Steps were, however, taken by the King to stop the emigration. He
issued a decree ordering that the property and goods of all those
Protestants who had already escaped should be confiscated to the
Crown, unless they returned within three months from the date of the
Revocation. Then, with respect to the Protestants who remained in
France, he decreed that all French_men_ found attempting to escape
were to be sent to the galleys for life; and that all French_women_
found attempting to escape were to be imprisoned for life. The spies
who denounced the fugitive Protestants were rewarded by the
apportionment of half their goods.

This decree was not, however, considered sufficiently severe, and it
was shortly after followed by another, proclaiming that any captured
fugitives, as well as any person found acting as their guide, should
be condemned to death. Another royal decree was issued respecting
those fugitives who attempted to escape by sea. It was to the effect,
that before any ship was allowed to set sail for a foreign port, the
hold should be fumigated with a deadly gas, so that any hidden
Huguenot who could not otherwise be detected, might be suffocated to
death.

These measures, however, did not seem to have the effect of
"converting" the French Protestants. The Dragonnades were next
resorted to. Louis XIV. was pleased to call the dragoons his Booted
Missionaries, _ses missionnaires bottés_. The dragonnades are said to
have been the invention of Michel de Marillac, whose name will
doubtless descend to infamous notoriety, like those of Catherine de
Médicis, the Guises, and the authors of the Massacre of St.
Bartholomew.

Yet there was not much genius displayed in the invention of the
Dragonnades. It merely consisted in this: whenever it was found that a
town abounded with Huguenots, the dragoons, hussars, and troops of
various kinds were poured into it, and quartered on the inhabitants.
Twenty, thirty, or forty were quartered together, according to the
size of the house. They occupied every room; they beat their drums and
blew their trumpets; they smoked, drank, and swore, without any regard
to the infirm, the sick, or the dying, until the inmates were
"converted."

The whole army of France was let loose upon the Huguenots. They had
been beaten out of Holland by the Dutch Calvinists; and they could now
fearlessly take their revenge out of their unarmed Huguenot
fellow-countrymen. Whenever they quartered themselves in a dwelling,
it was, for the time being, their own. They rummaged the cellars,
drank the wines, ordered the best of everything, pillaged the house,
and treated everybody who belonged to it as a slave. The Huguenots
were not only compelled to provide for the entertainment of their
guests, but to pay them their wages. The superior officers were paid
fifteen francs a day, the lieutenants nine francs, and the common
soldiers three francs. If the money was not paid, the household
furniture, the horses and cows, and all the other articles that could
be seized, were publicly sold.

No wonder that so many Huguenots were "converted" by the dragoons.
Forty thousand persons were converted in Poitou. The regiment of
Asfeld was the instrument of their conversion. A company and a half of
dragoons occupied the house of a single lady at Poitiers until she was
converted to the Roman Catholic faith. What bravery!

The Huguenots of Languedoc were amongst the most obstinate of all.
They refused to be converted by the priests; and then Louis XIV.
determined to dragonnade them. About sixty thousand troops were
concentrated on the province. Noailles, the governor, shortly after
wrote to the King that he had converted the city of Nismes in
twenty-four hours. Twenty thousand converts had been made in
Montauban; and he promised that by the end of the month there would be
no more Huguenots left in Languedoc.

Many persons were doubtless converted by force, or by the fear of
being dragonnaded; but there were also many more who were ready to run
all risks rather than abjure their faith. Of those who abjured, the
greater number took the first opportunity of flying from France, by
land or by sea, and taking refuge in Switzerland, Germany, Holland, or
England. Many instances might be given of the heroic fortitude with
which the Huguenots bore the brutality of their enemies; but, for the
present, it may be sufficient to mention the case of the De Péchels of
Montauban.

The citizens of Montauban had been terribly treated before and after
the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. The town had been one of the
principal Huguenot places of refuge in France. Hence its population
was principally Protestant. Its university had been shut up. Its
churches had been levelled to the ground. Its professors and pastors
had been banished from France. And now it was to be dragonnaded.

The town was filled with troops, who were quartered on the
Protestants. One of the burgesses called upon the Intendant, threw
himself at his feet, and prayed to be delivered from the dragoons. "On
one condition only!" replied Dubois, "that you become a Catholic." "I
cannot," said the townsman, "because, if the Sultan quartered twenty
janissaries on me, I might, for the same reason, be forced to become a
Turk."

Although many of the townsmen pretended to be converted, the
Protestant chiefs held firm to their convictions, and resisted all
persuasions, promises, and threats, to induce them to abjure their
religion. Amongst them were Samuel de Péchels de la Boissonade and the
Marquise de Sabonnières, his wife, who, in the midst of many trials
and sorrows, preferred to do their duty to every other consideration.

The family of De Péchels had long been settled at Montauban. Being
regarded as among the heads of the Protestant party in Montauban, they
were marked out by the King's ministers for the most vigorous
treatment. When the troops entered the town on the 20th of August,
1685, they treated the inhabitants as if the town had been taken by
assault. The officers and soldiers vied with each other in committing
acts of violence. They were sanctioned by the magistrate, who
authorised their excesses, in conformity with the King's will. Tumult
and disorder prevailed everywhere. Houses were broken into. Persons of
the reformed religion, without regard to age, sex, or condition, were
treated with indignity. They were sworn at, threatened, and beaten.
Their families were turned out of doors. Every room in the house was
entered and ransacked of its plate, silk, linen, and clothes. When the
furniture was too heavy to be carried away, it was demolished. The
mirrors were slashed with swords, or shot at with pistols. In short,
so far as regarded their household possessions, the greater number of
the Protestants were completely ruined.

