Object lesson: Ships of Bone and Hair
Carved model ship, French prisoner-of-war-made, late 1700s–early 1800s. Whalebone, black thread, in glass case with mother-of-pearl- inlaid wooden platform stand; case height 23 1/2, width 25 1/2, depth 11 1/4 inches. Photograph courtesy of Skinner, Inc. It was the winter of 1806, and the Frenchmen were growing hungry. Packed together with a mere two feet between them when lying down, the mass of sodden humanity was as bored as it was famished. The daily ration—when it was even delivered— consisted of watery beer, a hunk of bread, and a gnarled bit of mutton on the bone. When everything was eaten, the bones alone would remain. There was not much to do in the hold of an English prison ship, but there were the bones, and there was time. From these two sprang works of vibrant artistry and whispered testimony—the ships of bone and hair. Between 1793 and 1815 some quarter of a million French prisoners of war were held captive in Britain. Captured while fighting first for Revolutionary France and then later for Napoleon Bonaparte, the enemy soldiers were held in a deliberate effort by the British government to starve France’s forces of manpower. This ran counter to the traditional practice of ransoming or trading captured soldiers. Carved and painted model ship, probably French prisoner- of-war-made, c. 1790. Whalebone, paint, in glass case; case height 22 1/4, width 26 3/4, depth 10 1/2 inches. Skinner photograph. Revolutionary and imperial France were so unprecedented as political entities that many of the long-held traditions of international warfare had to be rethought. Before the period of the French Revolution, most armies were still modeled on customs of conflict dating back to the Middle Ages. The treatment of captured soldiers had roots in the murky depths of feudal hierarchy and obligation, and an