen intend to do with Flinders, at the beginning? He never intended to keep him six-and-a-half years. He simply meant to punish him for what he deemed to be rudeness; and his method of accomplishing that object was to report to Paris, and allow the case to be determined by the Government, instead of settling it himself forthwith. Here again Flinders was well informed. His journal for May 24th, 1806, contains the following entry:* (* Flinders’ Papers.) “It has been said that I am detained a prisoner here solely because I refused the invitation of General Decaen to dine; that to punish me he referred the judgment of my case to the French Government, knowing that I should necessarily be detained twelve months before an answer arrived.” Or, as he stated the matter in his published book (2 489): “My refusal of the intended honour until set at liberty so much exasperated the Captain-General that he determined to make me repent it.”
It will be seen presently that the term of detention, originally intended to endure for about a year, was lengthened by circumstances that were beyond Decaen’s control; that the punishment which sprang from the hasty ire of a peppery soldier increased, against his own will, into what appeared to all the world, and most of all to the victim, to be a piece of malevolent persecution. The ball kicked off in a fit of spleen rolled on and on beyond recovery.
There was, it must be admitted, quite enough in the facts brought under Decaen’s notice to warrant a reference to Paris, if he chose to be awkward. In the first place, Flinders was carrying on board the Cumberland a box of despatches from Governor King for the Secretary of State. As pointed out in Chapter 12, the Admiralty instructions for the Investigator voyage cautioned him “not to take letters or packets other than those such as you may receive from this office or the office of His Majesty’s Secretary of State.” Governor King was well aware of this injunction. Yet he entrusted to Flinders this box of despatches, containing material relative to military affairs. It is true that a state of war was not known to exist at the time when the Cumberland sailed from Port Jackson in September, 1803, although as a matter of fact it had broken out in the previous May. But it was well known that war was anticipated. It is also true that Flinders knew nothing of the contents of the despatches. But neither, as a rule, does any other despatch carrier in war time. When the Cumberland’s papers were examined by Decaen’s officers, and these despatches were read and translated, there was at once a prima facie ground for saying, “this officer is not engaged on purely scientific work; he is the bearer of despatches which might if delivered have an influence upon the present war.” Flinders himself, writing to Banks,* (* Historical Records 6 49.) said: “I have learnt privately that in the despatches with which I was charged by Governor King, and which were taken from me by the French General, a demand was made for troops to be sent out to Port Jackson for the purpose of annoying Spanish America in the event of another war, and that this is considered to be a breach of my passport. ‘Tis pity that Governor King should have mentioned anything that could involve me in the event of a war, either with the French at Mauritius, or the Dutch at Timor or the Cape; or that, having mentioned anything that related to war, he did not make me acquainted in a general way with the circumstances, in which case I should have thrown them overboard on learning that war was declared; but as I was situated, having little apprehension of being made a prisoner, and no idea that the despatches had any reference to war, since it was a time of peace when I left Port Jackson, I did not see the necessity of throwing them overboard at a hazard. To be the bearer of any despatches in time of peace cannot be incorrect for a ship on discovery more than for any other; BUT WITH A PASSPORT, AND IN TIME OF WAR, IT CERTAINLY IS IMPROPER.” With characteristic straightforwardness, Flinders did not hesitate to tell King himself that the despatches had cast suspicion on him:* (* Historical Records 6 105.) “I have learned privately that in your despatches to the Secretary of State there is mention of Spanish America, which rendered me being the bearer, criminal with respect to my passport. ‘Tis pity I had not known anything of this, for on finding myself under the necessity of stopping at the Isle of France, and learning the declaration of war, I should have destroyed the despatches; but leaving Port Jackson in time of peace, and confiding in my passport, I did not think myself authorised to take such a step, even after I knew of the war, having no idea there was anything in the despatches that could invalidate my passport; neither, indeed, is it invalidated in justice, but it is said to be the under-plea against me.”
These despatches of King are preserved among Decaen’s papers,* (* Decaen Papers Volumes 84 and 105.) and an examination of them reveals that they did contain material of a military character. In one of them, dated August 7th, 1803, King referred to the possibility in any future war “of the Government of the Isle of France annoying this colony, as the voyage from hence may be done in less than seven weeks; and on the same idea this colony may hereafter annoy the trade of the Spanish settlements on the opposite coast. But to defend this colony against the one, and to annoy the other, it would be necessary that some regard should be had to the military and naval defences. The defences of the port may be made as strong as in any port I know of. By the return of cannon and batteries your Lordship will observe that those we have are placed in the best situation for annoying an enemy. Still, a small establishment of artillery officers and men are wanted to work those guns effectually in case of necessity.” King went on to make recommendations for the increase of the military strength in men, officers, and guns. The originals of those despatches, which could furnish the French Government with valuable information concerning Port Jackson and the Flinders affair, are endorsed, “letters translated and sent to France;” and Decaen commented upon them that in his opinion the despatches alone afforded a sufficient pretext for detaining Flinders. “Ought a navigator engaged in discovery, and no longer possessing a passport for his ship, to be in time of war in command of a despatch-boat,* especially when, having regard to the distance between the period of the declaration of war and his departure from Port Jackson he could have obtained there the news that war had broken out?” (* “Devait-il en temps de guerre conduire un paquebot?”)
In reporting to his Government Decaen related the story of the Cumberland’s arrival from his point of view at considerable length. He expressed himself as satisfied that her commander really was Captain Flinders of the Investigator, to whom the French Government had issued a passport; detailed the circumstances of the examination; and complained of Flinders’ “impertinence” and “arrogance.” Then he proceeded to describe “several motives which have caused me to judge it to be indispensable to detain Captain Flinders.”
The first motive alleged was “the conduct of the English Government in Europe, where she has violated all treaties, her behaviour before surrendering the Cape of Good Hope, and her treatment of our ships at Pondicherry.” In no way could it be pretended that Flinders was connected with these events.
The second motive was “the seizing of Le Naturaliste, as announced by the newspapers.” Decaen was here referring to the fact that, when Le Naturaliste was on her homeward voyage from Port Jackson, conveying the natural history collections, she was stopped by the British frigate Minerva and taken into Portsmouth. But no harm was done to her. She was merely detained from May 27th, 1803, till June 6th, when she was released by order of the Admiralty. In any case Flinders had nothing to do with that.
The third motive was that Captain Flinders’ logbook showed an intention to make an examination of Ile-de-France and Madagascar, from which Decaen drew the inference that, if the English Government received no check, they would extend their power, and would seize the French colony. Herein the General did a serious injustice to Flinders. His log-book did indeed indicate that he desired “to acquire a knowledge of the winds and weather periodically encountered at Ile-de-France, of the actual state of the French colony, and of what utility it and its dependencies in Madagascar might be to Port Jackson, and whether that island could afford resources to myself in my future voyages.” But information of this description was such as lay within the proper province of an explorer; and the log-book contained no hint, nor was there a remote intention, of acquiring information which, however used, could be inimical to the security of the French colony.
Decaen’s mind had been influenced by reading Francois Peron’s report to him concerning the expansive designs of the British in the Pacific and Indian Oceans. “There is no doubt,” he informed his Government, “that the English Government have the intention to seize the whole trade of the Indian Ocean, the China Seas and the Pacific, and that they especially covet what remains of the Dutch possessions in these waters.” He derived that extravagant idea from Peron’s inflammatory communication, as will be seen from a perusal of that interesting document.
By these strained means, then, did Decaen give a semblance of public policy to his decision to detain Flinders. It would have been puerile to attempt to justify his action to his superiors on the personal ground that the English captain had vexed him; so he hooked in these various pretexts, though ingenuously acknowledging that they would have counted for nothing if Flinders had dined with him and talked the matter over conversationally!
