Napoleon, in the mean time, had left the capital. The Emperor surrendered at sea, on the 15th of July[80], to captain Maitland, of the Bellerophon. By a decree of the allied powers, he was sent to St.-Helena, where he died May 5th, 1821.
Since these events, more than thirty years have passed over us; and peace between the two greatest nations of the globe, England and France, has been uninterruptedly maintained. Long may it continue, to the honour of those whose blood and valour purchased it, and to the lasting happiness of the civilized world! It was the prospect of securing this immense benefit to mankind that united all European nations against the ambition of Napoleon, and that afforded the best comfort under the distressing sacrifices made to ensure his overthrow. Perhaps no people benefitted by his fall so much as the French themselves: his triumphs (often great in a military point of view,) left nothing in their hands, whilst they filled every family in France with mourning. The conscription was a more searching tyranny than civilized men had ever before endured; and all this blood flowed in vain. Our Gallic neighbours have sometimes mistaken the tone of triumph in which we speak of the downfall of Napoleon, and have regarded it as insulting to them: nothing is farther from the mind and heart of the British soldier, who is always ready to acknowledge their military excellence.
FOOTNOTES:
[78] A number of poor fellows who were carried to the houses of the neighbouring villages, met with the most humane treatment: many there breathed their last, under circumstances somewhat less appalling than on the battle field. There still lives at Waterloo a most respectable old lady, at whose house several of our officers were quartered before the battle. Madame Boucqueau (the lady in question) saw these gallant men go forth in the morning; they did not all return at the close of the day. She remembers well that an officer, who appeared to her to hold superior rank, came back to her house in the evening, and said to her exultingly, “Me voici encore, madame; c’est fini: ils sont à nous.” (“Here I am again; it is over: we have won the day.”) The worthy dame has in her possession a silver cup, presented to her late husband by British gratitude. As it does honour to all parties concerned, and is a sample, no doubt, of many an interchange of kindly feelings amidst the horrors of war, I have great pleasure in recording here the inscription which is on this cup:
“A small mark of grateful respect from Colonel Sir W. Robe, of the British Royal Artillery, knight commander of the Bath, and knight of the Tower and Sword: To Sieur Maximilian Boucqueau, of Waterloo, for kindness in the last moments, and attention to the remains of a beloved son, Lieutenant W. L. Robe, of the British horse artillery, who nobly fell at Waterloo.”
[79] See the original in French, in Gurwood, vol. XII, p. 494-495.
[80] Those curious of historical coincidences will observe that Napoleon opened the campaign on the 15th of June.