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 (some say it was of brick, but this is more than doubtful,) 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.

With regard to the internal administration of the Norman Cross barracks, very copious particulars are to be found in the Government Record Office.  Indeed, they are so copious as to be wearisome.  Regulations are varied, or new ones added every year.  Thus, at first, there was no parole at Norman Cross, or any of the other prisons.  Officers on parole had to

live at certain places in Great Britain, of which a list is given, under the eye of an agent.  But this regulation must afterwards have been modified, for it is certain that, as prisoners multiplied, one of the large buildings at Norman Cross was allotted to the officers, and that it was no uncommon thing for some of them to be allowed, under strict rules, to go out on parole.  The mile-stone is still pointed out, which was the ordinary limit of the distance the poor fellows might go.  And a very old man is still living at Yaxley, who remembers, as a boy, having often seen them on the road, some very well dressed, others in tatters, few in uniform.

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.

But of all who slandered the Government for their treatment of the prisoners, no one was worse than that most amiable and pleasant writer, George Borrow.  In his book called Lavengro, with much picturesqueness, but little truth, he thus describes the prison itself:—“What a strange appearance had those mighty caserns (five or six of them, he says, but there were sixteen) with their blank, blind walls, without windows or gratings, and their slanting roofs, out of which, through orifices where the tiles had been removed, would be protruded dozens of grim heads, feasting their prison-sick eyes on the wide expanse of country unfolded from that airy height.”

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!

One other instance of the reckless way in which he writes about Norman Cross.  Speaking of the manner in which a good many of the prisoners employed themselves in straw-plaiting of a very superior description, and how in course of time they thus competed in what was an employment of the English in certain neighbourhoods, Borrow gives the following