On the day following the examination and the refusal of the invitation, Flinders was again conducted on board the Cumberland by Colonel Monistrol and the official interpreter, who “acted throughout with much politeness, apologising for what they were obliged by their orders to execute.” On this occasion all remaining books and papers, including personal letters, were collected, locked up in a second trunk, and sealed. The document noting their deposition and sealing was signed by Flinders,* who was ordered to be detained in the inn under guard. (* Decaen Papers.) It was, Decaen reported, the best inn in the island, and orders were given to furnish the prisoner with all that he could want; but Flinders described it as an exceedingly dirty place.
On his return to the inn from the ship Flinders wrote a letter to the Governor, recounting the history of his explorations, and making two requests: that he might have his printed books ashore, and that his servant, John Elder, might be permitted to attend him. On the following day Elder was sent to him. On the 22nd he wrote again, soliciting “that I may be able to sail as soon as possible after you shall be pleased to liberate me from my present state of purgatory.”* (* Decaen Papers.) On Christmas Day he sent a letter suffused with indignant remonstrance, wherein he alleged that “it appears that your Excellency had formed a determination to stop the Cumberland previously even to seeing me, if a specious pretext were wanting for it,” and reminded Decaen that “on the first evening of my arrival…you told me impetuously that I was imposing on you.” He continued, in a strain that was bold and not conciliatory: “I cannot think that an officer of your rank and judgment to act either so ungentlemanlike or so unguardedly as to make such a declaration without proof; unless his reason had been blinded by passion, or a previous determination that it should be so, nolens volens. In your orders of the 21st last it is indeed said that the Captain-General has acquired the conviction that I am the person I pretend to be, and the same for whom a passport was obtained by the English Government from the First Consul. It follows then, as I am willing to explain it, that I AM NOT and WAS NOT an imposter. This plea was given up when a more plausible one was thought to be found; but I cannot compliment your Excellency upon this alteration in your position, for the first, although false, is the more tenable post of the two.”
Decaen’s reply was stiff and stern. He attributed “the unreserved tone” of Flinders to “the ill humour produced by your present situation,” and concluded: “This letter, overstepping all the bounds of civility, obliges me to tell you, until the general opinion judges of your faults or of mine, to cease all correspondence tending to demonstrate the justice of your cause, since you know so little how to preserve the rules of decorum.”
Flinders in consequence of this snub forebore to make further appeals for consideration; but three days later he preferred a series of requests, one of which related to the treatment of his crew:
“To his Excellency Captain-General Decaen, “Governor in Chief, etc., etc., etc., Isle of France.
“From my confinement, December 28th, 1803.
“Sir,
“Since you forbid me to write to you upon the subject of my detainer I shall not rouse the anger or contempt with which you have been pleased to treat me by disobeying your order. The purpose for which I now write is to express a few humble requests, and most sincerely do I wish that they may be the last I shall have occasion to trouble your Excellency with.
“First. I repeat my request of the 23rd to have my printed books on shore from the schooner.
“Second. I request to have my private letters and papers out of the two trunks lodged in your secretariat, they having no connection with my Government or the voyage of discovery.
“Third. I beg to have two or three charts and three or four manuscript books out of the said trunks, which are necessary to finishing the chart of the Gulf of Carpentaria and some parts adjacent. It may be proper to observe as an explanation of this last request that the parts wanting were mostly lost in the shipwreck, and I wish to replace them from my memory and remaining materials before it is too late. Of these a memorandum can be taken, or I will give a receipt for them, and if it is judged necessary to exact it I will give my word that nothing in the books shall be erased or destroyed, but I could wish to make additions to one or two of the books as well as to the charts, after which I shall be ready to give up the whole.
“Fourth. My seamen complain of being shut up at night in a place where not a breath of air can come to them, which in a climate like this must be not only uncomfortable in the last degree, but also very destructive to European constitutions; they say, further, that the people with whom they are placed are much affected with that disagreeable and contagious disorder the itch; and that the provisions with which they are fed are too scanty, except in the article of meat, the proportion of which is large but of bad quality. Your Excellency will no doubt make such an amendment in their condition as circumstances will permit.
“A compliance with the above requests will not only furnish me with a better amusement in this solitude than writing letters to your Excellency, but will be attended with advantages in which the French nation may some time share. This application respecting the charts is not altogether made upon a firm persuasion that you will return everything to me, for if I could believe that they were never to be given to me or my Government I should make the same request.
“Your prisoner,
“MATTHEW FLINDERS.”
On the day when the letter was despatched, Colonel Monistrol called, and promised that the books and papers requested should be supplied; and, in fact, the trunk containing them was without delay brought to the inn. The Colonel courteously expressed his regret that Flinders had adopted such a tone in his letters to the General, thinking “that they might tend to protract rather than terminate” his confinement. The complaint respecting the seamen was attended to forthwith, and they were treated exactly on the same footing as were French sailors on service.* (* St. Eleme le Duc’s manuscript History.)
The first thing Flinders did, when he received the trunk, was to take out his naval signal-book and tear it to pieces. Next day he was conducted to Government House, and was allowed to take from the second trunk all his private letters and papers, his journals of bearings and observations, two log-books, and such charts as were necessary to complete his drawings of the Gulf of Carpentaria. All the other books and papers “were locked up in the trunk and sealed as before.”
Until the end of March, 1804, Flinders was kept at the inn, with a sentry constantly on guard over the rooms. St. Elme le Duc, in the manuscript history already cited, declares that “Captain Flinders was never put in prison,” and that his custom of addressing letters “from my prison” was an “affectation.” But a couple of inn rooms wherein a person is kept against his will, under the strict surveillance of a military custodian, certainly constitute a prison. It is true that the Governor allotted 450 francs per month for his maintenance, sent a surgeon to attend to him when scorbutic sores broke out upon his body, and gave him access to the papers and books he required in order that he might occupy his time and divert his mind with the work he loved. But it is surely quibbling to pretend that even under these conditions he was not a prisoner. Even the surgeon and the interpreter were not admitted without a written order; and when the interpreter, Bonnefoy, took from Flinders a bill, which he undertook to negotiate, the sentry reported that a paper had passed between the two, and Bonnefoy was arrested, nor was he liberated until it was ascertained that the bill was the only paper he had received. The bill was the subject of an act of kindness from the Danish consul, who negotiated it at face value at a time when bills upon England could only be cashed in Port Louis at a discount of 30 per cent. This liberal gentleman sent the message that he would have proffered his assistance earlier but for the fear of incurring the Governor’s displeasure.
An attempt was made in February to induce Decaen to send his prisoner to France for trial. It was submitted in the following terms:* (* Decaen Papers.)
“Sir,
“Having waited six weeks with much anxiety for your Excellency’s decision concerning me, I made application for the honour of an audience, but received no answer; a second application obtained a refusal. It was not my intention to trouble the Captain-General by recounting my grievances, but to offer certain proposals to his consideration; and in now doing this by letter it is my earnest wish to avoid everything that can in the most distant manner give offence; should I fail, my ignorance and not intention must be blamed.
“First. If your Excellency will permit me to depart with my vessel, papers, etc., I will pledge my honour not to give any information concerning the Isle of France, or anything belonging to it, for a limited time, if it is thought that I can have gained any information; or if it is judged necessary, any other restrictions can be laid upon me. If this will not be complied with I request:
“Second, to be sent to France.
