The Depot for Prisoners of War at Norman Cross, Huntingdonshire. 1796 to 1816

“On the 17th we were told to hold ourselves in readiness to march the next morning at daylight.  We consequently were drawn up in the hospital yard the next morning to the number of 264—21 of whom were officers, the rest seamen.  ‘Unus absit.’  We left Brest at 7 a.m. escorted by a strong guard of infantry and about twenty horsemen.  The morning was fine and pleasant.  After marching about two hours we came to the summit of a hill, whence we had a fine view of Brest harbour and roads, with the adjacent coast, bounded by the Atlantic, on which, at about the distance of 15 miles, we could plainly see our whole Channel Fleet standing in, under easy sail—this sight, mortifying as it was, became still more so, by the jeerings of the French Soldiery, which, to his credit be it spoken, were repressed as much as possible by the Officer who conducted us.  About 1 p.m. reached Landernau, a small town, distant from Brest about 5 leagues.  We went on in this way till the 24th, when our escort was relieved by another of a similar kind at St. Brieux, a small seaport town.  The officer on leaving us, requested us to give him a paper testifying his good treatment of us, to which we readily assented, his behaviour to us having been uniformly kind.

“To repeat every day’s march would be useless, suffice it to say, that after passing thro’ Rennes, Alençon, Versailles, St. Cloud, St. Denis, within a mile of Paris, and divers other places of less note, we arrived at Verdun on Sunday, March 25th, having marched a distance of 204 leagues.”

Mr. Hopkinson, when liberated; did not continue in the service, but went to Clare College, was ordained, became Precentor of Peterborough Cathedral, and later Rector of Alwalton (about three miles from Norman Cross), where he died in 1853.  The following note was added to the prisoner’s own account by his widow:

“And here with this interesting account of his shipwreck and the consequent imprisonment of himself and shipmates, the narrative ceases, and all that can be told of the eleven years’ captivity must be imperfect.  But, young and full of energy, after the first trial it was a time of mixed pain and pleasure.  From the age of fifteen to twenty-five is not often the period of despondency.  He formed during this time friendships and attachments which only ceased with life: and be it observed the circle which was bound together so closely, was composed entirely of those of honour and principle.  While there were unfortunately very many who by their conduct were a disgrace to their country, this small knot of friends to whom he belonged, who shared each other’s purse and each other’s poverty, left in France a reputation unsullied.

“Many years after when he visited, under such different circumstances, these scenes of his youth with his brother, he was received everywhere with a warmth of affection and respect affecting to witness.  The friendships formed at this period under mutual hardships and privations were very lasting and peculiar; each saw the other without disguise and selfishness—that bane of worldly friendship could not exist, where all had the same privations.  He would tell of times, when penniless, he positively was without food, and the means of procuring it, till he and his friend, both good fishermen, procured a meal by fishing in the Meuse.  Many were the anecdotes they would relate when meeting under what seemed happier circumstances.  There were times when they heard nothing of home or England for a length of time.  On one occasion on the arrival of fresh prisoners, one of them unloosing his cravat, let fall a piece of newspaper, which he had wrapped in it to stiffen it; how anxiously was it snatched up by those poor captives.  In this piece of waste paper he read of some promotion to his brother in his profession when only to know that he lived was joy unspeakable.

“He always spoke well of the French in general: it is true and must have been mortifying, they were on some occasions led out to be gazed at by the populace, as kind of trophies, and when Nelson died, their grief was embittered by the jeerings of the vulgar, ‘Votre Nelson est mort’—such is the fate of prisoners of war—but as a body he always said they were a kind people.

“At the return of peace in 1814, hailed and welcomed as it was in every quarter of the globe, what must have been the joy of him, who had passed inactive wearisome years separated from his native land!  The long march homeward was never wearisome.  Arrived in London, he repaired to the Hotel, where his brother was expecting him.  He had just stepped out.  Anxious and excited my husband went out too, hoping to find him: in the meantime his brother returned, and being told of his arrival, awaited him on the step of the door.  When he came back, the foreign look and dress at once assured his brother that it was himself, and he stood in his way.  Impatient at an impediment to entering the house, he hastily begged him to step aside, when the words, ‘John, do you not know me?’ told him he had found his brother.  Both were so changed that they should not have known each other.  How often, and with ever new delight, did he recall this meeting!

