Hardly ever before had Betsy heard Napoleon speak so severely. She saw that he was in earnest and that she must obey. She saw, too, that she was in danger of losing his regard, and even without looking far ahead she realized that he might not go to her friend, if her own foolishness continued longer. So, giving up her trophies, she seized the Emperor's hand and led him to the house.
Now that he had yielded to Betsy's wishes, Napoleon was most courteous to her guest. He talked graciously to the young lady, complimented her on her beauty, and when she was ready to go home helped her on her horse.
"She is a very pretty girl," he said later to Betsy, "but she has the airs of amarchande de modes."
In thus intruding on Napoleon in his arbor study, Betsy had shown a rashness that no one else in the family would have ventured to imitate. One day, however, Betsy aided an intruder, whose behavior the Emperor could not resent although he was disturbed by it.
It happened in this way. One morning while Napoleon was busy in his outdoor study making notes, Betsy was romping about in the garden near by.
"Come, Tom Pipes!" she called loudly; and a second later a beautiful Newfoundland dog rushed to her side. Tom Pipes belonged to Sir George Cockburn, the Admiral, and was well known to every one at The Briars, as he was in the habit of accompanying his master on his occasional visits to Mr. Balcombe's house. After his long run up the mountainous road under the hot sun, Tom Pipes was always delighted to reach The Briars, for the place had many ponds and little streams, into which the intelligent dog would plunge for a swim.
On this particular day, Tom needed no second word from Betsy to make him accept her invitation to take a dip in the pond, stocked with gold and silver fish, that was near Napoleon's arbor. The dog bathed and swam and amused himself in the water, and at last clambered up the bank. A moment later, as if tired from his exertions, he lay down by Napoleon's side. Napoleon, like every one else at The Briars, knew and admired the dog, and if he noticed Tom Pipes's approach had no objection to it. He was so absorbed in his work, however, that he probably was hardly aware of the nearness of the creature. After a few minutes' rest, Tom Pipes realized that he had not completed his toilet. So, rising to his feet, he began to shake himself vigorously. Instantly a shower of water bespattered Napoleon's face and clothing, and drenched the papers on the table. The sheet on which he was writing was entirely spoiled, and he himself looked rather ridiculous, as he tried to brush off the drops of water. In spite of his annoyance, Napoleon could not help laughing, for although he scolded and did his best to drive Tom Pipes away, the dog could not understand him. The two had been shipmates on theNorthumberland, and the dog was so delighted to see Napoleon again that instead of running away, he kept jumping on him, leaving on the Emperor's clothing repeated imprints of his wet and muddy paws.
While all this was happening, Betsy, looking on, was convulsed with laughter. She had not had this particular ending in mind when she had called Tom Pipes to play with her, but no deliberate practical joke of hers had ever been more amusing to her; and the best part of it was that the Emperor could not really blame her nor punish Tom Pipes.
Very often, however, it was not Betsy who got the best of a practical joke. Not infrequently she lost her temper over little things that were not worth minding, and Napoleon, to whom she was a constant source of amusement, could not forbear teasing her, just to see how she would take his fun. One day, looking over Betsy's shoulder, Napoleon discovered that her translation was not finished. Her father required this bit of work from her every day, and now Napoleon saw a way to pay her back in some of her own coin.
Taking the paper from Betsy, and holding it aloft, the Emperor approached Mr. Balcombe, who was now mounting his horse for a ride.
"Balcombe," he cried, "voilà le thème de Mdlle. Betsee. Qu'elle a bien travaillé!" he concluded sarcastically.
Betsy's father looked at the sheet of paper which was quite blank, and, entering into the spirit of the thing with Napoleon, he professed to be very angry. Calling Betsy to him, he reproved her severely.
"If your translation is not ready when I return home to dinner, I will punish you severely." Mortified by this reproof, Betsy cherished plans of retaliation against the Emperor, which she carried out when she pinioned him in the corner with her sword.
Yet after all she deserved the reproof, since her father had made a rigid rule that his daughters should have a translation from English into French ready every morning before the hour when Napoleon visited The Briars. He rightly considered it a great privilege for the young girls that the great man should be willing to look at their French themes, with a view to improving their use of his language.
One morning the sisters observed Archambaud, Napoleon's groom, leading a beautiful horse in front of the house.
"That is the Arab they have bought for him to ride."
"I shouldn't think he'd care to ride that horse," responded the timid Jane. "See how he rears and plunges."
"He's afraid of that white cloth on the lawn."
"Yes, but they've put it there on purpose, to break him of the habit of shying."
While they were speaking, Napoleon approached.
"Sir," said the confident Betsy, "I don't believe you can ride that horse."
"I! Don't you think me a good rider?"
"Yes; I think you look better on horseback than any one I have ever seen."
"Onlylook!" Napoleon was trying to draw her out.
"But you really ride better than anyone else, as I told you the other day when you rode around the lawn. I didn't suppose any one could make a horse wheel in such a narrow circle."
"Yet you think this Arab could conquer me!"
"But it looks so ugly,—I mean its disposition."
The Emperor, without replying directly, called Archambaud to him and bade him dismount, while he took his seat on the fiery horse. The girls looked on in horror, but Napoleon only smiled the more, as he compelled the horse to pass the cloth and continued his discipline until he made the creature put his foot on it.
