Betsy and the Emperor

by Anne Whitehead

  The British government resolved to help him on his way. Two officers were sent to his lodging house at 7 Compton Street, Brunswick Square. On 25 November, the Courier’s headline read: ‘ARREST OF GENERAL GOURGAUD’. He was taken with his papers to the Lord Privy Seal’s office at Whitehall and interrogated. He was then conveyed to Romford, where a scuffle ensued. It was market day, and while the horses were being changed he shouted in the inn yard: ‘Thieves! Murder! I am General Gourgaud. They are going to rob and murder me!’ He was bundled back into the coach, then onto a ship and out of the country. The Courier noted: ‘His papers, which are of considerable importance, as pointing out the chief agents of the St Helena plot, and unravelling the clue to the secret machinations by which hopes were entertained of achieving the release of Napoleon, are all secured and will, it is understood, lead to discoveries of the highest interest. They are said to implicate several persons of no mean consideration in this country.’14

  But the authorities did not obtain Gourgaud’s St Helena journal, written in cypher, which he had somehow managed to keep with him. Surprisingly, he did not attempt to cash in on it—probably because it was too explicit about his own failings. It was not published until many years later.

  Henry Goulburn, under-secretary at the Colonial Office, wrote to tell Lowe that his favourite defector was a disappointment.15 It was now believed at the Colonial Office that Gourgaud had been an agent of Bonaparte’s all along. Goulburn added that Balcombe was another disappointment, having declined to give satisfactory answers: ‘Lord Bathurst thought that it might be possible to induce Mr Balcombe, under an apprehension of the consequences of the discovery of the correspondence to give some information with respect to the other persons concerned in it and therefore sent for him immediately. Mr Balcombe was evidently alarmed but as you will observe from the enclosed Minute of what passed, declined giving any satisfactory reply to the questions put to him. He has subsequently addressed two letters to Lord Bathurst, of which I now enclose you copies. You will not fail to observe in them many inconsistencies and, I think, a great anxiety to know the extent of information which we possess. A letter from Mr Holmes of which I also enclose a copy betrays a similar feeling. To these of course no reply has been given, Lord Bathurst considering that our best chance of making further discoveries rests in concealing the extent of those we have made. I will take care and let you know whenever any thing occurs to throw light upon the nature of the commissions with which Mr Balcombe and Mr Holmes have been charged. All that now appears is that the latter did go to Paris in the course of the autumn.’

  Lowe was asked to send more information concerning an American ship that had made a suspicious call at St Helena for water and was since seen hovering off the island, although repeatedly chased away by the warships. ‘If these facts are true it would give some reason to suppose that they were connected with some attempt at escape.’ Goulburn required more details, ‘as the tone which will be taken by the friends of General Bonaparte is that escape is quite out of his contemplation and that all alarm on that score is therefore imaginary’.16

  The Colonial Office was building a substantial case. Bathurst wrote to congratulate Lowe on the interception of the letters carried by the Lusitania, establishing ‘beyond contradiction the clandestine correspondence carried on by Mr. O’Meara. The contents of the letters, and the manner in which Mr. Balcombe endeavours to conceal the part which he has taken in this transaction, clearly show that the commissions transmitted by Mr. O’Meara were not of the innocent nature ascribed to them, and that they were something more than orders for books for his own, or even for the amusement of Longwood. Although no judicial proceedings can be held against any of the parties yet, the papers, even should nothing more be discovered, will be satisfactory documents in the event of any parliamentary discussions.’ He still thought the books sent by Holmes were suspicious and that their bindings should be opened in case they concealed something.

  Bathurst was willing to believe that neither Stokoe nor Fowler were parties in the transaction, ‘and that those who have taken a part on the side of Mr. O’Meara have been duped by him, and are sincere in the regret which they express’. (He seemed to be referring to Balcombe as one of the dupes.) He advised Lowe ‘to show no ill-humour’ and to conceal his suspicions. ‘It will be a trial of your temper to read Mr. O’Meara’s charges against you. The answer which the Lords of the Admiralty gave to it must be satisfactory to you, more especially when you know that Sir George Cockburn was the first person who, on reading the charges, declared that Mr. O’Meara ought to be instantly dismissed from the service . . . You will observe that Mr. O’Meara’s great object is to involve as many persons as possible in the attack against you; and he has therefore introduced the names of many individuals.’17

  A legal action against O’Meara, Holmes and Balcombe was in serious contemplation. One charge being considered was of assisting Bonaparte in an escape attempt—a hanging offence, ‘without benefit of clergy’ [last rites], so condemning a prisoner straight to hell. Goulburn wrote to Lowe asking him to prepare documents in such a form that they could be presented in court if legal proceedings were to go ahead.

