The existence of Macgregor’s plan of the Depot, and various documents examined in the Record Office, also show that the date affixed to the picture makes it an historical anachronism, the market in the years named being held outside the brick wall surrounding the prison, out of sight of any stockade fencing, and with permanent stalls of brick and slate built against the wall in the eastern embrasure. In the earlier days of the Depot’s existence, although the sale of straw hats and bonnets was forbidden, such a scene as that depicted might possibly have been witnessed. Mr. Cooke will doubtless insist on the prompt alteration of the dates in the inscription describing the picture.
The artist has kindly permitted the writer to introduce here a photogravure of this work of art. The typical figures alive on the canvas each telling its own tale, the beautiful grouping, and the background in which they are placed, present to the eye of the reader what this work strives to convey to his mind in words. An artist’s licence doubtless sanctions the introduction of a tree, the light open-paled fence, instead of the stockade posts and other minor details which conflict with the precise ideas arrived at by the writer, who feels constrained to notice these little inaccuracies.
Included in the Public Revenue Accounts for 1798, [136] among the returns of produce are specified:
Chip hats |
£1,209 |
17 |
10½ |
Straw hats |
592 |
0 |
3½ |
On the 18th March 1806 the House of Commons resolved to go into committee to consider the question of charging a duty on imported straw plait. After formal stages, it was resolved, 26th June, to levy a duty of 7s. per lb. avoirdupois of plaiting for hats or bonnets, £1 16s. on every dozen hats or bonnets not exceeding 22 inches in diameter, £3 12s. on every dozen exceeding 22 inches in diameter. The Act received the royal assent on the 10th July. After this date the sale of straw plait was interdicted as had previously been the sale of hats, the hats and the plait made at Norman Cross being alike regarded as foreign productions and liable to tax.
In official documents constant reference is made to this traffic in the plait as illegal and defrauding the Revenue.
George Borrow’s eloquent description of “the straw plait hunts” (poor little ten-year-old George Borrow—his sympathetic soul went out to the captives!) has helped to throw the glamour of romance over the irregular proceedings of the Frenchmen, whom we were maintaining in our prisons, and whom we would gladly have restored to their own country if only we could be met on fair terms.
Persons in the neighbourhood, soldiers from the barracks, and others were accessories in the illicit trade in straw plait. They would conceal it about their persons, wrap it round their bodies, etc. They assisted in two ways, they helped to get the straw into the prison and to carry the manufactured article out. [137]
Although the interdict on the traffic was issued even before the articles were taxed, in the interests of the trade and of the workers in the district, so profitable was the illicit traffic to those who took part in it, that the fact that they were interfering with the living of their own countrymen and women had no deterrent effect, and such was the influence of the merchants and the various persons in the neighbourhood engaged in the trade that it was difficult to get convictions. To get the straw ready cut into proper lengths into the hands of the prisoners was doubtless more easy than to get a sack of straw thrown over the prison wall, carried across the open spaces up to the inner stockade fence, and again thrown over them into the court of the caserns. This proceeding must have needed several soldier accomplices, some giving active assistance and others closing their eyes to what was going on. These men, when detected, had severe punishment, receiving as many as 500 lashes. Three civilians tried at Huntingdon for being engaged in the traffic in 1811 were convicted and sentenced to imprisonment, one for twelve and the two others for six months.
That the trade in straw plait was an extensive one, and that the prisoners effected an improvement both in the character of the plait and the method of producing it, are almost universally accepted facts. In Davis’ History of Luton, pp. 152–3, is a small section which, although written under the mistaken conception that the French prisoners were at Norman Cross only about eight years—1806–14—and that the merchants during that period went to the barracks to purchase the plait, is probably correct in saying that the trade is indebted to these prisoners for the invention of the simple machine for splitting the straw from which such great and beautiful varieties of plait are made. There are two descriptions of machines called splitters.
The writer of an article in Chambers’ Journal, [138] after instancing industries introduced at various places where they were confined by the prisoners of war, such as the knitting worsted gloves at Chesterfield, goes on to say:
“At Norman Cross they revolutionised the straw plaiting trade. Up to their time the straw was plaited whole and called ‘Dunstable,’ but it was a case of necessity being the mother of invention. Their supply not being equal to the demand, one of them invented the ‘splitter.’ This consists of a small wheel, inserted in a mahogany frame, and furnished in the centre with small sharp divisions like spokes. From the axle a small spike protrudes, on which a straw pipe is placed and pushed through, the cutters or spokes dividing it into as many strips as required. By this contrivance the plait could be made much finer, the strips could be used alternately with the outside and inside, or even the inside alone, which is white, and is known in the trade as ‘rice’ straw.”
For a full description of this little implement called the splitter, the reader is referred to the article, “Straw Plaiting and French Prisoners,” by Maberly Phillips, F.S.A., The Connoisseur, vol. xxvii., No. 105.
There are in the Peterborough Museum three examples of different varieties of straw splitters. The neat splitting of the straw was possibly not an invention of the prisoners, although it may have come from France. If it were, it is likely that it was not originally contrived for the manufacture of straw plait, but for the straw used in the marquetry, for which purpose it had to be most carefully prepared, and much of it dyed, with material bought in the market.
From the first opening of the prison, straw work was carried on, although in going through the copy in the Record Office of the register of deaths of those who died in the prison, the late Mr. W. B. Sands, Secretary to the association “L’entente cordiale,” and Mrs. Sands, the present acting Secretary, found that very few of the prisoners, whose names and native places were there entered, came from districts in France where this industry was prevalent. So long as the work was confined to ornamental articles, which paid no import duty, it was allowed, but as early as June 1798 an order was issued prohibiting the introduction of any more straw for the manufacture of hats, and ten years later, in June 1808, there is a record that the general market was put under severe restrictions owing to the illicit traffic in straw. This restriction evidently pressed harshly upon the marquetry workers, for we find, on the 11th November 1808, a letter from the Admiralty Board, saying that “If the manufacture of Plait could be effectually prevented, it is not our wish to prohibit the Prisoners from making baskets, boxes, or such like articles of straw. The Prisoners might purchase wool and make frocks, for their own use; if any should be sold, a stop was to be put to the manufacture.”
