THE GOVERNOR'S RULES
After Napoleon had been at St. Helena a few months, newspapers from
England began to arrive with narratives of many of the happenings at The
Briars.
One journal contained a letter from the Marquis de Montchenu, describing
all the romping games at The Briars, such as the game of blindman's
buff, the sword scare, and other things in which the children had taken
part.
Special comments were made on the manners of Betsy, and the writer said,
"She is the wildest little girl I have ever met; she seems _folle_."
This letter had been translated into French and German journals, so that
Betsy Balcombe's name was now widely known.
Mr. Balcombe was greatly enraged by this letter, and wished to call the
Marquis to account for his ill nature, but Mrs. Balcombe persuaded him
to desist from extreme measures, and in the end the Marquis himself made
an apology.
Napoleon found some amusement in Betsy's fierce anger against the
critical Frenchman. One day Dr. O'Meara called at The Briars, on the way
to St. James Valley, with a message from Napoleon to tell Betsy how she
could revenge herself on the tale-bearer.
The Marquis, a noble of the old school, was in the habit of wearing an
elaborate wig with a long cue.
"Mees Betsy, if you will burn off the cue with caustic, I will reward
you with the prettiest fan in Solomon's shop, if you will send the
pigtail to me," suggested Napoleon to Betsy as a plan of revenge.
"_Eh, bien_," said the Emperor, when next he saw Betsy, "Mdlle. Betsy,
_as tu obei mes ordres et gagne l'eventail_?" ["Have you obeyed my
orders and won the fan?"]
"Oh, sire, how I wanted to do it, but my brother would not let me!"
"Ah, Mees Betsy," and Napoleon pinched her ear, "_tu commences a etre
sage_. Here, O'Meara, have you brought the fan I promised Miss Betsy?"
"No, sire, there were none pretty enough for her in Solomon's shop."
Betsy's face grew serious.
"Do not look sad," expostulated Napoleon. "You shall have something
prettier than a fan;" and Betsy, comprehending, wondered what the
present would be that he evidently intended to give her.
In a few days a package came to The Briars, addressed to Betsy. Opening
it, she saw a ring of brilliants, forming the letter N, surmounted by a
small eagle.
This was a wonderful gift for a little girl, and at first she could
hardly believe that it was for her. Later she found there was no
mistake. It was really hers, and she kept it always.
Although Betsy was not permitted to carry out Napoleon's proposed plan
of revenge on the tale-telling Marquis, she expressed her feelings in a
way of her own by relating to Napoleon an anecdote about him.
"The Marquis," she said, "is extremely fond of cauliflower, a vegetable
that is very hard to get here on the island. Well, the other day, he
dined with us and we had the most delicious cauliflower. Somehow he
didn't see it until it was being removed and then he cried to his
aide-de-camp, who had neglected to point it out, '_Bete, pourquoi-ne m'a
tu pas dit qu'il-y-avait des choux fleurs?_' ['Idiot, why didn't you
tell me that there was cauliflower?'] Now, wasn't he greedy?" asked
Betsy, glad enough to have a story to tell that placed the Marquis at a
disadvantage.
The Marquis de Montchenu, for whom Betsy had professed this dislike, was
one of the three Commissioners sent by the Allied Powers to keep watch
on Napoleon. The other two were the Baron Sturmer, representing Austria,
and Count Balmain, sent by Russia. While England provided the prison and
jailer for Napoleon, these Commissioners were asked to observe
everything and report to their respective countries. France and Austria
had ordered their Commissioners to see Napoleon in their official
capacity every day in order to assure themselves that he was actually
alive. Baron Balmain was instructed by Russia neither to seek nor avoid
an occasion to see him. To describe the vain efforts of the French and
Austrian Commissioners to see Napoleon would make an entertaining story.
Napoleon's orders to his household were not to admit any one presenting
a pass from the British authorities. But as Sir Hudson Lowe would permit
no one to go to Longwood without a pass from him, those who wished to
see Napoleon were in a dilemma.
Things were not bettered when Napoleon wrote Sir Hudson Lowe, desiring
him not to present any one to him, as in future he would receive no
visitors. He acted as if he thought it his duty to shut himself up, in
order that public opinion might be turned against the narrow-mindedness
of the Governor. After this few of the people of St. Helena tried to
call on him. From delicacy of feeling, or because they feared his anger,
civilians and military residents avoided Longwood. Only the two
Commissioners and the resident English officer made an effort to see him
daily, and their efforts, merely to get a glance at him through window
or door, were most absurd. The officer sometimes saw him, but the
Commissioners never had the privilege. The Marquis de Montchenu beheld
him at last only when he lay dead. Baron Sturmer and Baron Balmain left
St. Helena while Napoleon was still alive without having met him.
As to Betsy Balcombe, though she had her own opinion, on account of her
father's position she could not express herself strongly about Sir
Hudson Lowe.
"Has any one run away with a favorite _robe de bal_, or is the pet black
nurse, old Sarah, dead?" asked Napoleon one day, detecting a serious
look on Betsy's face. "What can have occurred?"