  The newspapers were so full of these developments that little space was given to the death of Queen Charlotte, the consort of the sadly ailing George III, who was beyond comprehending her passing.18 In some newspapers the emphasis was changing concerning the nature of the ‘plot’ and who had contrived it. The Morning Chronicle asked if there was a coincidence in the timing of the arrival of the despatches from St Helena, the arrest of Gourgaud and the discussion of ‘the Ex-Emperor’s case’ at the current Congress of European heads of state at Aix-la-Chapelle. It speculated that ‘such a stir as was created’ as if ‘planned to exculpate or to screen Sir Hudson Lowe from the charges laid against him of inhuman treatment towards the fallen foe’. The Chronicle confirmed that O’Meara had been removed from the list of naval surgeons, ‘and the pretext alleged is that some passages of a very serious nature’ were contained in his letter to the Admiralty concerning Lowe. The newspaper was authorised ‘to contradict the statement that Mr O’Meara had asserted that Sir H. Lowe had made a proposal to him to poison Bonaparte. No such accusation has been made; but Mr O’Meara stated that suggestions against his conscience were made to him.’19

  Bathurst had no doubt of the existence of a plot. He had ‘laid out all the despatches concerning the case’ and discussed it with the Prince Regent, who did not attend the European Congress, having sent Lord Castlereagh and the Duke of Wellington instead. Bathurst wrote to inform Lowe that although it was clear that O’Meara and Balcombe were channels of illicit communication, there was not yet sufficient legal evidence ‘to authorize the Adoption of any legal Measures against the parties concerned’. Lowe had received ‘the full Approbation of His Royal Highness’. It was a matter of waiting until the plotters revealed themselves.20

  ‘The great business of the Congress at Aix-la-Chapelle is now finished,’ announced the Morning Post on 25 November. ‘Happiness is expressed by all at the ascertained fact that BONAPARTE remains in perfect security at St Helena . . . with nothing likely to occur to cause an alteration in the situation . . . He, it is a lamentable fact, has still many adherents in France.’21 But the Congress had concluded with an agreement by the Allied powers that all occupation troops would be removed from that country.

  The ex-empress of France, ‘Maria Louisa’, had prevailed on her father, the Emperor of Austria, to support the proposal made at the Congress ‘to remove Napoleon to a climate more congenial to his health’. The motion did not succeed, but Gourgaud’s letters had clearly had some effect, for there was also lobbying from Rome: ‘It is rumoured that the Pope has requested leave to send a priest to comfort Napoleon in his confinement, supposed to be at the instigation of his family resident at Rome.’22

  James Perry, editor of the Morning Chronicle, still demanded Lowe’s recall: ‘We wish that we could doubt of the reality
of the persecution; however, all who arrive from St Helena unite in bearing testimony to it. But a fallen enemy, who threw himself on the generosity of the nation, is the last who ought to experience inhumanity from us. We may have no regard for the prisoner, but we ought to have some regard for the national character.’23 The Morning Post stated that there was no intention of recalling Lowe, ‘for certainly no man could possibly fill his arduous office more faithfully or effectively than he does . . . In all this, it is quite forgotten that BONAPARTE is a Prisoner and that his escape might be followed by fresh convulsions and wars, in which thousands would again probably perish.’24

  At Plantation House, Lowe still fretted that Balcombe seemed to be on such easy terms with the admirals Cockburn and Malcolm and felt so free to speak against him.25 He sent a despatch to Bathurst, requesting that Sir Thomas Tyrwhitt be informed of the behaviour of his protégé.26 Lowe still felt besieged by the continuing accusations made against him. A far wider public than just those of a Whig persuasion believed that he had diminished their country’s honour and had cruelly treated not just Napoleon and his French retinue but also O’Meara, causing him to lose his career in the navy and his pension, simply because he had stood up for what he believed was right. Indeed, O’Meara was to achieve enduring recognition for such steadfastness when Lord Byron devoted a couplet to him in The Age of Bronze:

  . . . the stiff surgeon, who maintained his cause,

  Hath lost his place, and gained the world’s applause.27

  CHAPTER 24

  OFFICIAL DISGRACE

  Driving on Dartmoor, along an unfenced road over green hills and dales broken by granite outcrops and tors, I occasionally had to stop the vehicle to let cattle cross. Grazing on the slopes were small, spry Dartmoor ponies and horses, and black-faced sheep so heavy with wool they looked like wheelbarrows. At last, at dusk, Princetown appeared on the horizon, at 1400 feet (430 metres) above sea level the highest town in England. From a distance the vast granite prison dominated, dramatic, grey and forbidding. As I drove closer it loomed, even more massive than I had expected: five huge four-storey buildings with tall square chimneys, radiating out from a central core and encircled by a high perimeter double wall.

