Read Ebook: The French Prisoners of Norman Cross: A Tale by Brown Arthur Rev

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Ebook has 483 lines and 29183 words, and 10 pages

The curfew bell rang at nine o'clock; the lights were put out; and all had betaken themselves to their hammocks. The sentries passed backwards and forwards outside, or stood at ease in their boxes. The picquets went the rounds every half-hour. Each soldier on guard was on the alert, and had need to be. Silence and slumber fell on all but the many watchers in that large assemblage of unhappy men.

There was, however, one prisoner who could not sleep that night. It was not the roughness of his accommodation that kept him awake. Mere hardship would have been welcome to him, for he was a true soldier. It was the thoughts of his heart that troubled him; and alas! he knew not the soothing power of prayer. Not a thought of prayer, not one paternoster entered his mind. For he had lost his faith in God. We do not mean that faith which no one has till he asks the Spirit of God to give it him, and which then makes him love God in spite of all difficulties; but we mean faith in the existence of God, which all have by nature, and which sin alone can extinguish; not only grosser sin, but sinful vanity of mind.

He thought of his much-loved home, of the mother that was so dear to him, what agony of mind she must be undergoing; of his darling Elise, how her dear heart must be full of him. And then there pierced him, like the sting of an adder, the thought of separation, certainly for years, perhaps for ever, from all that happiness: the hopelessness of his condition as a prisoner of war at a time when war seemed chronic in Europe, without prospect of cessation. And in the abject misery of his soul--misery all the more intense because of his peculiar sensitiveness of nature--he thus bewailed in secret and with rebellious will his fate.

Some idea has already been given of the formation of the Norman Cross barracks; but a fuller and more detailed account of them may, perhaps, be interesting.

Norman Cross is the name given to that part of the parish of Yaxley, in the county of Huntingdon, where that grand old thoroughfare of England, the Great North Road, along which coaches might drive four abreast, is crossed by the Peterborough Road. In one corner, bounded by these two roads, is a large piece of pasture land, some forty acres in extent, which Government purchased in 1796, for the purpose of erecting barracks on it for prisoners of war, then multiplying fast, and for a large number of soldiers to guard them.

The situation was exceedingly healthy, being at the highest point of the road sloping up for a mile and a half from what was then Whittlesea Mere. It was not too near the sea, to make escape more easy, yet near enough to Yarmouth, King's Lynn and Wisbeach, to facilitate the landing and transport of prisoners to their destination. It was on the Great North Road, only 78 miles from London, and near enough to towns to obtain provisions with ease and in abundance. It was in fact selected by the War Office on all these accounts from amongst several other eligible sites in the kingdom.

The accounts given of the plan on which these barracks were constructed do not altogether agree in particulars. There is a plan of them still in existence which has received the imprimatur of Major Kelly the Commandant, his signature being on the back of it in testimony of its correctness. We shall not therefore be very far wrong in making that our main guide in the description of them.

The part where the prisoners were confined consisted of sixteen large buildings of wood, very long and lofty, each two stories high, placed at the end of four rectangular pieces of land , nearly in the centre of the forty acre field, and occupying altogether some fifteen acres. Each rectangle was separated from the others, and was surrounded by very high and strong palisades. They were placed symmetrically round a circular block-house, mounted with cannon, which commanded every one of the sixteen buildings, as well as the ground attached to them. There were therefore four of these huge buildings, side by side at intervals, at one end of each quadrangle, which was again sub-divided so that every building had an equal portion of ground belonging to it.

A wall of similar palisading surrounded the whole of the quadrangles at some distance.

The prison was constructed to contain 5,000 prisoners, and compared with some other places of confinement in England for a similar purpose must have been tolerably comfortable.

Besides these central buildings, which may be called the prison proper, there were a great many others scattered about, intended for various purposes, such as kitchens, bakehouses, guard-rooms, turnkeys' lodges, and, more important than all to the safe custody of the prisoners, two large wooden barracks like each other, one at the east and the other at the west of the whole enclosure, for the accommodation of two regiments of infantry that formed the garrison.

