Napoleon's Rabbit Farmer, page 23
The Governor turned to Bertrand and Montholon. ‘Do you wish to deliver an address?’ he asked them quietly. Both shook their bowed heads. There would be no funeral oration.
Lowe gave the signal for a large flagstone to be attached to the winch and lowered over the coffin until it rested on a surrounding brick wall to seal the vault. At this, most of the mourners drifted away, climbing the path back up to the road, but Napoleon’s servants remained to watch three workmen climb into the grave to cement the edges of the huge stone. Before the Longwood servants left they snapped branches from the willows that shaded the tomb to take with them home to France.
***
The Grand Marshal helped his wife into the saddle of Napoleon’s horse while the groom Archambaud held the reins. Montholon, who was in uniform, had already taken his mount from the Longwood stables and was waiting for the Bertrands a short distance away, riding slowly in circles. They were about to visit Plantation House for a meeting with the Governor to discuss their departure for Europe. The Countess, dressed in black with a veiled hat, tried to disguise her nerves. ‘What if Lowe refuses a reconciliation and punishes us,’ she whispered to her husband.
‘I am certain that will not be the case,’ said Bertrand, taking the reins of his own horse. ‘Lowe was most civil after the funeral - a great burden has been lifted from his shoulders. But there could be trouble over the cast Dr Antommarchi took of the Emperor’s face. Apparently Dr Burton is claiming that it is his work and that our doctor merely helped him with it. He demands that we surrender the cast to him.’
‘That is nonsense,’ said Madame Bertrand curtly, moving off from the stables into a brisk, cold wind. ‘Antommarchi has assured me that he made the cast and was merely assisted by Burton. They have prevented us taking the Emperor’s heart and stomach to Europe, surely they cannot deny us the only copy of his face in death?’
‘Don’t worry, we shall stand firm on this,’ said Bertrand riding to meet Montholon. The three were half way along the winding road to the Governor’s country house when they encountered another military physician, Walter Henry, assistant surgeon to the 66th, who was riding with a junior officer from the regiment.
‘Good morning doctor,’ said Montholon smiling. ‘We thought that the guard on our movements had been removed.’
‘Indeed it has, sir,’ said Henry, lifting his navy blue forage cap to the three of them. ‘The atmosphere of the whole island has changed now that the state of watchfulness has been relaxed and the sentries removed from every commanding point. We were riding to Sandy Bay Ridge for the exercise.’ Henry introduced his young companion. ‘Can I enquire as to why your good selves are riding out on such a brisk morning?’ the doctor asked.
Madame Bertrand smiled, patting the neck of her horse with a gloved hand. ‘We are going to convey to the Governor the Emperor’s last request - that the past might be forgotten and that a reconciliation should take place between us.’
‘Well I wish you all the best of luck,’ said Henry, removing his cap for a second time and revealing his high forehead.
The Governor and Lady Lowe were there to greet the French party as soon as their arrival at Plantation House was announced. The guests were shown into the drawing room and invited to lunch. Lowe was gracious and welcoming and avoided contentious issues until after they had dined. His wife had taken the Countess on a tour of the garden when the Governor got down to business with Bertrand and Montholon.
‘There seems to be only one issue preventing your immediate embarkation for Europe,’ he told them as they took coffee in the drawing room.
‘What is it, sir?’ asked Montholon, giving Bertrand a worried glance.
‘It is your debts, sir, and yours in particular. It is evident, General Montholon, that you owe the shopkeepers in Jamestown almost 1,000 pounds. They are threatening to go to the courts to have the matter settled.’
‘The Emperor has left me a considerable sum in his will but I do not have access to that kind of money at the present time,’ explained the Count.
Lowe nodded. ‘Can I suggest that you both return to Longwood and come up with a scheme to enable you to meet the demands of your creditors. In the meantime I am arranging berths for you all on the store ship Camel and there is not much time before she is due to sail.’
***
‘At least he will not be with us on the voyage to Europe,’ said the Countess Bertrand, showing her husband the letter she had received from Dr Burton, making a final plea for the return of the bust of Napoleon. ‘He says that he will not have the honour of joining us on the same ship.’
‘Well I am quite relieved,’ said the Grand Marshal, examining the trunks that had been stacked in the hallway of their Longwood home. ‘It would have been terrible to have him pestering us for the greater part of three months.’
The Countess studied the letter. ‘Burton says that the bust could not have been made without his exertions and that it would be a great injustice for Dr Antommarchi to claim it as his own work. Apparently he had initially refused to help make the cast, saying that it could not possibly succeed because of the poor quality of the plaster. Dr Burton promises to produce the finest copy possible on his return to London if we give him the original. He will send it to wherever we are in the world.’
‘I see little point in our surrendering it,’ said Bertrand. ‘We could end up with nothing.’ He paused while their youngest son Arthur came into the house pulling his new pet, a large white Newfoundland dog which had been given to him by a British officer. Bertrand smiled. ‘There is some good news. The Governor has kindly said that he will personally act as guarantor for our debts with the shopkeepers in Jamestown, solving that little difficulty. We shall be sailing with some of the officers of the 66th. The Sicilian policeman is not so bad after all. He is even going to host a grand farewell dinner for us at the castle.’