Samuel de Péchels de la Boissonade had no fewer than thirty-eight
dragoons and fusiliers quartered upon him. It was intended at first to
quarter these troopers on Roupeiroux, the King's adjutant; but having
promptly changed his religion to avoid the horrors of the dragonnade,
they were removed to the house of De Péchels, and he was ordered by
Chevalier Duc, their commander, to pay down the money which he had
failed to get from Roupeiroux, during the days that the troopers
should have occupied his house. De Péchels has himself told the story
of his sufferings, and we proceed to quote his own words:--

"Soon after," he says, "my house was filled with officers, troopers,
and their horses, who took possession of every room with such
unfeeling harshness that I could not reserve a single one for the use
of my family; nor could I make these unfeeling wretches listen to my
declaration that I was ready to give up all that I possessed without
resistance. Doors were broken open, boxes and cupboards forced. They
liked better to carry off what belonged to me in this violent manner
than to take the keys which my wife and I, standing on either side,
continued to offer. The granaries served for the reception of their
horses among the grain and meal, which the wretches, with the greatest
barbarity, made them trample underfoot. The very bread destined for my
little children, like the rest, was contemptuously trodden down by the
horses.

"Nothing could stop the brutality of these madmen. I was thrust out
into the street with my wife, now very near her confinement, and four
very young children, taking nothing with me but a little cradle and a
small supply of linen, for the babe whose birth was almost momentarily
expected. The street being full of people, diverted at seeing us thus
exposed, we were delayed some moments near the door, during which we
were pitilessly drenched by the troopers, who amused themselves at the
windows with emptying upon our heads pitchers of water, to add to
their enjoyment of our sad condition.

"From this moment I gave up both house and goods to be plundered,
without having in view any place of refuge but the street, ill suited,
it must be owned, for such a purpose, and especially so to a woman
expecting her confinement hourly, and to little children of too tender
an age to make their own way--some of them, indeed, being unable to
walk or speak--and having no hope but in the mercy of God and His
gracious protection."

De Péchels proceeded to the house of Marshal Boufflers, commander of
the district, thinking it probable that a man of honour, such as he
was supposed to be, would discourage such barbarities, and place the
dragoons under some sort of military control. But no! The Marshal
could not be found. He carefully kept out of the way of all Protestant
complainants. De Péchels, however, met Chevalier Duc, who commanded
the soldiers that had turned him out of his house. In answer to the
expostulations of De Péchels, the Chevalier gave him to understand
that the same treatment would be continued unless he "changed his
religion." "Then," answered De Péchels, "by God's help I never will."

At length, when De Péchels' house had been thoroughly stripped, and
the dragoons had decamped elsewhere, he received an order to return,
in order to entertain another detachment of soldiers. The criminal
judge, who had possession of the keys, entered the house, and found it
in extreme disorder. "I was obliged to remain in it," says De Péchels,
"amidst dirt and vermin, in obedience to the Intendant's orders,
reiterated in the strictest manner by the criminal judge, that I
should await the arrival of a fresh party of lodgers, who accordingly
came on the day following."

The new party consisted of six soldiers of the regiment of fusiliers,
who called themselves simply "missionaries," as distinct from the
"booted missionaries" who had just left. They were savage at not
finding anything to plunder, their predecessors having removed
everything in the shape of booty. The fusiliers were shortly followed
by six soldiers of Dampier's regiment, who were still more ferocious.
They gave De Péchels and his wife no peace day or night; they kept the
house in a constant uproar; swore and sang obscene songs, and carried
their insolence to the utmost pitch. At length De Péchels was forced
to quit the house, on account of his wife, who was near the time of
her confinement. These are his own words:--

"For a long time we were wandering through the streets, no one daring
to offer us an asylum, as the ordinance of the Intendant imposed a
fine of four or five hundred livres[89] upon any one who should
receive Protestants into their houses. My mother's house had long been
filled with soldiers, as well as that of my sister De Darassus; and
not knowing where to go, I suffered great agony of mind for fear my
poor wife should give birth to her infant in the street. In this
lamentable plight, the good providence of God led us to the house of
Mdlle. de Guarrison, my wife's sister, from whence, most fortunately,
a large number of soldiers, with their officers, were issuing. They
had occupied it for some time, and had allowed the family no rest. Now
they were changing their quarters, to continue their lawless mission
in some country town. The stillness of the house after their departure
induced us to enter it at once, and hardly had my wife accepted the
bed Mdlle. de Guarrison offered her, than she was happily delivered of
a daughter, blessed be God, who never leaves Himself without a witness
to those who fear His name.

         [Footnote 89: The French livre was worth three francs, or
         about two shillings and sixpence English money.]