On the 20th March 1809 a shop was opened for each building, with two prisoners as salesmen, all articles being marked with the price and the owner’s name. The salesmen were to be searched going and returning, and if any prohibited article were found, the shops were to be closed. In July of the same year, notwithstanding the precautions, the illicit traffic was so rampant that stringent orders were issued to entirely close one quadrangle for a month. This was in consequence of the Admiralty having intercepted a letter enclosing a £10 bill, the proceeds of a sale at Thame of illicit articles made by the prisoners at Norman Cross.
The sympathies of the outside public appear to have been with those who made the plait and those who sold it contrary to the law, as was usually the case in the districts on the coast where smugglers carried on their trade. The number of those actually engaged in the traffic and making profit out of it was no doubt very considerable. A trial which took place at Huntingdon in 1811 shows the number of hands through which a packet of plait went before it reached the Luton bonnet makers. Four Stilton men, one the ostler at the Bell Inn, who had acted as intermediaries between the Luton merchants and the prisoners, had bribed the soldier who came in contact with the prisoners to take packets of straw cut to the proper length into the prison, and to bring the manufactured plait out; they were all four convicted and punished. Whether the soldier, who was acting in defiance of a special order by the Duke of York, escaped punishment is not known; they were paid by the Stilton men a shilling for getting the straw in and another for getting the plait out. The merchants, no doubt, took care to escape the hands of the law.
Plate XVIII.—The Bell Inn, Stilton. From a photograph by Mr. A. C. Taylor
In The Stamford Mercury of 12th February 1812 are related the particulars of an outrage on Sergeant Ives of the West Essex Militia at that time stationed at the Depot. He was stopped between Stilton and Norman Cross by a number of men, knocked down and robbed of his watch and money, his jaws were wrenched open and a piece of his tongue cut off. It was said that the sergeant had been active in stopping the plait trade and that this led to the outrage. Another possible explanation of this outrage is suggested in a later chapter on the health of the prisoners.
The Bishop of Moulins, of whom more shortly, was living at Stilton, and although he has been raised by tradition to a very exalted position of righteousness, he got into trouble by allowing his servant to become an outside agent for those engaged in this illicit traffic. The good Bishop applied to the Government for another young prisoner to take the place of Jean Baptiste David, and, his request being refused, he pressed into his service the intercession of Lord Fitzwilliam, who had already befriended him in other ways. The letter from Mr. Commissioner George, to the Secretary to the First Lord of the Admiralty, throws light not only on the particular case of the Bishop, but on this question of the straw plait manufacture in general, and it is therefore transcribed at length in the text.
“Transport Office,
“19th March 1808.“Dear Sir,
“In answer to what is stated in Lord Fitzwilliam’s letter to Lord Mulgrave, I request you will inform His Lordship that the Bishop of Moulins was introduced to me by the Bishop of Montpellier, and at his request I prevailed on my colleagues to release a Prisoner of War from Norman Cross Prison, to attend upon him; this I am sorry to acknowledge was irregular and unauthorised, but I was actuated by motives of humanity as the Bishop complained that his finances were so limited, that he could not afford to keep any servant of a different description. This should have influenced the Bishop to keep his servant from carrying on any improper traffic with the Prisoners; on the contrary he became the instrument of introducing straw manufactured to the prisoners, for the purpose of being made into hats, bonnets, etc., by which the Revenue of our country is injured, and the poor who exist by that branch of trade would be turned out of employment, as the Prisoners who are fed, clothed, and lodged at the public expense would be able to undersell them. I must observe that this is the only article which the Prisoners are prevented from manufacturing. When the Bishop’s servant had established himself in their trade, the Bishop wrote to me that he had found means of getting his livelihood and desired he might remain at large, and that another prisoner might be released to serve him, neither of which the Board thought proper to comply with, for the foregoing reasons, upon which the Bishop of Moulins complained to the Admiralty, who directed us to give such answer as the case called for. I have only to add that the Bishop experienced greater indulgence from us than any other French Ecclesiastic ever did, to which, in my opinion, he has not made an adequate return, nor felt himself, as he ought to have done, answerable for the conduct of his servant, and if a strict discipline is not maintained in the prisons, as the prisoners are daily increasing the consequences may be incalculable,
“I am, Dear Sir,
“Very faithfully yours,
“Rupert George.“Captain Morson.”
It was George Borrow who, in the third chapter of Lavengro, published in 1851, reintroduced the Norman Cross Depot to the British public. A generation had passed away since the buildings were rased to the ground, and of the living inhabitants of these islands, only a very few knew that such a place had ever existed.
In the striking passage, which has been quoted in full in a former chapter, page 33, Borrow conveyed the impression that “England, in general so kind and bountiful,” was guilty of disgraceful conduct in her treatment of the French prisoners, and that the suppression of the illicit straw-plait trade was associated with ruthless inroads into the prison accompanied by acts of callous cruelty.
George Borrow’s father, Thomas Borrow, a Lieutenant in the West Norfolk Militia, was quartered at Norman Cross from July 1811 to April 1813. His little son George, born in 1803, spent his ninth and tenth years in the barracks, and in those years he received the impressions which led him to publish this passage forty years later.
By a curious coincidence the agent, who, during the two years in which the child was making his personal observations, practically ruled the Depot, and carried out the necessary steps to suppress the traffic in straw plait, had his record cut in stone at the actual time when the events recorded in Lavengro took place. On the wall of St. Peter’s Church, Yaxley, is a marble tablet with this legend:
“Inscribed at the desire and the sole expense of the French Prisoners of War at Norman Cross to the memory of Captain John Draper, who for the last eighteen months of his life was Agent to the Depot, in testimony of their esteem and gratitude for his humane attention to their comfort during that too short period, he died Feb. 23, 1813, aged 53 years.”
Was ever a calumny more absolutely disproved than is this aspersion of George Borrow’s upon the fair fame of his country, by the testimony of the very persons whom he said she had maltreated and whose evidence, cut in stone at their desire and sole expense at the very time the boy was in the barracks, appeals to us from that marble slab?
