Kitabı oku: «Devonshire Characters and Strange Events», sayfa 38
It is not my purpose to follow his political career, but to confine myself to his private life. The days of sevenpenny dinners in the Chancery Lane eating-house were left behind. He unbent after labours of the day in the Literary Club founded by Johnson in 1764, where he met Goldsmith and Sir William Jones, Reynolds, his fellow Devonian, who twice painted his portrait, Gibbon, and Burke. That Johnson and he entertained a mutual admiration is evinced by a conversation recorded by Boswell. “I told him,” says the biographer, “that I had talked of him to Mr. Dunning a few days before, and had said that in his company we did not so much as interchange conversation as listen to him; and that Dunning observed upon this, ‘One is always willing to listen to Dr. Johnson.’ To which I answered, ‘That is a great deal for you, Sir.’ ‘Yes, Sir,’ (said Johnson), ‘a great deal indeed. Here is a man willing to listen, to whom the world is listening all the rest of the year.’”
Dunning now purchased for £4700 the residue of a lease of ninety-nine years of the manors of Spitchwick and Widdecombe. In a letter to his sister he says that the length to which his lease would run would be sixty-three years. It was actually eighty-eight; and he made a very good bargain by the purchase. He built the ugly house at Spitchwick where had formerly stood a chapel of S. Laurence, and did much planting. He had an old servant, John Hext, brought up to London by him from Ashburton. One day the man was late in attendance. “What has delayed thee, John?” asked Dunning. “I was listening to a man playing on the crowd.” “Crowd! crowd! John, that word is dead and buried; say a violin.” On another occasion John Hext, remembering his orders, was remonstrated with by his master for waiting about at the Temple Gate. “I was only waiting,” said John, “till the violin of the people had gone by.”
Dunning was very proud of being lord of the manors of Pridhamsleigh, Spitchwick, and Widdecombe, and he was boasting of his possession to some friends in London when “Jack Lee,” afterwards Solicitor-General, said: “Aye, Dunning, you may have manors in Devonshire. It is a pity you did not bring your manners up to Town and to Westminster.”
Whilst holding office as Solicitor-General, during a recess, he and Colonel Isaac Barré, his friend and colleague in the representation of Calne, visited Berlin. “As distinguished members of the British Legislature the two friends received marked attention at the Court of Frederick the Great. When presented by their proper titles, the military chiefs surrounding the throne of the Soldier-King naturally concluded that a Solicitor-General of England must occupy a high position in the British Army. The latter part of the title they could understand, while the prefix ‘solicitor’ was doubtless some foreign equivalent to that of major or lieutenant. Clearly the proper way to entertain the English officers was to invite them to a grand review of the Prussian Army. The invitation was issued with a courteous intimation that suitable means of conveyance to the field would be duly provided. At the appointed hour the two guests of royalty were ready – Col. Barré in full military costume, and Dunning fully arrayed in court suit, bag-wig, dress-sword, and silk hose, with brilliant buckles at knee and instep. On descending to the door of the hotel the latter shrank back with dismay at finding, instead of the expected chariot, two orderly dragoons holding the bridles of a couple of prancing chargers duly caparisoned for the field. Col. Barré was soon in the saddle; but it was not without some hesitation and the undignified help of the soldiers that the great lawyer succeeded in attaining a like elevation. Once wedged in the hollow of the demi-pique saddle, with its holsters in front and its raised cantle behind, he felt tolerably secure. But your horse has a quick perception of the capacity of his rider, and the proud steed on which Dunning rode chose to exercise his own discretion with regard to his movements. To their unconcealed amusement, the great Frederick and his staff were treated to an equestrian spectacle not set down in the programme of the day. Finding at last that these antics were getting somewhat too lively for him to cope with, poor Dunning was fain to beg for assistance in escaping from the back of his wilful quadruped, and the Prussian monarch and his suite became aware that their English allies had generals in Westminster Hall whose charges bore no affinity to charges in the field of war.”
In London John Dunning was visited by his mother and father. The former did not by any means approve of the luxury of his table, and scolded him for extravagant housekeeping. But the father was puffed up with elation at seeing that his son had become so great a man. Neither lived to see him raised to the peerage.
Dunning was nearly fifty years old before he married, and then he took to him Elizabeth the daughter of John Baring, of Exeter, who was half his age. They were married at St. Leonard’s by Exeter on 31 March, 1780, as at that time John Baring and his family resided at Larkbeare in that parish.