"That same evening a great number of soldiers arrived, and took up
their quarters in M. de Guarrison's house, and two days after, this
burden was augmented by the addition of a colonel, a captain, and two
lieutenants, with a large company of soldiers and several servants,
all of whom conducted themselves with a degree of violence scarcely to
be described. They had no regard for the owners of the house, but
robbed them with impunity. They had no pity for my poor wife, weak and
ill as she was; nor for the helpless children, who suffered much under
these miserable conditions.

"Officers, soldiers, and servants pillaged the house with odious
rivalry, took possession of all the rooms, drove out the owners, and
obliged the poor sick woman (by their continual threats and abominable
conduct) to get up and try to retire to some other place. She crept
into the courtyard, where, with her infant, she was detained in the
cold for a long time by the soldiers, who would not allow her to quit
the premises. At length, however, my poor wife got into the street,
still, however, guarded by soldiers, who would not allow her to go out
of their sight, or to speak with any one. She complained to the
Intendant of their cruel ways, but instead of procuring her any
relief, he aggravated her affliction, ordering the soldiers to keep
strict watch over her, never to leave her, and to inform him with what
persons she found a refuge, that he might make them pay the penalty."

De Péchels' wife was thus under the necessity of sleeping, with her
babe and her children, in the street. After all was quiet, they sought
for a door-step, and lay down for the night under the stars.

Madame de Péchels at length found temporary shelter. Mademoiselle de
Delada, a friend of the Intendant, touched by the poor woman's sad
condition, implored the magistrate's permission to give her refuge;
and being a well-known Roman Catholic, she was at length permitted to
take Madame de Péchels and her babe into her house, but on condition
that four soldiers should still keep her in view. She remained there
for a short time, until she was able to leave her bed, when she was
privily removed to a country house belonging to Mademoiselle de
Delada, not far from the town of Montauban.

To return to Samuel de Péchels. His house was still overflowing with
soldiers. They proceeded to wreck what was left of his household
effects; they carried off and sold his papers and his library, which
was considerable. Some of the soldiers of Dampier's regiment carried
off in a sack a pair of brass chimney dogs, the shovel and tongs, a
grate, and some iron spits, the wretched remains of his household
furniture. They proceeded to lay waste his farms and carry off his
cattle, selling the latter by public auction in the square. They next
pulled down his house, and sold the materials. After this, ten
soldiers were quartered in a neighbouring tavern, at De Péchels'
expense. Not being able to pay the expenses, the Intendant sent some
archers to him to say that he would be carried off to prison unless
he changed his religion. To that proposal he answered, as before, that
"by the help of God he would never make that change, and that he was
quite prepared to go to any place to which his merciful Saviour might
lead him."

He was accordingly taken, into custody, and placed, for a time, in the
Royal Château. On the same day, his sister De Darassus was committed
to prison. Still holding steadfast by his faith, De Péchels was, after
a month's imprisonment at Montauban, removed to the prison of Cahors,
where he was put into the lowest dungeon. "By the grace of my
Saviour," said he, "I strengthened myself more in my determination to
die rather than renounce the truth."

After lying for more than three months in the dampest mould of the
lowest dungeon in the prison of Cahors, and being still found
immovable in his faith, De Péchels was ordered to be taken to the
citadel of Montpellier, to wait there until he could be transported to
America. His wife, the Marquise de Sabonnières, having heard of his
condemnation (though he was never tried), determined to see him before
he left France for ever. The road from Cahors to Montpellier did not
pass through Montauban, but a few miles to the east of it. Having
spent the night in prayer to God, that He might endow her with
firmness to sustain the trials of a scene, which was as heroic in her
as it was touching to those who witnessed it, she went forth in the
morning to wait along the roadside for the arrival of the illustrious
body of prisoners, who were on their way, some to the galleys, some to
banishment, some to imprisonment, and some to death.

At length the glorious band arrived. They were chained two and two.
They were for the most part ladies and gentlemen who had refused to
abjure their religion. Among them were M. Desparvés, a gentleman from
the neighbourhood of Laitoure, old and blind, led by his wife; M. de
la Rességuerie, of Montauban, and many more. Madame de Péchels
implored leave of the guard who conducted the prisoners to have an
interview with her husband. It was granted. She had been supplied with
the fortitude for which she had so ardently and piously prayed to God
during the whole of the past night. It seemed as if some supernatural
power had prompted the discourse with her husband, which softened the
hearts of those who, up to that time, had appeared inaccessible to the
sentiments of humanity. The superintendent allowed the noble couple to
pray together; after which they were separated without the least
weakness betraying itself on the part of Madame de Péchels, who
remained unmoved, whilst all the bystanders were melted into tears.
The procession of guards and prisoners then went on its way.

The trials of Madame de Péchels were not yet ended. Though she had
parted with her husband, who was now on his way to banishment, she had
still the children with her; and, cruellest torture of all! these were
now to be torn from her. One evening a devoted friend came to inform
her that a body of men were to arrive next morning and take her
children, even the baby from her breast, and immure them in a convent.
She was also informed that she herself was to be seized and
imprisoned.

The intelligence fell like a thunderbolt upon the tender mother. What
was she to do? Was she to abjure her religion? She prayed for help
from God. Part of the night was thus spent before she could make up
her mind to part from her innocent children, who were to be brought up
in a religion at variance with her own. In any case, a separation was
necessary. Could she not fly, like so many other Protestant women, and
live in hopes of better days to come? It was better to fly from France
than encounter the horrors of a French prison. Before she parted with
her children she embraced them while they slept; she withdrew a few
steps to tear herself from them, and again she came back to bid them a
last farewell!

