Billy Ruffian

SEVENTEEN Into Exile 1815

The morning of 17 July found the two ships out in the open sea with the French coastline no more than a distant blur on the horizon. They were having to beat into a light north-westerly breeze which meant that progress was slow, but the usually turbulent waters of the Bay of Biscay were relatively calm, allowing the French visitors to get acclimatised to the easy motion of the deck under their feet. Over the next few days a regular pattern was established. Napoleon rose between 8 and 9 o'clock, was served a hot breakfast and then spent the morning reading in his cabin or playing cards. He invited Maitland to join him in a game of vingt-et-un on one occasion, but Maitland excused himself on the grounds that he had left all his money at home with his wife and, in any case, he had his duties to attend to.

Napoleon frequently fell asleep on the sofa in his cabin during the course of the day and behaved with a lethargy which was uncharacteristic of a man famous for his energy and activity. The cheerfulness which he had shown during his first day on board deserted him and it was observed that for much of the time he seemed abstracted and deep in thought. He usually appeared on deck around 5 o'clock in the afternoon when he would question the ship's officers about the wind and weather, and the ship's progress. Dinner was served at 6 pm and, although this was a formal occasion with excellent dishes of meat and fish served in the French style, it rarely lasted longer than twenty or twenty-five minutes because Napoleon did not like to spend time over meals. Maitland noted that he ate a great deal but restricted his drinking to a glass or two of claret.

After dinner on the second day the midshipmen were persuaded to stage a play. They had occasionally produced plays to relieve the tedium of the weeks spent on blockade duty and when Napoleon heard of this he requested a performance. He and his party were treated to a comedy called The Poor Gentlemen. Midshipman Home reported that 'The stage was fitted up between decks, more, I am afraid, in ship-shape than theatrical style.' According to another participant, 'It went off very well, our scenery was excellent.' Madame Bertrand sat next to Napoleon and translated for him and he was apparently much amused by the efforts of some of the larger midshipmen to squeeze into women's clothing and impersonate ladies.

From the moment they stepped on board the Bellerophon the senior members of Napoleon's suite had established a regime which, on a much smaller scale, reflected the regal atmosphere they were accustomed to in the great palaces in Paris. When Napoleon appeared on deck the men removed their hats, and kept at a respectful distance unless invited to walk with him. No one was allowed to enter his cabin unless given permission to do so and then they would be formally announced and ushered into his presence. No one spoke to him unless he initiated the conversation. He decided who should be invited to dine with him and where they should be seated. The Bellerophon's officers, taking their cue from Captain Maitland and Admiral Hotham, likewise treated Napoleon as if he were still emperor. They too removed their hats in his presence and called him 'Sire' but it was a different kind of deference from that shown by his followers. For the British sailors he was the most famous person they would ever come into contact with and they fully appreciated this. 'We are all so much overjoyed at our good luck that we hardly know if we stand on our heads or our heel,' wrote Lieutenant Henry Smith to his brother, 'while as for my own part the whole business seems to be a dream, no ship in the British Navy has so much as this ship to boast of . . .' For Smith and his companions Napoleon was the object of intense scrutiny and several members of the crew kept journals in which they carefully noted his appearance, his moods and his daily regime.

'Napoleon Bonaparte is about five feet seven inches high' wrote Lieutenant Bowerbank:

rather corpulent, remarkably well-made. His hair is very black, cut close, whiskers shaved off; large eyebrows, grey eyes, the most piercing I ever saw; rather full face, dark but peculiar complexion, his nose and mouth proportionate, broad shoulders, and apparently strongly built. Upon the whole he is a good-looking man, and when young must have been handsome. He appears forty-five or forty-six, his real age — greatly resembles the different prints I have seen of him in London.

Bowerbank noted that his walk more resembled a march and that when walking he generally kept his hands in his pockets or folded behind his back.

Another officer, Clement Shorter, observed that he never saw Napoleon with his arms folded across his breast in the manner he was usually portrayed. 'His more common posture was his right hand stuck in the breast of his waistcoat, or thrust into his breeches pocket . . .' Like everybody else, Lieutenant Smith was impressed by Napoleon's keen and penetrating eye - 'his eye is like a hawke's he never sees anything once but he recollects it again' - but he was surprised by the former emperor's easy manner. 'He is very affable and pleasing in his manners, he speaks to anyone he comes athwart and is always in a good humour, he bears his misfortunes with a great deal of fortitude which to me is astonishing.'

At dawn on 23 July, a week after they had set sail from Basque Roads, they sighted the lighthouse on the Isle of Ushant. This was the westernmost point of France and the last chance for the French men and women on board the Bellerophon to see their country before the ship headed up the English Channel and made for Torbay. Whether Napoleon was alerted by a shout from the crew on deck, or had given instructions to his valet to wake him, is not clear, but he surprised the sailors by emerging on deck at 4 am. Midshipman Home had just arrived for the morning watch when he saw Napoleon preparing to ascend the ladder to the poop deck. The decks were slippery because the men had begun to wash them down and so Home immediately went across and offered Napoleon his arm to prevent him falling. Napoleon smiled and pointed upwards, saying in broken English 'the poop, the poop'. He climbed the ladder, leaning on the midshipman's arm. When they reached the poop deck, he thanked Home and pointing to the distant land he said, 'Ushant? Cape Ushant?'

'Yes, Sire,' Home replied. Napoleon took his pocket-glass from his pocket and stared fixedly at the island and the coast beyond. He remained there for the rest of the morning. He was joined by several members of his suite but he spoke to none of them and remained oblivious to anything else around him, his eyes fixed on the slowly receding coast of France. Sixty years later the British artist Sir William Quiller Orchardson painted a memorable picture of the scene on the deck of the Bellerophon that morning. As the ship and all the people portrayed in the painting were long gone when he began work on the painting, Orchardson made use of the published journals of Captain Maitland and some of the other officers. He exhibited the picture at the Royal Academy in 1880 where it was much admired and it subsequently established itself in British history books as a popular and enduring image of Napoleon. It has never found favour in France, showing as it does a dejected and defeated emperor in the hands of his enemies.