Archambaud gazed open-mouthed, hardly knowing whether to laugh or to cry. The Emperor persevered, and in a short time the horse was absolutely obedient to him, and the groom, though chagrined at his own failure, was pleased by the Emperor's success.
"Ah," said Napoleon, dismounting, "it would be a strange horse that did not understand me. There was one that I rode once one hundred and twenty-nine miles in one day. My mother was ill, and I had to do it; but the horse, poor thing, died in the course of the night."
"And you?" asked Betsy.
"Ah, I was fatigued, but in or out of the saddle makes little difference to me. I could almost sleep in the saddle. But, come, young ladies," he continued, "I came here to invite you to see my china. It is all unpacked."
The girls followed the Emperor toward the house, and "Oh!" and "Ah!" they exclaimed loudly as they looked at the beautiful dishes lately arrived from France. Among them there were plates that had cost twenty-five napoleons, each of them painted by a great artist. It was a beautiful set, given to the Emperor by the people of Paris, and the pictures were chiefly battle scenes commemorating his great victories.
Before one of these paintings, Betsy stood enraptured. It represented a slim youth, who looked almost tall, standing on a bridge and evidently cheering others on, while nearer him were the dead and dying.
"And this was really you?" exclaimed Betsy, for she recognized the standing figure.
"Yes," replied Napoleon, sighing, as if for his dead youth. "I was that boy. That was almost the beginning. I was more slender then than now."
"This is the ibis?" asked Betsy, pointing to a bird that appeared on many plates.
"Yes; these are mostly pictures of Egypt;" and the ibis led him to a long discourse on the Egyptian campaign.
"But don't go to Egypt, Miss Betsy," he concluded. "You will catch ophthalmia and spoil your eyes."
"Pourquoi avez-vous tourné turque?" ["Why did you turn Turk?"] interposed Betsy abruptly.
"What is that to you?" he asked, laughing. The question referred to his having become a Mahometan, but at first it was not clear to Napoleon what she meant.
"I mean, why did you change your religion?" Betsy explained.
"Fighting is a soldier's religion," he replied. "I never changed that. The other is the affair of women and priests.Quant à moi, I always adopt the religion of the country I am in. And now," he said at last, "you have seen all the plates, and there are your little brothers coming up to find out what our Santini has made for them."
Santini was Napoleon's lamplighter, a clever little fellow, who could make all kinds of toys and was always ready to play amusing tricks to entertain the children.
"What has he now?" the little boys asked as the man approached with a box under his arm.
The children jumped about excitedly. Even the girls were curious, as, taking the box from under his arm, Santini displayed a tiny carriage to which were harnessed two pairs of mice. In spite of Santini's efforts, they did not at once start off, as he had expected, to draw the carriage, and the boys appealed to the Emperor.
"Pinch the tails of the leaders, and then they will go," commanded Napoleon.
The boys obeyed, and to the great delight of the children the mice started off at full speed. As they watched the carriage and the scampering steeds, the children shouted and clapped their hands.
One morning Betsy stood before Napoleon with an expression of disappointment on her pretty face.
"Of course I thought you meant it."
"But you are a foolish child."
"Why shouldn't you give a ball before you leave The Briars? Not a very great one, but just large enough for me to dance at. Soon you will be away, at Longwood. I thought you promised."
"You must have known I was in fun."
At last Betsy noted a tone in the Emperor's voice that warned her to go no further.
"But since you are so disappointed," said Napoleon kindly, "you may have whatever you wish to ask of me.Dites-moi, que veux-tu que je fosse Mdlle. Betsee pour te consoler?" ["Tell me, what do you wish me to do to console you?"]
Betsy's face brightened.
"Let us play the game of blindman's buff you have so often promised. Then I will forgive you for not having the ball, and never speak of it again."
"Blindman's buff, as you describe it, did not seem to be just the game for me. Can't you think of something else?"
"But you promised, and your room is splendid for it, and it wouldn't be any fun without you."
Seeing that resistance was useless, the Emperor at last consented to play. He began by binding his fine white handkerchief over Betsy's eyes.
"Can you see?"
"I cannot see you."
But Betsy, although she spoke truly in saying that she could not see the Emperor, could yet detect a glimmer of light. Napoleon waved his hands before her eyes, and the shadows and rush of air made her start.
"Ah, leetle monkey, you can see me!" he exclaimed, and he put another handkerchief over her eyes.
Then, with Betsy in the middle of the room, the game began. Soon the young girl felt some one pull her nose roughly. She knew who had touched her, for, as he crept toward her, she recognized Napoleon's footsteps. As she darted forward, he bounded away just as her hand touched his. Then, as she groped about, Napoleon pulled her ear. She was sure that she had recognized him and putting out her hand she cried triumphantly:
"I have you, I have you! Now it is your turn."
When Betsy uncovered her eyes she was mortified to find that it was her sister she had captured. Napoleon, it was true, had pulled her ear, but he had accomplished this by reaching his hand over Jane's head. Every one now laughed at Betsy.
"Come," said Napoleon, "as you have made such a great mistake, you must pay the penalty and remain blindfolded."
The Emperor continued to tease and quiz, pulling Betsy's ear or her dress, and always managing to escape being caught.
At last, when the fun was at its height, a servant, entering, announced that some one had called to see the Emperor. So the young people were left to themselves for a while. The game was at an end.
"Now, Mees Betsy," exclaimed the Emperor, when he returned to the room, "you and all the other players must come and dine with me."
"But we have already dined."