“Third. But if it is necessary to detain me here, I request that my officer and my people may be permitted to depart in the schooner. I am desirous of this as well for the purpose of informing the British Admiralty where I am, as to relieve our families and friends from the report that will be spread of the total loss of the two ships with all on board. My officer can be laid under what restrictions may be thought necessary, and my honour shall be a security that nothing shall be transmitted by me but what passes under the inspection of the officer who might be appointed for that purpose.
“If your Excellency does not think proper to adopt any of these modes, by which, with submission, I conceive my voyage of discovery might be permitted to proceed without any possible injury to the Isle of France or its dependencies, I then think it necessary to remind the Captain-General that since the shipwreck of the Porpoise, which happened now six months back, my officers and people as well as myself have been mostly confined either on a very small sandbank in the open sea, or in a boat, or otherwise on board the small schooner Cumberland, where there is no room to walk, or been kept prisoners as at present; and also, that previous to this time I had not recovered from a scorbutic and very debilitated state arising from having been eleven months exposed to great fatigue, bad climates and salt provisions. From the scorbutic sores which have again troubled me since my arrival in this port the surgeon who dressed them saw that a vegetable diet and exercise were necessary to correct the diseased state of the blood and to restore my health; but his application through your Excellency’s aide-de-camp for me to walk out, unfortunately for my health and peace of mind, received a negative. The Captain-General best knows whether my conduct has deserved, or the exigencies of his Government require, that I should continue to remain closely confined in this sickly town and cut off from all society.
“With all due consideration, I am,
“Your Excellency’s prisoner,
“MATTHEW FLINDERS.”
To this petition Decaen returned no reply. Feeling therefore that his detention was likely to be prolonged, Flinders, weary of confinement, and longing for human fellowship, applied to be removed to the place where British officers, prisoners of war, were kept. It was a large house with spacious rooms standing in a couple of acres of ground, about a mile from the tavern, and was variously called the Maison Despeaux, or the Garden Prison. Here at all events fresh air could be enjoyed. The application was acceded to immediately, and Colonel Monistrol himself came, with the courtesy that he never lost an opportunity of manifesting, to conduct Flinders and Aken and to assist them to choose rooms. “This little walk of a mile,” Flinders recorded, “showed how debilitating is the want of exercise and fresh air, for it was not without the assistance of Colonel Monistrol’s arm that I was able to get through it. Conveyances were sent in the evening for our trunks, and we took possession of our new prison with a considerable degree of pleasure, this change of situation and surrounding objects producing an exhilaration of spirits to which we had long been strangers.”
CHAPTER 23. THE CAPTIVITY PROLONGED.
We shall now see how a detention which had been designed as a sharp punishment of an officer who had not comported himself with perfect respect, and which Decaen never intended to be prolonged beyond about twelve months, dragged itself into years, and came to bear an aspect of obstinate malignity.
Decaen’s despatch arrived in France during the first half of the year 1804. Its terms were not calculated to induce the French Government to regard Flinders as a man entitled to their consideration, even if events had been conducive to a speedy determination. But the Departments, especially those of Marine and War, were being worked to their full capacity upon affairs of the most pressing moment. Napoleon became Emperor of the French in that year (May), and his immense energy was flogging official activities incessantly. War with England mainly absorbed attention. At Boulogne a great flotilla had been organized for the invasion of the obdurate country across the Channel. A large fleet was being fitted out at Brest and at Toulon, the fleet which Nelson was to smash at Trafalgar in the following year. Matters relating to the isolated colony in the Indian Ocean did not at the moment command much interest in France.
There were several other pieces of business, apart from the Flinders affair, to which Decaen wished to direct attention. He sent one of his aides-de-camp, Colonel Barois, to Paris to see Napoleon in person, if possible, and in any case to interview the Minister of Marine and the Colonies, Decres. Decaen especially directed Barois to see that the Flinders case was brought under Napoleon’s notice, and he did his best.* (* Prentout page 392.) He saw Decres and asked him whether Decaen’s despatches had been well received. “Ah,” said the Minister pleasantly, in a voice loud enough to be heard by the circle of courtiers, “everything that comes from General Decaen is well received.” But there was no spirit of despatch. Finally Barois did obtain an interview with Napoleon, through the aid of the Empress Josephine. He referred to “l’affaire Flinders,” of which Napoleon knew little; but “he appeared to approve the reasons invoked to justify the conduct of Decaen.” The Emperor had no time just then for examining the facts, and his approval simply reflected his trust in Decaen. As he said to the General’s brother Rene, at a later interview, “I have the utmost confidence in Decaen.” But meanwhile no direction was given as to what was to be done. It will be seen later how it was that pressure of business delayed the despatch of an intimation to Ile-de-France of a step that was actually taken.
That at this time Decaen was simply waiting for an order from Paris to release Flinders is clear from observations which he made, and from news which came to the ears of the occupant of the Garden Prison. In March, 1804, he told Captain Bergeret of the French navy, who showed Flinders friendly attentions, to tell him to “have a little patience, as he should soon come to some determination on the affair.” In August of the same year Flinders wrote to King that Decaen had stated that “I must wait until orders were received concerning me from the French Government.”* (* Historical Records 6 411.) A year later (November, 1805) he wrote: “I firmly believe that, if he had not said to the French Government, during the time of his unjust suspicion of me, that he should detain me here until he received their orders, he would have gladly suffered me to depart long since.”* (* Historical Records 6 737.) Again, in July, 1806,* (* Ibid 6 106.) he wrote: “General Decaen, if I am rightly informed, is himself heartily sorry for having made me a prisoner,” but “he remitted the judgment of my case to the French Government, and cannot permit me to depart or even send me to France, until he shall receive orders.”
The situation was, then, that Decaen, having referred the case to Paris in order that the Government might deal with it, could not now, consistently with his duty, send Flinders away from the island until instructions were received; and the Department concerned had too much pressing business on hand at the moment to give attention to it. Flinders had to wait.
His health improved amidst the healthier surroundings of his new abode, and he made good progress with his work. His way of life is described in a letter of May 18th, 1804:* (* Flinders’ Papers.) “My time is now employed as follows: Before breakfast my time is devoted to the Latin language, to bring up what I formerly learnt. After breakfast I am employed in making out a fair copy of the Investigator’s log in lieu of my own, which was spoiled at the shipwreck. When tired of writing I apply to music, and when my fingers are tired with the flute, I write again till dinner. After dinner we amuse ourselves with billiards until tea, and afterwards walk in the garden till dusk. From thence till supper I make one at Pleyel’s quartettes; afterwards walking half an hour, and then sleep soundly till daylight, when I get up and bathe.”
A letter to his stepmother, dated August 25th, of the same year, comments on his situation in a mood of courageous resignation:* (* Flinders’ Papers.) “I have gone through some hardships and misfortunes within the last year, but the greatest is that of having been kept here eight months from returning to my dear friends and family. My health is, however, good at this time, nor are my spirits cast down, although the tyranny of the Governor of this island in treating me as a spy has been grievous. I believe my situation is known by this time in England, and will probably make some noise, for indeed it is almost without example. The French inhabitants even of this island begin to make complaints of the injustice of their Governor, and they are disposed to be very kind to me. Four or five different people have offered me any money I may want, or any service that they can do for me, but as they cannot get me my liberty their services are of little avail. I have a companion here in one of my officers, and a good and faithful servant in my steward, and for these last four months have been allowed to walk in a garden. The Governor pretends to say that he cannot let me go until he receives orders from France, and it is likely that these will not arrive these four months. I am obliged to call up all the patience that I can to bear this injustice; my great consolation is that I have done nothing to forfeit my passport, or that can justify them for keeping me a prisoner, so I must be set at liberty with honour when the time comes, and my country will, I trust, reward me for my sufferings in having supported her cause with the spirit becoming an Englishman.”