They passed several other British warships as they crossed the Channel and, towards evening they sighted the coast of England. When Captain Maitland went along to the after-cabin to inform Napoleon he found him in a flannel dressing gown, preparing to go to bed. On hearing the news, he put on his army greatcoat and came up on deck. It was a fine summer evening but it was cool out at sea, a steady breeze from the north-west filling the worn and salt-stained sails of the Bellerophon. Ahead of them the sails of the Myrmidon gleamed in the dying sunlight. Beyond her, clearly visible on the horizon, was the high ground of Dartmoor. Napoleon stared at the distant hills through his pocket telescope. He asked Captain Maitland how far they were from Torbay and when they would arrive. They were making a good 8 or 9 knots and Maitland reckoned they would reach their destination at dawn the next day.

They were joined on the poop deck by other members of Napoleon's entourage. It was an emotional time. Madame Bertrand burst into tears when she caught sight of the English coast. With three young children to look after, she was increasingly anxious about the future. She was aware that they might never set foot in France again and, although she had spent many years living in England, she was less optimistic about the reception they might expect than Napoleon himself. During the seven-day voyage from Rochefort he had frequently talked of settling down and living the life of a country gentleman among his former enemies. His companions were not so optimistic. Although Captain Maitland had been a generous and charming host during the past week, they were aware that he was under orders from superior officers and could have little or no influence on the decisions which would be made in London.

At dawn the next day, 24 July, the two warships were sailing along the coast off Dartmouth. Napoleon looked out of the stern windows of the Bellerophon and pointed out to his valet the charming houses nestling among the wooded bays and rocky inlets. He said he would be pleased to live in one of them in solitude. He would take the name of Muiron or Duroc, two soldiers who had lost their lives during his campaigns: Muiron had saved his life by covering his body with his own during the siege of Toulon; Duroc had been killed at his side by a cannon ball.

Around 5 am Napoleon emerged from the captain's cabin and joined the small group of officers standing on the poop deck. He was delighted with the boldness of the coast and pointed out to Captain Maitland that England, with her numerous safe harbours, enjoyed a great advantage over France which was surrounded by rocks and dangers. As they passed close under the commanding heights of Berry Head and turned into the sweeping curve of Torbay, he could scarcely contain his delight at the beauty of the scenery. He frequently exclaimed in French, 'What a beautiful country!' and told Maitland that Torbay reminded him of the Bay of Ferrajo in the island of Elba.

The two warships headed towards Brixham Harbour at the southern end of the bay. Apart from some local fishing boats the only other vessels at anchor were an armed brig and the 20-gun ship Slaney which had sailed on ahead of them, carrying General Gourgaud with Napoleon's letter to the Prince Regent, and Maitland's despatches for Admiral Lord Keith, the commander of the Channel fleet. As the Bellerophon prepared to anchor, a boat pushed off from the Slaney and headed towards her. An officer in the stern of the boat had a letter from Lord Keith with instructions for Maitland to remain in Torbay until further notice. He was 'most positively ordered to prevent every person whatever from coming on board the ship you command, except the officers and men who compose her crew.'

It was around 8 am when the men on the Bellerophon and the Myrmidon received the order to anchor. The sailors high up on the yard-arms hauled up the sails and the heavy anchors of the two ships splashed into the calm waters less than half a mile from the waterfront of Brixham. As the ships swung round with the tide, a few rowing boats headed out towards them, their occupants hoping to sell fresh bread, fruit and farm produce to the sailors on board.

In one of the boats was a local baker called Michelmore, his young apprentice, and three schoolboys: John Smart, Charlie Puddicombe and his younger brother Dick. John Smart later recorded his experiences of that memorable day. He recalled that he would normally have been at school but, in common with many English schoolboys that summer, he had been given an extra week's holiday to celebrate Wellington's victory over Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo. Earlier in the month the coach from Exeter had brought a copy of the Gazette to Brixham with lists of the 15,000 men in Wellington's army who had been killed or wounded. John and his friends were too young to realise the extent of the grief which the news of the battle had brought to so many mothers and sisters. Their concern today was how to spend the two half-crowns which John had just been given for his birthday.

The boys were standing on the quay at Brixham when they saw the two warships sail round Berry Head and enter the bay. They heard the distant sound of the boatswain's whistle and watched the sails being furled and the anchors let go. John told Dick to run up to the baker's shop and tell Michelmore and his wife that two King's ships had come in and would be wanting bread. Just then they saw a large gig pull away from the larger warship and head for the shore. There were eight sailors at the oars and three officers sitting in the stern. The coxswain of the gig brought it expertly alongside the jetty and two of the officers jumped ashore, one of them carrying a portmanteau. One of them was Andrew Mott, the Bellerophon's first lieutenant. The other was a tall man of about thirty-five with a cloak on his arm. This was Lieutenant Fletcher from the Superb, Admiral Hotham's flagship. John and his friends had no idea who the two officers were but they realised they must be on urgent business because they saw them hurry along the quayside to the London Inn to arrange for transport. Within ten minutes the horses had been harnessed on to the old yellow postchaise, the postboy mounted, and Lieutenant Fletcher was on his way to London. The younger officer strode back to the pierhead and, before the boys could ask what it all meant, he had jumped into the stern of the gig and was being rowed back to the anchored ship.