This manufacture of straw plait went on not only at Norman Cross, but in the other prisons, the manufacturers being no doubt assisted by all their comrades in captivity to elude the efforts of the authorities to stop the traffic. The following amusing incident, narrated in Penny’s Traditions of Perth, is retold by Mr. William Sievwright: [144]
“As much straw plait as made a bonnet was sold for four shillings, and being exceedingly neat it was much enquired after. In this trade many a one got a bite, for the straw was all made up in parcels, and smuggled into the pockets of purchasers for fear of detection. The following is an instance of the manner in which the prisoners practised their deceptions. An unsuspecting man having been induced by his wife to purchase a quantity of straw plait for a bonnet, he attended the market, and soon found a merchant; he paid the money, but lest he should be observed, he turned about his back to the seller and got the thing slipped into his hand, and then into his pocket. Away he went with his parcel, well pleased that he had escaped detection. On his way he thought he would examine his purchase, when, to his astonishment, and no doubt his deep mortification, he found instead of straw plait, a bundle of shavings very neatly tied up. The man instantly returned and charged the prisoners with the deception and insisted on getting back his money, but the man could not be seen from where the purchase was made. Whilst hanging on to catch a glimpse of him, he was told that if he did not get away he would be informed on and tried for buying the article. Seeing that there was no chance of getting amends, he was retiring, when one came forward and said he would find the man, and make him take back the shavings, and get the money. Pretending deep commiseration, the prisoner said he had no change, but if he would give him sixteen shillings, he would give him a pound note and take his chance of the man. The unfortunate ‘shavings’ dupe was simple enough to give the money and take the note, thinking himself well off to get quit of his purchase, but to his supreme chagrin he found the note to be a well-executed forgery on the Perth Bank.”
After this story, what further need is there to seek evidence of the cleverness, the versatility, the neat-handedness, and the dexterity of the French prisoners!
In all the prisons, forgery of bank-notes was a business to which the captives applied their skill, and the fate of two who practised this art at Norman Cross has already been alluded to. The straw plait industry, which probably originated at Norman Cross, would be passed on with the transferred prisoners to Perth and other prisons. Great embarrassment having arisen from the increase of French prisoners, who numbered in 1811 50,000 (Norman Cross being greatly overcrowded with nearly 7,000), the Depot at Perth was built, and in 1812 the first prisoners were admitted.
As another instance of the frivolous character of the complaints made by the French Government as to our treatment of the prisoners, it may here be mentioned that the detention of sailors in such a situation was made the subject of loud and frequent complaint by the French Emperor, who said in the Moniteur that “by a refinement of cruelty the English Government sends the French soldiers on board the hulks, and the sailors into prisons in the interior of Scotland.” Alison alludes to this in his history, [146a] and in a footnote he adds:
“The great Depot for French Prisoners in Scotland, which Napoleon held out as so deplorable a place of detention, was a noble edifice erected at a cost of nearly £100,000 in a beautiful and salubrious situation near Perth on the Tay, which was in 1839 converted into a great central jail for criminals. It contained 7,000 prisoners, and so healthy was the situation, the lodging, and the fare, that the mortality, only five or six annually, was less than the average for healthy adults in Great Britain.” [146b]
Among the prisoners at Norman Cross were men who, before their enrolment in the French or Dutch army or navy, were workers, skilled in branches of industry unknown in England, and there is a record that, on the 5th April 1808, the agent was instructed to send a French prisoner, Louis Félix Paris, to London, as he was an expert in the “ormolu business.” To meet the expense, two £1 Bank of England notes were sent.
The application by the French prisoners at Norman Cross of their skill to the felonious forging of bank-notes has already been alluded to. So cleverly did they manage this, that it is said, that the only way in which the forgery could be detected was by wetting the notes and observing the different behaviour of the ink used by them and that used by the printers of genuine notes.
A writer in All the Year Round (1892, pp. 41–3) remarks that “when the £1 note was introduced in the last decade of the eighteenth century, forgery from the first was the great trouble, and the hasty manner in which the notes were engraved and issued greatly facilitated the operations of the forger.” In The Bankers’ Magazine, vol. lxvii., pp. 390–410, [147] is an article by J. Macbeth Forbes, “French Prisoners of War and Bank Note Forging,” in which is an illustration of a partially executed forgery of a Guinea Note of the Bank of Scotland. Another illustration is that of the words “BANK OF SCOTLAND” carved on a bone by the prisoners in Edinburgh, the letters measuring ⅞ inch, but so rough and irregular are these, that, even if they were successfully reproduced, they could hardly have deceived a simpleton, much less a Pawky Scot. This block might have been an early effort to make a tool for imitating the water-mark; the type is not reversed, so it cannot have been a stamp for printing. It is possible, however, that bone was the material used for type by the Norman Cross forgers. The deft fingers which executed many of their legitimate works of art were sufficiently skilled to carve an imitation of a £1 note.
The resemblance of the oak block with the name “Louis Chartie” carved on it to that referred to in The Bankers’ Magazine, suggests the possibility of its having been a tool for one step in the process of forging M. Charretie’s name.
The fact that the prisoners were able to have in their possession, and to use a plant and tools necessary for such a trade as forging, illustrates the absence of any but a very casual supervision of the thousands of prisoners concentrated in the four courts of the prison.
One would gladly pass over another illegal traffic which was with difficulty suppressed. To the disgrace of those British purchasers whose depraved tastes made it worth the while of the prisoners to expend their ingenuity on the production of obscene pictures and carvings, it must be mentioned that an illicit, secret trade in such articles was carried on at Norman Cross. At one time in the year 1808 the trade in such goods, clandestinely made and sold, reached such a pitch that respectable inhabitants of the neighbourhood complained to the Transport Commissioners, and on the 18th December an order was issued totally closing the market. It was a severe punishment, as it at once stopped the supply of all the little necessaries, luxuries, and comforts the prisoners could obtain—the vegetables, sugar, condiments, tobacco, beer, clothing, which they were in the habit of purchasing—and it also stopped the sale of their legitimate manufactures. The offence merited such a punishment, and the practice had to be stopped.
The order pointed out that the innocent had to suffer with the guilty, “If they connive at such scandalous proceedings they themselves can no longer be considered free from blame, but if they give the names of those who make or sell the toys and drawings the market will again be opened.” Prisoners’ letters were intercepted, and a Corporal Hayes of the garrison and a prisoner known as Black Jimmy were found to be concerned in the traffic. Many articles were seized, and Black Jimmy and others were sent to the hulks at Chatham—such scum were among the men to whom Buonaparte appealed on the eve of Waterloo to tell their comrades how they had suffered in the British hulks.
In the course of the investigations undertaken with a view to the suppression of this vicious manufacture, it was found that those outside the prison who shared in the profits of the smuggling trade in straw plait, became sufficiently demoralised to assist the makers of these obscene articles in the disposal of their goods, sharing with them the profits of the business. It was probably in the sacks of straw, smuggled in by the accomplices of the prisoners, that the weapons discovered in the prison were introduced.