A letter to Mrs. Flinders (August 24th, 1804) voices the yearning of the captive for the solace of home:* (* Flinders’ Papers.) “I yesterday enjoyed a delicious piece of misery in reading over thy dear letters, my beloved Ann. Shall I tell thee that I have never before done it since I have been shut up in this prison? I have many friends, who are kind and much interested for me, and I certainly love them. But yet before thee they disappear as stars before the rays of the morning sun. I cannot connect the idea of happiness with anything without thee. Without thee, the world would be a blank. I might indeed receive some gratification from distinction and the applause of society; but where could be the faithful friend who would enjoy and share this with me, into whose bosom my full heart could unburthen itself of excess of joy? Where would be that sweet intercourse of soul, the fine seasoning of happiness, without which a degree of insipidity attends all our enjoyments?…I am not without friends even among the French. On the contrary. I have several, and but one enemy, who unfortunately, alas, is all-powerful here; nor will he on any persuasion permit me to pass the walls of the prison, although some others who are thought less dangerous have had that indulgence occasionally.”
“When my family are the subject of my meditation,” he said in a letter to his step-mother, “my bonds enter deep into my soul.”
His private opinion of Decaen is expressed in a letter written at this period:* (* Flinders’ Papers.) “The truth I believe is that the violence of his passion outstrips his judgment and reason, and does not allow them to operate; for he is instantaneous in his directions, and should he do an injustice he must persist in it because it would lower his dignity to retract. His antipathy, moreover, is so great to Englishmen, who are the only nation that could prevent the ambitious designs of France from being put into execution, that immediately the name of one is mentioned he is directly in a rage, and his pretence and wish to be polite scarcely prevent him from breaking out in the presence even of strangers. With all this he has the credit of having a good heart at the bottom.”
The captain of a French ship, M. Coutance, whom Flinders had known at Port Jackson, saw Decaen on his behalf, and reported the result of the interview. “The General accused me of nothing more than of being trop vive; I had shown too much independence in refusing to dine with a man who had accused me of being an impostor, and who had unjustly made me a prisoner.”
Meanwhile two playful sallies penned at this time show that his health and appetite had mended during his residence at the Maison Despeaux:* (* Flinders’ Papers.) “My appetite is so good that I believe it has the intention of revenging me on the Governor by occasioning a famine in the land. Falstaff says, ‘Confound this grief, it makes a man go thirsty; give me a cup of sack.’ Instead of thirsty read hungry, and for a cup of sack read mutton chop, and the words would fit me very well.” The second passage is from his private journal, and may have been the consequence of too much mutton chop: “Dreamt that General Decaen was sitting and lying upon me, to devour me; was surprised to find devouring so easy to be borne, and that after death I had the consciousness of existence. Got up soon after six much agitated, with a more violent headache than usual.”
Flinders lost no opportunity of appealing to influential Frenchmen, relating the circumstances of his detention. He offered to submit himself to an examination by the officers of Admiral Linois’ squadron, and that commander promised to speak to Decaen on the subject, adding that he should be “flattered in contributing to your being set at liberty.” Captain Halgan, of Le Berceau, who had been in England during the short peace, and had heard much of Flinders’ discoveries, visited him several times and offered pecuniary assistance if it were required. Flinders wrote to the French Minister of the Treasury, Barbe-Marbois, urging him to intercede, and to the Comte de Fleurieu, one of the most influential men in French scientific circles, who was particularly well informed concerning Australian exploration.
The flat roof of the Maison Despeaux commanded a view of Port Louis harbour; and, as Flinders was in the habit of sitting upon the roof in the cool evenings, enjoying the sight of the blue waters, and meditating upon his work and upon what he hoped still to do, Decaen thought he was getting to know too much. In June, 1804, therefore, the door to the roof was ordered to be nailed up, and telescopes were taken away from the imprisoned officers. At this time also occurred an incident which shows that Flinders’ proud spirit was by no means broken by captivity. The sergeant of the guard demanded the swords of all the prisoners, that of Flinders among the rest. It was an affront to him as an officer that his sword should be demanded by a sergeant, and he promptly refused. He despatched the following letter to the Governor:* (* Decaen Papers Volume 84.)
“To His Excellency Captain-General Decaen, “Governor-in-Chief, etc., etc., etc.
“Sir,
The sergeant of the guard over the prisoners in this house has demanded of me, by the order of Captain Neuville, my sword, and all other arms in my possession.
“Upon this subject I beg leave to represent to Your Excellency that it is highly inconsistent with my situation in His Britannic Majesty’s service to deliver up my arms in this manner. I am ready to deliver up to an officer bearing your Excellency’s order, but I request that that officer will be of equal rank to myself.
“I have the honour to be,
“Your Excellency’s most obedient servant and prisoner,
“MATTW. FLINDERS.
“Maison Despeaux, June 2, 1804.”
In a few days Captain Neuville called to apologise. It was, he said, a mistake on the part of the sergeant to ask for the sword. Had the Governor required it, an officer of equal rank would have been sent, “but he had no intention to make me a prisoner until he should receive orders to that effect.” Not a prisoner! What was he, then? Certainly not, said Captain Neuville; he was merely “put under surveillance for a short period.” Inasmuch as Flinders was being treated with rather more strictness than those who were confessedly prisoners of war, the benefit of the distinction was hard to appreciate.
Flinders considered that he had been treated rather handsomely in the matter of the sword. But about three months later a junior officer, who behaved with much politeness, came under the orders of Colonel D’Arsonville, the town major, to demand it. D’Arsonville had been instructed by Decaen to take possession of it, but had been unable to come himself. Flinders considered that under the circumstances he had better give up the sword to save further trouble, and did so. The significance of the incident is that, having received no orders from France, Decaen from this time regarded Flinders as a prisoner of war in the technical sense. He felt bound to hold him until instructions arrived, and could only justifiably hold him as a prisoner.
December, 1804, arrived, and still no order of release came. On the anniversary of his arrest, Flinders wrote the following letter to Decaen:* (* Decaen Papers.)
“Maison Despeaux, December 16, 1804.
“General,
“Permit me to remind you that I am yet a prisoner in this place, and that it is now one year since my arrestation. This is the anniversary of that day on which you transferred me from liberty and my peaceful occupations to the misery of a close confinement.
“Be pleased, sir, to consider that the great occupations of the French Government may leave neither time nor inclination to attend to the situation of an Englishman in a distant colony, and that the chance of war may render abortive for a considerable time at least any attempts to send out despatches to this island. The lapse of one year shows that one or other of these circumstances has already taken place, and the consequence of my detainer until orders are received from France will most probably be, that a second year will be cut out of my life and devoted to the same listless inaction as the last, to the destruction of my health and happiness, and the probable ruin of all my further prospects. I cannot expect, however, that my private misfortunes should have any influence upon Your Excellency’s public conduct. It is from being engaged in a service calculated for the benefit of all maritime nations; from my passport; the inoffensiveness of my conduct; and the probable delay of orders from France. Upon these considerations it is that my present hope of receiving liberty must be founded.
“But should a complete liberation be so far incompatible with Your Excellency’s plan of conduct concerning me as that no arguments will induce you to grant it; I beg of you, General, to reflect whether every purpose of the most severe justice will not be answered by sending me to France; since it is to that Government, as I am informed, that my case is referred for decision.
