The prisoners were not commonly spoken of by name, but were known by the persons with whom they resided, e.g., ‘Nannie Tamson’s Frenchman’, ‘Widow Ross’s Frenchman’. The boys were a great plague to the Frenchmen, for when a great victory was announced their dominie gave them a holiday, and the youngsters celebrated it too frequently by jeering the prisoners, and by shouting and cheering. The boys at a school then beside the road at No. 1 Milestone, were prominent in these triumphant displays, and sometimes pelted the prisoners with stones. The manners of the Jedburgh prisoners are thus alluded to in the _False Alarm_, a local pamphlet: ‘They were very polite, and not infrequently put us rough-spun Scotchmen to the blush with their polished manners. They came in course of time to be liked, but it seems some of the older members of the community could never be brought to fraternize with them. One old man actually pointed his gun at them, and threatened to fire because they had exceeded their walking limit.’ An aged Jedburgh lady’s reminiscences are interesting. She says: ‘Among the officers was M. Espinasse, who settled in Edinburgh after the Peace and engaged in teaching; Baron Goldshord or Gottshaw, who married a Jedburgh lady, a Miss Waugh; another, whose name I do not remember, married a Miss Jenny Wintrope, who went with him to the South of France. There was a Captain Rivoli, also a Captain Racquet, and a number of others who were well received by the townspeople, and frequently invited to parties in their homes, to card-clubs, etc. They were for the most part pleasant, agreeable gentlemen, and made many friends. Almost all of them employed themselves in work of some kind, besides playing at different kinds of games, shooting small birds, and fishing for trout. They much enjoyed the liberty granted them of walking one mile out of the town in any direction, as within that distance there were many beautiful walks when they could go out one road, turn, and come back by another. During their stay, when news had been received of one great British victory, the magistrates permitted rejoicing, and a great bonfire was kindled at the Cross, and an effigy of Napoleon was set on a donkey and paraded round the town by torchlight, and round the bonfire, and then cast into the flames. I have often heard an old gentleman, who had given the boots and part of the clothing, say he never regretted doing anything so much in his life, as helping on that great show, when he saw the pain it gave to these poor gentlemen-prisoners, who felt so much at seeing the affront put upon their great commander. ‘The French prisoners have always been ingenious in the use they made of their meat bones ... they took them and pounded them into a powder which they mixed with the soft food they were eating. It is even said that they flourished on this dissolved phosphate of lime and gelatine.