Hector le Gautier, all unconscious of the plot against his safety and
peace of mind, sat over his breakfast the same morning. He was on
remarkably good terms with himself, for all his plans were prospering,
and for him the present outlook was a rosy one. His plans were well
laid. He intended to keep his present position in the League, to go
to Warsaw if necessary; and now that he had Sir Geoffrey in his hands
beyond all hope of extrication, it was easy enough to send Maxwell upon
some dangerous foreign mission, where, if he escaped with his life, he
would henceforth be an outlaw and a fugitive. Sir Geoffrey, too, had
bound himself to join; and with this lever, he could work upon Enid’s
fears to perfection.
He was in no hurry; he was far too consummate a rogue, too accomplished
a schemer, to ruin the delicate combination by any premature move,
preferring for the present to renew his forces and calculate his
advance, as a chess-player might when he knows the game is in his
hands. Then should come the crowning act, by which he should rid
himself of the irksome chains which bound him to the League. All his
plans were prepared for delivering the leaders into the hands of
justice, always with a care to his own escape. As he turned these
things over in his mind, he whistled a little air gaily, resumed his
breakfast, and opened the broadsheet of the _Times_ to see the news of
the day.
Fortune seemed to be smiling upon him, he thought, as he read the
mystic announcement in the second outside column. Here was the thing
which had caused him so much anxious thought as good as delivered again
into his hands. Some friend, perhaps, had discovered his loss, and had
determined to return it thus. Perhaps—and here he showed his white
teeth in a dazzling smile—some fair one, who had taken this way to show
her admiration; for Le Gautier was, like most vain men, a great admirer
of the sex, and fully impressed with the all-conquering fascination of
his manner. He was not the first clever man who has held such opinions,
and found, when too late, the fatal error of underrating the power of
an injured woman.
He perfectly understood the advertisement. It was not the first time
that newspapers had been employed to do work for the League; nor did he
hesitate to avail himself of this golden opportunity. He had scarcely
finished his breakfast and made up his mind to meet the mysterious
Eastern Eagle, when Salvarini entered. He was moody and preoccupied,
with a sombre frown upon his face, telling of much inward uneasiness.
‘I do not like these new arrangements,’ he commenced abruptly, in
answer to Le Gautier’s florid greeting. ‘There is great danger in them,
and they cannot lead to any good results. I shall oppose them.’
‘Pray, explain yourself, my good Luigi; I am in Cimmerian darkness,’
Le Gautier replied carelessly. ‘You are so dreadfully in earnest;
absolutely, you view life through the gloomy spectacles of the League.’
‘It is folly, madness!’ Salvarini replied passionately. ‘Heaven knows,
we have had bloodshed enough. What do you think the last proposal
is?—Nothing less than the removal of ministers: dynamite is to be the
agent, and a special mission arranged to Rome. Visci—our dear old
friend Visci—is doomed!’
‘They must be mad,’ Le Gautier returned calmly. ‘But tell me, Luigi,
what of Visci?’ he continued, inspired by a sudden thought. ‘I presume
you have been holding a Council this morning. Visci used to be a friend
of yours. How do they propose to get rid of him?’
‘The dagger!’ Salvarini answered with great agitation. ‘Visci was once
a friend of mine, as you say, and yours too, for that. Heaven save me
from the task!’
‘But why need it be you? We have new members, new blood as yet untried.
Let them show their mettle now. There is no reason why we should always
be in the van of battle. But why this sudden determination?’
‘The old story,’ Salvarini continued bitterly—‘private grudges brought
in; personal ends to be served where all should be of one accord, all
striving for the good of the cause. I am heartsick and weary of the
whole affair. Is our path always to be defiled with innocent blood?’
‘So long as I can keep my hands clean, it is nothing to me,’ Le Gautier
replied with a careless shrug; ‘not that I hold with the present
system.—But abandon your Cassandra vein, and be yourself for a moment.
See what you think of that, and congratulate me upon a stroke of
fortune I have not altogether deserved.’
