After Napoleon had been at St. Helena a few months, newspapers from England began to arrive with narratives of many of the happenings at The Briars.

One journal contained a letter from the Marquis de Montchenu, describing all the romping games at The Briars, such as the game of blindman's buff, the sword scare, and other things in which the children had taken part.

Special comments were made on the manners of Betsy, and the writer said, "She is the wildest little girl I have ever met; she seems folle." This letter had been translated into French and German journals, so that Betsy Balcombe's name was now widely known.

Mr. Balcombe was greatly enraged by this letter, and wished to call the Marquis to account for his ill nature, but Mrs. Balcombe persuaded him to desist from extreme measures, and in the end the Marquis himself made an apology.

Napoleon found some amusement in Betsy's fierce anger against the critical Frenchman. One day Dr. O'Meara called at The Briars, on the way to St. James Valley, with a message from Napoleon to tell Betsy how she could revenge herself on the tale-bearer.

The Marquis, a noble of the old school, was in the habit of wearing an elaborate wig with a long cue.

"Mees Betsy, if you will burn off the cue with caustic, I will reward you with the prettiest fan in Solomon's shop, if you will send the pigtail to me," suggested Napoleon to Betsy as a plan of revenge.

"Eh, bien," said the Emperor, when next he saw Betsy, "Mdlle. Betsy, as tu obei mes ordres et gagnÉ l'Éventail?" ["Have you obeyed my orders and won the fan?"]

"Oh, sire, how I wanted to do it, but my brother would not let me!"

"Ah, Mees Betsy," and Napoleon pinched her ear, "tu commences À etre sage. Here, O'Meara, have you brought the fan I promised Miss Betsy?"

"No, sire, there were none pretty enough for her in Solomon's shop."

Betsy's face grew serious.

"Do not look sad," expostulated Napoleon. "You shall have something prettier than a fan;" and Betsy, comprehending, wondered what the present would be that he evidently intended to give her.

In a few days a package came to The Briars, addressed to Betsy. Opening it, she saw a ring of brilliants, forming the letter N, surmounted by a small eagle.

This was a wonderful gift for a little girl, and at first she could hardly believe that it was for her. Later she found there was no mistake. It was really hers, and she kept it always.

Although Betsy was not permitted to carry out Napoleon's proposed plan of revenge on the tale-telling Marquis, she expressed her feelings in a way of her own by relating to Napoleon an anecdote about him.

"The Marquis," she said, "is extremely fond of cauliflower, a vegetable that is very hard to get here on the island. Well, the other day, he dined with us and we had the most delicious cauliflower. Somehow he didn't see it until it was being removed and then he cried to his aide-de-camp, who had neglected to point it out, 'BÊte, pourquoi-ne m'a tu pas dit qu'il-y-avait des choux fleurs?' ['Idiot, why didn't you tell me that there was cauliflower?'] Now, wasn't he greedy?" asked Betsy, glad enough to have a story to tell that placed the Marquis at a disadvantage.

The Marquis de Montchenu, for whom Betsy had professed this dislike, was one of the three Commissioners sent by the Allied Powers to keep watch on Napoleon. The other two were the Baron Sturmer, representing Austria, and Count Balmain, sent by Russia. While England provided the prison and jailer for Napoleon, these Commissioners were asked to observe everything and report to their respective countries. France and Austria had ordered their Commissioners to see Napoleon in their official capacity every day in order to assure themselves that he was actually alive. Baron Balmain was instructed by Russia neither to seek nor avoid an occasion to see him. To describe the vain efforts of the French and Austrian Commissioners to see Napoleon would make an entertaining story. Napoleon's orders to his household were not to admit any one presenting a pass from the British authorities. But as Sir Hudson Lowe would permit no one to go to Longwood without a pass from him, those who wished to see Napoleon were in a dilemma.

Things were not bettered when Napoleon wrote Sir Hudson Lowe, desiring him not to present any one to him, as in future he would receive no visitors. He acted as if he thought it his duty to shut himself up, in order that public opinion might be turned against the narrow-mindedness of the Governor. After this few of the people of St. Helena tried to call on him. From delicacy of feeling, or because they feared his anger, civilians and military residents avoided Longwood. Only the two Commissioners and the resident English officer made an effort to see him daily, and their efforts, merely to get a glance at him through window or door, were most absurd. The officer sometimes saw him, but the Commissioners never had the privilege. The Marquis de Montchenu beheld him at last only when he lay dead. Baron Sturmer and Baron Balmain left St. Helena while Napoleon was still alive without having met him.

