ship.’
The civilian rose unsteadily in the stern of the launch and had to be helped up the warship’s side by two of the sailors. As he clambered on to the deck and joined Maitland the captain was talking to the lieutenant on watch in a low urgent tone, and he nodded briefly at Napoleon before striding towards the entrance to his cabin, followed by the civilian.
‘Looks like he’s had some news from London,’ de Las Cases suggested.
Napoleon nodded, feeling relieved that his fate had been decided. The sooner he got off the ship and back on dry land the better, he decided. Maitland had allocated the first lieutenant’s quarters to the Emperor and Napoleon found the cabin cramped, damp-smelling and dingy. He longed for the comfort of a warm salon with a large fireplace and relief from the limited diet of boiled meat and vegetables offered aboard the
‘Sire.’ De Las Cases nodded towards the lieutenant of the watch who was crossing the deck towards them. The English officer stopped in front of Napoleon and touched the brim of his bicorne.
‘Sir, the captain wishes to see you in his cabin at your earliest convenience.’
‘Ah.’ Napoleon smiled. ‘Then he has news from London, eh?’
‘I couldn’t say, sir.’ The lieutenant gestured towards the companionway. Napoleon turned briefly to de Las Cases. ‘Stay here. This shouldn’t take long.’
Then he followed the lieutenant below decks as the midshipman by the blackboard rubbed it down and reached for the chalk once more.
The lieutenant paused outside the captain’s door and knocked, then opened the door and stood aside to let Napoleon pass inside. Maitland was sitting behind his desk and rose up carefully to avoid bumping his head on the deck above. He bowed his head.
‘General Bonaparte, may I introduce Mr Jacob Waterman, from the Cabinet Office. He has come directly from the Prime Minister.’
Napoleon had been surprised by the captain’s mode of addressing him. So far he had been pleased to use the imperial title, but now ‘General’? He frowned for an instant before he forced himself to smile a greeting and advance to offer the civilian his hand. Waterman made no attempt to reciprocate, and stood, hunched beneath a wooden beam, hands clasped behind his back.
Captain Maitland cleared his throat uncomfortably. ‘Er, Mr Waterman is here to convey the decision concerning your fate that has been decided by his majesty’s government.’ He nodded to his companion. ‘If you would be so good?’
He sat down without waiting for a reply and the government’s representative addressed Napoleon coldly.
‘General Bonaparte, after careful consideration of the obligations of the government and nation of Britain, the Prime Minister and his cabinet have resolved to convey you, and a limited number of your followers, to a place far enough from Europe that you shall not again disturb its peace. You will be placed under guard, and all communications and visitors shall be at the discretion of the government.’
Napoleon raised a hand to stop Waterman. ‘I take it that you have decided not to return me to Elba then?’
‘Elba?’ Waterman looked surprised. ‘Certainly not.’
‘Then where will I be taken?’
‘The government has chosen the island of St Helena.’
‘St Helena? I have never heard of it.’
‘I am not surprised, sir. It is a small British colony in the south Atlantic ocean, thousands of miles away.’
Napoleon felt his heart sink at the prospect of a long sea voyage. Worse still was the thought of being held captive on some primitive rock far from decent civilization.
‘How long does your government propose to keep me there?’
Waterman and Maitland exchanged a brief look before the former replied. ‘For the rest of your life, sir.’
‘What?’ Napoleon felt a stab of desperation at the prospect. ‘Surely the Prime Minister can’t mean it? Let me write to him. Better still, let me make my case in person. I swear that if I am granted a comfortable exile in England that her people need never fear for my actions again.’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’Waterman shook his head. ‘There’s no time for you to present your case. A fast frigate, the
Napoleon was momentarily stunned by the swiftness with which his fate had been decided. There would be no semblance of a kingdom for him to rule this time. Only a dreary life eked out on an island prison far from Europe.
Waterman sniffed.‘You seem surprised, sir. What did you expect?You are an enemy of peace. Because of you a multitude have suffered. Europe will bear the scars of your influence for a generation, or more. You have proved to be too dangerous to be allowed to remain in proximity to Europe. Of course, should you wish to return to France, then I am sure that his majesty’s government would be inclined to look favourably on such a request.’
‘That would be a death sentence, and you know it.’
‘Quite. And as far as I am concerned, it is no more than you deserve.’ Waterman paused. ‘However, the choice is yours, General. You might find some comfort in a martyr’s death if you return to France and face your enemies. Or you live out the rest of your days, and end your life in unregarded obscurity. Which will it be?’
Napoleon glared sourly at the official. For a moment he was seized by the fire of defiance. Let him return to France. Let him face his enemies and show them how a soldier dies. Who would ever forget the name of Napoleon Bonaparte then? His fervid imagination pictured the scene of his execution. Firing squad or blade, each prospect filled him with a cold dread that he had never known on the battlefield. A glorious end would be denied to him for ever now. He did not want to die the death of a common criminal. He was afraid to, and that insight sickened him. He swallowed and looked down at the deck as he made his reply.
‘I will accept exile on your terms.’
‘I thought so,’Waterman replied with a hint of scorn.‘Very well, then I am done here. Good day, General. We shall not meet again.’
He did not wait for any reply, but made his way out of the cabin. Maitland was still for a moment, and then rose up from his table and left to make arrangements for the transfer of his prisoner to the
Arthur lowered the copy of the despatch that Somerset had brought him a few minutes earlier. He did not respond immediately, but stared out of the window of the Tuileries palace into the gardens. Scores of Parisians were walking along the gravel avenues stretching out between the flowerbeds and neat lines of trees, enjoying the cool of the early morning. In the afternoon, Arthur knew that the gardens would be almost deserted and he decided to take his exercise then. There had been little chance to take a break from his duties since the allied army had accepted the surrender of Paris at the beginning of July. Despite the defeat at Waterloo, the French had put up a stiff fight outside their capital before giving in. Within days Louis was back on the throne, but everyone in Paris knew that the real power in France was now the Duke of Wellington. His word was law. The newly-returned King did not dare protest against Arthur’s instruction to reappoint Fouchй as Minister of Police, even though Fouchй had fixed his signature to the death warrant of the previous monarch. Even so, Arthur knew that his authority would be severely tested in the months to come. The Royalists were openly calling for revenge against those officials and army officers who had gone over to Bonaparte during his brief resumption of his throne. Arthur was determined to do what he could to prevent the thirst for revenge leading to unnecessary bloodshed. His task was complicated by the desire of the Prussians to make France suffer for the indignities that Bonaparte had heaped on Frederick William over the years. General Mьffling had requested yet another meeting with Arthur to state the demands of Blьcher and Gneisenau, and Arthur sighed wearily at the prospect of facing Mьffling within the hour.