At length, urged by the person who was about to give her a refuge in
his house, she consented to follow him. The man was a weaver by trade,
and all day long he carried on his work in the only room which he
possessed. Madame de Péchels passed the day in a recess, concealed by
the bed of her entertainers, and in the evening she came out, and the
good people supplied her with what was necessary. She passed six
months in this retreat, without any one knowing what had become of
her. It was thought that she had taken refuge in some foreign country.

Numbers of ladies had already been able to make their escape. The
frontier was strictly guarded by troops, police, and armed peasantry.
The high-roads as well as the byways were patrolled day and night, and
all the bridges were strongly guarded. But the fugitives avoided the
frequented routes. They travelled at night, and hid themselves during
the day. There were Protestant guides who knew every pathway leading
out of France, through forests, wastes, or mountain paths, where no
patrols were on the watch; and they thus succeeded in leading
thousands of refugee Protestants across the frontier. And thus it was
that Madame de Péchels was at length enabled, with the help of a
guide, to reach Geneva, one of the great refuges of the Huguenots.

On arrival there she felt the loss of her children more than ever.
She offered to the guide who had conducted her all the money that she
possessed to bring her one or other of her children. The eldest girl,
then nine or ten years old, was communicated with, but having already
tasted the pleasure of being her own mistress, she refused the
proposal to fly into Switzerland to join her mother. Her son Jacob was
next communicated with. He was seven years old. He was greatly moved
at the name of his mother, and he earnestly entreated to be taken to
where she was. The guide at once proceeded to fulfil his engagement.
The boy fled with him from France, passing for his son. The way was
long--some five hundred miles. The journey occupied them about three
weeks. They rested during the day, and travelled at night. They
avoided every danger, and at length the faithful guide was able to
place the loving son in the arms of his noble and affectionate mother.

Samuel de Péchels was condemned to banishment without the shadow of a
trial. He could not be dragooned into denying his faith, and he was
therefore imprisoned, preparatory to his expulsion from France. "I was
told," he said, "by the Sieur Raoul, Roqueton (or chief archer) to the
Intendant of Montauban, that if I would not change my religion, he had
orders from the King and the Intendant to convey me to the citadel of
Montpellier, from thence to be immediately shipped for America. My
reply was, that I was ready to go forthwith whithersoever it was God's
pleasure to lead me, and that assuredly, by God's help, I would make
no change in my religion."

After five months' imprisonment at Cahors, he was taken out and
marched, as already related, to the citadel of Montpellier. The
citadel adjoins the Peyrou, a lofty platform of rock, which commands
a splendid panoramic view of the surrounding country. It is now laid
out as a pleasure-ground, though it was then the principal
hanging-place of the Languedoc Protestants. Brousson, and many other
faithful pastors of the "Church in the Desert," laid down their lives
there. Half-a-dozen decaying corpses might sometimes be seen swinging
from the gibbets on which the ministers had been hung.

A more bitter fate was, however, reserved for De Péchels. After about
a month's imprisonment in the citadel, he was removed to Aiguesmortes,
under the charge of several mounted archers and foot soldiers. He was
accompanied by fourteen Protestant ladies and gentlemen, on their way
to perpetual imprisonment, to the galleys, or to banishment.
Aiguesmortes was the principal fortified dungeon in the south of
France, used for the imprisonment of Huguenots who refused to be
converted. It is situated close to the Mediterranean, and is
surrounded by lagunes and salt marshes. It is a most unhealthy place;
and imprisonment at Aiguesmortes was considered a slower but not a
less certain death than hanging. Sixteen Huguenot women were confined
there in 1686, and the whole of them died within five months. When the
prisoners died off, the place was at once filled again. The castle of
Aiguesmortes was thus used as a prison for nearly a hundred years.

De Péchels gives the following account of his journey from Montpellier
to Aiguesmortes:--"Mounted on asses, harnessed in the meanest manner,
without stirrups, and with wretched ropes for halters, we entered
Aiguesmortes, and were there locked up in the Tower of Constance, with
thirty other male prisoners and twenty women and girls, who had also
been brought hither, tied two and two. The men were placed in an
upper apartment of the tower, and the women and girls below, so that
we could hear each other pray to God and sing His praises with a loud
voice."

De Péchels did not long remain a prisoner at Aiguesmortes. He was
shortly after put on board a king's ship bound for Marseilles. He was
very ill during the voyage, suffering from seasickness and continual
fainting fits. On reaching Marseilles he was confined in the hospital
prison used for common felons and galley-slaves. It was called the
Chamber of Darkness, because of its want of light. The single
apartment contained two hundred and thirty prisoners. Some of them
were chained together, two and two; others, three and three. The
miserable palliasses on which they slept had been much worn by the
galley-slaves, who had used them during their illnesses. The women
were separated from the men by a linen cloth attached to the ceiling,
which was drawn across every evening, and formed the only partition
between them.