'Bean't he in a hurry, then?' said the old baker. 'Come, boys, let's be off to the ship.' The five of them climbed into a rowing boat, and shoved off from the shore. Charlie and his brother handled one oar, the baker's apprentice the other, John sat up in the bow, and Michelmore sat in the stern and steered. The baker had brought with him a large sack containing fresh loaves of bread in the expectation that he would receive a lot more orders when they reached the warships. As they drew near the 74-gun ship they saw that the shore boats had gathered together some way short of the massive wooden sides of the vessel. There was a furious argument going on between someone on board the ship and a man who was standing up in one of the boats. Michelmore steered alongside and asked what was going on.

'They won't let us come alongside, and they say as how they don't want no shore boats at all,' was the reply. Michelmore was sure the sailors would want some fresh bread so he let his boat drift forward. The tide took them right under the stern until they were looking up at the elaborately carved stern galleries, the elegant windows of the stern cabins, the rakishly angled lanterns and the huge union flag flapping to and fro in the breeze. Immediately above them on the poop deck they could see a marine sentry in scarlet uniform with a musket. An officer beside him leant over the rail and shouted, 'Sheer off. No boats allowed here.'

Michelmore refused to be put off. He caught hold of the sill of one of the lower deck gunports with his boat hook and shouted back, 'But I've brought you some bread.'

'If we want bread,' the officer replied, 'we'll come ashore and fetch it, and if you don't let go I'll sink you.' John was alarmed to see the sentry put down his musket and pick up a cannon ball. He leant over and held it exactly above the boy's head. He called the baker an old fool and swore that, unless he let go, he would sink the lot of them. John was greatly relieved when Michelmore pushed them clear of the ship's stern and allowed them to drift out of harm's way.

As they moved clear, one of the warship's boats pulled alongside them filled with a dozen men armed with cutlasses. The officer in the stern warned them to keep out of trouble as he had orders to keep off all shore boats. They retreated to where the other shore boats were gathered. Michelmore was indignant. 'Man and boy have I sailed on these here waters,' he said, 'and never have I been so treated.' None of them could understand what was going on because usually when a ship returned from abroad the crew was eager to communicate with the shore and exchange news.

Discouraged by their reception, the other shore boats departed one by one. Michelmore was inclined to follow them but the boys persuaded him to stay. They were on holiday and were reluctant to cut short their outing. They decided to circle round the ship at a safe distance, They headed out into the bay until they were some way ahead of the anchored vessel but the tide was still running strongly and they found themselves being swept back towards her bows and then closer to her sides than they intended. While his companions heaved on the oars, John stared at the rows of open gunports moving steadily past them. He suddenly noticed that at one of the lower ports a sailor was trying to attract his attention. He was nodding his head violently but had his finger to his lips in a warning gesture. Unfortunately the tide continued to sweep them backwards past the anchored vessel and out of sight of the sailor. Greatly excited, John encouraged Michelmore to turn back. They once again circled the ship and when the guard boat was at a safe distance, they again approached the bows. The sailor was standing back in the shadows but his hand was clearly visible on the sill of the gunport. As they passed he let something fall from his fingers. Anxious not to attract attention, they waited until the object had drifted a hundred yards clear of the ship before rowing towards it. John had his hand dragging carelessly in the water until they were close enough for him to grab it.

The object proved to be a small black bottle. They were now acutely aware that any communication between the ship and the shore was strictly forbidden so John was too frightened at first to look at his prize in case they were being watched by someone on board with a telescope. However, they were too curious to wait until they reached the shore. Making sure that the baker's ample body hid him from sight, John examined the bottle more closely. 'It was a foreign-looking bottle, and as I drew the cork, its oiliness and perfume suggested that it had been used for some liqueur. I kept that bottle for a few years, but even now, without it, I can recall its shape and size and smell.'

Inside the bottle there was a small piece of paper rolled up. On the paper was written, 'We have got Bonaparte on board.' It is difficult for us today to realise what those words must have meant. Even before his escape from Elba and the events leading up to the Battle of Waterloo, Napoleon was, without doubt, the most famous person in the western world. To the boys in the boat on that bright summer day, hearing that Napoleon had arrived in Torbay was like hearing that a man had landed from the moon. Bursting with their news, they rowed full tilt back to the shore and within minutes the word had spread around Brixham. A crowd gathered on the waterfront and any boat that could be sailed or rowed was commandeered and pushed out into the harbour. Soon the Bellerophon was surrounded by vessels of all sizes and the cries of 'Bonaparte' warned those on board that the secret was out. The guard boat continued to prevent any vessel coming alongside but no attempt was made to hide the famous passenger and his companions. At first Napoleon was seen at the stern windows and then, around 3 pm, he came on deck where he viewed the crowds through his pocket-glass.

John Smart was surprised at how small the former emperor looked and thought he was rather fat. He noted that he wore a green uniform with red facings, gold epaulettes, white waistcoat and breeches and high military boots. 'He took off his hat which had a cockade on it and bowed to the people, who took off their hats and shouted "Hooray!" I recall a feeling of triumph mixed with a natural satisfaction at seeing a wonderful sight.'

Lieutenant Fletcher, the naval officer who had dashed off to London in the postchaise, only held his tongue until he got to Exeter, because that evening a number of carts and postchaises arrived from that city crammed with curious sightseers. During the course of the next day a great number of boats and yachts arrived from Torquay, Paignton, Dartmouth, and further afield. Every inn in Brixham was full and there was no room left for visitors or any stabling for horses. There was a gala atmosphere and an extraordinary sense of excitement in the town. A correspondent to The Times recorded his impressions:

This day, July 25, proved a most gratifying one indeed to me; I have seen Buonaparte for nearly two hours. A few friends took a pilot boat and went into Torbay; we anchored near the Bellerophon, amidst thousands of boats, etc. Buonaparte repeatedly appeared at a cabin window, which was wide open; he appears rather stout, very full in the face, but very stern and thoughtful in his manner. The Captain of the ship was his only companion.