Before leaving the subject of the employment of the prisoners, we must again remind our readers that the inmates performed the fatigue duties of their prisons, and that there were other distractions besides, which we have attempted to show in the imaginary views of the life of the quadrangles given in the last chapter.
As to the conduct of the captives, although it has been necessary in the interests of truth to show the seamy side of the prison life, it must in fairness be said that their general conduct was good.
Deeds of violence did occur at times, as was only natural in a community circumstanced and constituted as was this crowd of prisoners of war; such deeds were, however, apparently rare. Some instances with a fatal termination are culled from entries in the register of deaths. “A seaman, aged twenty-three, killed from a blow in Prison by the following Black Man”—the next entry being one of a prisoner born in Dominique—“who hung himself in the Black Hole”; this man, “born in Dominique,” being undoubtedly the Black Man of the previous entry. “A soldier, a French prisoner, killed by one Jean François Pors in self-defence as the verdict at Coroner’s inquest.” A sailor, captured at Trafalgar, “shot by a sergeant of the West Essex Militia, verdict by Coroner’s Inquest, Chance Medley.” As to this entry, is it not probable that this sergeant of the West Essex Militia was the victim of the outrage reported in The Stamford Mercury, 12th February 1812, and that the chance medley may have been a struggle over a bundle of straw plait. In another entry death is occasioned by a stab from one of the prisoners accidentally; this might well have been a death in a duel, the witnesses of the duel, to exculpate the man who gave the fatal wound, giving evidence which satisfied the authorities that the stab was accidental.
Duels were not infrequent, the weapons usually extemporised from knives which were fastened to sticks, or swords made out of sharpened hoop-iron or other similar material; and although there is no definite entry of a death as occurring in a duel, it is more than probable that the above entry as to the soldier killed by one Jean François Pors in self-defence is a euphemistic way of expressing that he was killed in a duel, and that this was the usual form of verdict on the victim of a fatal duel. The entries in the registers and in the certificates cannot be accepted as evidence disproving the statements of those who say that such deaths occurred, as there is good reason to believe that neither the registers nor the certificates were at certain periods of the war kept with sufficient accuracy to render them as valuable sources of information as they should have been. And in the event of a violent death, necessitating an inquest, at which the jury pronounces and the coroner records the cause of death, it was not improbable that the prison surgeon’s certificate, confirmed by the signature of the agent, would be missing from the records. Mention has already been made of the imperfection and hopeless incompleteness of the registers in the Record Office.
As might have been expected, there were many suicides some of them while insane, and other violent deaths are recorded which do not imply misconduct of any kind. Several prisoners were shot in attempts to escape. Inquests were held in all such cases, but the usual verdict was “Justifiable homicide,” or “No criminality,” and the case went no further than the coroner’s court. In some instances the sentries were brought before a civil tribunal, this probably depending on whether the death took place within the precincts of the prison or outside.
Inquests were held in the following cases. One night in 1812, a prisoner carrying a bucket asked leave to pass a sentry on guard at one of the inner gates (that of the Court in front of the casern, in which the prisoners were confined after sunset), saying that he wanted to get some water. He apparently passed through, and threw the contents of the bucket, which was actually full of water at the time, into the face of the sentry, who dropped his firelock; the prisoner picked it up, and unscrewed and ran off with the bayonet. The sentry, taking up the firelock, fired and severely wounded the prisoner, who for some reason or other was taken not to the prison hospital, but to the Huntingdon Infirmary, where he died. The sentry was tried for manslaughter and acquitted.
At the Hunts Lent Assizes 1812, Timothy Wood, aged thirty-three, was tried for shooting a French prisoner of war at Norman Cross, the Grand Jury finding no true bill. The victim was probably the man whose certificate, one among a bundle of fifty-six, registers as the cause of death, “Wound, Manslaughter, verdict by Coroner’s inquest.” The prisoner may actually have died outside the Depot, for the date corresponds with the probable date when the mother of the donor to the Peterborough Museum of the wine slides with paper decoration saw the prisoner shot as he was scaling the boundary wall. He probably dropped on the outside.
Among the causes of accidental death are several entries, “Fall from hammock”; these cases, there is too much reason to fear, were those of the poor debilitated, starving prisoners—victims, according to the French, of British cruelty, according to the British, of their own vice. Commissioner Serle was sent down to ascertain what foundation there was for the French complaints, and he reports as follows:
“I have been informed by some who are most qualified to know, that the French prisons have never had so few sick as at the present time. Some, indeed, who had sported away their allowance in gambling, to prevent which the agents have taken every precaution in their power, are in fact destitute enough, and so they might have been, if their ration had been ten times as great.” (Commissioner Serle, 25th July 1800.)
These instances will throw as much light on this side of the prison life as if they were multiplied indefinitely.
Escapes and attempts to escape occurred, as might be expected, during the whole eighteen years of the occupation of the prison. From the records, chiefly paragraphs in local papers, actual escapes or mere attempts to escape do not appear to have been as numerous as in other prisons, which were nearer the coast. The stockade fencing and the wooden buildings (even the central fort, the Block House, was only wood) gave little idea of strength, and the fence round one of the quadrangles, when on one occasion put to the test, did not withstand a united effort of the prisoners who effected a breach, but the strong military force, the judicious disposition of the guards, and the numerous sentries must have impressed the prisoners with the hopelessness, when once within those lines, of attempting to penetrate through to the fields beyond, where again they had to encounter the inhabitants, who, for the sake of the reward offered, would endeavour to recapture them. This reward, paid to their captors, was actually paid by themselves, for it will be remembered that among the regulations posted in the prison, was one to the effect, that any prisoner who shall be taken attempting to escape, shall have his ration reduced, until the amount saved by such reduction shall have made good any expense incurred in his recapture.
In 1804, and again in 1807, after periods of increasing insubordination among the prisoners, combined attempts to escape were made. On the earlier date there were not more than some 3,000 prisoners at the Depot, and on one day in October the whole of these were in a state of tumult. The riot began in the morning, and by noon the disorder had reached such a pitch that the Brigade-Major thought it advisable to send to Peterborough for assistance, specifying the need of cavalry to scour the country in case a body of prisoners broke out. A troop of the yeomanry, who had been having a field day, had not been dismissed, and instantly galloped to Norman Cross, to be followed later by the rest of the yeomanry and the volunteer infantry. During the night a portion of the wooden enclosure was broken down, and nine prisoners escaped; when daylight broke, it was discovered that the prisoners had excavated a tunnel thirty-four feet towards the North Road, under the ditch, but not quite far enough to answer their purpose. Four of those who escaped got clear off, five were recaptured.