As may easily be supposed, the condition of the prisoners was
frightful. The swearing of the common felons was mixed with the
prayers of the Huguenots. The guards walked about all night to keep
watch and ward over them. They fell upon any who assembled and knelt
together, separating them and swearing at them, and mercilessly
ill-treating them, men and women alike. "But all their strictness and
rage," says De Péchels, "could not prevent one from seeing always, in
different parts of the dungeon, little groups upon their knees,
imploring the mercy of God and singing His praises, whilst others kept
near the guards so as to hinder them from interfering with the little
bands of worshippers."

At length the time arrived for the embarkation of the Huguenots for
America. On the 18th of September, 1687, De Péchels, with fifty-eight
men and twenty-one women, was put on board a _flûte_ called the
_Mary_--the French _flûte_ consisting of a heavy narrow-sterned
vessel, called in England a "pink." De Péchels was carefully separated
from all with whom he had formed habits of intimacy, and whose
presence near him would doubtless have helped him to bear the
bitterness of his fate. On the same day, ninety prisoners of both
sexes were embarked in another ship, named the _Concord_, bound for
the same destination. The two vessels set sail in the first place for
Toulon, in order to obtain an escort of two ships-of-war.

The voyage was very disastrous. Three hours after the squadron had
left Toulon, the _Mary_ was nearly dashed against a rock, owing to the
roughness of the weather. Three days after, a frightful storm arose,
and dashed the prisoners against each other. All were sick; indeed, De
Péchels' malady lasted during the entire voyage. The squadron first
cast anchor amongst the Formentera Islands, off the coast of Spain,
where they took in water. On the next day they anchored in the Straits
of Gibraltar for the same purpose. They next sailed for Cadiz, but a
strong west wind having set in, the ship was forced back to the road
of Gibraltar. After waiting there for three days they again started,
under the shelter of a Dutch fleet of eighteen sail, "which," says De
Péchels, "providentially saved us from falling into the hands of the
Algerine corsairs, some of whom had appeared in sight, and from whose
hands God, in His great mercy, delivered us." As if the Algerine
corsairs would have treated the Huguenots worse than their own king
was now treating them. The Algerine corsairs would have sold them into
slavery; whilst the French king was transporting them to America for
the same purpose.

At length the squadron reached Cadiz roads. Many ships were
there--English as well as Dutch. When the foreigners heard of the
state and misfortunes of the Huguenots on board the French ships, they
came to visit them in their anchoring ground, and were profuse in
their charity to the prisoners for conscience' sake confined in the
two French vessels. "God, who never leaves Himself without witness,
brought us consolation and relief from this town, where superstition
and bigotry reign in their fullest force." As it was in De Péchels'
day, so it is now.

At length the French squadron set sail for America. The voyage was
tedious and miserable. There were about a hundred and thirty prisoners
on board. Seventy of them were sick felons, chained with heavy irons.
Being useless for the French galleys, they were now being transported
to America, to be sold as slaves. The imprisoned Huguenots--men and
women--were fifty-nine in number. They were crammed into a part of the
ship that could scarcely hold them. They could not stand upright; nor
could they lie down. They had to lie upon each other. The den was
moreover very dark, the only light that entered it being through the
narrow hatchway; and even this was often closed. The wonder is that
they were not suffocated outright.

The burning heat of the sun shining on the deck above them, the
never-ceasing fire of the kitchen, which was situated alongside their
place of confinement, created such a stifling heat, that the prisoners
had to take off their shirts to relieve their agony. The horrid stench
arising from so many persons being crowded together, and the entire
want of the means of cleanliness, caused the inmates to become covered
with vermin. They were also tormented by the intolerable thirst which
no means were taken to allay. Their feeding was horrible; for they
must be kept alive in some way, in order that the intentions of their
gracious sovereign might be carried into effect. One day they had
stinking salt beef; the next, cod fish half boiled; then peas as hard
as when they were put into the pot; and at other times, dried cod
fish, or rank cheese. These things, together with the violent motion
of the sea, occasioned severe sickness, from which many of the
sufferers were relieved by death. This deplorable voyage extended over
five months. Here is De Péchels' account of the sufferings of the
prisoners, written in his own words:--

"The intense and suffocating heat, the horrible odour, the maddening
swarm of vermin that devoured us, the incessant thirst and wretched
fare, sufficed not to satisfy our overseers. They sometimes struck us
rudely, and very often threw down sea-water upon us, when they saw us
engaged in prayer and praise to God. The common talk of these enemies
of the truth was how they would hang, when they came to America, every
man who would not go to mass, and how they would deliver the women to
the natives. But far from being frightened at these threats, or even
moved by all the barbarities of which we were the victims, many of us
felt a secret joy that we were chosen to suffer for the holy name of
Jesus, who strengthened us with a willingness to die for His sake. For
myself, these menaces had been so often repeated during my
imprisonments, that they had become familiar; insomuch that, far from
being shaken by them any more than by the sufferings to which it had
pleased my Saviour to call me, I considered them as transient things,
not worthy to be weighed against the glory to come, and such as would
procure me a weight of glory supremely excellent. 'Blessed are they
who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom
of heaven.'"