According to Lieutenant Bowerbank, Napoleon appeared pleased with the eagerness of the crowd to see him, and remarked, 'How very curious these English are.' He was also much taken by the beauty of the women among the onlookers. He kept repeating, 'What charming girls! What beautiful women!' and bowed to them as they waved and smiled up at him. Captain Maitland was besieged with applications from people wishing to come on board. Among them was a note from a lady which was accompanied by a basket of fruit. She requested that a boat might be sent for her the next morning. Maitland sent her a civil answer but informed her that his instructions would not allow him to comply with her request. He noted that 'no more fruit was sent from that quarter'.

At 3 am on 26 July, less than two days after their arrival in Torbay, a boat rowed out to the Bellerophon with orders that she was to proceed immediately to Plymouth. The politicians in London were extremely concerned that Napoleon might escape while they were debating what to do with him. Torbay was exposed to easterly winds and although Plymouth had the disadvantage of being heavily populated, and likely to attract even bigger crowds than Torbay, it had a sheltered anchorage. Furthermore the presence of the naval base, the flagship of Admiral Keith and many other warships made it much easier to prevent any attempt to rescue Napoleon. It was still dark when the Bellerophon weighed anchor and began working her way out of the bay in company with the frigates Myrmidon and Slaney. By 8 am they were off Bolt Head and heading due west. There was a clear blue sky but a gusty, northerly breeze had stirred up a choppy sea, sending clouds of white spray flying in the air as the bows of the three ships dipped into the waves.

Napoleon remained on deck for most of the passage, silently observing the rocky coastline of Devon. As they headed into Plymouth Sound, Captain Maitland drew his attention to the breakwater which was being constructed in the middle of the Sound. Napoleon thought it a great national undertaking and was surprised to learn that it was expected to be completed for less than a million pounds.

'I have expended a large sum of money on the port of Cherbourg,' he said, but he believed that this and similar projects would now be neglected and allowed to go to ruin.

They dropped anchor around 4 pm and Maitland immediately set off to report to Admiral Lord Keith, the commanding officer of the Channel fleet. His flagship, the Ville de Paris, was anchored in Hamoaze, the stretch of water in the inner harbour of Plymouth which runs past the naval dockyard. During the next two weeks Keith was the principal intermediary between the British Government and Napoleon. He was nearly seventy, a big man, with more than twenty years' experience as an admiral and an able administrator. He had made a fortune from prize money while commanding ships in the Far East and the Mediterranean, and between 1803 and 1814 he had held the key posts of commander-in-chief of the North Sea fleet and then of the Channel fleet. He congratulated Maitland on his successful blockade and on taking Napoleon onto his ship. He was keen to meet the former emperor but said that he could not do so until he had received instructions as to how he was to be treated. In the meanwhile he emphasised that nobody must be allowed to board the Bellerophon without his written permission. He told Maitland that he had just ordered the frigates Liffey and Eurotas to mount guard in the immediate vicinity. His detailed instructions to the captains of these vessels reflect the concern felt by the politicians in London that Napoleon must be closely guarded and isolated from any attempt to communicate with him:

The Liffey and Eurotas are to take up an anchorage on each side of the Bellerophon at a convenient distance, and observe the following directions, as well for the prevention of the escape of Bonaparte or any of his suite from that ship, as for restraining shore-boats and others from approaching too close to her, either from curiosity or from any other motive.

A constant watch of an officer, a quarter-watch, and double sentinels are to be kept by day, as well as a boat manned and armed alongside in constant readiness as a guard boat. The same precaution is to be observed all night, with the exception that one of the boats in charge of a lieutenant is to row guard and to be relieved every hour.

No shore boats, or others, are to be suffered either by night or by day to approach nearer the Bellerophon than one cable's length; and no boats are to be permitted to loiter about the ship even at that distance, either from curiosity or any other motive. Neither the captains of the Liffey nor Eurotas, nor any other officer belonging to those or any other ships, are to go on board the Bellerophon either to visit or on any pretence whatever without permission from me in writing.

When Maitland returned to his ship he found that the frigates had already taken up their positions and the men in the guard boats were firing their muskets in an attempt to keep at bay the increasing numbers of boats crowded with sightseers. These measures greatly disturbed Napoleon and his followers and seemed to confirm the ominous reports they had seen in the British newspapers over the past few days. The courtesy and respect shown to them by Captain Maitland and Admiral Hotham had led them to believe that they would be given asylum in England. Napoleon had even talked of receiving the Order of the Garter from the Prince Regent. It was rapidly dawning on them that they were prisoners and not honoured guests. Worse still, it was being suggested in the newspapers that Napoleon would be sent to St Helena, a remote island in the South Atlantic.

Until now the French party on the Bellerophon had discounted some of the more savage newspaper reports. On 25 July, for instance, The Times had referred to 'the capture of that bloody miscreant who has so long tortured Europe' and had published a letter from a particularly hardline correspondent who signed himself 'Probus'. The writer, who undoubtedly represented the views of many British people, thought that Napoleon should be brought to trial and public execution, because, 'He has, for a long succession of years, deluged Europe in blood, to gratify his own mad vanity, his insatiable and furious ambition. It is calculated that every minute he has reigned has cost the life of a human being.' A softer line had been taken by the Courier which, in its issue of 21 July, had pointed out that Napoleon had voluntarily surrendered himself as a prisoner of war into the hands of the Prince Regent, and the law of nations prescribed that 'as soon as your enemy has laid down his arms and surrendered his person, you have no longer any right over his life.' However, the paper declared that now that he was in the safe custody of a British warship steps must be taken to ensure that 'he shall not be able to disturb again the repose and security of the world'.

