Deauville Harbour is a tidal basin, and vessels can only enter it and leave it at the time of high water; and the only objection I am aware of having made was that, as the yacht could only leave the harbour at about seven o’clock, night and morning, it would be injudicious to attract attention by endeavouring to embark Her Majesty the Empress during daylight. Dr. Evans agreed to this suggestion, and it was arranged that Her Majesty should embark at midnight, which she did, accompanied by Mme. Lebreton, Dr. Evans, and a nephew of that gentleman, who left the yacht before we sailed.
I was captain of my own yacht, and I navigated her myself, and to the best of my recollection the only conversation I had with the Empress during the time she was on board was that early in the morning of September 7 I asked Her Majesty’s permission to get the yacht under weigh. Once during the night, when there was a great noise on deck, owing to a boat washing adrift, Her Majesty sent for me to ask if anyone was hurt; and shortly after we anchored off Ryde, Isle of Wight. On the following morning I was ordered to thank the crew for their exertions during an unusually rough passage across the Channel.
I am much more amused than angry at the account of my tears, fears, and entreaties to Dr. Evans to put me on shore. The fact is that that eminent practitioner was seasick in my berth from the time we left Trouville until just before Her Majesty the Empress landed at Ryde, and if he had had a little experience of the sea he would have known that anyone who had to stand for many hours at the tiller of a small yacht in a gale of wind (and I may mention that this was the same night that Her Majesty’s ship Captain was lost) might charitably be allowed to wipe the salt-water out of his eyes before consulting the chart without being accused of shedding tears of fear.
I wish to add that any story which may have got abroad implying what you are pleased to term a “tardy recognition” on the part of the Empress of the slight service it was my good fortune to render to Her Majesty is absolutely untrue.
The Empress, on leaving Ryde, went to Hastings for a few days. From that place she sent Lady Burgoyne an autograph letter of thanks. This was followed by a magnificent jewel, which will ever be a cherished heirloom in my family. I may further mention that His Majesty the Emperor sent for me to Chislehurst a short time after his arrival in England and thanked me in the kindest manner. From that day to this Lady Burgoyne and myself have received from the Empress the most unvarying kindness and hospitality.
I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
J. Montague Burgoyne.
Sir John Burgoyne subsequently made the appended extracts from the logbook of his yacht. With this addition the narrative may, for the first time, be considered complete:
The Empress told Lady Burgoyne how shamefully she had been deserted by all about her at the Tuileries, and that her very servants had pilfered things in her apartments.
2.45 a.m.—Ran close in shore off Ryde and let go anchor. At 3 a.m., thanks to smartness of steward and cook, had a capital supper on the table, and Her Majesty came and joined us at supper in the main cabin.
The emotions of the previous four-and-twenty hours produced a natural reaction, and the Empress was very cheerful at table. Her health was drunk in champagne, and she returned thanks in a few hopeful words. But now that she was no longer in danger of capture or death, and that a hundred new possibilities in life presented themselves to her mind, she was more reserved in talking about politics. Here might have been a curious study for a psychologist.