The observation which surprised me most of all was, that though the two parties had declared themselves, and the fleur-de-lis and eagle were displayed in direct opposition to each other throughout the town;—though the sub-prefect had run away, whilst the tricoloured flag was floating in one place, and the white one in another,—no practical animosity or ill blood whatsoever broke out amongst the respective partisans. The bustle somewhat resembled that of an English election, but had none of the violence or dissipation, and only half the noise, which circulate on those august occasions. On the contrary, civility was maintained by every one: the soldiers were very properly kept in their barracks; and an Englishman could scarcely conceive so polite, peaceable, temperate, and cheerful a revolution—more particularly as neither party could tell on which side the treason would ultimately rest.
At length orders came from Napoleon, at Lyons, that the imperial army should be recruited; while, at the very moment this order arrived, some of the merchants and officers of the national guards were actually beating up for the royal armament. The drums of the respective partisans rattled away through every street, and the recruiters often passed each other with the utmost courtesy: not one man was seen in a state of intoxication on either side. Meanwhile there was no lack of recruits to range themselves under either standard; and it was most curious to observe that these men very frequently changed their opinions and their party before sunset! I think most recruits joined the king’s party: his serjeants had plenty of money, while Napoleon’s had none; and this was a most tempting distinction—far better than any abstract consideration of political benefit. Many of the recruits managed matters even better than the priests, for they took the king’s money in the morning, and the emperor’s cockade in the afternoon; so that they could not be accused on either side of unqualified partiality. The votaries of le Désiré and le Grand were indeed so jumbled and shuffled together, (like a pack of cards when on the point of being dealt,) that nobody could possibly decipher which had the best chance of succeeding.
The English alone cast a dark and gloomy shade over the gay scene that surrounded them; their lengthened visages, sunken eyes, and hanging features proclaiming their terror and despondency. Every one fancied he should be incarcerated for life, if he could not escape before Napoleon arrived at Paris, which seemed extremely problematical; and I really think I never saw a set of men in better humour for suicide than my fellow-countrymen, who stalked like ghosts along the pier and sea-side.
The British consul, Mr. Stuart, (a littérateur and a gentleman, but whose wine generally regulated his nerves, while his nerves governed his understanding,) as good-natured a person as could possibly be about a couple of bottles after dinner, (for so he counted time,—a mode of computation in which he certainly was as regular as clockwork,) called a general meeting of all the British subjects in Havre, at his apartments; and after each had taken a bumper of Madeira to “George the Third,” he opened the business in as long and flowery an harangue, in English and Latin, as the grape of Midi and its derivative distillations could possibly dictate.
“My friends and countrymen,” said Mr. Stuart, “I have good consular reasons for telling you all, that if Bonaparte gets into Paris, he will order every mother’s babe of you, men, women, and children, et cetera, into gaol for ten or twelve years at the least computation! and I therefore advise you all, magnus, major, maximus, and parvus, minor, minimus, to take yourselves off without any delay great or small, and thereby save your bacon while you have the power of doing so. Don’t wait to take care of your property; nulla bona is better than nulla libertas. As for me, I am bound ex-officio to devote myself for my country! I will risk my life (and here he looked heroical) to protect your property; I will remain behind!”
The conclusion of the consul’s speech was a signal for the simultaneous uplifting of many voices.—“I’ll be off certainly!” exclaimed one terrified gentleman.—“Every man for himself, God for us all: the devil take the hindmost!” shouted another.—“Do you mean to affront me, Sir?” demanded the worthy self-devoted consul, starting from his seat. A regular uproar now ensued; but the thing was soon explained, and tranquillity restored.
Two ships were next day hired, at an enormous price, to carry the English out of the reach of Bonaparte. The wind blew a gale, but no hurricane could be so terrific as Napoleon. Their property was a serious consideration to my fellow-countrymen; however, there was no choice: they therefore packed up all their small valuables, and relinquished the residue to the protection of Providence and the consul.
In a short time all was ready; and, as Mr. Stuart had advised, men, women, children, and lap-dogs, all rushed to the quay; while, in emulation of the orator at the consul’s, “the devil take the hindmost,” if not universally expressed, was universally the principle of action. Two children, in this most undignified sort of confusion, fell into the sea, but were picked up. The struggling, screeching, scrambling, &c. were at length completed; and in a shorter time than might be supposed, the English population were duly shipped, and away they went under a hard gale. Dr. Johnson calls a ship a prison with the chance of being drowned in it; and as if to prove the correctness of the doctor’s definition, before night was over one vessel was ashore, and the whole of its company just on the point of increasing the population of the British Channel.
Havre de Grace being thus emptied of the king of England’s subjects, who were “saving their bacon” at sea, in a violent hurricane, the consul began to take care of their property: but there being a thing called loyer, or rent, in France as well as in England, the huissiers (bailiffs) of the town saved the consul a great deal of trouble respecting his guardianship in divers instances. Nevertheless, so far as he could, he most faithfully performed his promise to the fugitives, for the reception of whose effects he rented a large storehouse, and so far all was wisely, courteously, and carefully managed: but not exactly recollecting that the parties did not possess the property as tenants in common, the worthy consul omitted to have distinct inventories taken of each person’s respective chattels, though, to avoid any risk of favouritism, he had all jumbled together; and such an heterogeneous medley was perhaps never seen elsewhere. Clothes, household furniture, kitchen utensils, books, linen, empty bottles, musical instruments, &c. strewed the floor of the storehouse in “most admired disorder.” All being safely stowed, locks, bolts, and bars were elaborately constructed, to exclude such as might feel a disposition to picking and stealing; but, alas! the best intentions and the most cautious provisions are sometimes frustrated by accident or oversight. In the present instance, in his extraordinary anxiety to secure the door, Mr. Stuart was perfectly heedless of the roof; and in consequence, the intrusion of the rain, which often descended in torrents, effectually saved most of the proprietors the trouble of identifying their goods after the result of the glorious battle of Waterloo. Disputes also were endless as to the right and title of various claimants to various articles; and in the result, the huissiers and the landlord of the storehouse were once more intruders upon the protected property.
To return—Havre being completely evacuated by my countrymen, it now became necessary to strike out some line of proceeding for myself and family. Sir William Johnson, who was in the town, had participated in the general alarm, and had set off with his household for the Netherlands, advising me to do the same. I was afterward informed, though falsely, that they all foundered in a dyke near Antwerp. In the mean time, the transformation of things at Havre became complete, and perfect order quickly succeeded the temporary agitation. The tri-coloured flag was again hoisted at the port; and all the painters of the town were busily employed in changing the royal signs into imperial ones. One auberge, Louis le Désiré, was changed into a blue boar: the Duchesse d’Angoulême became the Virgin Mary: royal was new-gilt into imperial once more at the lottery offices: fleurs-de-lis were metamorphosed, in a single day, into beautiful spread-eagles: and the Duc de Berry, who had hung creaking so peaceably on his post before the door of an hotel, became, in a few hours, St. Peter himself, with the keys of Heaven dangling from his little finger!