"Yet you must come. Now, Navarre," said the Emperor, when they had reached the marquee, "Mees Betsy is very fond of creams. Bring some for her."
"I cannot eat them," protested Betsy.
"But you told me you were so fond of them. Come, it is not kind to refuse."
"But really I cannot eat."
"Oh, nonsense!"
Betsy made the effort, and ate half of a delicious cream.
"That is not enough. I will feed you, littlebambino, I will feed you;" and with spoon in hand Napoleon actually began to feed the little girl, laughing steadily at her as he did so.
Only by running away did Betsy at last escape, and even then the Emperor called after her:
"Stop, Mees Betsy, do stay and eat another. You know you told me you liked them."
The next day Marchand brought to the sisters a box of bonbons with the Emperor's compliments, and with them came some of the famous creams for "Mdlle. Betsee."
New Year's Day was approaching, the day which French people love to celebrate by making gifts to their friends and paying compliments.
On this first New Year's morning of Napoleon's exile on St. Helena, Betsy, looking from her window, saw young Tristram Montholon and Henri Bertrand approaching.
"Look, Jane," she cried excitedly, "they are carrying something; do you suppose—"
But without finishing her question or waiting for Jane to answer, Betsy had taken the shortest way to gratify her curiosity by running to greet the boys. Immediately the two little fellows saluted her with New Year wishes and before she could ask a question had presented each sister—for Jane had followed her—with a beautiful crystal basket.
"Something Piron made for you," the boys explained; and the fingers of the two girls trembled with excitement as they began to uncover the contents of the baskets. Piron, Napoleon'sconfiseur, could do the most remarkable things. There was nothing he could not reproduce in sugar—palaces, triumphal arches, all kinds of curious structures—all looking too good to eat. Already Betsy and Jane had received presents from the Emperor, products of Piron's skill, accompanied usually by some pleasant message. But this New Year's gift surpassed their expectations, for when they tore off the white satin napkin, inside the baskets they saw that delicious bonbons were heaped within them on Sèvres plates, a plate for each girl.
"Cupidons for the Graces," was Napoleon's message accompanying the kindly gift.
The first of the new year brought a certain regret to the family at The Briars and to Napoleon as well. His new home at Longwood was nearly ready for him, and this meant that he should see much less of the charming family to which he had become attached. Longwood was several miles away, and the chance was that there he would be guarded more closely and that it might be harder for the girls to see him.
For the two months before New Year's, Longwood was as busy a place as a dock-yard in war. The Admiral was often there, hurrying lazy workmen. Every day two or three hundred seamen carried timber and other building materials and furniture to Longwood. Although Napoleon was in no hurry to go there—indeed, he did not wish to go there at all—he watched the workmen with great interest, as he observed them climbing up the heights between Longwood and The Briars. He would really have preferred to make The Briars his home, and he tried to get the Government to buy it for him, but for reasons, perhaps political, this could not be accomplished. Longwood, in situation, was bleak and unshaded, and so exposed that it was not likely he could ever have a garden such as that at The Briars. Water had to be brought from a distance of three miles, and the houses that were to be remodelled for the French were known to be damp and unhealthy. The farmhouses which Napoleon was to occupy were very plain and have even been called a collection of huts. The expenditure of much money could not make the place really comfortable.
Napoleon had now been on the island nearly three months. No longer was he regarded by any one with dread, at least by any one who had come under his immediate influence. By the Balcombe family he was esteemed an amiable friend. They had had the chance to see him under all kinds of conditions, and if they did not regard him as exactly perfect, their feeling for him was one not only of great sympathy but respect.
As the time for his departure approached he came more often to the drawing-room at The Briars.
"Ah," he said, half sadly, to the family, "I would rather stay here than go to Longwood. I could never have imagined it possible to be happy on such a horrible rock as St. Helena."
One day General Bertrand, coming over from Longwood, told Napoleon the house smelled so of paint that it was not fit for him at present. All Napoleon's friends knew his great dislike for unpleasant odors, and that paint was especially disagreeable to him.
When the Emperor heard this report of the condition of Longwood, his rage almost choked him. He walked up and down the lawn, gesticulating wildly.
"I will not live in a house that smells of paint. It is most horrible. I will send to the Admiral and refuse to go."
Betsy had hardly ever seen him display such temper as he now showed, declaiming against the lack of consideration shown by the Governor. This excitement was a result probably of his general dislike for his new home. Although first interested in the workmen, toward the end he began to complain of the fifes and drums with which the soldier workmen urged themselves on as they wound their way up the hill. He had disliked Longwood from the day when he had first seen it, just after his arrival on the island, and what he heard about it had not changed his opinion. No family, it was said, had ever lived there longer than a few months, so unwholesome was its climate. This came from the situation of the place—a plain on the top of a mountain, eighteen hundred feet high. It was on the windward side of the island, and only for a month or six weeks in the year was the weather pleasant. For three or four weeks it had the sun directly overhead; the rest of the year was wet and disagreeable. In the course of a single day there could be extreme changes of heat and cold.
At last the day of departure came. Sir George Cockburn and all the Emperor's suite, some of whom lived at a distance from The Briars, came over to escort him. The younger members of the family stood around the house, showing their sadness very plainly.
"You must not cry, Mdlle. Betsee," said Napoleon kindly. "You must come to see me next week, and very often."
"Oh, yes, I want to, but that will depend on my father."
