NAPOLEON ON BOARD THE “NORTHUMBERLAND.”
Engraved by Steele, after Orchardson.
Napoleon’s surrender to the English was made, as he says, with full confidence in their hospitality. Certainly hospitality was the last thing to expect of England under the circumstances, and there was something theatrical in the demand for it. The “Bellerophon” was no sooner in the harbor of Plymouth than it became evident that he was regarded not as a guest, but as a prisoner. Armed vessels surrounded the ship he was on; extraordinary messages were hurried to and fro; sinister rumors ran among the crew. The Tower of London, a desert isle, the ends of the earth, were talked of as the hospitality England was preparing.
But if there was something theatrical, even humorous, in the idea of expecting a friendly welcome from England, there was every reason to suppose that she would receive him with dignity and consideration. Napoleon had been an enemy worthy of English metal. He had been defeated only after years of struggle. Now that he was at her feet, her own self-respect demanded that she treat him as became his genius and his position. To leave him at large was, of course, out of the question; but surely he could have been made a royal prisoner and been made to feel that if he was detained it was because of his might.
The British government no sooner realized that it had its hands on Napoleon than it was seized with a species of panic. All sense of dignity, all notions of what was due a foe who surrendered, were drowned in hysterical resentment. The English people as a whole did not share the government’s terror. The general feeling seems to have been similar to that which Charles Lamb expressed to Southey: “After all, Bonaparte is a fine fellow, as my barber says, and I should not mind standing bareheaded at his table to do him service in his fall. They should have given him Hampton Court or Kensington, with a tether extending forty miles round London.”
LONGWOOD, NAPOLEON’S HOUSE AT ST. HELENA.
Etching by Chienon.
But the government could see nothing but danger in keeping such a force as Napoleon within its limits. It evidently took Lamb’s whimsical suggestion, that if Napoleon were at Hampton the people might some day eject the Brunswick in his favor, in profound seriousness. On July 30th it sent a communication to General Bonaparte—the English henceforth refused him the title of emperor, though permitting him that of general, not reflecting, probably, that if one was spurious the other was, since both had been conferred by the same authority—notifying him that as it was necessary that he should not be allowed to disturb the repose of England any longer, the British government had chosen the island of St. Helena as his future residence, and that three persons with a surgeon would be allowed to accompany him. A week later he was transferred from the “Bellerophon” to the “Northumberland,” and was en route for St. Helena, where he arrived in October, 1815.
The manner in which the British carried out their decision was irritating and unworthy. They seemed to feel that guarding a prisoner meant humiliating him, and offensive and unnecessary restrictions were made which wounded and enraged Napoleon.