The correspondent 'Probus' evidently had connections to someone in Whitehall because on 27 July The Times published another letter from him in which he wrote, 'It is said, this monster is to be sent to St Helena, and there to be guarded by an English regiment.' This was, of course, an accurate forecast but for several weeks the politicians had been undecided on the best course to take. The key players in deciding Napoleon's fate were Lord Liverpool, the Prime Minister; Lord Castlereagh, the Foreign Secretary; Lord Bathurst, the Secretary of State for War and the Colonies; Lord Melville, the First Lord of the Admiralty; and John Barrow, the civil servant who was the Permanent Secretary of the Board of Admiralty. The Duke of Wellington, who was in Paris during the course of the discussions, played no part in the final decision. He had strongly resisted the demands of the Prussians who wanted to execute Napoleon, and, according to Lady Shelley who met him at a party in Paris, he thought that 'Bonaparte ought to be shut up at Fort St George, as, by the laws, his life cannot be forfeited.'

Lord Liverpool had originally been of the opinion that the best course would be to deliver Napoleon up to King Louis XVII of France but by 15 July he had decided that it was more appropriate that the British should take responsibility for him. In a letter to Castlereagh, who was in Paris, he wrote:

we should be at liberty to fix the place of his confinement, either in Great Britain, or at Gibraltar, Malta, St Helena, the Cape of Good Hope, or any other colony we might think most secure. We incline at present strongly to the opinion that the best place of custody would be at a distance from Europe, and that the Cape of Good Hope or St Helena would be the most proper stations for the purpose.

Other possible places mentioned in the newspapers were Dumbarton Castle in Scotland and the Tower of London. By 21 July, when news of Napoleon's surrender to Captain Maitland had reached London, Lord Liverpool had decided that it would be a mistake to confine Napoleon in Britain: embarrassing legal questions might arise; he would become an object of curiosity or even of compassion; and his presence might stir up ferment in France. He sent another letter to Castlereagh setting out the latest thinking:

Since I wrote to you last, Lord Melville and myself have conversed with Mr Barrow on the subject, and he decidedly recommends St Helena as the place in the world the best calculated for the confinement of such a person . . . The situation is particularly healthy. There is only one place in the circuit of the island where ships can anchor, and we have the power of excluding neutral vessels altogether, if we should think it necessary. At such a distance and in such a place, all intrigue would be impossible; and, being withdrawn so far from the European world, he would very soon be forgotten.

On 27 July, the day after the Bellerophon's arrival in Plymouth, the weather was hot and sunny with the lightest of breezes. It was a perfect day for hiring a boat and by midday the waters of the Sound were a colourful and jostling mass of yachts, local fishing vessels and every rowing boat available. Lieutenant Bowerbank estimated there were ten thousand people gathered around the ship, a number confirmed by Maitland who reckoned there were at least a thousand vessels, each carrying more than eight people. Most noticeable were the large numbers of pretty young women and fashionable ladies dressed in their Sunday best, but there were also many naval officers, red-coated army officers, and smartly attired gentlemen who took off their hats respectfully when Napoleon showed himself - as he did before and after having his dinner at 6 pm. He seemed astonished by the crowds and, as in Torbay, was impressed by the beauty of the women. Among the sightseers was Captain Maitland's wife who came alongside the Bellerophon in a boat with Sir Richard and Lady Strachan. Napoleon went to the gangway, removed his hat, and asked her if she would come up and visit him but she shook her head. Maitland told him that his orders were so strict that he could not allow even her on board.

'That is very hard,' Napoleon said. 'Milord Keith is a little too severe, is he not, Madame?' and, turning to Maitland, he told him that she was much prettier than the portrait he had seen of her. When Maitland told him that Strachan was second in command of the Channel fleet he remarked that he seemed a very young man to hold so high a rank.

At 11 o'clock the next day Admiral Keith paid a visit to Napoleon but it was an unsatisfactory meeting. Keith had recently been informed that Napoleon must be treated as a general and not as a former head of state. He had also learnt that the politicians had finally decided on St Helena, but he was not yet at liberty to reveal this. Napoleon hoped for much from a meeting with such a high-ranking officer, especially as he had received a friendly letter from Keith thanking him for saving the life of his nephew who had been gravely wounded and taken prisoner in the skirmishes before the Battle of Waterloo. Napoleon had arranged for a surgeon to treat his wounds. Keith later reported that they talked on many subjects - Toulon, Egypt and the East Indies - but he could give no satisfactory answers to Napoleon's questions. He could not allow him to walk on shore, even with officers attending him. He could not tell him what was to become of him or when his fate was to be determined.

That afternoon several transport ships entered Plymouth Sound and passed close to the Bellerophon. They were carrying French prisoners who had been taken at Waterloo, many of them wounded and bandaged. It was a depressing sight for the members of Napoleon's party who were on deck at the time and must have seemed a bad omen for what was soon to come.

On 31 July Admiral Keith returned to the Bellerophon bearing the news that they were dreading. He was accompanied by Major-General Sir Henry Bunbury who had arrived from London the previous day. Bunbury was Under-Secretary of State for War and he had with him a letter which set out the decision of the British Government. In the after-cabin of the ship Bunbury translated and read out the letter to Napoleon:

It would be inconsistent with our duty to this country, and to His Majesty's Allies, if we were to leave to General Bonaparte the means or opportunity of again disturbing the peace of Europe, and renewing the calamities of war: it is therefore unavoidable that he should be restrained in his personal liberty to whatever extent may be necessary to secure our first and paramount object.

The island of St Helena has been selected for his future residence. The climate is healthy, and its local situation will admit of his being treated with more indulgence than would be compatible with adequate security elsewhere.