Then Napoleon turned to Mr. Balcombe. "Balcombe, you must bring Misses Jane and Betsee next week to see me, eh? When will you ride up to Longwood?"
"Indeed, I will bring them soon," responded Mr. Balcombe.
"But where is your mother?" added the Emperor, casting his eye over the group that had gathered to bid him good-bye.
"She sent her kind regards to you," replied Betsy, "but is sorry that she is not well enough to come down."
"Then I will go up to her;" and Napoleon impulsively ran upstairs before word could be given of his approach.
When Napoleon entered her room, Mrs. Balcombe was lying down. The girls, who had followed him, saw him sit down on the edge of her bed as he thanked her very warmly for all her attention to him.
"I should have preferred to stay at The Briars. I am sorry to go to Longwood," he said; and then he handed a little package to her, saying, "Now please give this to your husband as a mark of my friendship." "This" proved to be a beautiful gold snuffbox.
As he turned to leave the room, Napoleon saw the red-eyed Betsy standing near the door.
"Here, my dear," he said, putting something in her hand, "you can give this as agage d'amourto petit Las Cases."
Betsy had no heart now to reply to a jest that ordinarily would have brought out a spirited reply. But with the beautiful bon-bonnière in her hand, she ran out of the room and took a post at a window where she could see Napoleon. Her tears continued to flow and she found that she could not bear to look longer at the departing Emperor. At last she had to run to her own room, where, throwing herself on a bed, she wept bitterly for a long time.
It was true, as Betsy knew, that Longwood was not so very far from The Briars, and that it was not likely that she would be restrained from going there sometimes. Yet in spite of this knowledge the little girl realized that she had lost a great deal by the departure of the Emperor from her father's house.
Friends, and enemies too, of Napoleon in Europe would have been amazed at that moment to know that the man who so short a time before had been dreaded as the commander of one of the world's greatest armies, was now bewailed by a little girl as a lost playmate, for as playmate and friend Betsy had certainly come to regard him, and she regretted his removal to Longwood, not only because it was farther away, but because he was likely to be hedged in with a greater ceremony that might prevent her from seeing much of him.
Mr. Balcombe went with Napoleon to Longwood, and when he returned the girls asked eagerly how the Emperor liked the new residence.
"He seemed out of spirits. He went soon to his own room and shut himself in;" and at this report they sympathized with his loneliness.
Betsy and Jane, fortunately, were not to be shut off altogether from their friend. Their father was purveyor to the Emperor, and this meant that he had a general order to visit Longwood and could take his daughters with him. Thus it happened that hardly a week passed without their going there to call, to their own great delight as well as to the satisfaction of Napoleon, who never tired of them.
Usually their visits were so timed that they could breakfast with the Emperor at one, and for the most part they found him much the same as he had been at The Briars. After a while, however, they could not help noticing that he was less cheerful than formerly.
About a week after his departure, Betsy and her mother and sister made their first visit to Longwood to call on the Emperor.
"Ah, there he is," Betsy cried; and looking ahead, they saw him seated on the steps of the billiard-room, talking to little Tristram Montholon. The moment Napoleon caught sight of them, he hastened toward them. Saluting them pleasantly, he kissed Mrs. Balcombe and Jane on each cheek, while he pinched Betsy's ear, as he said: "Ah, Mdlle. Betsee,etes-vous sage, eh, eh?"
Then, with the eagerness of a boy anxious to display a new toy, he added, "What do you think of the place? I must show you over it. Come, follow me!"
So the Emperor walked ahead of Mrs. Balcombe and her daughters, leading them first to his bedroom. Betsy thought this room small and cheerless, though she did not say so to Napoleon.
As she looked about she observed that the walls were covered with fluted nankeen, that on the wall were many family pictures that she recognized, while the bed was the well-known camp bed with the green silk hangings, the bed Napoleon had used in his Marengo and Austerlitz campaigns. There, on one side, was the silver wash-hand basin and ewer, and on the mantelpiece over the bed was a portrait of Maria Louisa, so placed as to be the first thing to meet Napoleon's eye when he awoke in the morning. Off the bedroom was a small chamber with a bath that he showed to them. A dressing-room, dining-room, billiard and drawing room made up the Emperor's own special suite. The billiard-room, which had been built according to Sir George Cockburn's orders, was large and well proportioned. It was the best apartment in the house, and the girls expressed their admiration for it, although Betsy, when her eye fell on the billiard table and balls, thought the game a foolish one for men to play.
"Now to the kitchen!" Napoleon exclaimed, at last. "M. Piron will be so pleased. Aha, Piron, here is Mees Betsee; you know how she loves creams. Send her some and some bonbons. See,regardez, mademoiselle, voilà un mouton pour mon diner, dont on fait une lanterne," pointing to the lean carcass of a sheep hanging up in the kitchen, in which the French servants had placed a candle which shone through. "But I know," he continued, "you are dying to see the baby;" and the sisters went with him to Madame Montholon's apartment to see her six-weeks-old girl.
Napoleon took his little god-daughter in his arms.
"Oh, you will let it fall!" cried Betsy as he dandled it clumsily.
"No, no! See, it will let me do anything with it;" and he pinched little Lili's nose and chin until she cried.
"You do not know how to hold a baby," protested Betsy.
"But I ought to know," responded Napoleon with a twinkle of amusement in his eye. "Often and often I have nursed the King of Rome when he was younger than Lili."
After leaving the baby and Madame Montholon, the little girls went with Napoleon to the garden outside.