“He returned home, and tho’ much, very much had happened to cloud his happiness, the feeling of liberty so long unknown, was in his heart!  He brought home, not only from his own superior Officers, but also from those of the French, testimonials of good conduct, having most rigidly preserved his parole, tho’ with a fair chance of escape often urged to break it, and having suffered by close imprisonment for the breach of it in others.”

Mr. Hopkinson, during his imprisonment at Verdun, kept a register of his fellow prisoners, and in his later years he filled in as far as he could the after history of his prison comrades.  This, being probably a unique document, is, by the kind permission of his son Mr. W. Hopkinson, reproduced in the appendix. 109  From this register it will be seen it was not only the French prisoners at Leek and elsewhere who fought duels.  Four deaths from fatal wounds received in these affairs of honour are recorded.  The duel, one hundred years ago, was the customary and generally acknowledged method of settling questions of honour, libels, etc., which are now in this country settled in the law courts.  As Mrs. Hopkinson says in her note, the naval cadet never broke his parole, but on three occasions when held captive, not by his word of honour, but by bars and bolts, his respect for these did not prevent his attempting to escape; for the first attempt he was confined in a cell for one month, for his second attempt two months, and for his third, three.

Thirty-eight years after the termination of the war, Mr. Hopkinson thought he would take his son to Verdun, to the spot where he, the lad’s father, had spent ten years of what should have been the best period of his life.  He found the chamber in which he had been confined unaltered, and utilised as a barrack room.  Examining a bar in one of the windows, he showed his son a cut three parts through it.

“That,” said Mr. Hopkinson, “was made by me and some comrades with a file made from a watch-spring more than forty years ago, when we were on the eve of an attempt to escape.  We had almost finished cutting the bar, and a little midshipman was in the act of coiling the rope which one of our party had managed to secure from the well in the barrack yard, when the tread of the guard was heard coming to our room; the poor little midshipman dropped it, making sure that he would be killed.  The steps came nearer, and another of the party, quick as lightning and with the skill of a seaman, coiled it in the high earthen pitcher-shaped jar, in which was our supply of water.  Hardly had he finished, when the guard entered and looked round, for the rope had been missed; they searched in the bedding, but not in the jar, and we escaped detection.”

This sketch of a young naval cadet’s experiences at Verdun represents, no doubt, fairly faithfully what was going on at Norman Cross, and in many another part of England, in those days of the terrible war. 110

Before quitting Verdun, we may mention that it was not the only town where English prisoners were confined.  They were also at Amiens, Auxonne, Dunkirk, Saumur, Tangiers, Tours, Vitré, Givet, Saarlouis, and other places.

For those guilty of misconduct, breach of parole, or attempts at escape, the subterranean dungeons at the Fortress of Bitche were reserved.  If the accounts of the lives of French prisoners in England are scanty, those of the British in France are meagre in the extreme, being confined principally to short notices of the détenus in Verdun, generally well-to-do people, and naval and military officers, who were fairly well treated.  As to the prisoners in general we read:

“The distress under which the British seamen suffered in France was excessive.  The scanty pittance allowed each man daily consisted of a small square piece of bullock’s liver, a slice of black bread, and a glass of new brandy.  Had it not been for the relief they received from the Patriotic Fund, forwarded to them through a private channel, many of them must have perished from want.

“The object of the French, in treating our seamen with such inhumanity in this respect, was to make them dissatisfied with their own Government, by inducing a belief that they were neglected by it, and thus to tempt them to enter the French service.  Numerous were the offers made to them for that purpose, which, to the honour of our brave but unfortunate tars, were usually rejected with contempt and indignation.

“They resolved to perish, rather than prove traitors to their country.”

