The main street of Jamestown leads up from the waterfront and the archway over the old drawbridge, past the castle and its gardens, the courthouse, church and gaol, the Georgian buildings now housing offices, hotels and stores, to the tourist office at the crossroads. Market Street leads off to the right and Napoleon Street to the left. At this central point, in front of the casement windows of the office, are two gnarled trees with bolts driven into their trunks. These were for the purpose of securing human beings in manacles.
At the time of Napoleon’s arrival, St Helena was the last outpost of Britain’s empire where slavery was still legal, although the importation of slaves was not. But on the island the practice continued. Every child born of a slave automatically became a slave also, the property of the owner, who could buy, sell and barter them at will. Slave auctions were held under the trees, centre stage for the town, as late as 1829. In the castle archives there are dozens of notices such as this:
TO BE SOLD & LET BY PUBLIC AUCTION
THE FOLLOWING SLAVES
Hannibal, about 30 Years old, an excellent House Servant
William, about 35 Years old, a Labourer
Nancy, an excellent House Servant and Nurse
Philip, an Excellent Fisherman
Clara, an Excellent Washerwoman
Fanny, about 14 Years old, House Servant1
Some horses had arrived from the Cape and Napoleon was given a handsome black stallion called Hope. He liked the name and said it was a good augury. He rode it around The Briars’ front lawn, cutting up the turf. Soon he was enjoying a daily outing on horseback and frequently led Captain Mackay a merry chase, cantering on the ill-made roads and skirting perilously close to the edge of ravines. He was at his most imposing when mounted, as he was well aware, and people in the little cottages scattered among the hills looked forward to the sight of him in his high boots, green coat and cocked hat. They felt that to wave to him was to insert themselves into a small place in history. Sometimes he would rein in to talk to people on the road, startling a soldier, seaman, Chinese labourer or slave carrying building materials up to Longwood. As Dr O’Meara observed: ‘Every day bodies of two or three hundred seamen were employed in carrying up from Jamestown, timber and other materials . . . so deficient was the island in the means of transport that almost everything, even the very stones for building, were carried up the steep Sidepath on the heads and shoulders of the seamen, occasionally assisted by fatigue parties of the 53rd Regiment.’2
Napoleon claimed to feel most compassion for the slaves, referring particularly to Toby, the old Malay at The Briars, and he criticised the British government for permitting the continuation of an evil it boasted elsewhere of having abolished. He was appalled when Gourgaud told him he had witnessed ‘a woman slave sold publicly’ in Jamestown.3
One day he stopped to chat with Mrs Balcombe on the road near The Briars’ front gate and was introduced to her companion, Mrs Stuart, a pretty young Scotswoman from a ship calling in on its home voyage from Bombay.4 He questioned her about the customs of India, Hindu saints and sadhus (holy men), and the difficulties of the sea voyage for women. As they conversed, Las Cases translating, Mrs Balcombe ‘in rather an angry tone’ indicated to a group of sweating slaves, laden with heavy timber beams, that they should detour around them. Napoleon interjected: ‘Consider the burden, Madame,’ and drew his horse aside to let them pass. Las Cases included an account in his Mémorial: ‘Mrs Stuart, who had been taught to regard Napoleon as a monster, was inexpressibly amazed by this touching incident. In a low tone of voice she exclaimed to her friend, “What a countenance and what a character! How different from what I had been led to expect!”’5
Of course, Napoleon’s own regime had been greatly enriched by the labour of slaves in the French possessions. Although the trade in human beings had been abolished in the colonies during the Revolution, he himself reinstated it.