  This great penitentiary, still in operation, the small town that serviced it and the inn where I had booked a room were all the creations of Sir Thomas Tyrwhitt. This was the other side of the amiable little courtier dubbed ‘our little red dwarf ’ by the royal family: this was Tyrwhitt the visionary, the builder, the ambitious entrepreneur.

  Sir Thomas realised that his protégé was in critical danger of arrest and imprisonment. If it was deemed that he had assisted Bonaparte in an escape attempt, he could face a charge of treason, for which the penalty was death. Tyrwhitt could not save him if it came to that. He thought it wise for Balcombe to lay low, away from London, and remove himself from his associates, O’Meara and Holmes.

  The Balcombes, with their two servants, settled in to Tyrwhitt’s country house, Tor Royal, outside the village of Princetown. Although not grand, it was a very large country house for Dartmoor, with a two-storey bedroom wing each side of the living quarters. It was on land of little use for farming other than grazing, although Sir Thomas, after valiant attempts, had cultivated nine acres of flax.1 It was nestled under the South Hessary Tor and, on rare days when mist or rain did not impede, had a view across the valley.2 Today it is still the finest house on Dartmoor and is a successful B&B.

  Nearby was the grim war prison Sir Thomas had ordered built over three years, completing it in 1809, when it began housing some 5000 French prisoners of war who were marched up from Plymouth.3 Dartmoor had not been the only prison for French and American prisoners, but it was the largest—with eventually some 8000 inmates—and conditions were regarded as the worst in Britain.4 (The Americans were there as a result of Britain’s 1812–14 war with America.) After 1815, however, with peace declared and Napoleon exiled to St Helena, the prisoners were discharged in batches. By February of the following year, the great prison was empty. Sir Thomas needed to find another use for it. In his view it could take the 2000 convicts who were being transported each year to New South Wales and Van Diemen’s Land.5

  The village of Princetown had almost emptied, all the prison staff gone, but Tyrwhitt believed it still had a future. The surrounding area was rich in natural resources, mainly minerals, but its prosperity was limited by the lack of a transport connection to the coast. So he would bring industry to the moor by building a link to the sea. His new idea was a horse-drawn railway to transport granite down to Plymouth and to bring goods back, supplies for the new prison inmates.

  Perhaps the big granite buildings might be occupied, he thought, if not by prisoners, by the paupers of London, who could be trained as domestic servants—it could be a School of Industry! Balcombe could manage the catering: he had gained experience on St Helena, purveying for 52 people, obtaining food supplies in a place with difficult access; now he could do that on a much larger scale. The job would keep him out of London, give him an income, shield him from trouble and make him forget his connection with Bonaparte. But Balcombe and his family were not going to forget, not for the rest of their lives.

  Sir Thomas commissioned a survey of the 23-mile route for his proposed horse-drawn railway, climbing more than 1000 feet and contouring around peat bogs and granite tors. He submitted his plan to the Plymouth Chamber of Commerce on 3 November 1818, pitching the enormous benefits for the two towns it would link. The railway would transport granite, iron, copper and tin from the quarries of Dartmoor (his quarry being the largest) to the port of Plymouth, as well as flax and peat. In return, timber, coal, food supplies and fertiliser could be brought from the coast, enabling new industries for Princetown. He predicted that shareholders could expect an 18 per cent return on their investment. The Chamber of Commerce naturally agreed.6

  Tyrwhitt’s enthusiasm inspired others, and nearly £28,000 was raised, although he himself was the main contributor. The initial sum was enough to finance the first section of the line, while much fundraising was still needed for tunnelling and bridges.7 A charter was drawn up for the Plymouth and Dartmoor Railway Company and announced in the county’s newspapers. The 26 founding subscribers bought £25 shares. The largest purchaser was a rich local politician, Sir Masseh Lopes, with 50 shares, followed by Tyrwhitt with 40 and Sir William Elford with 20; William Balcombe was listed next, with four shares totalling just £100.8 But nothing was happening with the Dartmoor prison; no new inmates arrived, despite Sir Thomas’s proposals to bring, if not convicts, if not paupers, perhaps the orphan children of London.