"It is not like The Briars," the Emperor said, shaking his head sadly.
"I should say not;" and Betsy looked from the bare surroundings of the house to the rugged mountain near by with its scraggly vegetation of wild samphire, prickly pears and aloes, its iron-covered rocks, with sharp cliffs and mysterious caves overshadowing the house.
Napoleon's momentary sadness may have come from his casual allusion to his son, the little King of Rome, the child whom he was never to see again. Those who observed him when any allusion was made to his child were always sure that Napoleon's heart held great fatherly affection. Once when he had been a trifle downcast, Dr. O'Meara told him an anecdote he had heard about the child. Immediately Napoleon smiled with great animation and his face brightened. At other times when the conversation turned on the child, he grew perceptibly sadder.
His love for his own child made Napoleon undoubtedly more interested in all children, and he was never ashamed, as some men are, to show this interest in the children of his friends.
This first visit to Longwood was in every way delightful to the sisters, not only because there was much to see that was new to them in the arrangement of the house and grounds, but because they found the Emperor in one of his most boyish moods.
"Now, ladies," he said, as the time for their return approached, "send your horses off. They can meet you at Hutsgate, and I will take a drive with you, if you will honor my jaunting car."
Hutsgate was the residence of Madame Bertrand, where Mrs. Balcombe and her daughters intended to call before returning to The Briars.
"Yes," answered Betsy after a moment's hesitation, "we will drive with you." She was not fond of driving, but did not dare to expose her timidity to the ridicule of the Emperor.
Hardly, however, had they started off when she felt that her fears were justified. The daring Archambaud was their charioteer, and he drove three unbroken Cape horses abreast.
"This is the most dangerous road for driving on the island. No wonder they call it the Devil's Punchbowl," cried poor Betsy. As she spoke, the carriage seemed to be tipping over the edge of the declivity. Those nearer the edge were in mortal terror, and the others looked as if they would be crushed against the huge rock.
"You are not frightened, are you, Mees Betsee?" asked Napoleon mischievously. "Of course it is a narrow road; I only hope the horses are not running away. They seem rather wild."
Thankful enough was Betsy to arrive at Madame Bertrand's without accident, and when she started for home she was more than eager to mount her own quiet pony, Tom. She was not fond of driving over the dangerous roads, and for a jaunting car she had a special dislike. Napoleon, knowing this, could not resist the opportunity to tease her. Betsy, indeed, was not the only one whom he liked to terrify by getting Archambaud to display his reckless driving. It seemed, indeed, as if his guest, as well as the Emperor, always took his life in his hands when driving in the jaunting car.
On a second visit not long after the first, when Betsy and Jane arrived at Longwood, they found the Emperor firing at a target. He put the pistol in Betsy's hands, saying, "Ah,la Petite Tirailleuse, I will form a company of sharpshooters and you shall be captain."
A little later he took her to the billiard-room and showed her the billiard table.
"It is a silly game for men," she said in her positive way, "too much like marbles. I wouldn't play it."
"Oh, do try," urged the Emperor; but wilful Betsy replied only by aiming the ball at his fingers, as he rested his hand on the board.
Later, however, the sisters learned to play the game, and at the billiard table they passed many an hour.
Napoleon himself taught Betsy how to handle a cue, but, when tired of the lesson, she would often aim at his fingers, and she was always delighted when a well-directed shot made him cry out.
The visits of Betsy and her sisters gave pleasure to the fallen great man; still, as time went on, they could not help noticing that he was less and less buoyant. In their presence he tried to lay aside his troubles, and continued unfailingly kind.
He and the new Governor, Sir Hudson Lowe, were always at swords' points, and this wore on his spirits. Moreover, the health of Napoleon was impaired, and as he realized this he grew more and more gloomy.
Sir Hudson Lowe was very particular that the passes issued for visitors should be used only as they had been made out.
One day Betsy went to Longwood with a pass that prescribed a visit to General Bertrand. But when Betsy, wandering about, caught sight of Napoleon in the billiard-room, she could not resist the temptation of playing a game with him. Her father vainly tried to remonstrate with her. Far from listening to him, she bounded off.
Instead of playing billiards, however, Napoleon asked her to read to him from a book that he had lately received from England. It was by Dr. Warden, surgeon of theNorthumberland, describing in English Napoleon's voyage to St. Helena. Napoleon had not made great headway in reading English, and Betsy went through several chapters with him, turning them into her French that he might better understand.
Napoleon listened attentively to her reading. "Dr. Warden's word is a very true one," he said.
Betsy finished her stay at Longwood this day by remaining awhile with Madame Bertrand.
The news of Betsy's visit to Napoleon without the requisite permission reached the Governor's ears; and Mr. Balcombe was severely reproved. In fact, he nearly lost his position. The Governor from the first insisted that Mr. Balcombe always acted in the interest of Napoleon, and hence, as he viewed it in his narrow-mindedness, against the interests of the English Government. Thus we can see that Napoleon's young neighbor was wrong in doing things that drew on her father the Governor's reproof.
"My dears," said Mr. Balcombe one morning, "I am going to Longwood to-morrow, and the Emperor has expressly asked me to bring you. He has something curious to show you."
"What can it be?" the girls asked each other. This special invitation, promising a special pleasure, made them eager to start when the next morning came.
When they reached Longwood with their father they found Napoleon examining a machine whose use they could guess.