Lord North’s Ministry fell, and a new administration was undertaken by the Marquess of Rockingham. Lord Shelburne became Secretary of State, and at his recommendation Dunning was given a coronet. His patent of nobility bore the date 8 April, 1782, and the title he assumed was that of Baron Ashburton. There were hot jealousies in the party, and the Marquess of Rockingham was highly incensed at the coronet being granted to Dunning without his having been consulted. The Rockinghamites insisted on peer for peer, and accordingly Sir Fletcher Norton was raised to the peerage in a very great hurry to keep them quiet.
Lord Ashburton’s health began to fail almost as soon as he married. At the age of fifty-one his constitution was completely broken, and Lady Ashburton could look for a happy release from a very disagreeable husband in a very short time. Dunning expired at Exmouth on 18 August, 1783, after repeated attacks of paralysis, leaving one son, Richard Barré, then fifteen months old, to be second Lord Ashburton, and last of the first creation.
In spite of a coarseness, almost brutality of manner, and his unpleasant tricks of hawking and spitting, Dunning managed to make friends, and perhaps even inspire affection. Sir William Jones felt or pretended to feel deep emotion at his death. He wrote: “For some months before his death the nursery had been his chief delight, and gave him more pleasure than the Cabinet could have afforded. But his parental affection, which had been the source of so much felicity, was probably the cause of his fatal illness. He had lost one son, and expected to lose the other, when the author of this painful tribute to his memory parted from him with tears in his eyes, little hoping to see him again in a perishable state.
“As he perceives without affectation that his tears now steal from him, and begin to moisten the paper on which he writes, he reluctantly leaves a subject which he could not soon have exhausted; and when he also shall resign his life to the great Giver of it, he desires no other decoration of his humble gravestone than this honourable truth: —
With none to flatter, none to recommend,
Dunning approved and marked him as a friend.”
After the death of Dunning, his widow, Lady Ashburton, resided at Spitchwick, and on her decease it was occupied by Miss Baring.
If Dunning hoped to found a family and transmit his manors and lands and houses and wealth to a long line of descendants, his hope was frustrated. His son, Richard Barré, second Baron Ashburton, married in 1805 Anne Selby, daughter of William Cunninghame, of Lainshaw, co. Ayr, and he died in 1823 without issue, and bequeathed his estates to his wife for life, then to his wife’s nephews for life, and then to his wife’s nieces, Margaret, Elizabeth, Anna Maria Isabella Macleod, in succession for life, the survivor having the estates in fee simple. The nephew, James Edward, Baron Cranstoun, who died in 1869, and Charles his brother, who succeeded to the title and died soon after, had but a life interest in the estates. These now passed to Margaret, Baroness de Virte, daughter of Robert Macleod, of Cadboll, co. Cromarty, who had married Isabella Cunninghame, sister of Lady Ashburton. Baroness de Virte died in 1904. Her youngest sister, Anna Maria Isabella,39 who had married John Wilson, of Seacroft, Yorkshire, had died the year before the Baroness, and left two sons; the eldest had died before her; and of those that survive, the senior inherited the Yorkshire estates, and the younger, Arthur Henry Wilson, Esq., now owns those obtained by John Dunning, and Sandridge Park by Totnes as well. John Dunning, first Lord Ashburton, was buried in Ashburton Church, where is his monument, now obscured by the organ which is planted before it.
Richard Barré, second Lord Ashburton, in bequeathing his estates to his wife’s relations, excepted Guatham, the ancestral farm and acres. These he left to any Dunning who could claim relationship, though he added that he did not know that any such existed. However, one did appear and established his connexion and obtained Guatham, and it has been sold to the Lopes family at Maristowe. The arms granted to John Dunning, first Lord Ashburton, were: Bendy, sinister of eight, or and vert, a lion rampant sable – certainly a very ugly coat and bad heraldry. The crest, an antelope’s head, couped proper, attired proper.
For much of the information contained in this article I am indebted to an admirable “Memoir of John Dunning, First Lord Ashburton,” by the late Robert Dymond, in the Transactions of the Devonshire Association for 1876. Also to a “Life of John Dunning” in the Penny Cyclopædia for 1837.