On the 2nd of January, 1688, the island of San Domingo came in sight.
It was for the most part inhabited by savages. The French had a
settlement on the west coast of the island, and the Spaniards occupied
the eastern part. Dense forests separated the two settlements. The
_Mary_ coasted along the island, and afterwards made sail for
Guadaloupe, another colony belonging to the French. The ship seemed as
yet to have had no proper destination, for, four days later, the
_Mary_ weighed her anchor, and sailed to St. Christopher, another
island partly belonging to the French. "It was well situated," says De
Péchels, "as may readily be believed, when I add that it possessed a
colony of Jesuits--an order which never selects a bad situation. The
Jesuits here are very rich and in high repute. Two of the fraternity,
having come on board, were received by the crew with every
demonstration of respect; and on their retirement, three guns were
fired as a mark of honour to the distinguished visitors."

The Huguenots were still under hatches,--weary, longing, wretched, and
miserable. They were most anxious to be put on shore--anywhere, even
among savages. But the _Mary_ had not yet arrived at her destination.
She again set sail, and passed St. Kitts, St. Eustace, St. Croix,
Porto Rico, and at length again reached San Domingo. The ship dropped
anchor before Port au Prince, the residence of the governor. The
galley-slaves were disembarked and sold. Some of the Huguenots were
also sold for slaves, though De Péchels was not among them. The rest
were transferred to the _Maria_, a king's ship, commanded by M. de
Beauguay, who treated the prisoners with much humanity. The ship then
set sail for Léogane, another part of the colony, where the remaining
Huguenots were disembarked. They were quartered on the inhabitants at
the pleasure of the governor.

De Péchels says that he passed his time at this place in tranquillity,
waiting till it might please God to afford him an opportunity of
escaping from his troubles. He visited the inhabitants, especially
those of his own religious persuasion--a circumstance which gave much
umbrage to the Dominican monks. They ordered some of the bigots among
their parishioners to lodge a complaint against him with the governor,
to the effect that he was hindering his fellow-prisoners from becoming
Roman Catholics, and preventing those who had become so from going to
mass. He accordingly received a verbal command from M. Dumas, the
King's lieutenant, to repair immediately to Avache (probably La
Vache), an island about a hundred leagues distant from Léogane. He was
accordingly despatched by ship to Avache, which he reached on the 8th
of June. He was put in charge of Captain Laurans, a renowned
freebooter, and was specially lodged under his roof. The captain was
ordered never to lose sight of his prisoner.

De Péchels suffered much at this place in consequence of the intense
heat, and the insects, mosquitoes, and horrible flies by which he was
surrounded. "And yet," he says, "God in His great mercy willed that in
this very place I should find the means of escaping from my exile, and
making my way to the English island of Jamaica. On the 13th of August
a little shallop of that generous nation, in its course from the
island of St. Thomas to Jamaica, stopped at Avache to water and take
provisions. Two months already had I watched for such an opportunity,
and now that God had presented me with this, I thought it should not
be neglected. So fully was I persuaded of this, that without
reflecting upon the smallness of the shallop, I put myself on board
with victuals for four days, although assured that the passage would
only occupy three. But instead of performing the passage in three
days, as we had thought, it was ten days before we made the island,
during the whole of which time I was constantly unwell from bad
weather and consequent seasickness. During the last three days I
suffered also from hunger, my provisions being spent, with the
exception of some little wretched food, salt and smoky, which the
sailors eat to keep themselves from starving. God, in His great
compassion, preserved me from all dangers, and brought me happily to
Jamaica, where, however, I thought to leave my bones."

The voyage was followed by a serious illness. De Péchels was obliged
to take to his bed, where he lay for fifteen days prostrated by fever,
accompanied by incessant pains in his head. After the fever had left
him, he could neither walk nor stand. By slow degrees his strength
returned. He was at length able to walk; and he then began to make
arrangements for setting out for England. On the 1st of October he
embarked on board an English vessel bound for London. During his
voyage north he suffered from cold, as much as he had before suffered
from heat. At length the coast of England was sighted. Two days after,
the ship reached the Downs; and on the 22nd of December it was borne
up the Thames by the tide, to within about seven miles from London
Bridge. There the ship stopped to discharge part of her cargo; and De
Péchels, having taken his place on board a small sloop for the great
city, arrived there at ten o'clock the same night.

On arrival in London, De Péchels proceeded to make inquiry amongst his
Huguenot friends--who had by that time reached England in great
numbers--for his wife, his children, his mother, and his sisters.
Alas! what disappointment! He found no wife, no child, nor any
relation ready to welcome him. His wife, however, was living at
Geneva, with their only son; for the youngest had died at Montauban
during De Péchels' exile. His daughters were still at Montauban--the
eldest in a convent. His mother and youngest sister were both in
prison--the one at Moissac, the other at Auvillard. A message was,
however, sent to Madame de Péchels, that her husband was now in
England, and longing to meet her.

It was long before the message reached Madame de Péchels; and still
longer before she could join her husband in London. While at Geneva,
she had maintained herself and her son by the work of her hands. On
receiving the message she immediately set out, but her voyage could
not fail to be one of hardship to a person in her reduced
circumstances. We are not informed how she and her son contrived to
travel the long distance of eight hundred miles (by way of the Rhine
and Holland) from Geneva to London; but at length she reached the
English capital, when she had the mortification to find that her
husband was not there, but had left London for Ireland only four days
before. During the absence of her husband, Madame de Péchels, whose
courage never abandoned her, chose rather to stoop to the most
toilsome labours than to have recourse to the charity of the
government, of which many, less self-helping, or perhaps more
necessitous, did not scruple to take advantage.