The following extract from a letter from Lieutenant Tucker, who was captured with Captain Woodriff, gives a brief and good description of the life of a prisoner of his position:

“Lieutenants were allowed 56 francs a month from the French Government, which just paid their lodging.  No cause to complain of indulgence, allowed to walk or ride 6 miles in every direction, provided they were in before the shutting of the town gates at 9 o’clock at night.  Captains were obliged to sign their names every 5 days, Lieutenants once a day, all other prisoners twice a day.  No other restrictions, could lodge where they pleased, and as they liked.  There was a first class of society, very good, but very extravagant; they are chiefly people of fortune, who were detained when travelling at the commencement of the war.  The senior naval English officer was Captain Gower, late of the Shannon, then Captain Woodriff and 5 others, besides 38 Lieutenants.

“There were 2 clubs, where there were all the French, and sometimes the English newspapers: in short, if a prisoner has health, he may spend his time pleasantly enough.

“There is no society between the English and French; the latter are a few Military, and tradesmen, who had made their fortunes by the extravagance of Englishmen since the war.”

A fairly reliable picture of the life at Verdun may be gathered from a comedy in two acts, called The Prisoner of War, by Douglas Jerrold, produced at Drury Lane in 1812; the scene of the play is laid at Verdun.  Making allowance for dramatic licence, the situations are probably fairly accurately described from the recollection of people known to the author.  There is the competition among landlords for prisoner lodgers, there is the Jew money-lender who fattens on them, there are the breaches of regulations, the escapes and punishments at the Fortress of Bitche, the latter corresponding to the hulks at Chatham for delinquents in England.

From various detached sources we obtain other fragmentary glances of Verdun, and learn that only British were confined there, the Austrians and Prussians being at Chalons.  As late as 1805 ordinary sailors were also confined there, as it is recorded that a party managed to escape to England in May of that year.

In the latter part of the same year a party of 150 were removed from Verdun to Valenciennes.  “The march took eight days.  The real gentlemen were allowed on parole; the négociants, or merchants, were confined.”  The best account is from the portfolio of a détenu, published in 1810.  One quotation must suffice:

“The number of prisoners of war at Verdun has generally amounted to 400, consisting chiefly of naval officers and masters of merchant-ships, and including a few officers of the Army, who had been shipwrecked on the French coast, and some passengers who had been taken on their voyage from the East Indies.  Add to these some common seamen, who, instead of being sent to Givet or Saarlouis, the usual depots for sailors, were permitted to remain at Verdun at the intercession of any persons of respectability who would take them into their service.”

There is another brief account by James Forbes, a member of the Society of Antiquaries, who was detained for some months.  Beyond the fact that he was a prisoner in the town, and had to answer the daily roll-call, his lot was not a hard one.  By the interest of Sir Joseph Banks, the “Savant Anglais” was released.

His book is valuable as giving the text of the release forms, etc.  As throwing light on the lot of the rank and file of the army and the ordinary seamen, information has been culled from the article, “Prisoners of War,” published in Chambers’ Journal, 1854.  This article deals shortly with the treatment and conduct of the British prisoners in France.  The writer says that on the long march into the interior they were often treated cruelly and harshly, occasionally handcuffed; they were escorted by soldiers of the line, the character of their treatment depending, naturally, greatly upon the officer in command.  This writer confirms the dietary mentioned already.  The prisoners were paid by the French Government a sou and a half (not quite three farthings) a day; this was supplemented by a penny a day from a fund raised by public subscription in England, the masters and mates of merchantmen participating in this small but welcome addition to their subsistence.  In accordance with the directions of Othello quoted on our title page, we must quote from the article the remarks on the conduct of our countrymen in captivity.

“Brandy and spirits being cheap, the Britishers often got intoxicated and gave endless troubles to the incensed officials.  Their conduct was that of the proverbial, reckless British seaman.  They did no work, but spent their time in playing rough games of every description, singing, speechifying, fighting, drinking, and taunting and defying the French, Frog-eating Mounseers, all and sundry, who, by the way, often made them rue their rough pranks.  Insubordination was commonly punished by separate confinement with bread and water, and worst of all, and unendurable to English Jack, a total deprivation of tobacco. . . .  Any personal assault on the soldiers or the gendarmes was a most serious offence, the punishment of death being assigned to the striking a gendarme.  In some instances this terrible and outrageous penalty was actually carried into effect.”

