This humdrum routine must have been almost intolerable to a man such as Napoleon. His life had been one of excess but now, as he commented himself, he had only a superfluity of time. At his peak he had been egotistical and brutal. He says to Gourgaud, ‘After all, I only care for people who are useful to me, and so long as they are useful.’ He was happy to make courtiers but reluctant to make friends. He was, however, not all bad. Those closest to him witnessed a gentler side. On St. Helena, he still believed himself to be the Messiah and expected abject self-sacrifice from his disciples but he also showed them sympathy and consideration. Saint-Denis confirms this.
The Emperor had a really kind heart and was capable of a strong attachment. In his household at St. Helena he was an excellent father of a family in the midst of his children. His bad humour never lasted long; it disappeared a short time after it had shown itself. If he was in the wrong, he would soon come and pull the ear of the one on whom his anger had fallen, or give him a slap on the back.
If Napoleon treated his inner circle as children, it was perhaps because they behaved so. They were, as Las Cases freely admitted, a disparate group of people thrown together quite by chance. The Emperor should have been the unifying force but, despite his efforts, he was the opposite. His imitation court strove for his attention and preference and endless jealousies arose. The Montholons schemed against the Bertrands who joined with Gourgaud in their hatred of Napoleon’s pet, Las Cases. Gourgaud, in turn, disliked Montholon, who, he believed, had jumped ahead of him in the pecking order. These divisions were out in the open; Gourgaud wrote in his journal that if Las Cases again tried to go before him into the dining room, he would kick him.20
Among the papers pertaining to the exile held in the British Library is a ‘Nominal list of persons composing the establishment at Longwood’ dated March 1816 (see Appendix II). This serves as a reminder that there were two separate groups of people in residence. Of the 52-person total, 28 belonged to ‘General Bonaparte and his suite’ and 24 were British officers and their attendants. The household was divided unambiguously into prisoners and guards. There was, however, one Longwood resident who did not quite belong in either of these camps and whose true loyalties were unclear.
Notes
1. Aubry, O, St. Helena, pp. 63–89; Young, N, Napoleon in Exile, Vol. I, pp.23–57; Masson, F, Napoleon at St. Helena, pp. 7–34; Korngold, R, The Last Years of Napoleon, pp. 12–44.
2. Aubry, pp. 85–94; Young, Vol. I, pp. 55–62, 346–7; Roseberry, Lord, Napoleon The Last Phase, pp. 57–8; Masson, pp. 28–34.
3. O’Meara, B, Napoleon in Exile, Vol. II, pp. 421–3; Aubry, p. 85; Young, Vol. I, pp. 60–106, 153, 178; Korngold, pp. 64–7; Roseberry, pp. 98–9; Frémeaux, P, Napoléon Prisonnier, pp. 24–6; Henry, W, Surgeon Henry’s Trifles, pp. 165–6; Martineau, G, Napoleon’s St. Helena, pp. 138–43; Antommarchi, F, Les Derniers Moments, Vol. I, p. 343; Chaplin, A, A St. Helena Who’s Who, pp. 187–94.
4. Cockburn, Sir George, Napoleon’s Last Voyage, pp. 5–7; Aubry, pp. 95–108; Young, Vol. I, pp. 62–7; Gonnard, P, The Exile of St. Helena, p. 11; Roseberry, pp. 60–1; Giles, F, Napoleon Bonaparte: England’s Prisoner, pp. 14–17; Forsyth,W, History of the Captivity of Napoleon, Vol. I, p.30.
5. Masson p. 49; Aubry, pp. 82–3; Martineau, pp. 24–5; Roseberry, p. 124; Young, Vol. I, pp.67–8, 85.
6. Gonnard, pp. 91–3; Young, Vol. I, 69–71; Aubry, pp. 78–81; Roseberry, pp. 126–7; Masson, pp. 57–71; Martineau, pp. 25–6.
7. Gonnard, pp. 181–93; Martineau, pp. 27–8; Roseberry, pp. 56–7; Aubry, pp. 81–2; Young, Vol. I, pp. 71–4; Masson, pp. 71–9.
8. Young, Vol. I, pp. 74–5; Gonnard, pp. 45–7; Aubry, pp. 77–8; Martineau, pp.28–31; Masson, pp.79–87; Roseberry, pp. 128–30.
9. Masson, F, Autour de Sainte-Hélèna, Vol. III, pp. 165–70; St. Denis, LE, Napoleon from the Tuileries to St. Helena, pp. 159–60; Tulard, J, Dictionnaire Napoléon, Vol. II, p. 247; Young, Vol. I, pp. 76–7.