We must now revert to the circumstances under which De Péchels left
London for Ireland. At the time when he arrived in England, the
country was in the throes of a Revolution. Only a month before,
William of Orange had landed at Torbay, with a large body of troops,
a considerable proportion of which consisted of Huguenot officers and
soldiers. There were three strong regiments of Huguenot infantry, and
a complete squadron of Huguenot cavalry. Marshal Schomberg, next in
command to William of Orange, was a banished Huguenot; and many of his
principal officers were French.

James II. had so distinctly shown his disposition to carry back the
nation to the Roman Catholic religion, that the Prince of Orange, on
his landing at Torbay, was hailed as the deliverer of England. His
troops advanced direct upon London. He was daily joined by fresh
adherents; by the gentry, officers, and soldiers. There was scarcely a
show of resistance; and when he entered London, James was getting on
board a smack in the Thames, and slinking ignominiously out of his
kingdom. Towards the end of June, 1689, William and Mary were
proclaimed King and Queen of Great Britain; and they were solemnly
crowned at Westminster about three months after.

But James II. had not yet been got rid of. In the spring of 1689 he
landed at Kinsale, in Ireland, with substantial help obtained from the
French king. Before many weeks had elapsed, forty thousand Irish stood
in arms to support his cause. It was clear that William III. must
fight for his throne, and that Ireland was to be the battle-field. He
accordingly called his forces together again--for the greater part had
been disbanded--when he prepared to take the field in person. Four
Huguenot regiments were at once raised, three infantry regiments, and
one cavalry regiment. The cavalry regiment was raised by Marshal
Schomberg, its colonel. It was composed of French gentlemen, privates
as well as officers. De Péchels was offered a commission in the
regiment, which he cheerfully accepted. He assumed the name of his
barony, La Boissonade, as was common in those days; and he acted as
lieutenant in the company of La Fontain.

The regiment, when completed, was at once despatched to the north of
Ireland to join the little army of about ten thousand Protestants, who
had already laid siege to and taken the fortified town of
Carrickfergus. Schomberg's regiment embarked from Chester, on Monday,
the 25th of August, 1689; and on the following Saturday the squadron
arrived in Belfast Lough. The troopers were landed a little to the
west of Carrickfergus, and marched along the road towards Belfast,
which is still known as "Troopers' Lane." Next day the Duke moved on
in pursuit of the enemy. The regiment passed through Belfast, which
was then a very small place. It consisted of a few streets of thatched
cottages, grouped around what is now known as the High Street of
Belfast. Schomberg's regiment joined the infantry and the
Enniskilleners, who were encamped in a wood on the west of the town.

Next morning the little army started in pursuit of the enemy, who,
though in much greater numbers, fled before them, laying waste the
country. At night Schomberg's troops encamped at Lisburn; on the
following day at Dromore; on the third at Brickclay (this must be
Loughbrickland); and then on to Newry. All the villages they passed
were either burnt or burning. At length they heard that James's Irish
army was at Newry, and that the Duke of Berwick (James's natural son)
was in possession of the town with a strong body of horse. But before
Schomberg could reach the place the Duke of Berwick had evacuated it,
leaving the town in flames. The Duke had fled with such haste that he
had left some of his baggage behind him, and thrown his cannon into
the river. Schomberg ordered his cavalry to advance rapidly upon
Dundalk, in order to prevent the town from sharing the same fate as
Newry. This forced march took the enemy by surprise. They suddenly
abandoned Dundalk, without burning it, and never paused until they had
reached the entrenched camp of King James.

The weather had now become cold, dreary, and rainy. Provisions were
scarcely to be had. The people of Dundalk were themselves starving.
Strong bodies of cavalry foraged the country, but were able to find
next to nothing in the shape of food for themselves, or corn for their
horses. The ships from England, laden with provisions which ought to
have arrived at Belfast, were forced back by contrary winds. Thus the
army was becoming rapidly famished. Disease soon made its appearance,
and carried off the men by hundreds. Schomberg's camp, outside
Dundalk, was situated by the side of a marsh--a most unwholesome
position; but the marsh protected him from the enemy, who were not far
off. The rain and snow continued; the men and the horses were
perpetually drenched; and scouring winds blew across the camp. Ague,
dysentery, and fever everywhere prevailed. Dalrymple has recorded that
of fifteen thousand men who belonged to Schomberg's army, not less
than eight thousand perished. Under these circumstances, the greatly
reduced force broke up from their cantonments and went into winter
quarters. Schomberg's cavalry regiment was stationed at Lurgan, then a
small village, which happily had not been burnt. De Péchels was one of
those who had been sick in camp, and was disabled from pursuing the
campaign further. After remaining for some weeks at Lurgan, he
obtained leave from the Duke of Schomberg to return to London. And
there, after the lapse of four years, he found and embraced his
beloved and noble wife.