“If neither of these requests be complied with, I must prepare to endure still longer this anxious tormenting state of suspense, this exclusion from my favourite and, I will add, useful employment, and from all that I have looked forward to attain by it. Perhaps also I ought to prepare my mind for a continuance of close imprisonment. If so, I will endeavour to bear it and its consequences with firmness, and may God support my heart through the trial. My hopes, however, tell me more agreeable things, that either this petition to be fully released with my people, books and papers will be accorded, or that we shall be sent to France, where, if the decision of the Government should be favourable, we can immediately return to our country, our families and friends, and my report of our investigations be made public if it shall be deemed worthy of that honour.
“My former application for one of these alternatives was unsuccessful, but after a year’s imprisonment and a considerable alteration in the circumstances, I hope this will be more fortunate.
“With all due consideration I have the honour to be, Your Excellency’s most obedient humble servant.
“MATTW. FLINDERS.”
To this appeal the General vouchsafed no response.
The return of the hot weather aggravated a constitutional internal complaint from which Flinders suffered severely. The principal physician of the medical staff visited him and recommended a removal to the high lands in the interior of the island. John Aken, the companion of his captivity, also became very ill, and his life was despaired of. In May, 1805, having somewhat recovered, he applied to be allowed to depart with several other prisoners of war who were being liberated on parole. Very much to his surprise the permission was accorded. Aken left on May 20th in an American ship bound for New York, the captain of which gave him a free passage; taking with him all the charts which Flinders had finished up to date, as well as the large general chart of Australia, showing the extent of the new discoveries, and all papers relating to the Investigator voyage. There was at this time a general exchange of prisoners of war, and by the middle of August the only English prisoners remaining in Ile-de-France were Flinders, his servant, who steadfastly refused to avail himself of the opportunity to leave, and a lame seaman.
CHAPTER 24. THE CAPTIVITY MODIFIED.
Flinders continued to reside at the Garden prison till August, 1805. In that month he was informed that the Governor was disposed to permit him to live in the interior of the island, if he so desired. This change would give him a large measure of personal freedom, he would no longer be under close surveillance, and he would be able to enjoy social life. He had formed a friendship with an urbane and cultivated French gentleman, Thomas Pitot, whom he consulted, and who found for him a residence in the house of Madame D’Arifat at Wilhelm’s Plains.
Here commenced a period of five years and six months, of detention certainly, but no longer of imprisonment. In truth, it was the most restful period of Flinders’ whole life; and, if he could have banished the longing for home and family, and the bitter feeling of wrong that gnawed at his heart, and could have quietened the desire that was ever uppermost in his mind to continue the exploratory work still remaining to be done, his term under Madame D’Arifat’s roof would have been delightfully happy.
Those twenty months in Port Louis had made him a greatly changed man. Friends who had known him in the days of eager activity, when fatigues were lightly sustained, would scarcely have recognised the brisk explorer in the pale, emaciated, weak, limping semi-invalid who took his leave of the kind-hearted sergeant of the guard on August 19th, and stepped feebly outside the iron gate in company with his friend Pitot. A portrait of him, painted by an amateur some time later, crude in execution though it is, shows the hollow cheeks of a man who had suffered, and conveys an idea of the dimmed eyes whose brightness and commanding expression had once been remarked by many who came in contact with him.
But at all events over five years of fairly pleasant existence were now before him. The reason why the period was so protracted will be explained in the next chapter. This one can be devoted to the life at Wilhelm’s Plains.
A parole was given, by which Flinders bound himself not to go more than two leagues from his habitation, and to conduct himself with that degree of reserve which was becoming in an officer residing in a colony with whose parent state his nation was at war.
The interior of Mauritius is perhaps as beautiful a piece of country as there is in the world. The vegetation is rich and varied, gemmed with flowers and plentifully watered by cool, pure, never-failing streams. To one who had been long in prison pent, the journey inland was a procession of delights. Monsieur Pitot, who was intimate with the country gentlemen, made the stages easy, and several visits were paid by the way. The cultivated French people of the island were all very glad to entertain Flinders, of whom they had heard much, and who won their sympathy by reason of his wrongs, and their affection by his own personality. Charming gardens shaded by mango and other fruit trees, cool fish-ponds, splashing cascades and tumbling waterfalls, coffee and clove plantations, breathing out a spicy fragrance, stretches of natural forest–a perpetual variety in beauty–gratified the traveller, as he ascended the thousand feet above which stretched the plateau whereon the home of Madame D’Arifat stood.
In the garden of the house were two comfortable pavilions. One of these was to be occupied by Flinders, the other by his servant, Elder, and the lame seaman who accompanied him. Madame D’Arifat hospitably proposed that he should take his meals with her family in the house, and his glad acceptance of the invitation commenced a pleasant and profitable friendship with people to whom he ever after referred with deep respect.
A note about the kindness of these gentle friends is contained in a letter to his wife:* (* Flinders’ Papers.) “Madame and her amiable daughters said much to console me, and seemed to take it upon themselves to dissipate my chagrin by engaging me in innocent amusement and agreeable conversation. I cannot enough be grateful to them for such kindness to a stranger, to a foreigner, to an enemy of their country, for such they have a right to consider me if they will, though I am an enemy to no country in fact, but as it opposes the honour, interest, and happiness of my own. My employment and inclinations lead to the extension of happiness and of science, and not to the destruction of mankind.”
The kindly consideration of the inhabitants was unfailing. Their houses were ever open to the English captain, and they were always glad to have him with them, and hear him talk about the wonders of his adventurous life. He enjoyed his walks, and restored health soon stimulated him to renewed mental activity.
He studied the French language, and learnt to speak and write it clearly. He continued to read Latin, and also studied Malay, thinking that a knowledge of this tongue would be useful to him in case of future work upon the northern coasts of Australia and the neighbouring archipelagoes. He never lost hope of pursuing his investigations in the field where he had already won so much distinction. To his brother Samuel, in a letter of October, 1807, he wrote:* (* Flinders’ Papers.) “You know my intention of completing the examination of Australia as soon as the Admiralty will give me a ship. My intentions are still the same, and the great object of my present studies is to render myself more capable of performing the task with reputation.” He cogitated a scheme for exploring the interior of Australia “from the head of the Gulf of Carpentaria to the head of the great gulf on the south coast,” i.e., Spencer’s Gulf. “In case of being again sent to Australia I should much wish that this was part of my instructions.” Much as he longed to see his friends in England, work, always work, scope for more and more work, was his dominating passion. “Should a peace speedily arrive,” he told Banks (March, 1806), “and their Lordships of the Admiralty wish to have the north-west coast of Australia examined immediately, I will be ready to embark in any ship provided for the service that they may choose to send out. My misfortunes have not abated my ardour in the service of science.” If there was work to do, he would even give up the chance of going home before commencing it. “In the event of sending out another Investigator immediately after the peace, probably Lieutenant Fowler or my brother might be chosen as first lieutenant to bring her out to me.” He spoke of directing researches to the Fiji Islands and the South Pacific. Rarely has there been a man so keen for the most strenuous service, so unsparing of himself, so eager to excel.
Occasionally in the letters and journals appear lively descriptions of life at Wilhelm’s Plains. The following is a tinted vignette of this kind: “In the evening I walked out to visit my neighbour, whom I had not seen for near a week. I met the whole family going out in the following order: First, Madame, with her youngest daughter, about six years old, in a palankin with M. Boistel walking by the side of it. Next, Mademoiselle Aimee, about 16, mounted astride upon an ass, with her younger sister, about 7, behind her, also astride. Third, Mademoiselle her sister, about 15, mounted upon M. Boistel’s horse, also astride; and two or three black servants carrying an umbrella, lanthorn, etc., bringing up the rear. The two young ladies had stockings on to-day,* (* On a previous day, mentioned in the journal, they had worn none.) and for what I know drawers also; they seemed to have occasion for them. Madame stopped on seeing me, and I paid my compliments and made the usual enquiries. She said they were taking a promenade, going to visit a neighbour, and on they set. I could perceive that the two young ladies were a little ashamed of meeting me, and were cautious to keep their coats well down to their ankles, which was no easy thing. I stood looking after and admiring the procession some time; considering it a fair specimen of the manner in which the gentry of the island, who are not very well provided with conveyances, make visits in the country. I wished much to be able to make a sketch of the procession. It would have been as good, with the title of ‘Going to See our Neighbour’ under it, as the Vicar of Wakefield’s family ‘Going to Church.'”