‘I congratulate you,’ Salvarini grimly replied, when he had perused
the paragraph. ‘You always contrive to fall upon your feet. Did I not
tell you that night in the Kursaal you would hear of this again? Of
course it is a woman. No man would have taken such trouble, especially
if he happened to be a Brother,’ he concluded with significant emphasis.
Le Gautier drew his fingers airily across his throat, intending by this
little playful action to allude to his own sudden death. In his petty
vanity, he was not altogether displeased that his friend should hint at
a conquest.
‘Undoubtedly from a woman,’ he said. ‘Mark the mystery and romance
underlying it all. Some fair dame of the Order, perhaps, who has seen
me only to become a victim to my numberless charms.—Luigi, my friend,
this little affair promises amusement.’
‘I might have known that,’ Salvarini retorted with some little
contempt. ‘I believe you could be turned aside from the most pressing
mission by a glance from a pair of melting eyes.—Bah! your thoughts run
on such things to the detriment of the Order.’
‘In such a charming situation as you mention, confusion to the
Order!—Now, do not look so melodramatic! Pardieu! do you think a man
should have no amusements? Now, as a penance, you shall bore me with
the order of this morning’s proceedings.’
‘A woman will ruin you eventually.’—Le Gautier smiled; the sententious
words read the wrong way.—‘We had not much transaction this morning,
save what I have told you, and the initiation of a few members.’
‘Converts to the noble cause of freedom.—Any one I know?’
‘Several. Do I understand it is your intention to introduce Sir
Geoffrey in person?’
Le Gautier nodded assent; and the friends proceeded to discuss other
matters connected with their mission. When Salvarini had left, long and
earnestly did Le Gautier sit silently there. Then he rose, and taking
a pack of cards from a drawer, began to cut and shuffle them rapidly.
He dealt them round six times, bringing the knave of clubs on the same
heap each time. He put the cards away; an evil smile was on his face.
‘My right hand has not lost its cunning,’ he muttered. ‘Frederick
Maxwell shall go to Rome, and—— Well, fate will do the rest.’
With this humane remark, he put on his hat, struggled into a pair of
very tight-fitting gloves, and passed out from Hunter Street into the
Euston Road; for it is almost needless to say that the house beyond
Paddington where we last saw him was not his ordinary lodging, his
abode being a much humbler one, as consisted with his limited means;
for Hector le Gautier, though moving in good society, and always
faultlessly attired, was not endowed with that wealth that smooths
so many paths in this vale of tears. Like other men of his class, he
contrived to keep his head above water, though how it was done was
alike a mystery to himself and his friends.
It was past two as he turned into Grosvenor Square and up the broad
flight of steps which led up to the Charteris’ mansion. He had come
here with more purposes than one: in the first place, to see Enid—this
attraction a powerful one; and secondly, to have a talk upon general
matters with the baronet, and perhaps get an invitation to luncheon.
Sir Geoffrey he found in the dining-room, just sitting down to his
mid-day meal in solitary state; and in answer to an invitation to
join, asked after Enid, who, he learned, had gone with Maxwell and a
kindly chaperon to a morning-party at Twickenham. He was, however, too
much a cosmopolitan to allow this to interfere with his appetite, so,
with a few well-chosen words of regret, he settled himself quietly
to his lunch, discussing in turn the weather, politics, the last new
beauty, anything—waiting for his host to speak upon the subject nearest
his heart. Sir Geoffrey’s patience being by this time exhausted, he
commenced.
‘I think I am free, Le Gautier,’ he said at length.
The listener affected not to comprehend this enigmatic remark.
‘Free from what, Sir Geoffrey?’ he asked carelessly. ‘Is it gout, or
headache, or a marvellous escape from dining with a notorious bore?
Which of these things are you free from?’
‘I was thinking of nothing so worldly,’ was the serious reply. ‘I
allude to the marvellous manifestations recently vouchsafed to me.
Since you so kindly showed me through yourself the path of duty, I have
felt like a different man. They are gone, I trust for ever. Tell me, do
you think there is any possible chance of their recurring?’
‘So long as you fulfil your part of the contract, certainly not.—But,
my dear Sir Geoffrey,’ the Frenchman continued gaily, ‘let us have
no serious conversation now, I beseech you. Let us forget for the
time we are anything but friends. I am too light and frivolous to
talk seriously. The last new play, a fresh picture, anything but the
supernatural.’