It will be in the recollection of the reader that the British Government provided the clothing of their subjects who were captives in a foreign prison of war.  The dress is described by the author of the article in Chambers’ Journal as a gray jacket and trousers and a straw hat; it contrasted favourably with the suit of many colours in which our Government clad their French prisoners.

In the paragraphs in which the article deals with the British prisoners in Denmark, the anonymous writer shows a sympathy with Denmark which may account for the severe language in which he deals with the British prisoners in that country.  In describing their gambling propensities and consequent moral depravity he uses almost the actual words used by Captain Woodriff and others when they described Les Misérables and their class in the English prisons.

Possibly some future searcher in the bypaths of history may take up the subject of British prisoners of war in the countries of their captors, and we may hope that the result of his researches will form a picture of our countrymen more agreeable to the British eye than that depicted by the writer in Chambers’ Journal. 111

CHAPTER XII

THE TRUCE AND THE PEACE—PRISON EVACUATED, 1802—FINALLY CLEARED, 1814—DEMOLISHED, 1816

Joyous presage of ultimate bliss   For the heart long depressed by vain yearning;Timely token of pardon—the kiss   That reviveth Faith’s innermost burning;Peace prevailing o’er War’s artifice,   Love o’er Hate, and delight over Mourning.Norman Hill, Lingering Winter.

With what feverish anxiety must the occupants of the courts and caserns of Norman Cross have listened to the garbled accounts of the progress of the war which reached their ears towards the close of the eighteenth and the dawn of the nineteenth centuries.  How their hopes must have been raised when they heard of the defeat of the Austrians by Moreau at Hohenlinden, of the sudden crossing of the Alps by their hero Buonaparte, his swoop on to another Austrian army and its defeat at Marengo.  When they learned that in 1800 Austria had signed a Treaty of Peace with France (The Treaty of Lunéville, Feb. 1801) and that England was left to fight single-handed, they must have thought delivery extremely near.  To cheer them further would come the news of the alliance of Russia, Denmark, Sweden, and Prussia to constitute “the armed neutrality,” which though not actually at war with Great Britain, was formed to check her progress and paralyse her navy.  The time when the French Army would have England under its foot and the prison doors would be thrown open must be close at hand.

Then would come to discourage them, and to dash their happy anticipations to the ground, the news of Abercrombie’s victory at Alexandria, and the defeat and surrender of the French Army of Egypt in March of the same year.  This would be followed rapidly by the report that Nelson had in April attacked the Danish Fleet at Copenhagen, destroying or capturing the greater part of it, and thus breaking up the Armed Neutrality. 112  The more astute of the prisoners may have seen that a pause in the hostilities must come, but after five years’ confinement within a fence enclosing two and a half acres of ground, despair must have prevailed and almost drowned hope.  France’s prospect of defeating Britain in the Mediterranean was slight, and on the other hand England, having taken almost all the French colonies, and being compelled to hold them, although supreme on the sea, had no army with which to attack France itself.  Even though the news reached Norman Cross that in October 1801 the preliminaries of a treaty of peace had been signed, the prisoners could feel no certainty that these would come through the troublesome negotiations which must follow, and that peace would actually be concluded.

Therefore when at length the Treaty of Peace was signed at Amiens in Picardy on 27th March 1802, and the news reached the captives, it was received with frantic demonstrations of joy.  The great uncertain terror had gone; captivity was at an end; France, Holland, Spain, with parents, wives, children, sweethearts, and all they loved, were in sight.  At once preparations for departure were made: the prisoners forced the sale of their manufactures, they drew out their money, and got together their various belongings ready to leave at the first chance.  The prisoners’ joy was unbounded, and left no room for a disturbing thought or feeling; but great as was the sense of relief to the British nation at large, there was much dissatisfaction as to the terms of the Treaty, and naturally the storekeepers and prison officials, suddenly thrown out of employment, had a dash of bitterness in their cup.