10. Masson, Napoleon at St. Helena, pp. 110–11; Young, Vol. I, p. 79; Aubry, p. 99; Chaplin, pp. 66–7; Roseberry, pp. 62–5.
11. Aubry, pp. 175–6; Young, Vol. I, pp. 203–15, 316–7; Jackson, B, Notes and Reminiscences, pp. 137–8; Roseberry, pp. 66–9; Korngold, p. vii; Gregory, D, Napoleon’s Jailer, pp. 188–9; Balmain, Count, Napoleon in Captivity, p. 85; Gorrequer, Major G, St. Helena during Napoleon’s exile, pp. 261–7; Chaplin, pp.55–7; Forsyth, Vol. I, p. 123; Masson, Autour de Sainte-Hélèna, Vol. III, p. 180; Martineau, pp. 76–86.
12. Aubry, pp. 149–50; Young, Vol. I, pp.155, 108–10, 222–5, 260–73; Chaplin, pp. 22–40; Martineau, pp. 120–2, 134; Henry, pp. 158–9; Roseberry, p. 148.
13. Young, Vol. I, pp. 80–6; Aubry, pp. 103–9; Cockburn, pp. 10–11, 25, 41–2.
14. Shorter, C, Napoleon and his Fellow Travellers, pp.144–50, 119–22, 193–7, 217–9; Roseberry, p. 28; Warden, W, Letters written on board the Northumberland and St. Helena, pp. 75–80, 111–17; Las Cases, le Comte de, Le Mémorial de Sainte-Hélène, Vol. II, p. 261, Vol. III, p. 243; Gourgaud, Général Baron, Journal de Sainte-Hélène, Vol. I, p. 151.
15. Shorter, pp. 122–36; Gonnard, p. 115; Roseberry, p. 28; Warden, pp. 101, 113–4.
16. Lowe Papers 20146 f.23; Shorter, pp. 111–7, 124–5, 136, 263; Aubry, pp. 264–5; O’Meara, Vol. I, pp. 409–19; Marchand, Mémoires de Marchand, Vol. II, p. 156; Gourgaud, Vol. II, p. 152; Forsyth, Vol. I, pp. 443–4; Bertrand, Général, Cahiers de Sainte-Hélène, p. 52; Giles, pp. 49, 53.
17. Aubry, pp. 119–29; Young, Vol. I, pp. 111–3.
18. Korngold, pp. 84–5; Young, Vol. I, pp. 127–42; Aubry, p. 145–8; Frémeaux, P, The Drama of St. Helena, p. 34; Roseberry, pp. 134–5, 149–50.
19. Aubry, pp. 153–63; Young, Vol. I, pp. 154–77; Roseberry, p. 151; St. Denis, pp. 173–82; Marchand, Vol.II, p. 70.
20. Roseberry, pp. 46–52; St. Denis, p. 183; Malcolm, Lady, A Diary of St. Helena, p. 156; Young, Vol. I, pp. 195–8; Korngold, pp. 97–8.
2
DOUBLE AGENT?
Although he played a pivotal role in the events of St. Helena, Barry O’Meara remains an elusive figure. His life prior to his fraught appointment as Napoleon’s surgeon was apparently unremarkable but there are inconsistencies and unanswered questions from his earliest years.
We know that he was born in Ireland in 1786 into a respectable Protestant family. His father, Jeremiah, served in the British army and was rewarded for his bravery by George III for quelling a rebel uprising in the North. The French historian Frédéric Masson implies that O’Meara exaggerated his father’s achievements and rank. In later conversation with Napoleon, O’Meara claimed to have studied medicine in Dublin and London but the rolls of Trinity College and other universities do not contain his name and it is not possible to confirm that he practised in the English capital. In 1804, at eighteen years of age, he joined the 62nd Regiment as Assistant Surgeon and served in Sicily, Calabria and Egypt. His Army service was short-lived as, in 1807, he was obliged to resign his commission for having acted as a second for a fellow medical officer in a duel at Messina. Although neither party was injured, O’Meara’s action was in direct contravention of the orders of Sir John Stuart who was determined to stamp out the practice. Undeterred, the young doctor made his way to Malta where he was appointed as a naval surgeon. He served in three different vessels in the Mediterranean and the West Indies before transferring, fatefully, to the Bellerophon.1
When Napoleon boarded this ship in July 1815, Surgeon O’Meara was among the officers formally presented to him. The Emperor could not have suspected that the affable Irishman would become so associated with his fortunes. Marchand witnessed the subsequent unlikely coming together of the two men.