A former slave, François-Dominique Toussaint L’Ouverture, had led the slave rebellion of 1791 in Saint-Domingue (present-day Haiti), the most valuable sugar colony in the West Indies. After the new French republic abolished slavery, L’Ouverture allied himself with it and established control over the whole island, repelling British attempts to invade (including the 1796 expedition in which Balcombe participated). But in June 1802, the slaves’ revolution was savagely suppressed. Acting on First Consul Bonaparte’s specific orders, French troops seized L’Ouverture and sent him to prison high in the Jura Mountains of France, where he died the following year.6 Dictating his memoirs on St Helena, Napoleon was defiant about the decision: ‘There was no longer room for deliberation; the honor as well as the interest of France called for the annihilation of the negro chiefs, who, in my eyes, were nothing more than ungrateful Africans and rebels, with whom it was impossible to establish any system.’7
However, on another occasion, keen to burnish his new image as a benefactor to slaves, he admitted that the French brutality on Saint-Domingue was an error: ‘I have to reproach myself for the attempt at the Colony during the Consulate; it was a great mistake to have wanted to subdue it by force; I should have contented myself to govern it through the intermediary of Toussaint.’8 During the ‘Hundred Days’ of his reign in 1815 after his return from Elba, he decreed the abolition of the French slave trade, although some historians suggest that he did so only to win over British public opinion, particularly that of the Whig liberals.9 Once he was exiled to St Helena, French vessels were refitted as slave ships and the traffic from Africa resumed.
Since 1659, the British East India Company had used the slaves of St Helena for its vegetable gardens, plantations and stock, and for victualling and supplying water for its vessels returning from Asia to Europe. ‘It has been observed,’ wrote a visitor, Francis Duncan, ‘that whites will seldom work in a warm climate when they can get slaves to labour for them.’10 The slaves were primarily imported from Company possessions in the East Indies, the Indian subcontinent and the island of Madagascar, whose people, of mixed Malay, Arabic and East African descent, were prized. By 1676, the Company demanded that every English ship coming from Madagascar ‘was obliged to leave on the island [of St Helena] one Negro, male or female, as the governor chose’.11 As Company employees took up plantations on the island, more slaves were imported, some from West Africa. But whatever the slaves’ racial background—and although most were olive- or copper-skinned—they were usually described as ‘blacks’ or ‘negroes’.
In St Helena’s early days, the slaves’ treatment was some of the most horrific on record anywhere. In his Isle of St Helena, Oswell Blakeston wrote of the punishment of errant slaves: ‘hot sealing wax was dropped on naked bodies, with ferocious floggings . . . with orders for all slaves to bring one faggot of wood each to a pyre so that a slave could be burnt alive, a screaming example to discourage others’.12 A year after Napoleon’s arrival, a census taken on St Helena indicated that there were 821 white civilian residents, 820 garrison troops and 618 Chinese labourers. These three groups combined were matched in numbers by slaves, a quarter of whom were ‘free blacks’, meaning that at different times, and for various reasons, they had been emancipated by their owners.13 The slaves survived on a meagre diet of rice, yams grown on a Company farm, and whatever fish they caught themselves in their fraction of free time.
Sometimes when Napoleon had difficulty sleeping he wandered into the darkened garden and beyond to the orchard. Toby, the old Malay slave, was strict about entry to his domain, and according to Betsy none of the Balcombe family disputed his authority, but Toby had a soft spot for the occupant of the pavilion and always brought him the choicest fruit. ‘Our old Malay was so fond of the man Bony, as he designated the emperor, that he always placed the garden key where Napoleon’s fingers could reach it under the wicket. No one else was ever favoured in the like manner, but he had completely fascinated and won the old man’s heart.’14
Count de Montholon wrote in his memoirs: ‘The eldest daughter of Mr Balcombe one day seeing Toby carrying a heavy burden from the town, having learned the story of his misfortune and the bitter grief he felt at being separated from his children, conceived the idea of obtaining his liberty and sending him back to his home’. Balcombe said he would try to bring this about; he started slowly, by imposing no other labour on the old Malay than the care of the vegetable garden. Betsy applied pressure on Napoleon: ‘The younger of the two, who was very pretty and even more mischievous than beautiful, felt that she could do anything and say anything with impunity, and had all the boldness of a spoiled child. She took advantage of a happy opportunity to ask the Emperor to buy the Malay, and, after her own fashion, related to him one evening the history of her protégé. “I won’t love my father because he doesn’t keep his promise, but I will love you well, if you restore Toby to his children: do you know that he has a girl just of my age, who is very like me?”’