The engineering work for the construction of the tunnel must have taken a long time; the soil is clay, but how such material, carried out in pocketfuls and scattered about over the airing-court, not much more than two acres in extent, can have escaped the eye of the turnkeys, the doctors, and other officials, will ever remain a mystery. If the word “pré,” used by Foulley in his description of each court, may be literally translated as “meadow,” implying that, the airing-courts, except where they were paved for a space immediately within the boundary fence, were covered with grass, it is quite conceivable that the scattering of the soil, skilfully carried out, would scarcely be noticeable.
The other attempt in 1807 occurred on 25th September, when 500 of the prisoners, between ten and eleven at night, rushed simultaneously against the interior paling of the prison and levelled one angle of it to the ground. From forty to fifty were severely wounded by the bayonet before they were driven back; happily firearms were not used. It was after this incident, showing the feebleness of the interior paling, that the brick wall was erected in place of the outer wooden fence.
A letter written in 1798, by the agent, Mr. Perrot, to the Transport Officer, Captain Woodriff, illustrates some of the difficulties encountered in this large and understaffed prison by the agent and others holding responsible posts. A rumour having reached Mr. Perrot’s ears that on a certain day an attempt was to be made by seven prisoners to escape from the south-eastern quadrangle, he had the usual count made that night, and special counts twice on the following day, but the irregularities in the response to the roll-call rendered it futile for detecting any deficiency in the numbers. To overcome the difficulty, Mr. Perrot at 5 a.m. took all his clerks, a turnkey, and a file of soldiers into that quadrangle, and had a separate muster of those confined within the separate court of each of the four caserns; he thus discovered six prisoners had escaped from the officers’ prison. How they escaped was not discovered. In one fence a pale had been removed, and probably bribery had overcome the other obstacles. Any soldier or other person about the prison who could be convicted of receiving a bribe or even treating with a prisoner on the subject of an escape was severely punished, soldiers having received 500 lashes for the offence.
How necessary it was for the agent and the garrison to be at all hours prepared for such attempts is shown by the fact that in December 1808, when there were 6,000 prisoners at the Depot, a search brought to light no fewer than 700 daggers of various forms and workmanship. These had been introduced from outside, as they were evidently not of prison manufacture.
On 26th October 1805, seven prisoners, taking advantage of the dark and stormy night, escaped by cutting a large hole in their wooden prison. After escaping through this opening, the prisoners would still have to encounter the stockade fence of the quadrangle, the cordon of sentries without it, the outer prison wall (at that time also a wooden fence), the ditch, and another cordon of sentries beyond them. It must almost of necessity be assumed that these obstacles were overcome by the assistance of others, individual sentries had probably been bribed to connive at the escape, and the prisoners might have had a friend outside to assist them, possibly a tender-hearted Huntingdonshire damsel, whom they had met in the market and with whom they were on terms, which enabled them to speak on more serious questions than the sale and purchase of her wares.
About 8 o’clock on the Sunday night a sergeant and corporal of the Durham Division, out on leave from the Depot, encountered the escaped prisoners near Stamford, recaptured two, marched to the inn and placed them in security. The prisoners were found to be a French naval captain and a midshipman. These officers would normally have been on parole; they were probably in prison for having broken their parole, which was a crime punished severely. Two more were captured near the neighbouring village of Ryhal, having been concealed in Uffington thicket for twenty-four hours without food.
The following narrative of an escape from Pembroke Prison illustrates the application of the maxim, “Cherchez la femme,” to these cases of escape:
“Five hundred prisoners [156] were confined in a building on Golden Hill, near Pembroke, and, as was the custom, they were allowed to eke out the very meagre allowance voted for their subsistence by the sale of toys, which they carved out of wood and bone. Two Pembroke lasses were employed in bringing the odds and ends requisite for this work, and in carrying away refuse from the prison. These girls not having the law of nations or the high policy of Europe before their eyes, dared to fall in love with two of the Frenchmen, and formed a desperate resolve not only to rescue their lovers, but the whole of the prisoners in the same ward, 100 in number. It was impossible to smuggle any tools into the prison, but a shin of horse beef seemed harmless even in the eyes of a Pembroke Cerberus. With the bone extracted from this delicacy the Frenchmen undermined the walls, the faithful girls carrying off the soil in their refuse buckets. When the subway was complete, the lasses watched until some vessel should arrive. At length a sloop came in loaded with a consignment of culm for Stackpole. That night the liberated men made their way down to the water, seized the sloop, and bound the crew hand and foot, but unfortunately the vessel was high and dry, and it was found impossible to get her off. Alongside was a small yacht belonging to Lord Cawdor which they managed to launch. This would not take them all; but the two women and twenty-five men got on board, taking with them the compass, water casks, and provisions from the sloop. In the morning there was a great hue and cry. Dr. Mansell, a leading man in Pembroke, posted handbills over the whole county, offering 500 guineas for the recovery of these two traitorous women, alive or dead. In a few days the stern of the yacht and other wreckage being picked up, the patriotic party were satisfied that the vengeance of Heaven had overtaken the traitors. They were, however, mistaken, for the Frenchmen captured a sloop laden with corn, and, abandoning the yacht, compelled the crew to carry them to France. When they were safe, it is pleasant to read that the commissary and engineer married the girls. During the short peace, the engineer and his wife returned to Pembroke and told their story; they then went to Merthyr and obtained employment in the mines, but on the renewal of hostilities went back to France, where it is to be hoped they lived very happily ever afterwards.” [157a]
What happened in Pembroke probably happened in Hunts, and it is a simple sum in proportion.
If 500 prisoners won the sympathy of two Welsh lasses, of how many Huntingdon girls did 5,000 prisoners at Norman Cross win the sympathy?
Seven prisoners got away in April 1801. Three privateer officers were retaken at Boston, when they had already reached a port; three others stole a boat at Freiston, and were taken, off the Norfolk coast, by a Revenue cutter—one of them had a chart of the Lincolnshire coast in his hat. [157b]
Maps of England showing the best lines of escape were said to be made in the prison and sold at twenty francs each. Attention was directed in an earlier chapter to the few words in Franco-English designating incorrectly in several instances, some of the buildings in the Washingley plan (Plan A), which makes it probable that this plan had fallen into the hands of a prisoner, who intended it to be an aid to his escape. Although the sympathy of the public with the French prisoners was not general, there were many outside Norman Cross who had been in the habit of making money out of them in the straw-plait traffic; these would be willing for a consideration to help them when once they were beyond the prison walls and the lines of sentries.