  It was a harsh winter at Dartmoor and the Balcombes’ African servant Sarah Timms suffered in the abominable weather. (A former prison physician had noted that ‘it was not unusual in the months of December and January for the thermometer to stand at 33 to 35 degrees below freezing, indicating cold almost too intense to support animal life’.9) Sarah had been nanny to the girls since their early childhood and was now the household maid. She had been given her freedom to accompany the family to England, where slavery was illegal, but had been told the stay would be for only six months. Now nine months had passed and snow was thick on the ground. Balcombe promised they would all soon be returning to St Helena.

  The family, accustomed to a tropical climate, hated the rain, rolling fogs and snow and yearned for their island home and friends. Balcombe missed the trade opportunities and his many investments there. The small ‘dame school’ was not satisfactory for the boys, and Princetown was far too isolated for the young women. There was no society life whatsoever. The Balcombes moved to lodgings down in Plymouth, much to the disappointment of Sir Thomas. He assured William that there would be plenty of work for him when the prison had new occupants and the railway project was completed. Then Princetown would flourish!

  In early February 1819, Balcombe wrote to the Court of Directors of the East India Company, requesting permission to return to St Helena i
n order to resume his position as superintendent of public sales. The issue was discussed on 24 February, but the court moved at a majestic pace in such matters, especially with someone so recently controversial in the news.

  Balcombe was told that his request was being considered.10 Meanwhile, he needed to put his commercial affairs on the island back in order. He wrote from Plymouth to his business partner Joseph Cole clearly disassociating himself from O’Meara. His old friend the doctor was by then down on his luck. He had rented rooms on Edgware Road in London and set up shop as a dentist. In the window he displayed a wisdom tooth with a notice that it had been extracted from the jaw of Napoleon Bonaparte. The dentistry practice did not flourish.11 In 1819, he published a bound booklet, An Exposition of some of the Transactions at St Helena since the Appointment of Sir Hudson Lowe, ‘Price 8 shillings’, which earned a little more for him.12 It was a precursor to a major work that would follow three years later.

  Even without the provocation of this new publication, which had not yet reached him, Lowe was still fulminating over O’Meara’s earlier attacks, portraying him in the British press as a tyrant. He was considering legal action.

  The Balcombes read in The Times that their surgeon friend Dr John Stokoe, once a disappointed suitor for Jane, was abruptly leaving St Helena for England on the Trincomalee. He had lately been ‘the medical attendant on the person of Buonaparte’. The paper reported that his ‘sudden return’ was explained in a letter from a St Helena officer: ‘Mr Stokoe, the surgeon of the flag-ship, whom Buonaparte accepted as his medical attendant, after the return home of Mr O’Meara, has incurred the displeasure of the Governor and returns to England in the Trincomalee.’

  According to the paper, Stokoe had tried to make it conditional with the governor of accepting the situation with Bonaparte, that he should not be required to detail any personal conversations into which he might be drawn, ‘or any circumstances which he might overhear, at Longwood; but pledging himself as a British officer that if any thing should come to his knowledge in which his allegiance to his King and country would be compromised by his secrecy, he would then instantly give information to the Governor. This has passed on until a few days since, when Buonaparte was suddenly seized with a serious illness in the middle of the night. Mr Stokoe, as soon as the necessary forms were gone through, visited him and found that he had a slight apoplectic fit. After a few hours he appeared free from the attack, but it had left a considerable degree of indisposition. Mr Stokoe made official reports of the circumstances to Sir Hudson Lowe and the Admiral Plampin, and gave copies of them to Buonaparte. Whether it was this latter circumstance, or whether Mr S. had represented Buonaparte as being in a worse state of health than suited the predisposed notions of Sir Hudson, is not known; but he was instantly forbidden to go to Longwood—was threatened to be tried by a court-martial—or, as an act of mitigation of his offence, he was told he might invalid home. Of course he preferred the latter, as the least incommodious to him, and he sails tomorrow in the Trincomalee. The reports were drawn up, of course, with conscientious accuracy, and were such as the case demanded. I understand Buonaparte is really in a serious state of health. His dwelling is sealed against all visitors.’13