Betsy's face did not brighten.
"I am feeling very sad," she said, "because Mrs. Wilks, our kind
Lady-Governess, has gone away. Every one was at the boat to see her go,
and at the castle. It was like a funeral, no one with a dry eye, and all
saying, 'God bless you, and a safe and happy voyage home.'"
Betsy paused for a moment, then continued: "Then they all followed the
Governor and his family to the barge that was to take them to Havana,
and groups of grief-stricken ladies wandered under the peepul trees of
Sisters' Walk, watching the vessel."
"Did you cry too?" asked Napoleon.
"Indeed I did."
"I regret," added Napoleon, "that I had not known the Lady-Governess;
she must have been so amiable."
Napoleon, as well as Betsy, probably realized that but for his coming
the people of St. Helena might have retained their popular Governor,
Mark Wilks. Before the arrival of Napoleon, the Governor of St. Helena
was paid by the East India Company, though appointed by the Crown; but
with so important a personage as Napoleon held there in captivity, it
seemed wisest that full responsibility for him should be laid on the
English Government. It was therefore decided, as we have before seen,
that as soon as possible a Governor of higher rank should be sent out in
place of Governor Wilks. The change at this time seemed unfortunate for
the people of St. Helena. In Governor Wilks they had found an officer
who had their interests more at heart than any preceding Governor. Could
he have been Napoleon's custodian, the Emperor's exile would have been
very much happier than it was with Sir Hudson Lowe in charge.
Betsy, like all who came in contact with Napoleon, sympathized deeply
with his annoyance at the restrictions imposed on him by Sir Hudson
Lowe. The story of the discussion between Napoleon's friends and the
supporters of the Governor would be a long one to tell, but the fact
remains, when all is said in Sir Hudson Lowe's favor, that he was far
too narrow-minded for the important position that he held. Sir Hudson
Lowe was a brave man and had served honorably in many wars, but the
responsibility of guarding the fallen Emperor was too great for him, and
his behavior toward the exile was in every way unfortunate.
Napoleon had been on the island just six months when Sir Hudson Lowe
arrived. From the first he seemed possessed by the idea that Napoleon
was constantly watching for some chance to escape. To those nearest
Napoleon at St. Helena, the Governor's fears that he might escape seemed
absurd. From the island posts approaching ships were seen twenty-four
leagues off. Two ships of war were always cruising to windward and
leeward. Only guard-boats were allowed out at night. All fishing boats
were numbered and had to anchor every evening at sunset under the
supervision of a lieutenant of the navy. No foreign vessels were
permitted to anchor unless under great distress, and then no one from
them could land until an officer and a party from the British ships went
on board to take charge while they stayed. If he had cared to try
flight, Napoleon could hardly have made his escape.
In the very beginning, when Lord Bathurst issued instructions for the
custody of Napoleon, he expressed the earnest desire of the Prince
Regent that no greater personal restraint might be employed than was
necessary to make sure that Napoleon was securely held on the island.
Sir Hudson Lowe, however, in carrying out the instructions of the
British Government, interpreted them as meaning that he should have
constant information about all Napoleon's doings. To accomplish this
was, of course, impossible, and his vain efforts made him the
laughing-stock of the English as well as the French. In his very first
interview with Napoleon the new Governor managed to offend him
seriously, and Napoleon after this was so unwilling to see him that the
two met only five times more during the five years that intervened until
Napoleon's death; and these five interviews were all within the first
three months after Sir Hudson Lowe's arrival.
Under the most favorable conditions Sir Hudson Lowe could hardly have
been popular with the islanders themselves. Governor Wilks, his
predecessor, had been unusually loved, and his charming wife and
daughter had a firm hold on the affections of all the people of St.
Helena. Betsy, as we have seen, was extremely fond of Mrs. Wilks, whom
she called the "Lady-Governess," and she had a young girl's admiration
for the beautiful Miss Wilks, whose praises she continually sang to
Napoleon. One day, not long before Miss Wilks left the island, Napoleon
showed Betsy a portrait that General Gorgaud had drawn from memory of
Miss Wilks, saying, "You think Miss Wilks beautiful. Gorgaud thinks so
too, and this is his portrait from memory."
"Ah," replied Betsy, gazing at the portrait, "she is far more beautiful;
and she is so clever and amiable."
"You are certainly enthusiastic, and I quite long to see her," responded
Napoleon, evidently appreciative of Betsy's enthusiasm for her friend.
During the first months of Napoleon's exile, Colonel Wilks continued to
act as Governor, but the direct custody of Napoleon was the business of
Sir George Cockburn, who had brought the illustrious prisoner on the
_Northumberland_ from England. Not long after Napoleon went to Longwood
an amusing incident happened, resulting from the panic of Captain
Poppleton, the orderly officer whose duty it was to guard Napoleon on
his rides.
The two sisters were sitting at dinner, with their father and Admiral
Cockburn.