He was much interested in an inspection of the Mesnil estate, where Laperouse had resided when as an officer of the French navy he had visited Ile-de-France, and which in conjunction with another French officer he purchased. It was here, though Flinders does not seem to have been aware of the romantic fact, that the illustrious navigator fell in love with Eleanore Broudou, whom, despite family opposition, he afterwards married.* (* The charming love-story of Laperouse has been related in the author’s Laperouse, Sydney 1912.) “I surveyed the scene,” wrote Flinders, “with mingled sensations of pleasure and melancholy: the ruins of his house, the garden he had laid out, the still blooming hedgerows of China roses, emblems of his reputation, everything was an object of interest and curiosity. This spot is nearly in the centre of the island, and upon the road from Port Louis to Port Bourbon. It was here that the man lamented by the good and well-informed of all nations, whom science illumined, and humanity, joined to an honest ambition, conducted to the haunts of remote savages, in this spot he once dwelt, perhaps little known to the world, but happy; when he became celebrated he had ceased to exist. Monsieur Airolles promised me to place three square blocks of stone, one upon the other, in the spot where the house of this lamented navigator had stood; and upon the uppermost stone facing the road to engrave ‘Laperouse.'”
Investigations made in later years by the Comite des Souvenirs Historiques of Mauritius, show that Airolles carried out his promise to Flinders, and erected a cairn in the midst of what had been the garden of Laperouse. But the stones were afterwards removed by persons who had little sentiment for the associations of the place. In the year 1897, the Comite des Souvenirs Historiques obtained from M. Dauban, then the proprietor of the estate, permission to erect a suitable memorial, such as Flinders had suggested. This was done. The inscription upon the face of the huge conical rock chosen for the purpose copies the words used by Flinders. It reads:
LAPEROUSE
ILLUSTRE NAVIGATEUR
A achete ce terrain en Avril 1775 et l’a habite.
Le CAPITAINE FLINDERS dit:
“In this spot he once dwelt, perhaps little known to the world, but happy.”
(Comite des Souvenirs Historiques. 1897.)
Flinders’ pen was very busy during these years. Access to his charts and papers, printed volumes and log-books (except the third log-book, containing details of the Cumberland’s voyage), having been given to him, he wrote up the history of his voyages and adventures. By July, 1806, he had completed the manuscript as far as the point when he left the Garden prison. An opportunity of despatching it to the Admiralty occurred when the French privateer La Piemontaise captured the richly laden China merchantman Warren Hastings and brought her into Port Louis as a prize. Captain Larkins was released after a short detention, and offered to take a packet to the Admiralty. Finished charts were also sent; and Sir John Barrow, who wrote the powerful Quarterly Review article of 1810, wherein Flinders’ cause was valiantly championed, had resort to this material. A valuable paper by Flinders, upon the use of the marine barometer for predicting changes of wind at sea, was also the fruit of his enforced leisure. It was conveyed to England, read before the Royal Society by Sir Joseph Banks, and published in the Transactions of that learned body in 1806.
The friendship of able and keen-minded men was not lacking during these years. There existed in Ile-de-France a Societe d’Emulation, formed to promote the study of literary and philosophical subjects, whose members, learning what manner of man Flinders was, addressed a memorial to the Institute of France relating what had happened to him, and eulogising his courage, his high character, his innocence, and the worth of his services. They protested that he was a man into whose heart there had never entered a single desire, a single thought, the execution of which could be harmful to any individual, of whatever class or to whatever nation he might belong. “Use then, we beg of you,” they urged, “in favour of Captain Flinders the influence of the first scientific body in Europe, the National Institute, in order that the error which has led to the captivity of this learned navigator may become known; you will acquire, in rendering this noble service, a new title to the esteem and the honour of all nations, and of all friends of humanity.”
The Governor-General of India, Lord Wellesley, took a keen interest in Flinders’ situation, and in 1805 requested Decaen’s “particular attention” to it, earnestly soliciting him to “release Captain Flinders immediately, and to allow him either to take his passage to India in the Thetis or to return to England in the first neutral ship.” Rear-Admiral Sir Edward Pellew, commander-in-chief of the British naval forces in the East Indies, tried to effect an exchange by the liberation of a French officer of equal rank. But in this direction nothing was concluded.
Under these circumstances, with agreeable society, amidst sympathetic friends, in a charming situation, well and profitably employed upon his own work, Flinders spent over five years of his captivity. He never ceased to chafe under the restraint, and to move every available influence to secure his liberty, but it cannot be said that the chains were oppressively heavy. Decaen troubled him very little. Once (in May, 1806) the General’s anger flamed up, in consequence of a strong letter of protest received from Governor King of New South Wales. King’s affection for Flinders was like that of a father for a son, and on receipt of the news about the Cumberland his indignation poured itself out in this letter to Decaen, with which he enclosed a copy of Flinders’ letter to him. It happened that, at the time of the arrival of the letter in Ile-de-France, Flinders was on a visit to Port Louis, where he had been permitted to come for a few days. The result of King’s intervention was that Decaen ordered him to return to Wilhelm’s Plains, and refused the application he had made to be allowed to visit two friends who were living on the north-east side of the island.
John Elder, Flinders’ servant, remained with him until June, 1806. He might have left when there was a general exchange of prisoners in August, 1805, and another opportunity of quitting the island was presented in April, 1806, when the lame seaman departed on an American ship bound for Boston. But Elder was deeply attached to his master, and would have remained till the end had not his mind become somewhat unhinged by frequent disappointments and by his despair of ever securing liberation. When his companion, the lame seaman, went away, Elder developed a form of melancholy, with hallucinations, and appeared to be wasting away from loss of sleep and appetite. Permission for him to depart was therefore obtained, and from July, 1806, Flinders was the only remaining member of the Cumberland’s company.
Throughout the period of detention Flinders was placed on half-pay by the Admiralty. It cannot be said that he was treated with generosity by the Government of his own country at any time. He was not a prisoner of war in the strict sense, and the rigid application of the ordinary regulations of service in his peculiar case seems to have been a rather stiff measure. Besides, the Admiralty had evidence from time to time, in the receipt of new charts and manuscripts, that Flinders was industriously applying himself to the duties of the service on which he had been despatched. But there was the regulation, and someone in authority ruled that it had to apply in this most unusual instance. There is some pathos in a letter written by Mrs. Flinders to a friend in England (August, 1806) “The Navy Board have thought proper to curtail my husband’s pay, so it behoves me to be as careful as I can; and I mean to be very economical, being determined to do with as little as possible, that he may not deem me an extravagant wife.”
CHAPTER 25. THE ORDER OF RELEASE.