GOVERNOR SHORTLAND AND THE PRINCETOWN MASSACRE
On the 18th June, 1812, the United States of America declared war with Great Britain. Since Napoleon’s Edict of Berlin, 21 November, 1806, which had closed all the ports of Europe that he could control against English merchandise, there had been considerable tension, breaking out into ill-will, between the States and Britain. By Orders of Council, our vessels were empowered to stop and search American ships for deserters from our navy, and for contraband of war, although the Orders were relaxed as far as America was concerned for the ports of Germany and of the Baltic, yet our interference hampered her growing trade with France, and this was forbidden by the above Orders. The States cast a covetous eye on Canada, and hoped to cripple our trade with the West Indian Islands. Indeed, the declaration of war was kept secret for some days so as to afford opportunity for the armed vessels of the States to intercept the sugar fleet before it and its convoy had received news that war was declared.
Prisoners began to arrive at Plymouth, mainly seamen captured from merchant vessels, and were sent to the Hector and Le Brave, two line-of-battle ships unfit for service at sea and now anchored in the Hamoaze. The officers were entitled to reside on parole in Ashburton, and were allowed by the British Government eighteenpence a day each man for their lodging and board and washing. They were suffered every day to walk a mile along the Exeter or the Totnes road, but were required every evening to return to their respective lodgings and there remain till the next morning. But such officers as broke parole were sent to the common sea-mess on board one or other of the ships above-mentioned.
The French officers had shown conspicuous indifference about keeping their parole. Between 1809 and 1812 five hundred officers violated their paroles and effected their escapes. A good many American officers were equally unscrupulous.
We have the journal of an American prisoner, Charles Andrews, who was one of the first taken and who remained in durance till the end of the war. His statement was countersigned as a genuine record of facts by fourteen captains, two lieutenants, one doctor, and forty-five others who had shared the long captivity with him.
There were other American prisoners at Chatham and at Portsmouth, but with them we have no concern.
Every prisoner sent to one of the two ships for their accommodation in the Hamoaze was given a coarse hammock with a mattress, the latter with from 3 to 4 lb. of chopped rags and flock in it, “one coarse and sleazy blanket,” and these were to last for the twelvemonth. To each man was allowed 11⁄2 lb. of poor coarse bread, 1⁄2 lb. beef including bone, 1⁄3 oz. of salt, and one or two turnips per man. These rations were for five days in the week: the other two were fish days, 1 lb. salt haddock, 1 lb. potatoes and bread as before, then constituted the fare.
From the summer of 1812 to April, 1813, there were seven hundred prisoners on board these vessels at Plymouth. They suffered from want of many conveniences and comforts. They had no change of clothes and linen, some had their garments completely worn out; they were not provided with combs and brushes, tea, coffee, boots and shoes. The American Government had appointed a Mr. Ruben G. Beasley as its agent in England to see to the comfort of the prisoners, and he was furnished with money by that Government for the supply of all that was needful to make the captivity endurable by those who had to endure it. But he pocketed the money and only doled out some to Jews who undertook to supply certain articles to the prisoners, few and bad, short in quantity and bad in quality. The American prisoners wrote repeatedly in complaint to Mr. Beasley, pointing out that they were half-starved, in bad health, shoeless, nearly naked. But he did not even trouble to answer the letters and made no inquiry as to the real condition of the complainants. Added to their discomforts was the fact that they were devoured by vermin, and had no means of keeping themselves clean.
On 2 April, 1813, an order was issued for the American prisoners to be transferred to Princetown, with their hammocks, baggage, etc., and on that day 250 men were so dispatched. “Orders were given to march at 10.30 in the morning, with a positive injunction that no prisoners should step out of or leave the ranks, on pain of instant death. Thus we marched, surrounded by a strong guard, through a heavy rain, over a bad road, with only our usual and scanty allowance of bread and fish. We were allowed to stop only once during the march of seventeen miles.
“We arrived at Dartmoor late in the afterpart of the day, and found the ground covered with snow.
“The prison of Dartmoor is situated on the east side of one of the highest and most barren mountains in England, and is surrounded on all sides as far as the eye can see by the gloomy features of a black moor, uncultivated and uninhabited, except by one or two miserable cottages, just discernible in an eastern view, the tenants of which live by cutting turf on the moor and selling it at the prison. The place is deprived of everything that is pleasant or agreeable, and is productive of nothing but human woe and misery. Even riches, pleasant friends, and liberty could not make it agreeable. It is situated seven miles from the little village of Tavistock.