"Come, come, young ladies," the great man cried, when he caught sight of them, "come see me make ice. You have not been here for a long time, Mees Betsy, what is the matter?"
"I have been ill,—a sunstroke."
"Oh, I am sorry! What foolish thing did you do?"
"Oh, Jane and I walked with Captain M. to call on Mrs. Wilks. We went over the mountain, two thousand feet, and also across Francis Plain, and down into the valley, up the mountain ridges."
Napoleon expressed his astonishment at the extent of their walk.
"Yes, we were nearly dead when we reached Plantation House, but the Lady Governess and her daughter there were so kind, and at noon we went to Fairyland."
When Betsy had told her story, Napoleon explained the air-pumps and the process of ice-making. He was evidently proud of his own proficiency.
"Now, Mr. Balcombe, get an elementary chemistry for Miss Betsy and make her study every day, and the good O'Meara shall be her examiner."
While he talked Napoleon was watching the machine.
"Do try my ice," he exclaimed at last, when he had a cupful.
"Here, Mees Betsee, take this!" and he put a large piece in her mouth.
"Oh, Mees Betsee, why make such faces?"
This was the first ice that had ever been seen on the island, and those who had never been off St. Helena were naturally amazed when it was shown to them.
"It can't be frozen water," exclaimed Miss de F., a young St. Helena lady who had accompanied the Balcombes on this visit to Longwood; and she had to hold a piece in her hand before she believed it. Then she gave a little scream. The glassy substance was so cold at first that she was ready to drop it. A moment later when it began to melt and the water streamed down her fingers, she realized that she had actually seen a very strange thing, the turning of water into ice by artificial means.
Betsy long remembered the day when she had first seen the wonderful ice machine, and perhaps her remembrance of it was intensified because on that same morning Napoleon permitted her to cut from his coat an embroidered bugle, and the coat was the one he had worn at Waterloo. Napoleon himself was as pleased as a child with the ice machine, and to more than one person expressed his regret that he had not had it in Egypt, where its use would have saved the lives of many suffering soldiers.
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 seemsfolle." 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 gagné l'éventail?" ["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 à 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, 'Bête, 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 favoriterobe 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 theNorthumberlandfrom 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 "Æsop'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.
Any one who had looked in on the sisters one day would have seen that they were greatly excited. Just at this time they were visiting Madame Bertrand, and during their stay a ball was to be given.
Plans that promised much pleasure for them had been made. They were to dine with the Emperor, and then go on to Deadwood in his carriage.
"Don't jerk so, please," cried Betsy, while the maid was arranging her hair.
"But you must have this Chinese coiffure, if you are going to the ball. You would not wish to go looking like a little girl."
"Oh, no," responded Betsy faintly, inwardly rebellious, as her hair was jerked and strained on top of her head. She was willing to bear pain for the sake of appearing well, but when she looked in the glass she thought that she had never seen anything so hideous as the coiffure that the maid had arranged with such care. She no longer desired to appear like a young lady. Her hair had been drawn back so tight that her eyes were fairly starting from the socket. Had there been time she would have pulled the coiffure down, and indeed she was ready to cry with vexation, but she did not really dare to disarrange it now, for she dreaded the Emperor's ridicule. How he would laugh at the funny Chinese coiffure! In a few minutes she was to appear before him.
To her great surprise, when she and her sister entered the dining-room, the Emperor spared her, saying only:
"Mees Betsy, this is the only time I have ever seen you look really neat; but I don't like your frock. What is the matter?"
Poor Betsy! She was almost upset by the Emperor's tone. She looked at him closely, and decided that he meant just what he said. She had thought her little frock so pretty. Now, what could be the matter with it?
The Emperor understood her look of inquiry and answered in words.
"It is too short," he said. "You must have it made long before the ball."
He was certainly in earnest, and the young girl was really troubled. "But I cannot do anything to it," she protested; "there is not time."
"Oh, but no one will wish to dance with you."
"It isn't as bad as that!"
"But it is."
Betsy knew that Napoleon meant what he said. He knew more about balls and ball-gowns than any young girl on the island. Indeed, if his criticism had not been based on his knowledge of the customs of the modish world, Betsy would still have been inclined to trust to his judgment; for though at times she seemed to trifle with his wishes, in her heart she was always ready to please him.
So now, as sensitive as any more conventional girl to the impression she might make at a ball, Betsy ran off to find Josephine, the maid.
Josephine shook her head when Betsy first told her tale of woe, but at last she consented to remedy the defect by lengthening the frock. There was but one thing to do, and consequently some of the tucks were let down.
Neither Betsy nor the maid was proud of the result of their efforts. The effect was not good, and Betsy had to take what consolation she could from the fact that she had obeyed Napoleon.
A dinner with the Emperor was always delightful to Betsy and Jane, and this one was no exception. When it was over the Emperor rose abruptly and all went with him to the drawing-room. There the delectable coffee for which Le Page was famous was brought in, and Betsy, feeling more grown up than ever, drank a cup into which, disdaining tongs, she dropped a lump of sugar.
Soon the carriage was announced, and all set out, Madame Bertrand ahead, carrying her baby, next little Arthur, then Mrs. Balcombe, and finally Betsy and Jane and General Gorgaud.
When the signal was given, the spirited Cape steeds tore away, dashing from side to side, while Madame Bertrand screamed loudly to Archambaud to stop, though without avail, until the carriage ran into a gumwood tree.