De Péchels continued invalided, and was unable to rejoin the army of
King William. "After some stay in London," he says, in the memoir from
which the above extracts are made, "it was the King's pleasure to
exempt from further service certain officers specified by name, and to
assign them a pension. Through a kind Providence I was included in the
number. When I had lived in London on the pension which it had pleased
the king to allow those officers who were no longer in a position to
serve him, until the 1st of August, 1692, I then left that city, in
company with my wife and son, to remove into Ireland, whither my
pension was transferred."

De Péchels accordingly arrived in Dublin, where he spent the rest of
his days in peace and quiet. He lived to experience the truth of the
promise "that every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or
sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands for my
name's sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit
everlasting life." De Péchels died in 1732, at a ripe old age, in his
eighty-seventh year, and was interred in the Huguenot cemetery in the
neighbourhood of Dublin.

And what of the children left by De Péchels at Montauban? The two
daughters who were torn from their mother's care, and immured in a
convent, were brought up in the Roman Catholic faith. The little boy,
who was also taken from her, died shortly after. The daughters
accordingly secured the possession of the family estates. The eldest
married M. de Cahuzac, and the youngest, who was taken as a babe from
her mother's breast, married M. de St. Sardos; and the descendants of
the latter still possess La Boissonade, which exists as an old château
near Montauban.

It was left for Jacob de Péchels, the only son of Samuel de Péchels
and his wife, the Marquise de Sabonnières, to build up the family
fortunes in England. Following the military instincts of the French,
he entered the English army at an early age. His name was entered
"Pechell" in his War Office commission. Probably this change of name
originated in the disposition of the naturalised Huguenots to adopt
names of an English sound rather than to retain their French names.
Numerous instances of this have already been given.[90] Jacob Pechell
was a gallant officer. He rose in the army, step by step. He fought
through the wars in the Low Countries, under Marlborough and Ligonier,
the latter being a Huguenot like himself. He rose through the various
grades of ensign, lieutenant, captain, and major, until he attained
the rank of colonel of the 16th regiment. Colonel Pechell married an
Irish heiress, Jane Elizabeth Boyd, descended from the Earls of
Kilmarnock. By her he had three sons and a daughter. Samuel, the
eldest, studied law, and became a Master in Chancery. George and Paul
obedient to their military instincts, entered the army, and became
distinguished officers. George was killed at Carthagena, and it was
left for Paul to maintain the fortunes of the family.

         [Footnote 90: In "The Huguenots in England and Ireland," 319,
         323, last edition.]

In those days the exiled Huguenots and their descendants lived very
much together. They married into each other's families. The richer
helped the poorer. There were distinguished French social circles,
where, though their country was forbidden them, they delighted to
speak in their own language. Like many others, the Pechells
intermarried with Huguenot families. Thus Samuel Pechell married the
daughter of François Gaultier, Esq., and his sister Mary married
Brigadier-General Cailland, of Aston Rowant.

Among the distinguished French nobles in London was the Marquis de
Montandre, descended from the De la Rochefoucaulds, one of the
greatest families in France. De Montandre was a field-marshal in the
English army, having rendered important services in the Spanish war.
His wife was daughter of Baron de Spanheim, Ambassador Extraordinary
for the King of Prussia, and descended from another Protestant
refugee. The field-marshal left his fortune to his wife, and when she
died, she left Samuel Pechell, Master in Chancery, her sole executor
and residuary legatee. The sum of money to which he became entitled on
her decease amounted to upwards of £40,000. But Mr. Pechell, from a
highly sensitive conscience--such as is rarely equalled--did not feel
himself perfectly justified in acquiring so large a fortune until he
knew that there were no relations of the testatrix in existence, whose
claim to inherit the property might be greater than his own. He
therefore collected all her effects, and put them into Chancery, in
order that those who could make good their claims by kindred to the
Marchioness might do so before the Chancellor. Accordingly, one family
from Berlin and another from Geneva appeared, and claimed, and
obtained the inheritance. These relations, in acknowledgment of the
kindness and honesty of Mr. Pechell, resolved on presenting him with a
set of Sèvres china, which was at that time beyond all price in value.
It could only be had as a great favour from the manufactory at Sèvres,
and was only purchased by, or presented to, crowned heads.[91]

         [Footnote 91: This china is now at Castle Goring, and, with
         the whole of the family documents, is in the possession of
         the Dowager Lady Burrell.]

Paul Pechell, who had entered the army, became a distinguished
officer, and rose to the rank of general. In 1797 he was created a
baronet, and married Mary, the only daughter and heiress of Thomas
Brooke, Esq., of Pagglesham, Essex. His eldest son, Sir Thomas, was a
major-general in the army, and was for some time M.P. for Downton. The
second son, Augustus, was appointed Receiver-General of the Post
Office in 1785, and of the Customs in 1790. Many of his descendants
still survive, and the baronetcy reverted to his second son. He was
succeeded by his two sons, one of whom became rear-admiral, and the
other vice-admiral. The latter, Sir George Richard Brooke Pechell,
entered the Royal Navy in 1803, and served with distinction in several
engagements. After the peace, he represented the important borough of
Brighton in Parliament for twenty-four years. He married the daughter
and coheir of Cecil, Lord Zouche, and added Castle Goring to part of
the ancient possessions of the Bisshopp family, which she inherited at
her father's death.