“On entering this depôt of living death, we first passed through the gates and found ourselves surrounded by two huge circular walls, the outer one of which is two miles in circumference and 16 ft. high. The inner wall is distant from the outer 30 ft., around which is a chain of bells suspended by a wire, so that the least touch sets every bell in motion and alarms the garrison. On the top of the inner wall is placed a guard at the distance of every 20 ft. Between the two walls and over the intermediate space are also stationed guards.
“Thus much for the courtyard of this seminary of misery. We shall next proceed to give a description of the gloomy mansion itself. On entering we find seven prisons enclosed in the following manner, and situated quite within all the walls before-mentioned. Prisons 1, 2, and 3 are built of hard, rough, unhewn stone three storeys high, 180 ft. long and 40 ft. broad; each of these prisons on an average can contain 1500 prisoners. There is also attached to the yard a house of correction, called a cachot; this is built of large stone, arched above and floored with the same. Into this cold, dark, and damp cell, the unhappy prisoner is cast if he offend against the rules of the prison, either willingly or inadvertently, and often on the most frivolous pretext. There he must remain for many days, and often weeks, on two-thirds the usual allowance of food, without a hammock or a bed, and nothing but a stone pavement for his chair and bed. These three prisons are situated on the north side of the enclosure, as is also the cachot, and separated from the other prisons by a wall. Next to these is another, No. 4, equally as large as any of the others, this is separated from all the rest by a wall on each side, and stands in the centre of the circular walls.
“Adjoining this are situated prisons Nos. 5, 6, and 7, along the south side of the circular wall.”
The prisons had been erected at a cost of £130,000 in 1809, and consisted of five radiating blocks of buildings, like spokes of a wheel, and two other blocks nearer the entrance. These two constituted, one the hospital, the other the residence of the petty officers. A segment cut off from the inner circle contained the governor’s house and the other buildings necessary for the civil establishment; and into this part of the ground the country people were admitted and a daily market was held, where vegetables and such other things as the prisoners might care to purchase were provided, in part by the neighbouring farmers, but mainly by Jew pedlars. The barracks for the troops was a detached building at a little distance.
“We entered the prisons,” continues Mr. Andrews, “but here the heart of every American was appalled. Amazement struck the unhappy victim, for as he cast his hopeless eyes around, he saw the water constantly dripping from the cold stone walls on every side, which kept the floor, made of stone, constantly wet and cold as ice. During the month of April there was scarce a day but more or less rain fell.”
When the Americans arrived they found the prison already packed with 8000 French captives. These were of various classes and characters. Among these latter “the Seigneurs” were such as received remittances from their friends, or had money of their own, and were able to draw cheques on Plymouth bankers, and these bought such luxuries as they would in the market of the outer court. Those who worked at trades were known as labourers, and they were employed in building the chaplain’s house, etc. The inn, “The Plume of Feathers,” the sole building in Princetown which is not an architectural monstrosity, was erected by these French “labourers.” They also erected the cottage at Okery Bridge, which was an extremely picturesque edifice till its balconies and galleries were removed. But there were others, the prisoners who would do no work, who gambled for whatever they possessed, and quarrelled, fought, and were intolerable nuisances. These would gamble the very clothes off their backs, and were reduced to blankets with a hole cut in the middle, through which they thrust their heads. As they were denied knives, when they wanted to fight they attached one blade of a pair of scissors to a stick, and with these formidable weapons, each armed with one portion of the scissors, they were able to deal each other serious wounds.
To the great annoyance of the American prisoners they were thrust into No. 4 ward, into which had been relegated the good-for-naught class of the French. But here they did not live as brothers, for they drew a sharp line of demarcation between themselves, who were of white blood, and their negro brethren, fellow seamen captured with them under the same banner.
At the end of May the Americans appealed respectfully, but urgently, to the U.S. agent, Mr. R. G. Beasley, complaining that the allowance made them was scanty, that the whole day’s pittance was scarcely enough for one meal, that for the greater part the American prisoners were in a state of nakedness, and that a good many of them to escape from a condition that was intolerable had volunteered to join the King’s service.
“To these petitions, complaints, and remonstrances, Mr. Beasley returned no answer, nor took any notice of them whatever.”