Despite this appearance of _bonhomie_, Le Gautier had no intention of
changing the conversation, though it was not his cue to introduce the
subject himself; besides, an appearance of good-naturedly yielding to
the other’s news seemed to tell better, and create a deeper feeling of
obligation.
‘The longer I put the matter off, the more difficult my task seems
to be,’ the baronet continued, not without hesitation. ‘Certain
restrictions were laid upon me, certain commands given, which I am
bound to carry out. If you had heard the conversation, my task would be
less difficult; but as you did not, I must do my best to explain.’
Le Gautier drummed with his fingers upon the table, shrugged his
shoulders, and sighed gently, as a man yielding against his will upon
the sacred ground of friendship, tempered with politeness.
‘If you have anything to say, it is perhaps better to say it. But if
it pains you, if it gives you the slightest mental agony or discloses
family affairs, then, my dear sir, be dumb;’ and the speaker glanced
out of the window, as if he considered the matter settled.
‘But I must tell you. It is impossible I can fulfil my promises without
your assistance. In the first place, I am commanded to join your League
or Brotherhood; and here, you see, I cannot get any further without
your good advice and countenance.’
‘You distress me,’ Le Gautier replied mournfully. ‘I wish that matter
could have been settled without such a step being necessary. Our work,
though a noble one, is attended at times with great hardship and
danger. Think, my dear Sir Geoffrey—think if there is no middle course
by which such an action may be avoided.’
The speaker created the impression he was most anxious to make. To the
baronet, full of his scheme, this advice was unpalatable, the more
that, like most spoilt, weak-minded men, he was intensely fond of his
own way. He grew stubborn. Le Gautier was perfectly at ease as he
studied the other’s face.
‘I see no middle course. The injunction was very strict. I dare not
disobey, if I would. I must become a member of your League, whatever
the danger may be; and if called upon, I must take my part in the work.
Do you not remember the vision?’——
‘You forget my state,’ Le Gautier interrupted softly—‘that during the
time I heard nothing, comprehended nothing going on around me. My
faculties for the time being were torpid.’
This adroit interruption only served to increase the baronet’s
uneasiness. He writhed in his chair, unable to continue.
‘And there is another thing,’ he stammered, ‘which I must tell you,
though I scarcely know how. I daresay you have noticed my daughter?’
‘Is it possible to see her and not be conscious of her beauties!’ Le
Gautier cried—‘to be in her presence and not feel the charm of her
society! Ah! Sir Geoffrey,’ he continued blandly, throwing out a strong
hint, ‘he will be a happy man who wins the treasure of her heart!’
At this helping of the lame dog over the stile, Sir Geoffrey looked
grateful. ‘Has she ever impressed you, Le Gautier?’
‘Alas, yes,’ was the melancholy reply, but with some feeling too, for,
as far as he was concerned, the passion was genuine. ‘Why should I
strive to conceal my honest love? I may be poor and unknown, but I am
at least a gentleman, and I offer the greatest compliment man can pay a
woman—an ardent, loving heart.—But I am rambling; I dream, I rave! That
I should aspire to an alliance with the House of Charteris!’
The baronet was somewhat moved by this display of manly emotion, and,
moreover, his pride was tickled. The young man evidently knew that what
he aspired to was a high honour indeed.
‘But, Sir Geoffrey,’ he continued brokenly, ‘you will not breathe a
word of this to a soul! In a moment of passion, I have been led to
divulge the master-passion of my life. Promise me you will forget
it from this hour;’ and saying these words, he stretched out a hand
trembling with suppressed emotion to his host and friend. A good actor
was lost to an admiring world here.
‘But bless me!’ Sir Geoffrey exclaimed, taken aback by this display,
and, sooth to say, somewhat irritated that the necessary explanation
must come from him after all, ‘I _want_ you to marry the girl.’
‘Is it possible, or am I dreaming?’ Le Gautier cried in a delirium of
rapture. ‘Do I hear aright? Oh, say these words again!’