As to Betsy Balcombe, though she had her own opinion, on account of her father's position she could not express herself strongly about Sir Hudson Lowe.

"Has any one run away with a favorite robe de bal, or is the pet black nurse, old Sarah, dead?" asked Napoleon one day, detecting a serious look on Betsy's face. "What can have occurred?"

Betsy's face did not brighten.

"I am feeling very sad," she said, "because Mrs. Wilks, our kind Lady-Governess, has gone away. Every one was at the boat to see her go, and at the castle. It was like a funeral, no one with a dry eye, and all saying, 'God bless you, and a safe and happy voyage home.'"

Betsy paused for a moment, then continued: "Then they all followed the Governor and his family to the barge that was to take them to Havana, and groups of grief-stricken ladies wandered under the peepul trees of Sisters' Walk, watching the vessel."

"Did you cry too?" asked Napoleon.

"Indeed I did."

"I regret," added Napoleon, "that I had not known the Lady-Governess; she must have been so amiable."

Napoleon, as well as Betsy, probably realized that but for his coming the people of St. Helena might have retained their popular Governor, Mark Wilks. Before the arrival of Napoleon, the Governor of St. Helena was paid by the East India Company, though appointed by the Crown; but with so important a personage as Napoleon held there in captivity, it seemed wisest that full responsibility for him should be laid on the English Government. It was therefore decided, as we have before seen, that as soon as possible a Governor of higher rank should be sent out in place of Governor Wilks. The change at this time seemed unfortunate for the people of St. Helena. In Governor Wilks they had found an officer who had their interests more at heart than any preceding Governor. Could he have been Napoleon's custodian, the Emperor's exile would have been very much happier than it was with Sir Hudson Lowe in charge.

Betsy, like all who came in contact with Napoleon, sympathized deeply with his annoyance at the restrictions imposed on him by Sir Hudson Lowe. The story of the discussion between Napoleon's friends and the supporters of the Governor would be a long one to tell, but the fact remains, when all is said in Sir Hudson Lowe's favor, that he was far too narrow-minded for the important position that he held. Sir Hudson Lowe was a brave man and had served honorably in many wars, but the responsibility of guarding the fallen Emperor was too great for him, and his behavior toward the exile was in every way unfortunate.

Napoleon had been on the island just six months when Sir Hudson Lowe arrived. From the first he seemed possessed by the idea that Napoleon was constantly watching for some chance to escape. To those nearest Napoleon at St. Helena, the Governor's fears that he might escape seemed absurd. From the island posts approaching ships were seen twenty-four leagues off. Two ships of war were always cruising to windward and leeward. Only guard-boats were allowed out at night. All fishing boats were numbered and had to anchor every evening at sunset under the supervision of a lieutenant of the navy. No foreign vessels were permitted to anchor unless under great distress, and then no one from them could land until an officer and a party from the British ships went on board to take charge while they stayed. If he had cared to try flight, Napoleon could hardly have made his escape.

In the very beginning, when Lord Bathurst issued instructions for the custody of Napoleon, he expressed the earnest desire of the Prince Regent that no greater personal restraint might be employed than was necessary to make sure that Napoleon was securely held on the island.

Sir Hudson Lowe, however, in carrying out the instructions of the British Government, interpreted them as meaning that he should have constant information about all Napoleon's doings. To accomplish this was, of course, impossible, and his vain efforts made him the laughing-stock of the English as well as the French. In his very first interview with Napoleon the new Governor managed to offend him seriously, and Napoleon after this was so unwilling to see him that the two met only five times more during the five years that intervened until Napoleon's death; and these five interviews were all within the first three months after Sir Hudson Lowe's arrival.