After Amiens the Government took instant steps to relieve the country of the expense and responsibility of the prisoners, the object being to get the prison empty and the establishment closed at the first possible moment.  Immediately after the signature of peace, cartels to carry 2,600 prisoners were chartered at Norman Cross.  The Admiralty allowed 15s. 6d. per man as payment for conveying the prisoners to France.  A facsimile of the order to Captain Holditch, Master of the Argo, is, by the kind permission of his grandson, Mr. Share of Truro, here reproduced, and it will be seen that it is dated only twelve days later than the Treaty of Peace. 113

The number of captives at Norman Cross was at that time very low, about half the number of those confined at the time of the second clearance, twelve years later.  They left in four detachments, the first 1,000 strong, the second 1,040, the third 600, the last 100.  With what joy did they take that journey, cheered on their way by the good wishes of the country folk, even if they did shout “Good-bye, Froggies!”  This return of 3,100, as the number of those confined at Norman Cross on 27th March 1802, indicates the difference in the matter of exchange during the first period of the war, 1793–1802, and the second, 1803–14.  In this second period there was no steady outflow from the prisons to keep down the numbers, and they were ever filling with the captives sent in by Wellington and others.

On 29th April 1802 the prison was emptied, and although the Government had not sufficient confidence in the permanence of the peace entirely to dismantle the Depot, it was ordered that while all stoves, ranges, and grates, with the large iron boilers, were to remain until further orders, the copper boilers were to be sold, lamps and lamp irons were to be securely locked up, the furniture to be delivered to the barrack master, the hammocks to be sold at 1s. 3d. each, the coverlets at the best price obtainable, and as the barrack master refused to take the soil carts, these also were to be disposed of for what they would fetch. 114  All books, letters, papers, etc., were to be sent to the Transport Office in London.

The net proceeds of the sale amounted to £757 4s. 10d., to which must be added £15 for old store at the Port of Lynn.  In the Stamford Mercury of the 17th September 1802 appeared the following advertisement:

“THE LATE DEPOT FOR PRISONERS OF WARNorman Cross-Barracks to Let

“Sixteen large buildings, lately occupied as prisons, with sundry convenient buildings thereto belonging; with square yards, comprising about an acre of land in each, with good wells in the centre, and a quantity of land round the prisons fit for grazing sheep, etc.  Also sundry good dwellings, comprising Turnkeys’ lodges, stewards’ rooms, also two good houses lately occupied by the superintendents, well calculated for small families—may be viewed by applying to Mr. Henderson, Auctioneer, New Inn, Norman Cross.”

In their instructions to the auctioneer, the Government made conditions that the tenants were to keep the buildings in repair, and to deliver them up on three months’ notice if required.  The property does not read in the advertisement as one that there would be a rush for.

The landlord of the Old Bell Inn, still in the glory of the coaching and posting days, apparently treated for the wooden building, containing the two houses occupied one by Captain Woodriff the agent and the other by the steward and another officer, the rental of Captain Woodriff’s house to be £12 and that adjoining £10; but even at that rent he did not close.

In January 1803 the whole was let to Mr. Henderson, on condition that he lived on the premises, the barrack master keeping one key of the great gate.  Mr. Henderson paid an extra sum of £10 for Captain Woodriff’s house, which he probably wished to fit up either for his own residence or for the man whom he proposed to leave in charge when he was in London attending to another business which he had there; he also agreed to level the huts, which are not represented on any of the plans, and to sow the ground covered by them with grass seeds.

His tenancy lasted only six months.  Hostilities recommenced in May 1803, and on 3rd July Henderson had to hand over everything to two clerks appointed by the Admiralty.  He pleaded that he had ploughed and sown crops, and claimed £30 18s. compensation; he received £18 13s.  On the whole the Government would probably have saved money if they had locked the gates when Captain Woodriff, their agent, left the empty depot in June 1802, kept the keys themselves, and unlocked them on the 3rd July 1803.