An extraordinary recapture occurred in May 1804. Two of the French prisoners who had escaped, on clearing the precincts of the barracks pursued different routes. One of them was fortunate enough to get clear away; the other, quitting the public road, had pursued his course a few miles when he met with a most singular obstruction. In crossing a stile he was beset by a shepherd’s dog, “of the ordinary and true English breed,” which absolutely opposed the poor fellow’s progress. Neither enticement nor resistance availed, the dog repeatedly fastened on the legs and heels of the fugitive and held him at bay, until the continued noise of the quarrel brought some persons to the spot and ultimately led to the detection of the prisoner, and his reincarceration at the Depot. [158] Whether the dog got any share of the 10s. usually given for the recapture of a prisoner is not recorded.
In the register of the Dutch prisoners confined at Norman Cross between 1797 and 1800, is the record of Jan Cramer, one of the sailors who were taken in the great victory of Admiral Duncan off Camperdown, 11th October 1797; he was received at Norman Cross 23rd December of that year, and the four words in the register which describe the method of his leaving the prison, “escaped in a chest,” are sufficient to enable an imaginative writer to compose an exciting narrative “founded on fact.”
Mention has already been made of the escape of one prisoner in a “manure cart.”
With the dread of the hulks before them, on 18th August 1809 twelve out of a party of thirty prisoners marching from Norman Cross to Chatham, having nearly reached the place of their punishment, were lodged for the night in a stable at Bow and managed to escape. A party of the Westminster Militia formed the escort.
The mere dread of the long imprisonment before them and probably the greater facility for the adventure led to several escapes while the prisoners were on the march from the coast to Norman Cross; these were sometimes successful. Thus in September 1797 a batch of 142 left Yarmouth for Yaxley; but only 141 entered Norman Cross, one having slipped away at Norwich.
A cruel fate awaited some of the unfortunates who made such attempts. Two deaths occurred in Peterborough. On the 4th February 1808 a party of prisoners were lodged for the night in a stable in the yard of the Angel Inn, and one of them attempting to escape was shot by the sentinel, dying in twenty minutes; the verdict at the inquest was, “justifiable homicide.” On another occasion, one of a company of the poor fellows crossing the bridge, leapt over the low rail at the side, into the river, and was shot by the escort. On the 6th October 1799 a prisoner, Jean de Narde, son of a notary public of St. Malo, escaped and was recaptured on his way to the sea; he was confined for the night in the Bell Tower of East Dereham Church, from which he again attempted to escape, but was shot as he clambered down by a soldier on guard. He was buried in the churchyard, and fifty-eight years after a tombstone was erected by the vicar and two friends “as a memorial to Jean de Narde and as a tribute of respect to that brave and generous nation, once our foes, but now our allies and brethren.” The inscription on the stone is:
In Memory of
JEAN DE NARDE
SON OF A NOTARY PUBLIC
OF ST. MALO
A FRENCH PRISONER OF WAR
WHO HAVING ESCAPED
FROM THE BELL TOWER
OF THIS CHURCH
WAS PURSUED AND SHOT
BY A SOLDIER ON DUTY
OCT. 6, 1799.
AGED 28 YRS.
Terribly handicapped as were the captives in their efforts to escape, the game was not entirely in the hands of the man with the firelock, if a tradition of the seven years’ war, 1756–63, is to be credited. An old family mansion at Sissinghurst was in that war used as a place of confinement for the French. In the Register of Burials is an entry in 1761, “William Bassuck, killed by a French Prisoner at Sissinghurst”; this is supposed to be the sentry killed by a prisoner who, like poor Jean de Narde forty years later at East Dereham, mounted the tower, and dropping a pail of water on the head of the sentry below, killed him on the spot. [160a]
Newspaper paragraphs are not always in strict accordance with fact, but these few examples of escapes which took place may be accepted as types of the many. A narrative told with much detail and a vraisemblance, which makes it excellent reading, supposed to be written by the prisoner himself, but actually written by Mr. Bell, a schoolmaster of Oundle, who was said to have been familiar with the Depot, where he was employed in his early life, appeared first in Chambers’ Miscellany. [160b] This has since been reproduced in other journals and local almanacs. It was, according to local authorities, founded mainly on facts communicated to its author, Mr. Bell, by a prisoner who had escaped, but at the end of the article in Chambers’ Miscellany the following note is appended:
“The above narrative, which is a translation from the French, appeared a number of years ago, and has been obligingly placed at our disposal by the proprietors. We believe we are warranted in saying that it is in every particular true.”
The following story would have appeared absolutely incredible had not Basil Thomson [161] recorded the escape of eight prisoners from Dartmoor by the same stratagem as that attributed to a Norman Cross prisoner in a note in The Soldiers’ Companion or Martial Recorder, l. 190. 1824:
French Ingenuity
“A French Prisoner in Norman Cross Barracks had recourse to the following stratagem to obtain his liberty: He made himself a complete uniform of the Hertfordshire Militia, and a wooden gun, stained, surmounted by a tin bayonet. Thus equipped, he mixed with the guard (consisting of men from the Hertford Regiment), and when they were ordered to march out, having been relieved, Monsieur fell in and marched out too. Thus far he was fortunate, but when arrived at the guard room, lo! what befel him. His new comrades ranged their muskets on the rack, and he endeavoured to follow their example; but as his wooden piece was unfortunately a few inches too long, he was unabled to place it properly. This was observed, and the unfortunate captive obliged to forego the hopes of that liberty for which he had so anxiously and so ingeniously laboured.”
Before concluding this chapter, which has dealt with the conduct of the prisoners, two other facts may be mentioned. Shortly after the opening of the prison a disturbance among a batch of prisoners from Chatham led to the construction of the Black Hole and the requisition for two dozen handcuffs. In October of the following year the Depot narrowly escaped destruction by fire—whether accidental or the work of an incendiary is not known; two thatched huts adjoining the wooden buildings were in flames, but the exertions of the Military were sufficient to prevent the spread of the conflagration which would so easily, in unfavourable conditions as to wind, etc., have consumed the whole building. It was after this fire that an application was made for a fire-engine.