The several representations concerning the case of Flinders that were made in France, the attention drawn to it in English newspapers, and the lively interest of learned men of both nations, produced a moving effect upon Napoleon’s Government. Distinguished Frenchmen did not hesitate to speak plainly. Fleurieu, whose voice was attentively heard on all matters touching geography and discovery, declared publicly that “the indignities imposed upon Captain Flinders were without example in the nautical history of civilised nations. Malte-Brun, a savant of the first rank, expressed himself so boldly as to incur the displeasure of the authorities. Bougainville, himself a famous navigator, made personal appeals to the Government. Sir Joseph Banks, whose friendly relations with French men of science were not broken by the war, used all the influence he could command. He had already, “from the gracious condescension of the Emperor,” obtained the release of five persons who had been imprisoned in France,* and had no doubt that if he could get Napoleon’s ear he could bring about the liberation of his protege. (* Banks to Flinders, Historical Records 5 646.)
At last, in March, 1806, the affair came before the Council of State in Paris, mainly through the instrumentality of Bougainville. Banks wrote to Mrs. Flinders:* (* Flinders’ Papers.) “After many refusals on the part of Bonaparte to applications made to him from different quarters, he at last consented to order Captain Flinders’ case to be laid before the Council of State.”
On the first of March an order was directed to be sent to Decaen, approving his previous conduct, but informing him that, moved “by a sentiment of generosity, the Government accord to Captain Flinders his liberty and the restoration of his ship.” Accompanying the despatch was an extract from the minutes of the Council of State, dated March 1st, 1806, recording that: “The Council of State, which, after the return of His Majesty the Emperor and King, has considered the report of its Marine section on that of the Minister of Marine and the Colonies concerning the detention of the English schooner Cumberland and of Captain Flinders at Ile-de-France (see the documents appended to the report), is of opinion that the Captain-General of Ile-de-France had sufficient reason for detaining there Captain Flinders and his schooner; but by reason of the interest that the misfortunes of Captain Flinders has inspired, he seems to deserve that His Majesty should authorise the Minister of Marine and the Colonies to restore to him his liberty and his ship.” This document was endorsed: “Approuve au Palais des Tuileries, le onze Mars, 1806.
NAPOLEON.”
The terms of the despatch with which the order was transmitted contained a remarkable statement. Decres informed Decaen that he, as Minister, had on the 30th July, 1804–nearly one year and nine months before the order of release–brought Flinders’ case under the notice of the Council of State. But nothing was done: the Emperor had to be consulted, and at that date Napoleon was not accessible. He was superintending the army encamped at Boulogne, preparing for that projected descent upon England which even his magnificent audacity never dared to make. He did not return to St. Cloud, within hail of Paris, till October 12th.* (* The movements of Napoleon day by day can be followed in Schuerman’s Itineraire General de Napoleon.) Then the officials surrounding him were kept busy with preparations for crowning himself and the Empress Josephine, a ceremony performed by Pope Pius VII, at Notre Dame, on December 2nd. The consequence was that this piece of business about an unfortunate English captain in Ile-de-France–like nearly all other business concerned with the same colony at the time–got covered up beneath a mass of more urgent affairs, and remained in abeyance until the agitation stimulated by Banks, Fleurieu, Bougainville, Malte-Brun and others forced the case under the attention of the Emperor and his ministers.
Even then the despatch did not reach Ile-de-France till July, 1807, sixteen months after the date upon it; and it was then transmitted, not by a French ship, but by an English frigate, the Greyhound, under a flag of truce. The reason for that was unfortunate for Flinders as an individual, but entirely due to the efficiency of the navy of which he was an officer. In 1805 the British fleet had demolished the French at Trafalgar, and from that time forward until the end of the war, Great Britain was mistress of the ocean in full potency. Her frigates patrolled the highways of the sea with a vigilance that never relaxed. In January, 1806, she took possession of the Cape of Good Hope for the second time, and has held it ever since. The consequences to Decaen and his garrison were very serious. With the British in force at the Cape, how could supplies, reinforcements and despatches get through to him in Ile-de-France? He saw the danger clearly, but was powerless to avert it. Of this particular despatch four copies were sent from France on as many ships. One copy was borne by a French vessel which was promptly captured by the British; and on its contents becoming known the Admiralty sent it out to Admiral Pellew, in order that he might send a ship under a flag of truce to take it to Decaen. The Secretary to the Admiralty, Marsden, wrote to Pellew (December, 1806) that the despatch “has already been transmitted to the Isle of France in triplicate, but as it may be hoped that the vessels have been all captured you had better take an opportunity of sending this copy by a flag of truce, provided you have not heard in the meantime of Flinders being at liberty.” As a fact, one other copy did get through, on a French vessel.
Pellew lost no time in informing Flinders of the news, and the captive wrote to Decaen in the following terms:* (* Decaen Papers.)
“July 24, 1807.
“General,
“By letters from Rear-Admiral Sir Edward Pellew, transmitted to me yesterday by Colonel Monistrol, I am informed that orders relating to me have at length arrived from His Excellency the Marine Minister of France, which orders are supposed to authorize my being set at liberty.
“Your Excellency will doubtless be able to figure to yourself the sensations such a communication must have excited in me, after a detention of three years and a half, and my anxiety to have such agreeable intelligence confirmed by some information of the steps it is in Your Excellency’s contemplation to take in consequence. If these letters have flattered me in vain with the hopes of returning to my country and my family, I beg of you, General, to inform me; if they are correct, you will complete my happiness by confirming their contents. The state of incertitude in which I have so long remained will, I trust, be admitted as a sufficient excuse for my anxiety to be delivered from it.
“I have the honour to be, Your Excellency’s most obedient humble servant,
“MATTW. FLINDERS.
“His Excellency the Captain-General Decaen.”
In reply Decaen transmitted to Flinders a copy of the despatch of the Minister of Marine, and informed him through Colonel Monistrol “that, so soon as circumstances will permit, you will fully enjoy the favour which has been granted you by His Majesty the Emperor and King.”
But now, having at length received orders, countersigned by Napoleon himself, that Flinders should be liberated, Decaen came to a decision that on the face of it seems extremely perplexing. We have seen that in August, 1805, Flinders, well informed by persons who had conversed with Decaen, believed that the General “would be very glad to get handsomely clear of me,” and that in November of the same year he made the assertion that Decaen “would have gladly suffered me to depart long since” but for the reference of the case to Paris. We have direct evidence to the same effect in a letter from Colonel Monistrol regarding Lord Wellesley’s application for Flinders’ release.* (* Historical Records 5 651.) The Colonel desired “with all my heart” that the request could be acceded to, but the Captain-General could not comply until he had received a response to his despatch. Yet, when the response was received, and Flinders might have been liberated with the full approbation of the French Government, Decaen replied to the Minister’s despatch in the following terms (August 20th, 1807):
“I have the honour to inform Your Excellency that by the English frigate Greyhound, which arrived here on July 21st under a flag of truce, in the hope of gathering information concerning His British Majesty’s ships Blenheim and Java, I have received the fourth copy of Your Excellency’s despatch of March 21st, 1806, Number 8, relative to Captain Flinders. Having thought that the favourable decision that it contains regarding that officer had been determined at a time when the possibility of some renewal of friendliness with England was perceived, I did not consider that the present moment was favourable for putting into operation that act of indulgence on the part of His Majesty. I have since received the second copy of the same despatch; but, the circumstances having become still more difficult, and that officer appearing to me to be always dangerous, I await a more propitious time for putting into execution the intentions of His Majesty. My zeal for his service has induced me to suspend the operations of his command. I trust, Monsieur, that that measure of prudence will obtain your Excellency’s approbation. I have the honour to be, etc., etc., etc., DECAEN.”* (* This despatch was originally published by M. Albert Pitot, in his Esquisses Historiques de l’Ile-de-France. Port Louis, 1899.)
It will be observed that in this despatch Decaen describes the circumstances of the colony he governed as having become “more difficult,” and Flinders as appearing to him to be “always dangerous.” We must, then, examine the circumstances to ascertain why they had become so difficult, and why he considered that it would now be dangerous to let Flinders go.