Since the Emperor had been on board the Bellerophon, he had talked several times to Dr O’Meara, surgeon on this vessel, who spoke Italian very well and whose appearance was frank and open. This surgeon had been in Egypt and he spoke with the Emperor about the glory of his conquest
and the administration left by him in this country. This circumstance joined to the ease with which he expressed himself in a common language made him very interesting to the Emperor who, when he saw him on deck, would call him over and question him regarding the health of the crew and other medical subjects. During the voyage we had just made, Dr O’Meara had tended to several people in the Emperor’s suite who had become seasick (M. Maingault was ill himself). Everybody applauded his kind, affectionate manners. All efforts, even those of the admiral, having failed to convince M. Maingault to follow the Emperor, he thought of having Dr O’Meara join him and he charged the Duke of Rovigo [Savary] to ask him if he would accompany him to St. Helena as his private surgeon. The doctor replied that he would willingly accept this honour if his government did not oppose it and if he was able to keep his rights as an Englishman. Admiral Keith, advised by the Grand Marshal of the Emperor’s wishes, quickly gave O’Meara an unlimited leave of absence with full pay and permission to accompany General Bonaparte to St. Helena to act as his doctor.
Marchand’s account concurs exactly with O’Meara’s. The surgeon confirms that because of his medical duties and fluent Italian he had more contact with Napoleon than any other officer on the ship with the exception of Maitland. On receiving the offer to become the Emperor’s surgeon, he was flattered and quickly seized the opportunity. In his own words, he was ‘highly gratified’ to take up the prestigious post. Admiral Keith advised O’Meara to accept the appointment, reassuring him that he would receive the Government’s approval as ministers were anxious that Napoleon should have a surgeon of his own choice.
O’Meara must have been both surprised and excited at his sudden elevation but he was also cautious, perhaps sensing that his life was now to be much more complicated. In his letter to Keith of 7th August, 1815, accepting the post, he makes a number of stipulations.
…I beg to inform your Lordship that I am willing to accept the situation (provided that it meets with your Lordship’s approbation) and also on the following conditions, viz. that it should be permitted to me to resign the situation, should I not find it consistent to my wishes, on giving due notice of my intentions thereof. That such time as I shall serve in that situation shall be allowed to count as so much time served on full pay in his majesty’s navy or that I shall be indemnified in some way for such loss of time as surgeon on full pay, as it may occasion to me. That I am not to be considered in any wise depending upon, or to be subservient to, or paid by the aforesaid Napoleon Bonaparte: but as a British officer employed by the British Government; and lastly, that I may be informed, as soon as circumstances will admit, of which salary I am to have, and in what manner and from whom I am to receive it.
This is a surprisingly assertive and legalistic letter from a junior medical officer to the Admiral of the Fleet. O’Meara gives the impression that he thinks he is getting the British Government off the hook by accepting the appointment and that he is keen to provide himself both with financial security and a watertight escape route should things not work out.
As a naval doctor, O’Meara’s duty had plainly been to his naval superiors, ultimately the Admiralty. While on the Bellerophon, he was already indulging in a ‘private’ correspondence with a friend who was a clerk in the Admiralty offices in London, John Finlaison. As the following short letter from Finlaison attests, this correspondence had a clandestine air from the start.
My Dear Barry
Thank you for your kind letter which was so extremely interesting that I showed it to Lord Melville who made some corrections in it and then expressly permitted and was well pleased that I should insert it in the Sun of tomorrow. This will do you no harm. You will on no account mention a hint of this to a soul, except your Captain if you find that necessary for your justification in having written. I cannot tell you now my reasons for printing it. When we meet, you will find them good as they are partly political. It is the highest authority that did it.
Yours truly
John Finlaison
This letter is typical of the whole O’Meara episode; secretive, political, and ambiguous. Lord Melville, the First Lord, was happy to obtain first hand information on Napoleon via the surgeon’s correspondence. O’Meara’s indirect contact with the heads of the Navy may have been harmless to him on the Bellerophon but his continued writings to Finlaison were to prove a major factor in the poisoning of his relationship with Hudson Lowe.2
Before following O’Meara on the Northumberland to St. Helena, we will pause to consider the character and motivation of this man plucked from medical anonymity to be Personal Physician to Napoleon. The Emperor seems to have picked O’Meara largely because he liked him and there is evidence that he was a popular and respected doctor among his naval chiefs and peers. Frederick Maitland was well acquainted with him as the two men had served together in three different ships. The Captain had no qualms in giving the doctor a testimonial.