The English officers were quartered in a large wooden house close to the road towards the south-east corner of the enclosure, and close to the house of the Commandant. This last was the only building of brick in the whole place, and remains to this day, together with the officers' mess- room, and the house where they were quartered, now cased with brick.

It is said that 500 hands were employed in the construction of these works, and it is not surprising, considering their extent, and the fact that the War Office was urgent in pressing them to completion, as the prisoners multiplied so fast. Amongst other things, they had to sink some thirty wells in the prisoners' enclosures and other parts. They were of considerable depth, and yielded excellent water, so that the large population of this singular place had two of the great necessaries of life--good air and good water. In passing along the Peterborough Road, some of these wells may be recognised by the boards placed over them, they being still in use for the cattle grazing peacefully on the old site, where once so many victims of war had been collected.

The barracks had been erected barely six years when they were put up to let by the Government, all the prisoners having been discharged at the Peace of Amiens in 1802. The advertisement is to be seen in the columns of the local paper of that date. Whether any application was made for the hire of the whole or any part of the premises in consequence, is not known. He must, at all events, have been an enterprising man who could aspire to be tenant of the whole of such an incongruous collection of buildings, which, however admirably adapted to the object for which they were erected, could only suit the purpose of some local "Barnum" of those days. However, the Government evidently feared they might be wanted again, though not so soon as was actually the case: for the Peace of Amiens came to an untimely end the following year.

The daily ration of the prisoners was as follows: Five days in the week each had a pound or pound-and-a-half of bread, half-a-pound of beef, with vegetables, or pease, or oatmeal, with a small quantity of salt. But on Wednesday and Friday, instead of beef, one pound of codfish or herrings. No ale or beer was allowed, but it could be procured at the prison canteen.

Besides this, there was a special marketplace in the prison grounds, and the market hours were from ten to twelve every morning. Persons were searched at the gate before entering, to prevent the introduction of liquors, knives, or weapons; and, after entering, they were allowed no private communication with prisoners. King's stores were not allowed to be bought from them, but straw hats might be purchased. Persons of credit and respectability might at any time, when visiting the prison, purchase such trinkets as the prisoners had to dispose of, being their own handiwork.

Complaints were made at one time in Parliament, and in the papers, and abroad, of the food and clothing supplied to the prisoners, but they were proved to be without foundation. Two Commissioners were appointed by the Government to investigate the matter, and they reported that the health of the prisoners was excellent, and that the food was good. As to the clothing, they said that many of the prisoners had such a propensity for gaming that, notwithstanding every precaution, they sold their clothes, bedding, and even their food before it was due, to raise a trifle to gamble with.

Then again, in his account of the food supplied to the prisoners, he thus grossly libels the Government, and indeed the English nation:--"Much had the poor inmates to endure, and much to complain of, to the disgrace of England be it said--of England, in general so kind and bountiful:--rations of carrion meat and bread, from which I have seen the very hounds occasionally turn away, were unworthy entertainment even for the most ruffian enemy, when helpless and a captive. And such, alas! was the fare in those caserns."

What could have been the matter with the man to write such stuff as this!

Very rhetorical, but altogether improbable and utterly nonsensical!

The explanation of these exaggerations and misstatements on the part of Borrow is to be found in the fact that, as he admits, he was quite a boy when he saw Norman Cross barracks. His father was an officer in one of the regiments on guard there , and his account was written years afterwards, when it was not likely he would remember accurately what he had heard and seen so long ago. Indeed, he acknowledges as much when he begins his account by the ominous words, "If I remember right,"--which he certainly did not.

No. The unfortunate prisoners of Norman Cross were not petted, neither were they uncared for. They were treated as prisoners of war, not as criminals; and were not employed in public and other works. They had, poor fellows, a heavy lot to bear, but it is an abominable falsehood to say that it was aggravated by any needless severity on the part of the English Government.