Except for the shaking up and the fright, none of the party was injured, and when the door was opened all scrambled hastily out. Nothing would induce them to intrust themselves again to the carriage and the reckless Archambaud, and though the rain was falling heavily they preferred to walk over the muddy road to Deadwood. They had nearly a mile to go, and it was especially hard for Madame Bertrand, whose baby would not be carried.
Betsy, though she knew that she herself probably looked equally absurd, could not help laughing when she saw Madame Bertrand arrayed in one of Mrs. Balcombe's dresses, half a yard too short and small in every way, which she had to borrow while her own clothes were drying.
But the ball itself was pleasant and all felt repaid for going, even though they had to walk home in the mist.
The next morning, as ever, Betsy was the victim of Napoleon's raillery.
"So you had a good time last evening, Mees Betsy. I hear you danced very well and looked well, and might have been Baroness Sturmer's younger sister, you looked so much like her."
This compliment pleased Betsy mightily, as doubtless Napoleon realized, for the little English girl thought Baroness Sturmer, wife of the Austrian Commissioner, the prettiest woman she had ever seen.
Not long after breakfast the visitors from The Briars and several from Longwood went to the town and to theNewcastlein the bay, on board of which Sir Pultney and Lady Malcom were to give a breakfast in honor of Lord Amherst.
When next the sisters visited Longwood, "Ah, Mees Betsee," cried Napoleon, "I have heard great stories of you. You locked up little Miss P. the other day, while the other ladies were being shipped over the side of the frigate to return to shore. When they missed her Captain G. had to go back to rescue her."
As Betsy did not deny this charge, Napoleon, turning to her father, exclaimed:
"Balcombe, you must set her a task."
"Indeed I must," responded Betsy's father gravely.
"But I have been punished enough," protested Betsy. "Lady Lowe scolded me, too, and desired me to use my reason and not to be childish. I wondered at her lack of perception in giving me credit for what I never possessed. But I did admire Lord Amherst," she added, a few minutes later.
"He must be a very fascinating man," responded Napoleon, "so to have impressed your youthful fancy."
The kindness that Madame Montholon showed Betsy in allowing her maid to arrange the young girl's hair in a style suitable for a ball, an undoubted kindness in spite of the discomfort it produced, was in a line with many other things that she and Madame Bertrand did for the Balcombe girls. Madame Bertrand was particularly fond of Betsy and often invited her to her house. She advised her about her studies and, to a certain extent, supervised some of them. Madame Bertrand had many accomplishments, some of which she tried to impart to Betsy. Singing was one of them, and under her instruction Betsy made considerable progress. Napoleon sometimes listened to their little concerts in the drawing-room at Longwood. One evening when Betsy was to sing a part from "Les Styriens," the piano was so out of tune that Napoleon was greatly distressed. He at once sent for Mr. Guiness, the bandmaster of theGeneral Kid, then in St. James's Harbor, the only man at hand who could properly tune it, and was naturally annoyed when the Governor expressed his unwillingness to have Mr. Guiness come.
Of all those who accompanied Napoleon to St. Helena, Madame Bertrand had made, perhaps, the greatest sacrifices. She was born in Martinique and was partly of Irish descent, through her father, whose name was Dillon. In spite of her warm devotion to Napoleon, she almost went out of her mind when she heard that he was doomed to imprisonment in St. Helena and that her husband would follow him. Later, however, she became resigned and did not try to dissuade her husband from accompanying the fallen Emperor. Undoubtedly she thought of her children and all that they would lose in living so far from France, but when they were at last in their new home she bore inconveniences patiently and tried in every way to make life pleasant for those around her.
"Come," said Napoleon one day when Betsy was wandering around the Longwood grounds, "come, and I will show you some pretty toys."
Following the Emperor to the billiard-room, she saw upon the table some gorgeously carved chessmen sent to him by Mr. Elphinstone. Each piece was perfect. The castles, surmounting lifelike elephants, were filled with warriors discharging arrows. The knights, cased in armor, were on beautifully caparisoned horses. The mitred bishops were in flowing robes, and the pawns each represented a man of a different nation. The carving was wonderful. Such work had never before left China, and Betsy saw that Napoleon was as pleased as a child with a new plaything.
"I have just finished a game of chess with Lady Malcom," he said, "and she has beaten me because I paid more attention to the men than the game."
Besides the chessmen Mr. Elphinstone had sent workboxes and card counters with the various tradespeople of China minutely carved on them.
Betsy's interest in these beautiful things was increased by hearing how Mr. Elphinstone happened to think of sending gifts to Napoleon. He wished to show his gratitude for Napoleon's kindness to his brother, severely wounded on the field of Waterloo. Napoleon, it seems, perceiving the wounded man and hearing that he was faint from loss of blood, sent to him a goblet of wine from his own canteen.
"The chessmen are too pretty for St. Helena," said Napoleon; "I must send them to the King of Rome."
Among Mr. Elphinstone's presents, Napoleon showed Betsy a superb ivory tea-chest, which when opened showed a perfect model of the city of Canton. Beneath it were packages of fine tea, done up in fantastic shapes.
"Ah," said Napoleon, turning to Betsy, "this reminds me that when I was Emperor I did not permit any tea in my dominion, except that grown in Switzerland. No one could tell the difference from the Chinese tea. I also cultivated the beet-root to make sugar, instead of depending on foreign goods."