The attention and meritorious conduct of Mr Barry O’Meara while serving with me in the Goliath calls upon me as an act of justice to him and of benefit to the service, to state, that during the fifteen years I have commanded some of his majesty’s ships, I have never had the pleasure of sailing with an officer in his situation who so fully answered my expectations. Not being a judge of his professional abilities, though I have every reason to believe them of the first class, and know that to be the opinion of some of the oldest and most respectable surgeons in the navy, I shall only state that during a period of very bad weather, which occasioned the Goliath to be very sickly, his attention and tenderness to the men were such as to call forth my warmest approbation, and the grateful affection of both officers and men. Were it probable that I should soon obtain another appointment, I know of no man in the service I should wish to have as surgeon so much as O’Meara.
Maitland, a well respected officer, could hardly have given a more effusive reference. Furthermore, he continued his support for O’Meara in later years when the surgeon was under fire for his alleged connections with the Bonapartists. O’Meara often gave a good first impression. When Walter Henry first met him on St. Helena he noted that ‘his address and manner were agreeable’. Henry was later a staunch supporter of Lowe and he decried O’Meara’s appointment as Napoleon’s surgeon but he had to acknowledge that O’Meara’s deportment in the regimental mess was ‘that of a gentleman’, even if his conversation was a little animated and favourable to Napoleon.
Others witnessed a less savoury side to the surgeon. O’Meara’s writings are used against him to demonstrate a coarse, even vulgar tendency. He exploited his unique situation on St. Helena to parody those around him, particularly the French contingent, in his letters to the Admiralty. Some of his comments are at best mildly amusing, and at worst sneering. For instance, his description of Count Montholon; ‘…were he not a liar and base, he would be a gentleman: and except for these two defects, he is a good kind of man enough’. He was close to Madame Montholon as he attended her professionally and he used his pen to deride her. The historian Norwood Young claimed to have found letters in the British Museum relating to another female patient which ‘place him very low among the members of his profession’.
The Russian Commissioner Balmain judged O’Meara to be an honest man but many eminent St. Helena authors have disagreed with him. William Forsyth, in his monotonous defence of Sir Hudson Lowe, claims numerous examples of the doctor’s inveracity.
Lord Roseberry accuses O’Meara of ‘bad faith’ and Arnold Chaplin acknowledges that the surgeon’s evidence ‘is not trustworthy in the absence of some form of collateral testimony’. In his contemporary journal, Gourgaud speaks of O’Meara’s ‘lies’. Was a degree of dishonesty an integral part of O’Meara’s character or was carelessness with the truth essential for his survival on St. Helena? He made the following admission to Lowe when pressed as to why he had given the Governor information against Napoleon’s wishes.
Because you had asked me and I thought it might be interesting to the g
overnment. But though I told you some parts, I did not tell you all; besides I thought I might in some things depart from the promise [to Napoleon] without impropriety.
One problem in dissecting O’Meara’s character is that most of the St. Helena writers have an axe to grind, determined either to extol or belittle him. Lord Dudley, who met O’Meara at dinner in later times, was probably impartial and he remembered his guest as being ‘cheerful, good humoured and communicative, and, in spite of an air of confident vulgarity, which is diffused over all his behaviour, the impression he made was rather favourable’. Dudley’s ambivalent assessment may be the best description we have of Napoleon’s Irish surgeon.3
O’Meara’s motivation to take on what would prove to be an onerous duty appears straightforward. Apart from the obvious excitement and curiosity engendered by becoming physician to a man who had dominated world affairs for fifteen years, he could surely expect rapid advancement for rendering such a conspicuous service. The alternative was to pass up the opportunity and to take his chances as just another Navy surgeon. In an attempt to keep his independence, he refused Napoleon’s offer of a salary of £480 stating simply that the British Government remained his master and would remunerate him. The Emperor presumably believed the young doctor to be competent in his medical duties and a man he could easily communicate with and, to some degree, trust. He might be able to manipulate him toward his own ends. Shortly after their arrival on St. Helena, Napoleon tackled O’Meara regarding his new status.
You know that it was in consequence of my application that you were appointed to attend upon me. Now I want to know from you precisely and truly, as a man of honour, in what situation you conceive yourself to be, whether as my surgeon, as M. Maingault was, or the surgeon of a prison-ship or prisoners? Whether you have orders to report every trifling occurrence or illness, or what I say to you, to the governor? Answer me candidly; what situation do you conceive yourself to be in?
Napoleon's Poisoned Chalice Page 4