Admiral Count Linois was as worthy a prisoner as he had proved himself many times a worthy foe. A French writer describes him as having displayed during his captivity a philosophic resignation; and even the stony-hearted Transport Board, in acceding to his request that his wife should be allowed to join him at Bath, complimented him on his behaviour ‘which has formed a very satisfactory contrast to that of many officers of high rank, by whom a similar indulgence has been abused.’
Lucien, Bonaparte’s second brother, was a prisoner in England, but very nominally, from 1810 to 1814. He could not fall in with the grand and ambitious ideas of his brother so far as they touched family matters. Bonaparte, having made his brothers all princes, considered that they should marry accordingly. Lucien married the girl he loved; his brother resented it, and passed the Statute of March 30, 1806, by which it was enacted that ‘Marriages of the Imperial Family shall be null and void if contracted without the permission of the Emperor, as the princes ought to be devoted without reserve to the great interests of the country, and the glory of our house.’ He wanted Lucien to marry the Queen of Etruria, widow of Louis I, Prince of Parma, a match which, when Tuscany should be annexed to the Empire, would mean that their throne would be that of Spain and the Indies.
So Lucien sailed for the United States, but was captured by a British cruiser carried to Malta, and thence to England. He was sent on parole to Ludlow, where he lived at Dinham House. Then he bought Thorngrove, near Worcester, where he lived until 1814, and where he wrote Charlemagne, ou l’Église sauvée.
Cambronne, wounded at the head of the Imperial Guard at Waterloo, and reputed author of a famous mot which he never uttered, was for two hours on a Portsmouth hulk, but was soon placed on parole, and was at Ashburton in Devonshire until November 1815. The grand-daughter of Mrs. Eddy, at whose house Cambronne lodged, still preserves at the Golden Lion a portrait of the general, given by him to Mrs. Eddy. From England he wrote to Louis XVIII, professing loyalty, and offering his services, but on his arrival in Paris was brought up for trial on these counts:
(1) Having betrayed the King. (2) Having made an armed attack on France. (3) Having procured aid for Bonaparte by violence. He was adjudged Not Guilty on all three.
Admiral De Winter, Commander of the Dutch fleet at Camperdown, was a prisoner for a year in England, but I cannot learn where. It is gratifying to read his appreciation of the kindly treatment he received, as expressed in his speech at his public entry into Amsterdam after his release in December 1798.
‘The fortune of war previously forced me to live abroad, and, being since then for the first time vanquished by the enemy, I have experienced a second state of exile. However mortifying to the feelings of a man who loves his country, the satisfactory treatment I met with on the part of the enemy, the English, and the humane and faithful support and assistance they evinced towards my worthy countrymen and fellow sufferers, have considerably softened the horrors of my situation. Nay! Worthy burghers! I must not conceal from you that the noble liberality of the English nation since this bloody contest justly entitles them to your admiration.’
De Winter’s flag-ship, the Vryheid, was for many years a hulk at Chatham.
(2) Some Statistics
Statistics are wearisome, but, in order that readers may form some idea of the burden cast on the country by the presence of prisoners of war, I give a few figures.