***
Arthur Bertrand rode his dog around the quarter deck of the Camel, its silky coat matted with tar from the plank seams that had melted in the glaring, equatorial sun. The boy kicked his heels into the docile animal’s flanks and pulled both of its floppy ears to get it to move. ‘Come on Caesar, you lazy bones.’ He stopped when he reached Dr Walter Henry, who was leaning over the side of the 500-ton ship as it cut through the water. ‘What are you doing sir?’ Arthur asked, getting off the panting dog’s back and noticing that his white trousers were also stained with sticky black pitch.
‘I am fishing for sharks, young master Bertrand. I take a large hook, attach a piece of pork to it like this, and then throw the line over the side. Hopefully in a minute or two I shall capture a monster of the deep. I have killed half a dozen of them since we set sail from St Helena.’
Arthur called to the Countess who was taking the air with her daughter Hortense, both of them carrying white parasols to protect them from the fierce sun. ‘Mama, mama, I must have a fishing line. I must have a line, God damn it.’
Dr Henry looked around, surprised at the colourful language from such a small boy.
‘Please forgive him doctor,’ said Madame Bertrand smiling. ‘The soldiers guarding Longwood took great amusement in teaching him some very bad words indeed.’
‘Mama, I want a fishing line.’
‘Please don’t interrupt, my darling. It is very rude.’
‘Here, young sir, have one of my lines. Fasten it to your belt to carry it.’
‘You are so kind doctor, what do you say Arthur?’
‘I need some pork for the hook,’ said the boy, climbing back on to his dog and pulling his shaggy coat. ‘Come on Caesar, gallop.’
The Camel had set sail on the evening of May 21 with the entire Longwood household, including the servants, the headquarters of the 66th Regiment, two companies of soldiers and the regimental band, which played each night.
Antommarchi was the only one from Longwood who complained about the vessel. ‘It is fitting that they have sent us home on a ship that has been used to transport cattle and pigs,’ he grumbled to the Abbe Vignali. The others were just grateful to have left the island and had enjoyed the first part of the voyage in fine weather. But approaching the equator, the wind left the sails and the vessel languished for five days in a flat sea, surrounded by the empty green bottles which had been tossed overboard.
The return of a wind and steady progress brought a large pod of dolphins to the ship. They swam near the bow in triangle formation, taking it in turns to leap playfully from the water in the bright sunshine. Dr Henry had his eye on the largest of the dolphins at the head of the triangle. ‘There must be 45 of the fish,’ said the surgeon to Dr Antommarchi, who had come to watch them. ‘See the largest one at the front?’ Henry continued.
‘He’s the commodore. We shall have him for our supper.’ The surgeon tied two salmon hooks to a line and put white pork fat on them for bait.
‘You will be lucky to catch one,’ said Antommarchi, watching Henry throw the line in front of the lead dolphin’s nose into the clear water. ‘Look, two or three of them are going for it,’ said Henry with excitement.
Antommarchi was astonished when the dolphin that Henry had called the commodore snatched the bait. The surgeon pulled hard on the line, giving it a series of yanks. ‘Here, give me a hand.’ Antommarchi stepped aside and two sailors grabbed the end of the cable. In minutes the dolphin was hauled on to the deck and dispatched in a pool of blood by one of the men.
‘He’s a fine fellow,’ said Henry, admiring his catch. ‘He must weigh at least 35 pounds. Look at the gorgeous play of colour on the skin.’
The ship’s cook was called and the swarthy man arrived wearing a stained apron. ‘It will make some fine chops,’ he said. ‘We’ll take it below to be butchered.’
***
Madame Bertrand woke suddenly with a jolt. The ship had begun to roll violently and she had just seen the Emperor’s face. He was staring at her, almost smiling, gesturing to her. The apparition vanished with a deafening crash of broken glass and the engulfing darkness of freezing, swirling water from a giant wave. It had shattered every pane in the stern window of the tiny cabin containing the cots of the sleeping Bertrand children. The Countess was paralysed with shock.
Furniture floated around her, she could not see her children and she had swallowed too much water to scream. ‘Help me,’ she sobbed weakly. ‘Help me.’
Arthur’s head was the first to appear from the frothing, black water, followed by those of his crying siblings, who were waist deep. The ship again pitched sharply and Hortense shouted for help. A midshipman, not much older than herself, appeared. ‘We will get you out of there,’ he said, calmly. Another dark wave smacked into the jagged window, which now resembled a toothless mouth and the young officer was thrown against the cabin wall. ‘Come this way,’ he said, steadying himself and picking up Arthur. ‘The storm’s pounced from nowhere and there’s been no time to put the deadlights over the windows.’
‘Where’s my father?’ wailed Arthur, his drenched white nightshirt clinging to his small body.
‘He’s up on deck with the captain.’ They passed Count Montholon, who was bent double being violently sick and the priest Vignali, praying loudly in Latin. The fear on his face was mirrored by that of Dr Antommarchi, who was almost in tears.
