recollect,
but when it was announced to the Emperor, by Captain Maitland, and the
immortal honour of his imperial presence begged, for a few minutes, he
laughed very heartily, consented instantly; and turning to Lady
Bertrand, told her that she must stand his interpreter. The stage was
fitted up between decks, more, I am afraid, in ship-shape than
theatrical style; and, sure enough, Napoleon and his whole suite
attended. He was much amused with those who took the female parts,
which, by the way, was the most smooth-chinned of our young gentlemen,
remarking that they were rather a little Dutch built for fine ladies;
and, after good-naturedly sitting for nearly twenty minutes, he rose,
smiled to the actors, and retired. I mention these circumstances, by
way of showing the last glimpses of sunshine that enlivened the
exile's closing scene.

On the 23rd, we made the land; and, on the 24th, at seven P.M., we
came to an anchor in Torbay, when the first lieutenant was immediately
put on shore, with orders to proceed by land to Plymouth, with
dispatches for Lord Keith, at that time admiral on the Plymouth
station.

I happened to be midshipman of the boat, which conveyed the first
lieutenant on shore; and no sooner had we got clear of him, than I was
taken prisoner by some twenty young ladies, marched off to a fine
house in the little town, regaled with tea and clouted cream, and
bored with five thousand questions about Napoleon, the ridiculousness
of which I have often laughed at since. "What like was he--was he
really a man? Were his hands and clothes all over blood when he came
on board? Was it true that he had killed three horses in riding from
Waterloo to the Bellerophon? Were we not all frightened for him? Was
his voice like thunder? Could I possibly get them a sight of the
monster, just that they might be able to say they had seen him?" etc.
etc. I assured those inquisitive nymphs, that the reports they had
heard were all nonsense; that the Emperor was not only a man, but a
very handsome man too; young withal, had no more blood upon his hands
or clothes than was now upon their pure white dresses; that if by
chance they got a look of him at the gangway, they would fall in love
with him directly; that so far from his hands being red with blood,
they were as small, white, and soft as their own charming fingers, and
his voice, instead of resembling thunder, was as sweet and musical as
their own. This account of the Emperor