But the détenus, as a body, included men of various descriptions, not only those of high principle and loyal feeling. There were rich men, rendered reckless by their captivity; and there were others, not rich, yet equally reckless and extravagant, who rushed into debt with complete indifference as to consequences. As may easily be supposed, they did much harm by their example and influence, more especially among young naval officers, who as time passed by were taken prisoners in the course of the war, and were sent to Verdun. When first Verdun was appointed to be a dépôt for prisoners, the commandant was a General Roussel, of whom no English prisoner had any complaint to make. He treated them well and justly, and such hardships as they had to endure were for the most part not his fault but the fault of the French Government. Unhappily, before many months were past, General Roussel was sent elsewhere; and his successor, General Wirion, soon showed himself to be a man of a totally different stamp. Wirion was a product of the Revolution; originally the son of a pork-dealer in Picardy; later an attorney's clerk, with a shady reputation; then an active terrorist, approved of by the villain Robespierre. He was, in fact, a low-born and ill-bred scoundrel, avaricious and grasping, who, under Napoleon, had risen to be a general of gendarmerie. Prolonged captivity, with such a creature in authority, was likely to become even worse than it had been before; and so, to their cost, the captives at Verdun speedily found. All indulgences allowed by the first commandant were removed. Prisoners and détenus alike, no matter what their grade or position, were compelled twice a day to report themselves at _appel_, unless they preferred by payment to escape the unpleasant necessity. Instead of being free to walk or drive as far as five miles from the town in any direction, they now might not leave the gates without payment of six francs. Incessant _douceurs_ were demanded on every possible pretext, and oppressions, bribery, and rank injustice became the order of the day. Wirion and his gendarmes showed a shameless capacity for pocketing money--nay, for inventing opportunities to wring gifts from the English. Again and again numbers of the détenus, on some false excuse or with no excuse at all, were closely imprisoned in the citadel, being set free only on the payment of heavy sums of money. This terror hung over them all, as a perpetual possibility. Worse still was the dread of being some day suddenly despatched to the grim fortress of Bitche, where numbers of British prisoners pined in close confinement. The tales of Bitche dungeons and of Bitche horrors, which from time to time filtered round to those who lived at Verdun, read now like stories of mediæval days.[3]