On 28 May, 250 more American prisoners arrived, raising the total to 500. Again they appealed to the agent of the U.S.A., informing him that they were defrauded of half their rations by the contractor, that small-pox was raging among them, and that they were swarming with vermin.
“To these complaints he paid no more attention, neither came to see whether they were true or false, nor sent any answer either written or verbal.”
On 16 September, 1813, to the immense relief of the Americans, all the French prisoners to the number of 436, who had herded with them in No. 4, were turned out and placed elsewhere. Many of these had been in prison for ten years, and were in a condition of perfect nudity, and slept on the bare floor without any rug under them or covering over them. This endured for so many years had caused their skin to acquire a hardness like that of the stones. But this condition was entirely due to the passion for gambling. Whenever they were supplied with clothes, instead of putting them on, they started playing and staking every several article of clothing given them, till they had lost all. They had often been supplied by their countrymen with hammocks, beds, and garments, but they no sooner were in possession of them than they went to the grating, sold them to the Jews outside, and gambled the whole proceeds away. Very different was it in the No. 6 ward, occupied by the industrious French prisoners. “Here is carried on almost every branch of the mechanic arts. They resemble little towns; every man has his separate occupation, his workshop, his store-house, his coffee-house, his eating-house, etc.; he is employed in some business or other. There are many gentlemen of large fortune there who, having broken their parole, were committed to close confinement. These were able to support themselves in a genteel manner; though they were prisoners, they drew upon their bankers in other parts of Europe. They manufactured shoes, hats, hair, and bone-work. They likewise, at one time, carried on a very lucrative branch of manufacture; they forged notes on the Bank of England to the amount of £150,000 sterling, and made so perfect imitations that the cashier could not discover the forgery. They also carried on the coining of silver, to a very considerable advantage. They had men constantly employed outside the yard, to collect all the Spanish dollars they could, and bring them into the prison. Out of every dollar they made eight smooth English shillings, equally as heavy, and passed as well as any in the kingdom.”
With regard to the forgery of bank-notes, something may be added. The material for manufacturing the notes was imported from without, and the Jews were largely involved in the matter. The method pursued was revealed in 1809, before the American prisoners arrived, when two French captives, Charles Guiller and Victor Collas, who were berthed on board El Firm, in the Hamoaze, made overtures for their transfer to the Généreux, from which they could direct their operations with more freedom. They opened negotiations with the captain’s clerk of the Généreux, candidly telling him that their object was the forgery and passing of £5 bank-notes, and promising him a share of the spoils. The man affected to entertain the proposition, but communicated the whole to his captain, secured the transfers as desired, and supplied the prisoners with all the necessary facilities. By means of fine hair pencils and Indian ink they forged to a point of astonishing perfection notes on the Bank of England, the Naval and Commercial Bank, and Okehampton one-pound notes. To compensate for the deficiency of the official perforated stamps, they set to work with smooth halfpennies and sail-maker’s needles, and thus imitation was carried to perfection. When the prisoners had made sufficient progress, their trunk was seized with the evidences of their guilt, and they were restored to closer supervision, and visited with the usual corporal punishment.40
On the whole, the French prisoners, if they conducted themselves well and were industrious, did not suffer severely. A book was published in Paris by Le Catel, in 1847, entitled La Prison de Dartmoor, un récit historique des Infortunes et Evasions des Prisonniers Français en Angleterre, sous l’Empire, depuis 1809 jusqu’en 1814, but it is a romance, the “facts” drawn out of the lively imagination of the author. The only prisoners who really suffered were those who brought their sufferings on themselves. As Andrews says of the French, “they drink, sing, and dance, talk of their women in the day time and dream of them at night. But the Americans have not that careless volatility, like the cockle in the fable, to sing and dance when the house is on fire over them.”
In December, 1813, the cold was severe. Captain Cotgrave was governor of the prison, and he ordered the prisoners to turn out every morning at nine o’clock and stand in the yard till the guards had counted them, and this usually took over an hour. Many of the prisoners were without stockings, and some without shoes, and many without jackets. They cut up their blankets to wrap round their feet and legs, that they might be able to endure the cold and snow which lay thick whilst they were undergoing this ceremony. They complained to Captain Cotgrave, but he replied that he was acting upon orders. Several of the naked men, chilled and half starved, fell insensible before him and the guards and turnkeys, and had to be removed to the hospital; but as soon as they were brought round they were sent back to their prison.