THE SICK AND THE HOSPITAL
Dangers stand thick through all the ground,
To push us to the tomb;
And fierce diseases wait around,
To hurry mortals home.Dr. Watts.
The general health of the prisoners was good, but occasional epidemics led to a temporary very heavy mortality, the miserable men who had sold their rations and clothes to provide money for gambling dying off so rapidly, and in such numbers, that no room could be found for them in the well-equipped hospital.
In November 1800 there broke out an appalling epidemic, which raged for five months and then began to abate; the daily average of deaths of the prisoners at this Depot during the four worst months of the pestilence was over eight. In this epidemic, 1800–01, during the six months with the heaviest mortality, 1,020 died. In the corresponding six months, 1801–02, when the mortality had been almost restored to what was normal, the deaths were only twenty. The staff could evidently not keep abreast of their work, the hospital was full to overflowing, and many of “Les Misérables” died in their hammocks in the caserns.
Enteric or typhoid fever was not known as a distinct disease until the last century was well advanced, and the epidemic was probably typhoid to which “Les Misérables” succumbed at the first shock, the cause of their death being registered as debility. It is a safe conjecture that some of the wells had been infected. That the authorities did not take this tragic visitation, without efforts to cope with it, is evidenced by short notes among the certificates of death; delicate prisoners and invalids were apparently sent to France, and others to special hulks. How inadequate was the meagre staff to meet an exceptional case such as this is proved by the fact that twenty-nine prisoners in the first four months of the year were taken out of their hammocks, dead or speechless, and could not be identified for entry in the register, of which a copy was regularly supplied to the French Government; they were buried unknown. It was not until the epidemic had abated, and a special investigation had been held, that Captain Woodriff was able to establish the identity of these twenty-nine persons; a special list of them is inserted in the register, and another list of five who were found to be alive in prison, and who had been returned as dead owing to mistaken identity.
In 1804 the total mortality among all the prisoners for the whole year was only eighteen. On 1st January 1801 nine died in one day, and to this day’s entry there is added the explanatory note, “These men being in the habit of selling their bedding and rations, died of debility in this prison, there not being room in the hospital to receive them.” This is a terrible indictment against someone, even though the victims were the lost bestial creatures whose fuller history was written at Dartmoor—prisoners ostracised by their comrades, banished to some one compartment of the prison, apparently No. 13, and left to die there by their compatriots who occupied the same quadrangle. This single day’s record justifies what was said in the introductory remarks as to the lot of prisoners of war, but—Laus Deo—the advance in humanity, and the consequent change of opinion as to the suitable treatment of prisoners of all kinds, and the progress of hygienic, medical, and other sciences, make it inconceivable that, under any circumstances, similar tragedies could now occur in any European country.
No exact percentage of mortality for the seventeen years during which the prison was occupied can be given, the records being incomplete, and the population of the prison changing continually from week to week and month to month, owing to the accession of fresh prisoners and the departure of others, due to death, transference to other prisons, or exchange. The reports to the Commissioners for the sick and hurt, except in the incomplete bundles of certificates, do not appear until the second period of the war, although the sick and hurt passed at once under the care of this Board as soon as they ceased to be prisoners in health. The actual number of deaths certified is 1,770, of which 1,000 occurred during the epidemic 1800–01, the remainder being distributed over the remaining fifteen years in which the prison was occupied.
It is possible that the original register kept at this prison before the Peace of Amiens, 1797–1802, might have been sent to France and may yet be found, but at present separate bundles of single certificates are for many years the only records from which these figures are obtained. The total number of deaths registered of French prisoners who died at Norman Cross in the second period of the war, 1803–14, was 559. The highest number recorded in any one year, was 98 in 1806. The lowest, in any complete year, was 18 in 1804. One of those whose death is recorded in that year is a boy of ten, a native of Bordeaux, captured on a privateer; he died of consumption. The diseases, phthisis, hæmoptysis, scrophula, which appear again and again under the heading “Cause of Death,” were all, as well as many of those entered as catarrh and debility, tubercular diseases, due to the condition so favourable to contagion in which the prisoners slept, herded together in closely packed chambers, ventilated very imperfectly. In all probability, in cold weather, every aperture by which fresh air could enter was closed by the inmates themselves, who would not be imbued with twentieth-century ideas as to the need of fresh air.
Putting on one side the tubercular cases and the rare epidemics, there was comparatively little sickness among the prisoners. When an epidemic occurred, “Les Misérables,” whose powers of resistance had been lowered by the semi-starvation which they had brought upon themselves, naturally sickened and in too many instances succumbed.
Owing, doubtless, to three causes—the absence of facility for getting drink, the spare but sufficient diet, and the regulation which appointed that the prisoners should, unless in bad weather, live through the day in the open air [“They have free access to the several apartments from the opening of the prisons in the morning, until they are shut up on the approach of night, with the exception only of the times when they are fumigating, or cleansing for the preservation of health” (Commissioner Serle, Appendix D, No. 31)]—the rate of mortality among the prisoners in confinement was lower than that among those on parole, and, as far as it has been possible to come approximately to the percentage rate of mortality, than that also of the British soldiers who constituted the garrison. The absurd statements of Mr. Charretie, the falsehood of which he had to acknowledge, and Colonel Lebertre’s lie, that at Norman Cross 4,000 out of 10,000 died, [166] gave rise to an impression which, once made, has not been easily effaced. Of those who read these statements in France, few read the statement of facts which prove them false. Taking the total number of those who had been imprisoned at the Depot, up to 1813, as at least 30,000, and the deaths at 1,800 (these figures being approximate only), the actual proportions of deaths would be 6 per cent., instead of 40 per cent. as affirmed by Lebertre. A return showing the total number of prisoners and the number of sick in every Depot or other place of confinement for prisoners of war, called for on 10th April 1810, and a similar return presented in the following year, show the extraordinary healthiness of the prison at Norman Cross, and of all the other prisons in Great Britain on each of those days. [167a]
In August 1812, in answer to the calumnies in the columns of the Moniteur, a return was obtained as to the health of the prisoners in the prison ships in Herne Bay and at the Dartmoor Depot. In the former there were 6,100 in health, 61 sick; in the latter, 7,500 well, 70 sick. The proportion of sick was less than in other prisons not of war. [167b]
This was at a time when the influx of prisoners from the Peninsula and elsewhere had caused the prisons to be so crowded, that it had become necessary to again spend large amounts in building new prisons. At the time of the return in 1810, £130,000 was being expended on a new prison at Perth; Norman Cross contained 272 more than the highest number for whom it was calculated to provide accommodation, and there must have been 2,000 men in each quadrangle, except that for the sick.