The letter went on to say that Napoleon would be allowed to take with him three officers, his surgeon, and twelve domestics or servants. Rear-Admiral Sir George Cockburn would be conveying them to St Helena and would be ready to embark within a few days. 'It is therefore desirable that General Bonaparte should make without delay the selection of the persons who are to accompany him.'

Napoleon listened carefully without interrupting and did not appear surprised by the contents of the letter. When asked whether he wished to have a written translation made he said there was no need because he had understood perfectly what had been said. He was handed the letter and laid it on the table. After a pause he launched into a passionate and eloquent protest. The British Government had no right to dispose of him in this manner, he said, and he now appealed to the British people and the laws of the country against its decision.

'I am come here voluntarily to throw myself on the hospitality of your nation, and to claim the rights of hospitality. I am not a prisoner of war. If I were a prisoner of war, you would be obliged to treat me according to the law of nations. But I am come to this country a passenger on board one of your ships of war, after a previous negotiation with the commander.' It was a snare which had been set for him. And as for the island of St Helena, it would be his death sentence.

'What am I to do on this little rock at the end of the world? The climate is too hot for me. No, I will not go to St Helena; Botany Bay is better than St Helena. If your Government wishes to put me to death, they may kill me here.' He demanded to be received as an English citizen. 'What danger could result from my living as a private person in the heart of England under surveillance, and restricted in any way the Government might imagine necessary?' He reminded them that he had been an emperor who had stood among the sovereigns of Europe and the British Government had no right to treat him as a mere general.

When Admiral Keith and Sir Henry Bunbury left the ship Napoleon sent for Captain Maitland. He showed him the letter which he had been given and angrily protested at the decision to send him to St Helena. 'To be placed for life on an island within the Tropics, at an immense distance from any land, cut off from all communication with the world, and every thing that I hold dear in it!' He would prefer to be delivered up to the Bourbons, or confined in the Tower of London. But within a few hours his anger had evaporated. He appeared on deck as usual that evening to show himself to the crowds, and astonished Maitland by his cheerfulness at dinner. However his companions were less able to contain their feelings.

The letter read out by Bunbury had specifically mentioned that General Lallemand and General Savary would not be allowed to accompany Napoleon to St Helena. This must mean that they would be returned to France where they would almost certainly be executed as traitors. They protested strongly to Captain Maitland. He had frequently assured them that their lives would be safe in British hands and Maitland now felt that his word and his honour were at stake. That evening he wrote a personal letter to Lord Melville on their behalf which concluded, 'I most earnestly beg your Lordship's influence may be exerted that two men may not be brought to the scaffold who claimed and obtained at my hands the protection of the British flag.' Melville was not too pleased with the letter but in the end Savary and Lallemand were deported to Malta, then a British possession.

Other members of the French party were equally distressed but the most dramatic protest was made by Madame Bertrand. Like Napoleon she had fondly expected to be able to settle in England where she hoped to resume the place in society to which she was accustomed. It was evident that her husband, who was the highest ranking and most devoted of all Napoleon's followers, would go with him to St Helena, a prospect which appalled her. Before Admiral Keith had left the Bellerophon she had accosted him with her fears: 'My husband is so weak as to be attached to that man, and he will go with him. I have three children. My health is bad; I shall never reach the island. We have no money. If I stay behind, I must starve. Besides, to leave my husband would kill me.'

Around 9 pm that evening, after Napoleon had retired to his cabin, Lieutenant Bowerbank was on watch when he observed Madame Bertrand walking with her husband on deck and pleading with him not to accompany Napoleon into exile. When he refused her entreaties she suddenly broke away from him, and ran to Napoleon's cabin where she threw herself at his feet and said, 'Sire, do not go to St Helena. Do not take my husband!'

Napoleon, who had been listening to Las Cases translating the latest newspapers, regarded her in astonishment. 'But Madame, I am not forcing Bertrand to go with me,' he said. 'He is entirely free.'

Madame Bertrand then rushed into the ward room where the ship's officers and their French guests were gathered as usual for an evening drink of wine and hot punch. Maitland invited her to sit down and join them but she refused and disappeared into the first lieutenant's cabin which she had been using during her stay on the ship. Montholon had noticed how distraught she was and followed her. He found her attempting to throw herself into the sea. She gave a loud shriek as she forced herself out of the quarter gallery window. Montholon caught hold of her legs and shouted for help. Someone shouted 'The Countess is overboard' and Maitland ran up on deck to alert the crew and lower a boat. He could see no sign of her in the water and, returning to the ward room, he found that she had been laid on her bed and was in a hysterical state. In his words she was 'abusing the English nation and its Government, in the most vehement and unmeasured terms; sometimes in French and sometimes in English.' In discussing her dramatic action later, most of the party, including Napoleon, seemed to think it was a protest gesture and not a genuine suicide attempt. But Montholon told Maitland that he had no doubt she would have fallen in the sea if he had not caught hold of her because he found her with most of her body outside the ship and only held by the protecting bar across the window.

The next week was a difficult one for all concerned. For much of the time Napoleon remained in his cabin and when he did appear he was pale, despondent, ill-looking and unshaven. He was heard pacing his cabin for much of each night and a rumour went around the ship that he was contemplating suicide. Madame Bertrand recovered but continued to besiege Maitland with protests about the British Government's decision, as did all the senior French officers except General Bertrand. Admiral Keith was having to field a succession of orders from London and was became increasingly concerned by the crowds which had descended on Plymouth Sound. 'The concourse of people to this place is beyond all imagination,' he wrote to Melville. 'The taverns are full and the sea covered with boats. Yesterday they pressed so much on the ship as to touch the side in defiance of the Guard Boats.' And he told his daughter, 'I am miserable with all the idle people in England coming to see this man.' Even the crew of the Bellerophon, who had initially enjoyed being at the centre of such a great event, were losing patience. It was a long time since they had seen their families and they were beginning to feel they were as much prisoners as the French men and women because of the strict requirements that there must be no communication with the shore.

