must have been a great aggravation of the trials of a prisoner of war
that, from first to last, he was uncertain as to the duration of his
captivity. Had it not been for the sham peace of Amiens, some of the
prisoners would have been in confinement seventeen years, while others
were set at liberty after only one or two. It may be said, Yes, but then
they might always hope. But hope, like other things, wants something to
feed upon. It cannot bring much consolation, when it lives upon
fluctuation and uncertainty. And so a criminal, who knows how long
exactly his term will last, is in this respect better off than a prisoner
of war, for he escapes the agitation of uncertainty; just as it has been
known that a person threatened with blindness, has become much less
irritable when he knew for certain he could never see again, than he was
when recovery was doubtful.

{Robert Lewin, aged 94. The only Yaxley Man who remembers Norman Cross
Barracks. From a photograph taken by Rev. E. H. Brown: p113.jpg}

The scales of hope went up and down continually at Norman Cross,
according to the intelligence that reached the prisoners from each seat
of war. The triumphs of Napoleon on the Continent, and the victories of
Wellington in the Peninsula, were pondered over with deepest interest by
both officers and men. But no prophet was there among them, or anywhere
else, who could forecast the issue that was swiftly coming on. At the
commencement of the year 1812, all was still uncertain. In the Eastern
provinces of Spain the French were almost everywhere triumphant. Napoleon
was beginning his grand preparation for the invasion of Russia. Our
cousins in America were displaying their brotherly instincts by declaring
war against us in our trouble. Peace seemed as far off as ever.

Captain Tournier did not return to the barracks until his health was
completely re-established, and Major Kelly was very liberal in his
allowance of time. He quitted the hospitable roof of his friend with
much regret, but with a heart full of gratitude, and went back to his
discomforts as a man returning to his duty, not what he liked, but his
duty, and what he meant to make the best of.

Alice Cosin was much struck with the alteration in him, so much so indeed
that she did not quite like it. "He seems so cheerful," she remarked to
her brother, "going back to that horrid place after all the comforts he
has enjoyed with us."

"Ah, dear Alice," he repl