Both officers and men were represented, as well as a considerable number of the regiments
on guard, though Major Kelly was too sound a soldier to detach too many, knowing that it was right to provide against not only what was likely, but also what was possible to happen.
It was a touching sight, as a military funeral always is, even when the departed one is an ordinary and undistinguished man. How much more when he has taken an honourable part in many a glorious field of battle! And how much more yet, when, as in this case, he has fallen on the field of unromantic duty, done with faithfulness, and with kindness, and with humanity.
His record still exists, and may be seen to this day on the north wall of the Lady-chapel of the grand old church of Yaxley, honouring alike the good man whose remains lie there, and the “poor prisoners,” whose friend he was.
The tablet has the following words on it:
“Inscribed at the desire and at the sole expense of the French prisoners of war at Norman Cross, to the memory of Captain John Draper, R.N., who for the last 18 months of his life was agent to the depôt; in testimony of their esteem and gratitude for his humane attention to their comforts during that too short period. He died Feb. 23, 1813, aged 53 years.”
When all was over, Tournier remained behind to view the sacred edifice with his friend Cosin.
“What a magnificent church,” he exclaimed, after he had looked round. “Why, it is a small cathedral! Are all your parish churches like this?”
“No,” said Cosin, smiling, “this is the finest in the neighbourhood.”
“But what is the meaning of those wooden boxes all about?” asked Tournier: “they look like (forgive me for saying so,) what we call ‘stalles pour les bestiaux,’ but there are seats in them”—peeping into one of the square pews.