Meanwhile there were problems with the ship which was to take Napoleon to St Helena. The Admiralty had decided that the 29-year-old Bellerophon was not up to the 5,000-mile voyage to the South Atlantic and had selected the 74-gun ship Northumberland to take her place. The Northumberland had been built at Deptford and launched in 1798. By a curious irony of history she was not a British design but was based on the lines of one of the six French ships captured at the Battle of the Glorious First of June. She had sailed round from the Medway to Spithead and was being loaded up with the stores for the voyage when some of her crew began objecting to being sent to St Helena. Twenty-four of them deserted the ship and her commander, Captain Ross, had to use the threat of armed troops and marines to avert a mutiny.

In London the authorities had their own concerns. They were worried about a legal challenge being mounted to their decision to exile Napoleon. (There was talk of a writ of Habeas Corpus being served.) They were worried about the crowds besieging the Bellerophon, and the possibility of Napoleon escaping. And they were worried by the massive publicity which Napoleon was attracting and the rabble-rousing tone of the articles in some of the newspapers.

On 3 August the Admiralty sent an order marked 'secret and confidential' to Admiral Keith. The Bellerophon and escorting frigates, together with the 80-gun ship Tonnant, must put to sea at once and take up a position off Start Point. They must remain there until the Northumberland arrived and the transfer of Napoleon and his suite could take place. If the weather proved unfavourable for a transfer off Start Point they must move to Torbay.

The Bellerophon weighed anchor at 9.30 am on 4 August. It was another fine, sunny day but the light, southerly breeze and incoming tide made it necessary for her to be towed from the anchorage by the guard boats. As they headed slowly out of Plymouth Sound, Maitland became suspicious of a rowing boat with a man in the stern which was intent on intercepting them. He ordered one of the guard boats to prevent the boat from approaching and he later learnt that there was a lawyer in the boat who had a subpoena for Napoleon. Once clear of the breakwater they set sail and beat slowly out to sea with the frigate Eurotas in company. Off Rame Head they joined the

Prometheus which was waiting for them with Admiral Keith on board. He sent a boat across with a message for Maitland: 'I have been chased all day by a lawyer with a Habeas Corpus: he landed at Cawsand and may come off in a sailing-boat during the night; of course, keep all sorts of boats off, as I will do the like in whatever ship I may be in.'

During the afternoon Keith transferred his flag to the Tonnant and that evening the flagship, accompanied by the Bellerophon, the Eurotas, the Myrmidon and the cutter Nimble, headed east along the coast to Start Point. Some of Napoleon's followers were encouraged by the unexpected move, thinking that the government might have had a change of heart about St Helena. Napoleon, however, became increasingly depressed. He no longer appeared on deck but remained shut in his cabin. His valet took his meals in to him and he spent most of his time with Bertrand and Las Cases. Madame Bertrand said that his legs had swelled up due to lack of exercise. Las Cases later reported that at one stage Napoleon talked about ending his life but was persuaded that he should accept his misfortunes in the spirit of the heroes of antiquity.

'But what can we do in that desolate place?' he asked Las Cases. 'We will live in the past, sire; there is plenty there to satisfy us.

Do we not enjoy the lives of Caesar and Alexander? Better still, you will re-read your own writings, sire.'

'Very well, we will write our memoirs! Yes, one must work; work is Time's scythe. After all one must fulfil one's destiny; that is my chief doctrine.'

For two days the ships waited in a loose formation off the coast between Start Point and Bolt Head. The fine weather gave way to misty, overcast conditions with occasional showers of rain. The grey sea under the louring, grey sky seemed to reflect the air of gloom which had settled over the passengers on the Bellerophon. At last, at 9 am on Sunday 6 August, the Northumberland appeared on the eastern horizon, accompanied by the troopships Bucephalus and Ceylon. The wind had been increasing since dawn and Keith decided that they must seek a more sheltered position for the rendezvous, so he ordered the flotilla under his command to sail to Torbay where they anchored to the westward of Berry Head. The Northumberland anchored nearby. As yet Napoleon had refused to make a decision on who should accompany him to St Helena but he now produced a list which was handed to Sir George Cockburn when he came aboard. The list included General Bertrand, his wife, and their three children; General Montholon, his wife and one child; Count Las Cases and his son; General Gourgaud; Napoleon's valet Marchand; a cook, a butler and eleven servants. That evening Napoleon had a meeting with Captain Maitland and once again made a formal protest against his treatment by the British Government which was very different from what he had hoped for and expected.

'My only wish,' he said, 'was to purchase a small property in England, and end my life there in peace and tranquillity. As for you, Capitaine, I have no cause for complaint; your conduct to me has been that of a man of honour; but I cannot help feeling the severity of my fate, in having to pass the remainder of my life on a desert island.

The atmosphere at breakfast on 7 August was subdued and tense. Maitland and Bertrand were preoccupied with all the arrangements for the transfer of people and luggage to the Northumberland. Madame Bertrand again pleaded with her husband not to accompany Napoleon and when he remained silent she launched into an attack on the British which provoked an uncharacteristically sharp response from Maitland.

'Madame, you talk like a very foolish woman; and if you cannot speak more to the purpose or with more respect of the Government I have the honour to serve, I request you will not address yourself to me. '

After breakfast Maitland was called in to see Napoleon. It was the last conversation they were to have alone. Napoleon thanked him once again for his kindness, and asked his opinion of the Bellerophon's surgeon Barry O'Meara who had volunteered to go to St Helena in place of his French surgeon. Maitland warmly recommended O'Meara who had served with him for many years. Later in the morning Montholon came to see Maitland to tell him that Napoleon particularly regretted not having been permitted an interview with the Prince Regent because he had intended to ask him as a favour to promote Maitland to the rank of Rear-Admiral.