‘My father is braver than him,’ sneered Arthur.
‘Don’t worry, little sir, this ship has been through stormier waters than these,’ said the midshipman.
The gale near the Azores had shredded all the Camel’s sails except a new foresail. It had also cast a dark shadow over Madame Bertrand, who became increasingly depressed at the prospect of a hostile reception in England. Some of the British officers on board had suggested that the French would not even be allowed to land. The Grand Marshal did his best to ease his wife’s fears and enlisted the help of Dr Henry, who found a despondent Madame Bertrand staring from the quarter deck at a grey sea that was being whipped by a strong south-westerly wind.
‘I am certain that your party will be warmly received in England,’ Dr Henry told her. ‘If there is any attribute that distinguishes the great people you are about to visit, it is generosity.’
Madame Bertrand frowned, pulling her black shawl tightly around herself. ‘The Emperor received no such generosity from the English in his treatment,’ she said, remembering the time when Napoleon’s fate was being decided as they waited off the English coast on board the Bellerophon.
Dr Henry ignored the remark. ‘The faithfulness that your party has shown to your fallen master will probably be better appreciated and more highly esteemed in England than anywhere else,’ he continued.
‘I sincerely hope that you are right, Dr Henry.’
‘Madame, I can assure you that after sharing and alleviating your Emperor’s exile and sufferings, the English will view you as martyrs of high and chivalrous devotion to him. They will wish to compensate the friends and followers of Napoleon for the severity of the measures at St Helena with acts of kindness.’
***
‘Send a boat with two of my courtiers to welcome them,’ George IV instructed the veteran skipper of his beloved yacht, the Royal George, which was preparing to sail from Portsmouth harbour. The King was very excited about his own voyage to Ireland and was dressed in a blue jacket, white trousers and blue forage cap, which covered his thick mop of hair. ‘Tell them to enquire about the health of the Countess Bertrand and her family. I am told she’s a very spirited lady.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ said the silver-haired skipper, bowing low. He had just informed the king that the vessel carrying Napoleon’s suite had arrived that evening and was anchored a short distance away in the sheltered waters of Spithead. It was the last day of July and the warm, balmy weather had put the King in an excellent mood. He was a keen sailor and continued his inspection of the vessel which had been built to his specifications in 1817.
The arrival of the King’s courtiers on the Camel had thrilled Madame Bertrand, who was already in good spirits after being told by the captain that they had been given permission to go ashore.
‘I have often heard that the King of England is the first gentleman in the world,’ she told the officers of both Navy and Army who had assembled near the wheel on deck.
‘And now I am convinced of the fact. But I fear there could still be some rudeness from the lower classes when we land.’
Chapter 25
August 1840
The golden eagle tethered to the top of the Edinburgh Castle’s foremast fluttered its wings in a growing breeze but had lost its strength after numerous attempts to escape. It watched the deck of the steamer heading for Ramsgate as if on a rocky ledge scanning its territory for prey. The bird had been bought on the orders of Prince Louis-Napoleon, who had spotted a scruffy boy with it on the quay at Gravesend. ‘It is a living imperial eagle,’ he told General Montholon, who smiled politely. ‘The bird will bring luck to our adventure.’
‘I certainly hope so, sir,’ said Montholon, who at 57 had a full head of grey hair and was the prince’s chief of staff. The vessel, hired for a month with an English crew, had set sail down the Thames from London Bridge with all the appearance of an August pleasure cruise. To avoid arousing suspicion they collected the various passengers for the mission to France at several stops along the way, including Greenwich and Margate.
Louis, the dashing nephew of the fallen Emperor, was determined to end his own exile by leading a popular uprising against the Bourbon king, inspired by the arrival on the coast of his army of 50 French and Polish soldiers. The prince had visions of marching on Paris in the manner of Napoleon after the Emperor’s first exile on Elba. Every regiment sent to capture him would instead join his crusade to restore a Bonaparte to the throne.
The provocation for this action was the decision by King Louis Philippe’s government to petition the British for the return of Napoleon’s body to France. ‘It shall be me and not a Bourbon receiving the Emperor’s remains on behalf of the French people,’ he told Montholon, who was looking out to sea in the direction of France. He could make out the undulating coastline interspersed with cliffs. The prince was now heir to the Bonapartist claim to the throne after the lonely death in Vienna of the Emperor’s 21-year-old son, the Duke of Reichstadt, in 1832 amid claims that he had been the victim of slow poisoning by his Italian dentist.
General Montholon had seen an opportunity to secure another fortune by joining Louis-Napoleon, the son of the late Emperor’s brother Louis and Josephine’s daughter Hortense.
Almost a month before, Montholon’s companions at St Helena, including General Gourgaud and the son of the elderly Count Las Cases, had left France on the frigate la Belle Poule to bring Napoleon’s coffin home.
Montholon had not been deterred by the prince’s first failed coup attempt at Strasbourg in 1836 when he was arrested by the troops of a garrison he had hoped would support him.