It is easy enough to attribute the General’s refusal to obstinacy or malignity. But his anger had cooled down by 1807; his prisoner was a charge on the establishment to the extent of 5400 francs a year, and Decaen was a thrifty administrator; why, then, should he apparently have hardened his heart to the extent of disobeying the Emperor’s command? The explanation is not to be found in his temper, but in the military situation of Ile-de-France, and his belief that Flinders was accurately informed about it; as was, indeed, the case.
At this time Decaen was holding Ile-de-France by a policy fairly describable as one of “bluff.” The British could have taken it by throwing upon it a comparatively small force, had they known how weak its defences were. But they did not know; and Decaen, whose duty it was to defend the place to the utmost, did not intend that they should if he could prevent information reaching them. After the crushing of French naval power at Trafalgar and the British occupation of the Cape, Decaen’s position became untenable, though a capitulation was not forced upon him till four years later. He constantly demanded reinforcements and money, which never came to hand. The military and financial resources of France were being strained to prosecute Napoleon’s wars in Europe. There were neither men nor funds to spare for the colony in the Indian Ocean. Decaen felt that his position was compromised.* (* “Il sentait sa position compromise.” Prentout page 521; who gives an excellent account of the situation.) He addressed the Emperor personally “with all the sadness of a wounded soul,” but nothing was done for Ile-de-France. There was not enough money to repair public buildings and quays, which fell into ruins. There was no timber, no sail-cloth to re-fit ships. Even nails were lacking. A little later (1809) he complained in despatches of the shortness of flour and food. There was little revenue, no credit. Now that the British had asserted their strength, and held the Cape, prizes were few. Above all he represented “the urgent need for soldiers.” He felt himself abandoned. But still, with a resolute tenacity that one cannot but admire, he hung on to his post, and maintained a bold front to the enemy.
Did Flinders know of this state of things? Unquestionably he did; and Decaen knew that he knew. He could have informed the British Government, had he chosen to violate his parole; but he was in all things a scrupulously honourable man, and, as he said, “an absolute silence was maintained in my letters.” He was constantly hoping that an attack would be made upon the island, and “if attacked with judgment it appeared to me that a moderate force would carry it.”* (* Voyage to Terra Australis 2 419.) But all this while the British believed that Ile-de-France was strong, and that a successful assault upon it would require a larger force than they could spare at the time. Even after Flinders had returned to England, when he was asked at the Admiralty whether he thought that a contemplated attack would succeed, his confident assurance that it would was received with doubt. Decaen’s “bluff” was superb.
On one point, if we may believe St. Elme le Duc, Decaen did Flinders a grave injustice. It was believed, says that writer’s manuscript, that Flinders had several times managed to go out at night, that he had made soundings along the coast, and had transmitted information to Bengal which was of use when ultimately the colony was taken by the English. For that charge there is not a shadow of warrant. There is not the faintest ground for supposing that he did not observe his parole with the utmost strictness. Had he supplied information, Ile-de-France would have passed under British rule long before 1810.* (* The belief that Flinders took soundings appears to have been common among the French inhabitants of Port Louis. In the Proceedings of the South Australian Branch of the Royal Geographical Society, 1912 to 1913 page 71, is printed a brief account of the detention of Flinders, by a contemporary, D’Epinay, a lawyer of the town. Here it is stated: “It is found out that at night he takes soundings off the coast and has forwarded his notes to India.” Those who gave credence to this wild story apparently never reflected that Flinders had no kind of opportunity for taking soundings.)
A few passages written for inclusion in the Voyage to Terra Australis, but for some reason omitted, may be quoted to show how rigorously visiting ships were treated lest information should leak out.* (* Manuscript, Mitchell Library.)
“It may not be amiss to mention the rules which a ship is obliged to observe on arriving at Port North-West, since it will of itself give some idea of the nature of the Government. The ship is boarded by a pilot one or two miles from the entrance to the port, who informs the commander that no person must go on shore, or any one be suffered to come on board until the ship has been visited by the officer of health, who comes soon after the ship has arrived at anchor in the mouth of the port, accompanied with an officer from the captain of the port, and, if it is a foreign ship, by an interpreter. If the health of the crew presents no objection, and after answering the questions put to him concerning the object of his coming to the island, the commander goes on shore in the French boat, and is desired to take with him all papers containing political information, and all letters, whether public or private, that are on board the vessel; and although there should be several parcels of newspapers of the same date, they must all go. On arriving at the Government House, to which he is accompanied by the officer and interpreter, and frequently by a guard, he sooner or later sees the Governor, or one of his aides-de-camp, who questions him upon his voyage, upon political intelligence, the vessels he has met at sea, his intentions in touching at the island, etc.; after which he is desired to leave his letters, packets, and newspapers, no matter to whom they are addressed. If he refuse this, or to give all the information he knows, however detrimental it may be to his own affairs, or appears to equivocate, if he escapes being imprisoned in the town he is sent back to his ship under a guard, and forbidden all communication with the shore. If he gives satisfaction, he is conducted from the General to the Prefect, to answer his questions, and if he satisfies him also, is then left at liberty to go to his consul and transact his business. The letters and packets left with the General, if not addressed to persons obnoxious to the Government, are sent unopened, according to their direction. I will not venture to say that the others are opened and afterwards destroyed, but it is much suspected. If the newspapers contain no intelligence but what is permitted to be known, they are also sent to their address. The others are retained; and for this reason it is that all the copies of the same paper are demanded, for the intention is not merely to gain intelligence, but to prevent what is disagreeable from being circulated.”
Decaen’s conduct in refusing to liberate Flinders when the order reached him need not be excused, but it should be understood. To impute sheer malignity to him does not help us much, nor does it supply a sufficient motive. What we know of his state of mind, as well as what we know of the financial position of the colony, induce the belief that he would have been quite glad to get rid of Flinders in 1807, had not other and stronger influences intervened. But he was a soldier, placed in an exceedingly precarious situation, which he could only maintain by determining not to lose a single chance. War is an affliction that scourges a larger number of those who do not fight than of those who do; and Flinders, with all his innocence, was one of its victims. He was thought to know too much. That was why he was “dangerous.” A learned French historian* stigmatises Decaen’s conduct as “maladroit and brutal, but not dishonest.” (* Prentout page 661.) Dishonest he never was; as to the other terms we need not dispute so long as we understand the peculiar twist of circumstances that intensified the maladroitness and brutality that marked the man, and without which, indeed, he would not perhaps have been the dogged, tough, hard-fighting, resolute soldier that he was.
Flinders could have escaped from Ile-de-France on several occasions, had he chosen to avail himself of opportunities. He did not, for two reasons, both in the highest degree honourable to him. The first was that he had given his parole, and would not break it; the second that escape would have meant sacrificing some of his precious papers. In May, 1806, an American captain rejoicing in the name of Gamaliel Matthew Ward called at Port Louis, and hearing of Flinders’ case, actually made arrangements for removing him. It was Flinders himself who prevented the daring skipper from carrying out his plan. “The dread of dishonouring my parole,” he wrote, “made me contemplate this plan with a fearful eye.”* (* Flinders’ Papers.) In December of the same year he wrote to John Aken: “Since I find so much time elapse, and no attention paid to my situation by the French Government, I have been very heartily sorry for having given my parole, as I could otherwise have made my escape long ago.” Again, he wrote to his wife: “Great risks must be run and sacrifices made, but my honour shall remain unstained. No captain in His Majesty’s Navy shall have cause to blush in calling me a brother officer.”