At this, we are told, Bonaparte softened. ‘He assured her that the next day he would give orders to purchase the slave, and request the admiral to send him back to the Indies by the first opportunity. But then the purchase was not in the power of the Emperor; it was not sufficient to pay the sum demanded by the master of the slave. In order to emancipate a slave, it was necessary to go through a long series of formalities, and our departure from Briars to Longwood surprised us before these formalities could be finished.’15 (The ‘ownership’ of Toby was confusing: he had been ‘purchased’ by a Captain Wrangham who had left the island, so in a sense was ‘on loan’ to Balcombe. But as Wrangham had been gone for years, an executive decision could have been made by the governor to free Toby.)
The following year there was a new admiral and, more to the point, a new governor, Sir Hudson Lowe. Bonaparte put the request again, through O’Meara. The governor judged, probably correctly, that Bonaparte’s strategy was to win favour as a compassionate figure with the Whigs back in England, in order to encourage their lobbying for a more amenable situation for him. Lowe advised the doctor to ‘let him believe that I will submit his request to the council of the Company’, but in reality he was emphatic that ‘I would not do what you ask for anything in the world’.16
However, the episode achieved what was no doubt intended: the story spread, adding sentimental lustre to Napoleon’s legend.
On 28 November 1815, Colonel Bingham hosted a farewell breakfast for Governor Wilks and his family, and those constituting society on the island were invited. Three large marquees were set up, one with a dance floor; there were tables for ninety guests and these were decorated with flowers. Bingham wrote to his wife Emma in England of these preparations: ‘It appeared as if it were all enchantment to the natives of St Helena, who are so slow in their actions that it would have taken them one year to have accomplished what we did in six days.’17
For weeks Napoleon had observed the fatigue parties of the 53rd Regiment as they wound around the mountains to the beat of fifes and drums, building materials on their shoulders. Now they were no longer heaving stone blocks and timbers, but rather furniture, rugs and pictures. Longwood House would soon be ready for occupation.
According to Catherine Younghusband, Napoleon was ‘not at all anxious to quit the Briars, or in a hurry to go to Longwood, which is being fitted up for him with all the little elegance St Helena can afford’. Nor did Madame Bertrand welcome the move. She ‘dislikes the idea of leaving James Town and accompanying Buonaparte to what she calls his Country Castle. She prefers the town, wretched and hot as it is, because the French party there are much visited & they hear all the Gossip. The Admiral, however, says he cannot think of making the Government pay 55 guineas a week for Fancies.’18
Betsy’s memoir describes how, as the time drew near for Napoleon’s departure, ‘he would come into the drawing-room oftener, and stay longer. He would, he said, have preferred altogether remaining at the Briars; because he beguiled the hours with us better than he ever thought it possible he could have done on such a horrible rock as St. Helena.’19 He had suggested purchasing their property—apparently with Balcombe’s approval, who would have done handsomely out of the deal—‘but circumstances, probably political, prevented the negotiation from being carried out’.20 However, according to Marchand, ‘the Emperor was beginning to tire of his prolonged stay at the Briars; appearing in short britches and silk stockings for walks in the garden after sunset he had caught a cold and was coughing a lot’. Mrs Balcombe, kind and gracious, ‘offered to make him an infusion of four flowers with honey from her own hives’. Napoleon thanked her and showed her a small candy box containing licorice, the only remedy he said he liked to use.21
Bertrand visited Longwood and reported that the house smelled badly of paint. Betsy would ‘never forget the fury of the emperor. He walked up and down the lawn, gesticulating in the wildest manner. His rage was so great that it almost choked him. He declared that the smell of paint was so obnoxious to him that he would never inhabit a house where it existed.’