Le Gautier was slightly overdoing the thing now, and Sir Geoffrey knew
it. ‘I mean what I say,’ he added coldly. ‘You are the man for Enid.’
‘Who is talking about Enid?’ asked a fresh clear voice at that moment,
as the subject of discourse, accompanied by her escort, glided into the
room. Le Gautier, in love as he was, thought he had never seen her look
so fair as she did then, her face slightly tinged with colour, her eyes
all aglow with pleasurable excitement. For a moment the conspirators
were abashed, and it took all the Frenchman’s cool equitable nerve to
solve and explain what appeared to be a truly awkward question.
‘When we are not with the rose, we love to talk of her,’ he replied
with one of these bold glances for which Maxwell longed to kick him on
the spot.—‘I trust you have spent a pleasant morning?’
Enid answered as coldly as the dictates of breeding would allow.
The man’s florid compliments were odious to her, and his presence
oppressive. Le Gautier, accustomed to read men and faces like open
books, did not fail to note this.
‘I have important news,’ he whispered to Maxwell, after he had made his
graceful adieux to Enid and his host. ‘I want to say a few words to
you, if you happen to be walking my way.’
Maxwell answered with studious politeness. ‘With pleasure,’ he said.
‘If you will allow me, I will drive you in my cab.’
Enid’s quick ears caught the whisper, and a feeling of approaching evil
seemed to come over her—a cloud passed over the sun, and, to her fancy,
for a moment Le Gautier looked like Mephistopheles tempting Faust. As
the two men passed out, she called Maxwell back. ‘Be careful,’ she
urged. ‘Beware of that man; he will do you a mischief.’
Maxwell smiled down in the pretty fearful face tenderly. ‘All right,
little woman,’ he answered carelessly. ‘I shall take care. He is not
likely to do any harm to me.’
NAPOLEON IN TOR BAY.
It is all but impossible to realise the scene of excitement which the
calm blue waters of Tor Bay, crested with the bright sunshine of the
summer of 1815, presented, when the Emperor Napoleon arrived on board
the _Bellerophon_, soon to be transferred to the _Northumberland_,
in which he was conveyed to St Helena. After the world-earthquake
Waterloo, when the allies entered Paris, and the French army declared
for Louis XVIII., Napoleon made his way to Rochefort, where he arrived
on the 3d of July, and whence his attempts at escape were frustrated by
the moonlight and the vigilance of the English cruisers. Two frigates
had been placed at his disposal to facilitate his flight to America,
and arrangements likewise made with a Danish smack which was to await
him out at sea; but to reach her under the circumstances was deemed an
attempt too hazardous. At last, on the 14th of July, Count Las Cases
and General Allemand came on board the _Bellerophon_, then lying in
the Basque Roads, with a proposal to Captain Maitland that he should
receive Napoleon, who desired to proceed to England for the purpose
of throwing himself upon the generosity of the Prince Regent. Captain
Maitland clearly explained that it was out of his power to grant
terms of any sort, and that his instructions only permitted him to
convey Napoleon and his attendants to England; on which understanding,
the ex-Emperor, with his baggage, embarked the following morning
on board a French brig, which conveyed them to the _Bellerophon_,
where he was received with the honours due to a crowned head. On
gaining the quarter-deck, the Emperor said in French to the captain:
‘I am come, sir, to claim the protection of your Prince and of your
laws.’ In appearance he is described as about five and a half feet in
height, strongly made, decidedly stout, with a sallow complexion, and
dark-brown hair, as yet untouched with gray. He wore a green uniform
coat with epaulets and a red collar, a broad red sash, star on the left
breast, white waistcoat, boots and pantaloons, and a large cocked hat
with the tricoloured cockade.
The passage, by reason of adverse winds, was slow, so that it was the
24th ere the _Bellerophon_ arrived in Tor Bay, when Captain Maitland
was signalled to stand out three leagues from shore, and there await
further orders from the Admiralty. It is said that on first beholding
the Devonshire coast, Napoleon could not conceal his admiration,
exclaiming: ‘At length here is this beautiful country! How much it
resembles Porto Ferrajo, in Elba.’