It was not long before Captain Tournier was allowed to go out on parole, and that too with considerable latitude both as to distance and length of absence. Major Kelly, the Commandant, and Captain Mortimer, the Admiralty agent, had had some talk together about the matter, and were not quite in agreement on the subject.

"We shall have some trouble with that fellow Tournier. He keeps himself aloof from the others, and takes no part in their amusements, and goes mooning about as if he had got mischief brewing."

"Have you ever found him uncivil or disobedient to orders?" enquired the major.

"Oh, not in the least; he conducts himself quite like a gentleman. But I have always found your silent, moody man the most likely one to try and blow up the ship."

Captain Mortimer was an honest, open-hearted sailor, inclined to be a martinet, but with very little power to discriminate character and without painstaking sympathy, as the prisoners found to their cost in many ways, though they did not know exactly how it was. Major Kelly, on the contrary, did not judge after the outward appearance, but detected something in Tournier's profound melancholy which he could not understand indeed, but which his heart revolted from setting down uncharitably to evil.

So as his authority was supreme in such a matter as granting parole to a prisoner, the agent having charge only of the Commissariat and Transport service, Tournier soon obtained his parole.

"You will be disappointed some day about him I fear, major."

"Well, it may be; perhaps so--yes;" which may be regarded as an expression of no very great confidence in the prophecy.

One day, Tournier was walking down the hill leading to Yaxley with his now customary gloom over-shadowing his face, when he saw a horseman approaching. The rider had been watching him for some little distance as he came up, and just before they met pulled up his horse, and bowing, said with a pleasant smile, "Good morning, Captain Tournier, I hope I see you well."

"Thank you, sir," said the other politely, but with some little surprise, "I am very well; but pardon me for asking who it is I have the pleasure of speaking to?"

"Oh, I have heard of you from my friend, Major Kelly. I will not tell you what he said when he described you to me, but I knew you at once from his description; and I am very pleased to have met you."

Another bow. "He told you, I suppose, that you would know me by my sour looks. They all tell me that, or something very similar."

"Far from it. But you would not like me to repeat compliments. Yet the major did tell me you took your captivity too much to heart."

"That is true, I daresay. But I cannot help it."

"Then, if you will allow me, let me try and act the part of a friend and neighbour. We are close by each other, as you see. If you will do me the favour of calling on me at the Manor Farm whenever you may in course of time feel disposed, I shall be delighted: only the sooner the better."

"A thousand thanks," said the captain with a faint smile, but with no intention then of availing himself of the kind offer.

They shook hands heartily and went their ways.

Mr. Cosin was the gentleman who had laid his whip across the saucy lout's back at the time the French prisoners were marching into the barracks. He was possessed of a fair competence; but loving a country life and something to do, had hired the Manor Farm in Yaxley. The house was of no great size, but built of stone, picturesque, and of considerable antiquity; and it stood, as we have already said, on the opposite side of the road to the church, looking towards the west end, where its handsome tower stands, with lofty well-proportioned spire, a conspicuous object to all the fen country for miles around. It was about a mile from the Norman Cross barracks.

What a strange idea! many may say, or something stronger.

Well. It may be so. But he did it.

When Tournier returned to the barracks after his meeting with Cosin, he fell in with his young friend, who has already been alluded to, and whose name was Villemet.

"Somebody has been asking after you, Tournier."

"Who was he?" but not the slightest curiosity was in the tone of enquiry.

"Our bishop."

The interest fell lower, if possible.

"You mean the chaplain. What does he want?"

"To see you."

Tournier was a gentleman, and therefore repressed the exclamation that was rising to his lips, and simply said, "Oh!" in a very languid sort of way.

But it was true. The chaplain to the prisoners had been asking after Tournier, expressing a very great desire to see him; and the Chaplain was none other than the Bishop of Moulines. He had voluntarily come to England, out of pure compassion for his imprisoned countrymen; and with true missionary zeal was giving himself up to their spiritual welfare. He was a venerable-looking man, much respected by the prisoners generally. It was a noble act of self-sacrifice.

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