"See," cried Betsy to Jane, "here comes Captain Poppleton, looking as if
he had lost his wits. Why is he alone? Don't you remember that he set
out with the Emperor and Generals Bertrand, Montholon, and Gorgaud?"
"But you wouldn't expect them all to march in, when we have company,
too," whispered Jane, looking toward the end of the table where her
father was talking with his especial guest, the Admiral, Sir George
Cockburn.
Before the girls could speculate further, Captain Poppleton broke out
excitedly:
"Oh, sir, I have lost the Emperor."
All looked up, but the Admiral, whom Captain Poppleton addressed, did
not change expression as the officer continued:
"We were riding along one of the paths on the side of the mountain, when
suddenly the Emperor turned short around to the left and almost flew up
the mountain. None of the generals accompanied him. I started, but I
could not follow. My horse would not take the steep ascent. So I came
back to you. If there is a plot--"
"Nonsense!" cried the Admiral, and his tone was echoed by Mr. Balcombe.
It was natural that Captain Poppleton should feel alarm at the sudden
disappearance. But the Admiral was made of sterner stuff. "Go back to
Longwood," he said quietly to the officer. "You will find Napoleon
there."
This proved to be the case, for when he reached Longwood the Emperor was
at dinner, and he laughed at poor Captain Poppleton for his fears.
If Betsy had ventured to express herself regarding the trouble between
Sir Hudson Lowe and the Emperor in this, she certainly would not have
favored the former.
"What do you really think," she asked her father one day, "about this
quarrel between the Governor and the Emperor?"
Mr. Balcombe very properly, as an officer of the Government, was not
inclined to give a direct reply. But Betsy understood him, when he said:
"Their disputes are generally on subjects so trivial that they hardly
seem worth quarrelling about."
But she realized that to Napoleon these disputes were not trivial when
she came upon him one day reading an English book. Looking at it, as he
held it before her, she saw that it was a copy of "AEsop's Fables," a
book that in a translation children often use to improve their knowledge
of French.
The page was open at "The Sick Lion." This is the famous account of the
lion that, when lying sick, receives visits from many other animals who,
instead of sympathizing, exult over his downfall. The lion makes no
complaint until a donkey kicks him in the face. "I could have borne
anything but this," he said.
As Betsy looked at the open page, Napoleon, pointing to the woodcut,
said, "It is myself and your Governor." His expression showed the depth
of his feeling on the subject.
In little ways Betsy was disappointed by the regulations made for
Napoleon by Sir Hudson Lowe. She was exceedingly anxious, for example,
that Napoleon should see a huge boa constrictor that a captain of an
incoming vessel had brought to the island.
"It is a most wonderful creature," she said, as she described it to the
Emperor. "They put a live goat into its cage, and I really believe that
it swallowed it whole, for I could see the poor thing's horns poking
almost through the boa constrictor's skin."
The Emperor smiled as Betsy told her tale. "Your boa constrictor sounds
like the Marquis de Montchenu, or, rather, the latter, from the amount
of food I have heard he consumes, must resemble a boa constrictor."
"He really does," responded Betsy. "Oh, I wish you could see him--not
the Marquis, but the boa constrictor."
"I should like to see it; I will ask them to have it brought here to
me."
As Betsy herself also desired this, she was naturally disappointed when
those in authority decided that the boa constrictor could not be shown
to Napoleon.
Napoleon was not the only one on the island affected by the many
regulations made for his safety in the matter of sentries. The question
of passes, always troublesome to visitors, and the fact that after the
sunset gun had been fired no one could pass the sentries without giving
the countersign, were annoyances to all on the island. Once Betsy
herself had an experience that was far from agreeable, although she was
not the only one to suffer, as the incident concerned many others.
As might be supposed, picnics were a favorite form of diversion with the
people of St. Helena, and they were particularly delightful when, as
usually happened, young and old took part in them. One day there was a
large picnic near the celebrated Friar's Valley. The Balcombes and all
their friends were to go to it.
The day proved pleasant fortunately, for the journey was difficult.
After amusing themselves for hours, the party was at last surprised to
hear the sunset gun from Ladder Hill. They found that none of the party
had the countersign for the night, and they knew that if they ventured
forth without it they would be made prisoners. This was one of the many
strict rules made by the Governor to prevent the mishap of helpers
coming to Napoleon after dark.
At last some of them decided that it was better to make an effort to
reach home rather than spend the night outdoors. Betsy and her parents
were among those who ventured to go toward home.
It was a starlight night, but the road was bad. Mr. Balcombe at last
hailed a light.
"Who goes there?" cried the sentry.
"A friend."
"Advance, friend, and give the countersign."
Now this was just what none of the party could do, and as protests were
useless, they all had to spend the night in the guard-room, where they
were half eaten by fleas, mosquitoes, and other insects.
Those who had stayed on the picnic grounds laughed well at the more
venturous who had gone ahead. Napoleon, when he heard the story, was
highly diverted, pleased to have so good a chance to blame the
Government.