They were interrupted by extraordinary news. Montholon arrived, breathless from his climb up the hill, with a Paris Gazette just delivered. He said that the whole of France was in a state of revolution; that an army of 15,000 men had been organised and that everywhere they were shouting for the emperor. Admiral Cockburn had told him that such a state of affairs would be the ruin of England, as they would have to call up the militia. Gourgaud described Napoleon’s distress at his inability to take advantage of the insurgency: ‘The Emperor is so moved by this news of the 15,000 men that he strides along crying “It is now that it is cruel to be a prisoner here. Who will lead this movement? I see nobody capable of doing anything big. Eugene [his stepson by Josephine] has a good headpiece, judgment and good qualities, but not that genius, that resolute character that distinguishes great men . . . It is only I who could succeed!”’22
When Colonel Bingham came to escort his prisoner to Longwood, he found him in his dressing-gown; Napoleon ‘excused himself from going on account of the smell of paint’. But he ‘appeared to be in unusual good spirits, having on the table English papers to the 15th of September’ detailing the political turmoil in France. He had read about the trial and execution of Marshal Ney, who had been one of his bravest commanders at Waterloo and yet was now deemed to be a traitor, and of the rise of the ‘ultra-royalists’, extreme conservatives who aimed to restore the ancien régime and purge the country of those who, in their view, had betrayed it. The papers reported 300 victims of their ‘white terror’ in the south of France, and in the August election the ‘ultras’ had been triumphant in the Chamber of Deputies; as a result, the country was divided and many feared the restored Bourbon monarchy would not survive. Bingham observed Napoleon’s optimism: ‘The greater confusion there is in France, the greater chance he thinks there is of his being allowed to return, as he thinks the English government will be obliged to recall him to compose the confusion that exists in that unhappy country.’23 Catherine Younghusband had the same impression and wrote to her aunt: ‘I am told that he is quite convinced that the French nation will recall him; indeed, he says, it cannot do without him; & he much fears it will not be safe for any English to travel in France through the exasperation of the French at his being kept at St Helena.’24
Las Cases went up to Longwood without Bonaparte and failed to notice a paint odour. Bertrand was chided for an exaggerated report. As dusk fell, Napoleon strolled in The Briars’ garden with Gourgaud and confided his new idea—the English ought to raise an insurrection in Paris as a pretext for burning the city: ‘It would be a great coup for England to destroy our capital. The English could probably sink our Fleet, overwhelm our ports, especially Cherbourg, Brest, Toulon. After this they would have nothing to fear from France for a long time.’25
But they would have much to fear from Napoleon Bonaparte. If he had the chance, the burning of Paris and destruction of the principal French ports and fleets were not too high a price to pay, if he could return to take control.
On the morning of 10 December, ‘that good man Bony’ went out to the orchard to farewell Toby and presented him with twenty Napoleon coins, a fortune for the old slave—but not enough to buy the freedom he craved. Bonaparte then joined his hosts at The Briars’ house for a final luncheon. Marchand noted that although Balcombe would continue to have free access to the emperor in his role as providore, he ‘was urged to come see him with his daughters and wife once we were settled at Longwood’.26
Admiral Cockburn arrived in a carriage with General Bertrand and an escort of guards to accompany the prisoner to his new home. Betsy could not be consoled at the departure of the man she had presumed to regard ‘almost as a brother or companion of my own age’. He saw her weeping and came up to her: ‘“You must not cry, Mademoiselle Betsee; you must come and see me next week, and very often”. I told him that depended on my father. He turned to him and said, “Balcombe, you must bring Missee Jane and Betsee to see me next week eh? When will you ride up to Longwood?” My father promised he would, and kept his word. He asked where mamma was, and I said she desired her kind regards to the emperor, and regretted not being able to see him before his departure, as she was ill in bed. “I will go and see her”; and up the stairs he darted before we had time to tell my mother of his approach. He seated himself on the bed, and expressed his regret at hearing she was unwell.’ He thanked her for her kindness to him and presented her with a gold snuff box, asking that she give it to her husband as a mark of friendship. He gave the tearful Betsy a little good-luck charm she had often admired, joking that she should give it ‘as a gage d’amour [a pledge of love] to le petit Las Cases’.
Marchand had gone ahead to Longwood: ‘I wished to arrive there before the Emperor in order to receive him.’27 Balcombe accompanied the main party on the three-mile ascent, arriving in the late afternoon. On his return his family wanted to know what Napoleon thought of his new residence and were told that ‘he appeared out of spirits, and, retiring to his dressing-room, had shut himself up for the remainder of the day’.28
Napoleon may not have known it then, or perhaps he guessed, but his one period of gaiety—unexpected, incongruous, and principally due to Betsy Balcombe—on the island of St Helena was at an end.