On 22 December, 1813, Captain Cotgrave was superseded and Captain Thomas G. Shortland was appointed governor. At first he seemed to be an improvement on the former, who had been a harsh martinet; he stopped the roll-call and required the surgeon to visit the prisons daily. But the favourable impression he caused at first did not last long.
Hitherto, for some unaccountable reason, the licence to trade with the country-folk and pedlars in the outer court which had all along been allowed to the French had been denied to the American prisoners, but on 18 March, 1814, this restriction was withdrawn, and the American prisoners were allowed greater privileges. They now began to receive money from home, to make shoes of list, to plait straw, make bracelets, and carve meat-bones. The French had been allowed to have plays with a stage and scenery once a month, good music and appropriate comic and tragic costumes. They had also had their schools for teaching the arts and sciences, dancing, fencing, and fiddling. But all these privileges had been denied to the Americans occupying No. 4. Now these privileges were extended to them, and they considered that this indulgence was due to Captain Shortland. Indeed, Shortland seems to have been on the whole more humane than Cotgrave, and the final disaster which has blackened his name was due to another cause, his moral and mental incapacity to fill the position into which he had been thrust.
In 1814, there were 1500 prisoners of American nationality in No. 4. They despaired of freedom, and were rendered restless by the French prisoners evacuating the prison after the abdication of Napoleon, 4 April, 1814, and the end of the European war. Then there were 3500 American prisoners moved into No. 5, and by 31 December in that year the number amounted to 5326, mainly in the buildings 4 and 5.
Those in No. 4 now resolved on making an attempt at escape, and they began to excavate a tunnel that was to run 250 feet and enable those in the ward to escape, not only out of the block, but also beyond the outer wall. American blacksmiths among the prisoners furnished the necessary tools, and correspondence was maintained with American agents outside, and a fleet of friendly fishing boats was hovering about in Tor Bay to receive the prisoners. But they were betrayed by one of their number, who led the Governor to the excavation when it had been carried as far as sixty feet. It was at once choked up with masses of granite and cement, and those who had been engaged on it were put on short commons. This was in the summer of 1814. The attempt completely upset Governor Shortland’s nerves.
On 24 December, 1814, peace between England and America was signed at Ghent, and the news speedily reached England, but did not arrive in the United States, and was not published there till 11 February, 1815. By 1 January, 1815, the American prisoners in Princetown were aware that the time of their incarceration was drawing to an end. Indeed, they might have all been discharged, but that the Government waited for the United States Government to send men-of-war or other vessels to convey the prisoners to America. A misunderstanding prevented their immediate release. The American Government considered it the duty of the British Government to reconvey the prisoners to the United States, and undertook in return to reconvey the British prisoners detained in their prisons to Bermuda or Halifax. Lord Castlereagh objected to this as an unfair and unreasonable distribution of expenses, for Great Britain would be put to the expense, not only of conveying the American prisoners to the States, but also of bringing home from Bermuda and Halifax all the prisoners of her own nationality.
At the end of March, 1815, three months after peace had been concluded, there were 5693 prisoners within the walls of Princetown Gaol. That these were restless and impatient at their detention is not to be wondered at. But their chief irritation was against Mr. Beasley, the agent, whom they considered as dilatory, and who they supposed ought at once to have provided for their repatriation, they being unaware of the contention between the two Governments as to the cost of this repatriation. They were further incensed against him because, according to the testimony of John C. Clement, one of them, made in Philadelphia: “During our confinement, the American agent (Beasley) did not give us, say from 2 April, 1813, to March, 1814, the 6s. 8d. sterling per month, as well as the suit of clothes allowed us annually by our Government, which money and clothes the prisoners have never received; and when I, with two hundred and fifty others, were released from prison, there was likewise a shirt, a pair of shoes, and 6s. 8d. due to us, which we never received. The prisoners had applied to Beasley repeatedly for what was due to them, but received no satisfaction. He never visited the prisons but once during the two years and upwards I was there.” On 4 April the Governor went to Plymouth; and orders had been left that the prisoners were to be given biscuit in place of bread. This they resented, and refused the biscuit. Towards evening they broke out in mutiny and threatened to sack the stores unless they were at once provided with bread, but this was done and they were satisfied.