In these two years the number of deaths at Norman Cross was respectively only forty-one and thirty-three. When a prisoner fell ill, and was admitted into the prison hospital, he was treated as well as, or better than, the soldiers in the military hospital outside the prison walls.
We have already dealt with the reckless statement of the French while dealing with Mr. Pillet. They are wicked calumnies, which, even on a casual examination, carry with them their own contradiction. The British Government expended an enormous sum on the prisoners, and in 1817 made a claim on the French for the maintenance of French prisoners in England. [168] The correctness of that claim was never questioned; whether it was settled is another matter. According to Alison, the British Government generously forgave the debt.
The prisoners in each quadrangle were visited daily by the surgeons, and any prisoner complaining of illness, and found by the doctors to have good ground for his complaint, was removed at once to the hospital, where he was, according to the sworn evidence of the French surgeons themselves, carefully and liberally treated. From the pay-sheets accompanying the hospital accounts, the earliest of which at the Record Office is for the year 1806, the staff of the hospital appears to have been at that time, the surgeon (Mr. Geo. Walker), two assistant-surgeons (M. Pierre Larfeuil and Mr. Anthony Howard), a dispenser, an assistant-dispenser (prisoner), dispensary porter (do) and messenger (do), two hospital mates and clerk, a steward of victualling, a steward of bedding, with two assistants (prisoners), two turnkeys, matron, and seamstress (the two last named and the wives of the married turnkeys being, up to the advent of the surgeon’s bride in 1808, the only women within the prison walls), a messenger, and the following thirteen, who were all prisoners, two interpreters, one tailor, one washerman, one carpenter (who made bed-cradles and other appliances for the ward and did odd jobs), an assistant lamplighter (a more important post than it sounds, as it would be very convenient for any prisoner or prisoners wanting to escape to find a careless lamplighter, who would forget to light, or supply with sufficient oil, one or two of the numerous lamps which lighted the prison and its environs), two stocking-menders, two labourers, one barber for the infirm and itchy, and two nurses—in all, thirteen British and twenty French prisoners, the staff of nurses being, of course, increased if necessary. [169] The hospital was evidently conducted on a liberal scale. The dietary was ample; it was as follows:
Established Diet
1st. Full Diet
Tea, or water-gruel with salt, for breakfast; the same for supper. Meat 12 oz., with potatoes or greens, and 1 pint of broth, for dinner. Bread 14 oz., sugar 2 oz., beer 2 pints (of beer at 16s. the 38 gallons), and if any other drink is wanted, water, or toast and water.
2nd. Reduced Diet
Tea, or water-gruel with salt, for breakfast; the same for supper. Meat 6 oz., with potatoes or greens, and 1 pint of broth, for dinner. Sugar 2 oz. The same quantity and quality of bread and beer as on full diet.
3rd. Low Diet
Water-gruel or tea for breakfast. Water-gruel or barley-water for dinner. The same or rice-water for supper. Bread 7 oz. Patients on low diet are supposed to require no stated meal, drinks only being allowable, or even desirable; a small quantity of beer may be given when anxiously wished for and permitted by their surgeon. The bread is supposed to be chiefly for toast and water, or, should the patient incline, a bit of toasted bread without butter, with a little of his gruel or tea. Sugar 2 oz.
Milk, 1 pint, for breakfast. Rice-milk, 1 pint and a half (sweetened with sugar when desired), for dinner. Milk, 1 pint, for supper. Bread 14 oz. Drink—water, barley-water, or rice-water. Sugar 2 oz.
5th. Mixed Diet
Milk, 1 pint, for breakfast. Meat 4 oz., with potatoes or greens, and 1 pint of broth, for dinner. Milk, 1 pint, for supper. Bread 14 oz. Drinks as on milk diet. Sugar 2 oz. Beer 1 pint.
Notes
The meat mentioned in the different diets to be beef and mutton alternately. Should any patient particularly require a mutton-chop or beefsteak, instead of either the beef or mutton boiled and made into broth, the surgeon may direct it accordingly.
The matron is allowed to purchase ripe fruit, or any other article not comprehended in the several diets, by permission and direction of the surgeon.
Sago, when particularly ordered by the surgeon, will be furnished in the quantity equal to the value of one day’s ordinary diet, but then for that day the matron is to supply nothing else, save toast and water, water-gruel, or barley-water, and any bread which may be ordered by the surgeon.
No beer is to be issued to any patient in the hospital until after dinner, unless particularly ordered by his surgeon, and no patient is allowed to give his allowance of beer to another, for when he does not choose the whole, or any part of it, it is to remain with the matron.
In fact, when we look to the sanitary condition of the hospital, its staff, its furnishing, the diet, the arrangements for the admission, the retention, and the treatment of the patients, we find in the records sufficient evidence that the provision for the care of the sick prisoners was at Norman Cross equal to, if not superior to, that offered by any civil institution of that date.
To pass from the discomforts of the prison to the luxurious life of the hospital was a temptation which favoured malingering, especially in the case of one of “Les Misérables,” who, having nothing left wherewith to gamble, needed a bed and food. The agent had in 1801, to issue a special order as to the precautions necessary to prevent prisoners shamming illness in order to obtain admission into the hospital. This was the year of the epidemic, when the hospital had been in the earlier months overcrowded, and we can only trust that no mistake was ever made, and that no prisoner sickening for the fatal disease was dealt with as a malingerer and denied admission into the wards.
As stated in an early chapter, the prisoners passed out of the agent’s charge when they fell sick, and the order of Captain Woodriff may have been the result of friction between himself and the surgeons.
The excellent arrangements made by the Government department for the care of the sick and wounded gave the sick prisoners the best chance of recovery. It was, nevertheless, the cruel fate of nearly 1,800 of those incarcerated at Norman Cross between 1797 and 1814 to end a captivity which had endured for a period varying from a few days to eleven years, without the solace of a glimpse of their native land, away from relatives, friends, and home, by death in the prison hospital, whence their bodies were borne to be laid in the prisoners’ cemetery, where they still lie, unknown and unhonoured. [171]
The succeeding chapter deals with this cemetery and cognate matters.