No sooner was it known that the disturber of the peace of Europe,
against whom they had so long and so sternly striven, was actually
on board ship at anchor in Tor Bay, than from Dartmouth, Paignton,
Dawlish, Teignmouth, and by-and-by from ports more distant still, the
country-folk thronged in boats of every size and shape, struggling to
approach the _Bellerophon_ to catch a glimpse of the fallen Emperor.
So inconvenient and dangerous was the crowding of these innumerable
craft with their cargoes of sightseers, that it became necessary to
order the _Bellerophon’s_ boats to row round the ship to keep them at a
respectful distance. No fewer than a thousand boats daily put off from
the shore; and Napoleon exhibited no little pleasure and amusement at
the interest excited by his presence. From London and all parts of the
country, people flocked down to Tor Bay during the time necessarily
occupied in determining Napoleon’s final destination, well pleased if
they succeeded in catching an occasional glimpse of him as he walked
backwards and forwards in the stern gallery with his hands behind him,
or surveyed through an opera glass the varied texture of the crowd in
the vessels below. As he paced the quarter-deck in conversation with
one or other of his followers, he would frequently approach the ship’s
side and acknowledge the salutations of his visitors. Two or three
French ladies, wives of members of the suite, dressed in the height
of the prevailing fashion, were frequently seated on deck, with whom,
as he paused in his walk and stooped to look through the ports at the
vessels alongside, Napoleon would now and again exchange a word. At
six o’clock the dinner-bell rang, when the Emperor with his attendants
went below, the sailors with great good-humour putting out a board
on which was chalked, ‘He’s gone to dine.’ He usually remained about
half an hour, when another board announced his reappearance on deck. It
was about the 1st of August when his ultimate destination became known
to him through the newspapers, and he was shortly afterwards observed
at the cabin window tearing up papers, which he threw into the sea.
Fragments of some of these, being seized upon as relics, turned out
to be translations of speeches in the last session of parliament, and
a letter addressed to the Empress Maria Louisa immediately after his
abdication.
But of all the incidents which occurred while Napoleon was in Tor
Bay, the most remarkable was a farewell visit paid him by a lady of
foreign appearance and surpassing loveliness. Cloaked and veiled,
to escape observation, she carried with her a bouquet of choicest
flowers, peculiarly arranged in rows, which, when her boat arrived
at a convenient distance from the _Bellerophon_, was despatched in
charge of her servant. As the token of unchanged affection reached
the quarter-deck, the lady was observed to raise her veil, disclosing
features of exceeding beauty. At first, the bouquet seemed to awaken
no memories in Napoleon’s breast, but after a moment, he hastily
approached the ship’s side, and steadfastly gazing awhile on the fair
form disclosed to view, he waved a last farewell.
On Wednesday the 2d of August, the _Bellerophon_ and _Tonnant_ sailed
for Plymouth, where it had been intended that the transfer to the
_Northumberland_ should be carried out. But in consequence of the loss
of life which occurred from the vast concourse of boats in the Sound,
as well as to avoid a writ of habeas corpus, under which it was desired
to obtain the evidence of Napoleon in a case at the time pending in the
Queen’s Bench, it was deemed advisable to return to Tor Bay, where,
on Sunday the 6th of August, the three vessels (the _Northumberland_
having meantime come round from Portsmouth) cast anchor. No sooner
were the ships brought up, than Sir Henry Bunbury, accompanied by Mr
Bathurst, proceeded on board the _Bellerophon_, and announced to the
ex-Emperor the resolution of the cabinet, that he should be transported
to St Helena, accompanied by four of his friends and twelve servants.
The information was received without surprise; but in a speech of
three-quarters of an hour’s duration, delivered in a manner the most
impressive, Napoleon protested against the determination which had been
arrived at.