Napoleon was probably no less pleased with the chessmen because each piece had a small eagle carved on it. When Sir Hudson Lowe heard of the eagles he regretted that they had escaped his notice, and that he had given permission for the gifts to be received at Longwood.
Among the Emperor's treasures were many rare coins and seals which he often permitted his little neighbor to handle and examine. Yet even while she appreciated this special privilege, Betsy could not let her sense of obligation entirely suppress her love of mischief.
Once, for instance, when Betsy approached a table at which Napoleon was seated, the little girl, unperceived by him, saw that he was in the act of sealing a letter with one of his precious seals. The temptation was too strong to resist, and she surprised Napoleon by joggling his arm. This sudden movement caused a drop of hot sealing wax to fall on his hand, and as a blister was the result, the pain for the moment must have been extreme. Nevertheless, Napoleon said hardly a word of reproof, and his patience was so remarkable that Betsy immediately apologized for her mischief.
Yet it was not unusual for Napoleon to show patience when teased. In all his sports with the children, even when they took liberties that their parents would have disapproved, Betsy never saw him show any temper. He never fell back on his rank or age, but always professed to be one of themselves, a good comrade, claiming only for his own part the right to tease them when he chose.
What wonder that Las Cases, the dignified Chamberlain, sometimes stood aghast at the merry pranks shared by his illustrious master and his young friends; but even with the eyes of the disapproving Las Cases upon her, Betsy always enjoyed her visits to Longwood. Often some pleasant surprise awaited her on her arrival there.
Napoleon was interested in the various legends of St. Helena, and these legends are very numerous. Nearly every rock and valley and bit of water has some story connected with it. The Friar's Valley, for example, takes its name from a huge rock fashioned by nature into the figure of a monk with his cowl thrown back, wearing a flowing robe and a rosary. Immediately around are sterile rocks, some many hundred feet high, some with aloes growing from the fissures.
Napoleon sometimes rode into this valley, and one day he turned to Betsy:
"Mees Betsee, have you ever seen 'Will-o'-the-Wisp' that they say lights the friar's lantern?"
"Oh, yes; my mother used to send me over there for purer air, and my old nurse had a cottage overlooking the vale. She was teaching me the alphabet, and when I did not arrange my letters properly she would threaten me with the friar."
The story, as Betsy had often heard it, was that the friar had been a good Franciscan monk, but he fell in love with a girl in a mountain cottage, whom he met while she was tending goats. She asked him to help her find something that she had lost, and thus attracted his attention. Later he made love to her and she promised to marry him if he would give up his faith. So the man broke his vows to the Church; but, when he was to be married, as he was clasping the bride's hand, there was a fearful crash: the chapel disappeared and with it all those who were taking part in the unholy wedding.
"Have you noticed," asked Betsy of Napoleon, coming on him when out riding, "those three queer sugar-loaf rocks that they call 'Lot's Wife and Daughters'?"
"Yes," responded Napoleon, "I have seen them."
"Well," persisted Betsy, "do you know the story about them?"
"No, I do not."
"Then I must tell you. More than fifty years ago there were two slaves on the island who hated to work and to obey their masters, so they hid themselves in a cave, halfway up the cliff on the top of which we now see Lot's wife. Every night they used to go down and steal whatever they could lay their hands on. For a long time people could not find out where they lived, but at last they were tracked to their cave. No one could reach them, however, because they rolled stones down toward all who tried to climb up the cliff."
Napoleon listened attentively, and Betsy continued:
"At last it was thought necessary to send a party of soldiers to fire on them, if they refused to surrender, but before this was done one of the besiegers managed to climb the cliff on the other side. He reached a point opposite the cave and higher up, so that he could roll down stones toward the slaves. When one of these wretched creatures was standing on the edge of the cliff he was killed by one of the rocks rolled from above, and the other who was with him was severely injured; and now," concluded Betsy solemnly, "if you go there at the right time, the islanders say that you will see the murdered slave rushing around at night just as he used to when alive."
Napoleon, after hearing Betsy's legend, said: "When I ride that way again I shall certainly look at the sugar-loaf mountain with much greater interest than ever before."
Undoubtedly these various legends, which Betsy had heard from her earliest childhood, tended to make her superstitious. Napoleon soon found that she was easily frightened, and took advantage of this fact sometimes to tease her unmercifully. When he arrived at The Briars, one of Betsy's little brothers had as tutor an elderly man named Huff. The coming of Napoleon had a strange effect on the tutor's brain. Among other delusions, he believed that it was to fall on him to free the Emperor from his imprisonment and restore him to his throne again. Old Huff, as they called him, talked constantly on this subject and no one could reason with him. It was evident that the poor fellow was mad, but before it was decided to put him under guardianship he found a chance to kill himself, although he was closely watched. According to custom, he was buried at a spot where three crossroads meet. This happened to be a place near The Briars, and, in consequence, poor Betsy was far from happy. Napoleon, aware of her fears, would call out, just before she said good night to the household, "Mees Betsee, ole Huff, ole Huff."
Poor Betsy! She was indeed unhappy, and after these words lay long awake at night, and in the end often scrambled into her mother's room and stayed there until morning.
One evening, when Betsy and her mother and her sister Jane were sitting on the cottage porch enjoying the refreshing evening breeze, a strange noise made Betsy turn her head, and in an instant she had risen to her feet with a loud scream. In front of them now walked a figure dressed in white, not a very terrifying sight, except to one of Betsy's nervous temperament.