By mid-morning the children and the servants who were to go to St Helena had been taken across to the Northumberland, together with several boatloads of luggage and personal effects. The entire ship's company of the Bellerophon had assembled on deck. Admiral Keith and Sir George Cockburn had been piped aboard and were waiting outside the cabin where Napoleon had been closeted with Bertrand since breakfast. Cockburn became impatient and wanted to remind Napoleon that they were all waiting but Keith restrained him. 'Much greater men than either you or I have waited longer for him before now. Let him take his time; let him take his time.'

There were emotional scenes when Napoleon came to say goodbye to those of his followers who were staying behind. Tears were shed as they embraced but Napoleon himself remained calm and dry-eyed.

'Be happy, friends,' he told them. 'We shall never see each other again, but my thoughts will never leave you nor any of those who have served me. Tell France that I pray for her.

When Napoleon eventually left the after-cabin and stepped out on deck, he was greeted by total silence. He had not been seen by most of the crew for four days and they were shocked by the change in his appearance. He was unshaven, his face was pale and drawn, and his clothes appeared ill-fitting. Bowerbank thought he looked confused. As he crossed the quarterdeck the marines presented arms to the accompaniment of three drum rolls, the salute due to a general. He raised his hat in acknowledgement, went up to Maitland and again thanked him. Turning to the ship's officers he said, 'Gentlemen, I have requested your captain to express my gratitude to you for your attention to me and to those who have followed my fortunes.'

He walked to the gangway, paused and turned to face the dense crowd of sailors gathered on the deck. He took off his hat again, and solemnly bowed two or three times before climbing down into the waiting barge. He was followed by the French men and women who would be going with him to St Helena. As the barge headed towards the Northumberland the entire crew of the Bellerophon lined the rails to watch. Napoleon had been on the ship for twenty-four days and had made an indelible impression on all of them. Maitland was impressed by the mood of the men and asked his servant what the sailors thought of Napoleon.

'Why, sir,' he said, 'I heard several of them conversing together about him this morning; when one of them observed, "Well, they may abuse that man as much as they please; but if the people of England knew him as well as we do, they would not hurt a hair of his head" in which the others agreed. It was a sentiment Maitland understood perfectly. When he came to write his own account of Napoleon's surrender and the subsequent events he noted that the man possessed, to a wonderful degree, the facility for making a favourable impression upon those with whom he entered into conversation. Admiral Keith had been equally impressed and thought he would have charmed the Prince Regent.

'Damn the fellow,' he said, 'if he had obtained an interview with his Royal Highness, in half an hour they would have been the best of friends in England.

That evening the Bellerophon and the Tonnant got under way and headed back to Plymouth. An hour later the Northumberland weighed anchor and three days later she set sail down the Channel at the head of a convoy which included the frigate Havannah, two troopships filled with soldiers and seven armed brigs loaded with stores.

Three weeks after Napoleon vanished into exile over the horizon, the Bellerophon received orders which were to consign her to an exile as humiliating for a great ship as St Helena was for the former emperor. Her exile was to take place, not in a remote island, but on the river where she had been built and launched, and had spent the early years of her life. On Friday 1 September she anchored at the mouth of the River Medway and the next day she moored alongside the dockyard at Sheerness. Over the next two weeks the crew stripped her of everything that had made her a warship. The guns were removed; and the stores of the bosun, the cook, the carpenter, the gunner, and the sailmaker were taken out. The rigging was dismantled, and the masts and bowsprit lifted out by the sheer hulk. Out too came the the barrels of food and water, the coal for the galley, and several tons of shingle ballast. The last job of the crew was to scrub the hammocks and wash down the decks.

Wednesday 13 September was a bright and sunny autumn day with scarcely a breath of wind. At 11 o'clock the Pay Captain from the dockyard came aboard and paid the sailors of the ship's company. The marines had already been discharged to the barracks in Chatham. Midshipman Home provides a vivid picture of the departure of the ship's company in an atmosphere reminiscent of the last day of school. It was, he says, a glorious scene of confusion as the men collected their pay and left the ship, some blessing and some cursing their officers as they went. People were shaking hands and saying goodbye to their messmates, and wishing them a safe passage home. Midshipman Home wanted to tell Captain Maitland how kind he had been to him but when he got to the quarterdeck his words of thanks stuck in his throat and all he was able to say was, 'Fare you well, Captain Maitland!'

'Fare you well,' the Captain responded cheerfully. 'I cannot offer you a ship just now, but should I get a command again, which I am afraid will not be soon, you have only to show your face, and you shall have what vacancy I can give you. I wish you well.'

Home wasted no more time on board the ship. He took up the chest which held all his belongings and climbed down to a vessel which was waiting alongside ready to take people upstream to Limehouse and Wapping. There were some sixty men from the lower deck in the vessel but he was not worried about receiving any insults because he knew he had never treated any of them severely. He observed that the Bellerophon, stripped of her masts, rigging, guns and ballast, had become 'a mere hull, with an empty bottle hung at her figurehead, to show that the grog was out'.

The only sign that the ship was still a naval vessel was the long commissioning pennant which normally flew at the mainmast but which now hung limply from the flagpole at the stern. That evening Captain Maitland made a final entry in the ship's log-book. He concluded with the words: 'Sunset, haul down the pendant.' And underneath he signed his name 'Fred. L. Maitland, Captain.' The Bellerophon had ended her life as a ship of the line.