The same afternoon, Lord Keith and Sir George Cockburn proceeded in
the admiral’s yacht to the _Bellerophon_. Napoleon was on deck to
receive them. After the usual salutations, Lord Keith addressed himself
to Bonaparte, and acquainted him with his intended transfer to the
_Northumberland_ for passage to St Helena. After much expostulation,
Napoleon finally refused to go; but upon Lord Keith expressing the
hope that no coercion would be necessary to carry out the orders of
government, he replied: ‘O no, no! you command, I must obey! Only,
recollect, I do not go of my own free-will.’ He then formally handed to
Lord Keith a written protest against his transportation to St Helena,
in which it was contended, that having come voluntarily on board
the _Bellerophon_, he was the guest and not the prisoner of England.
‘I appeal,’ he concluded, ‘to history, whether an enemy who comes
deliberately in his misfortunes to seek an asylum under the protection
of English law, can give a more convincing proof of his esteem and
confidence. But how have the English answered such confidence and
magnanimity; they pretended to extend a friendly hand to this enemy;
and when he relied on their good faith, they sacrificed him.’
It was afterwards arranged that the transfer should take place the
following morning (Monday) about eleven o’clock. Early next day, Sir
George Cockburn superintended the inspection of the baggage, consisting
of services and toilet sets of plate, several articles in gold, books,
beds, &c., which were sent on board the _Northumberland_, four thousand
gold napoleons being sealed up and detained. The baggage having been
removed, the parting scene commenced, Napoleon handing to several of
his officers a certificate of fidelity and good service. About eleven
o’clock, the barge of the _Tonnant_ proceeded to the _Bellerophon_ to
receive the fallen Emperor and those who were to be the partakers of
his exile: General and Madame Bertrand with their children, Count and
Countess Montholon and child, Count Las Cases, General Gourgaud, nine
men and three women servants. At the last moment, Napoleon’s surgeon
refused to accompany him, whereupon the surgeon of the _Bellerophon_,
Mr O’Meara, consented to supply his place. Shortly afterwards O’Meara
was offered a salary of five hundred pounds per annum, but this he
rejected, with the remark that the pay of his king was sufficient to
satisfy him.
Before entering the barge which was to convey him to the
_Northumberland_, Bonaparte addressed himself to Captain Maitland and
the officers of the _Bellerophon_, not forgetting to take off his hat
to them again after descending the ladder into the barge. It was about
noon on the 7th of August when the barge of the _Tonnant_ approached
the starboard side of the _Northumberland_. Bertrand was the first to
go over the side, and standing with his hat off, upright as a sentinel,
announced his master. Napoleon instantly followed, and taking off his
hat, remarked to Sir George Cockburn, who received him: ‘Monsieur, je
suis à vos ordres.’ At once moving forward on the quarter-deck, he
desired to be introduced to Captain Ross, who commanded the ship, a
ceremony which was immediately performed, the guard of marines, drawn
up on the port side, receiving the ex-Emperor with the compliment due
to his rank as a general officer. To Lord Lowther and Mr Lyttleton,
who stood near the admiral, Napoleon bowed and spoke a few words,
remarking also to an artillery officer who was by, that he himself
had originally served in that arm. The introduction to the eight
lieutenants of the ship, not one of whom could speak a single word of
French, was sufficiently ridiculous; they were drawn up in line on
one side of the cabin; and after gazing and smiling for a moment on
Napoleon, who, in his turn, gazed and smiled at them, they bowed and
defiled before him out of the cabin door. The after-cabin on board the
_Northumberland_ was not, as on the _Bellerophon_, the private room
wherein Napoleon was not to be intruded upon by any unbidden guest, but
was shared equally by the admiral and his friends; a small cabin being
besides appropriated for the sole accommodation of the ex-Emperor,
and elegantly furnished, the toilet being of silver, and the bed
linen of exquisite fineness. The party were also permitted to supply
themselves from shore with any articles they might desire wherewith
to add to their comfort and amusement, a permission of which they
availed themselves by purchasing a billiard-table, an immense supply of
playing-cards, chessmen, &c., besides a number of the best books in the
English language.
After waiting for the _Weymouth_ storeship and some other vessels
destined to complete the miniature squadron, the whole finally sailed
out of Tor Bay on Friday the 11th of August; and Napoleon passed away
from the shores of Europe to end his days in exile on a solitary rock
in the Atlantic.
GEORGE HANNAY’S LOVE AFFAIR.