Under the most favorable conditions Sir Hudson Lowe could hardly have been popular with the islanders themselves. Governor Wilks, his predecessor, had been unusually loved, and his charming wife and daughter had a firm hold on the affections of all the people of St. Helena. Betsy, as we have seen, was extremely fond of Mrs. Wilks, whom she called the "Lady-Governess," and she had a young girl's admiration for the beautiful Miss Wilks, whose praises she continually sang to Napoleon. One day, not long before Miss Wilks left the island, Napoleon showed Betsy a portrait that General Gorgaud had drawn from memory of Miss Wilks, saying, "You think Miss Wilks beautiful. Gorgaud thinks so too, and this is his portrait from memory."

"Ah," replied Betsy, gazing at the portrait, "she is far more beautiful; and she is so clever and amiable."

"You are certainly enthusiastic, and I quite long to see her," responded Napoleon, evidently appreciative of Betsy's enthusiasm for her friend.

During the first months of Napoleon's exile, Colonel Wilks continued to act as Governor, but the direct custody of Napoleon was the business of Sir George Cockburn, who had brought the illustrious prisoner on the Northumberland from England. Not long after Napoleon went to Longwood an amusing incident happened, resulting from the panic of Captain Poppleton, the orderly officer whose duty it was to guard Napoleon on his rides.

The two sisters were sitting at dinner, with their father and Admiral Cockburn.

"See," cried Betsy to Jane, "here comes Captain Poppleton, looking as if he had lost his wits. Why is he alone? Don't you remember that he set out with the Emperor and Generals Bertrand, Montholon, and Gorgaud?"

"But you wouldn't expect them all to march in, when we have company, too," whispered Jane, looking toward the end of the table where her father was talking with his especial guest, the Admiral, Sir George Cockburn.

Before the girls could speculate further, Captain Poppleton broke out excitedly:

"Oh, sir, I have lost the Emperor."

All looked up, but the Admiral, whom Captain Poppleton addressed, did not change expression as the officer continued:

"We were riding along one of the paths on the side of the mountain, when suddenly the Emperor turned short around to the left and almost flew up the mountain. None of the generals accompanied him. I started, but I could not follow. My horse would not take the steep ascent. So I came back to you. If there is a plot—"

"Nonsense!" cried the Admiral, and his tone was echoed by Mr. Balcombe. It was natural that Captain Poppleton should feel alarm at the sudden disappearance. But the Admiral was made of sterner stuff. "Go back to Longwood," he said quietly to the officer. "You will find Napoleon there."

This proved to be the case, for when he reached Longwood the Emperor was at dinner, and he laughed at poor Captain Poppleton for his fears.

If Betsy had ventured to express herself regarding the trouble between Sir Hudson Lowe and the Emperor in this, she certainly would not have favored the former.

"What do you really think," she asked her father one day, "about this quarrel between the Governor and the Emperor?"

Mr. Balcombe very properly, as an officer of the Government, was not inclined to give a direct reply. But Betsy understood him, when he said:

"Their disputes are generally on subjects so trivial that they hardly seem worth quarrelling about."

But she realized that to Napoleon these disputes were not trivial when she came upon him one day reading an English book. Looking at it, as he held it before her, she saw that it was a copy of "Æsop's Fables," a book that in a translation children often use to improve their knowledge of French.

The page was open at "The Sick Lion." This is the famous account of the lion that, when lying sick, receives visits from many other animals who, instead of sympathizing, exult over his downfall. The lion makes no complaint until a donkey kicks him in the face. "I could have borne anything but this," he said.

As Betsy looked at the open page, Napoleon, pointing to the woodcut, said, "It is myself and your Governor." His expression showed the depth of his feeling on the subject.

In little ways Betsy was disappointed by the regulations made for Napoleon by Sir Hudson Lowe. She was exceedingly anxious, for example, that Napoleon should see a huge boa constrictor that a captain of an incoming vessel had brought to the island.

"It is a most wonderful creature," she said, as she described it to the Emperor. "They put a live goat into its cage, and I really believe that it swallowed it whole, for I could see the poor thing's horns poking almost through the boa constrictor's skin."

The Emperor smiled as Betsy told her tale. "Your boa constrictor sounds like the Marquis de Montchenu, or, rather, the latter, from the amount of food I have heard he consumes, must resemble a boa constrictor."

"He really does," responded Betsy. "Oh, I wish you could see him—not the Marquis, but the boa constrictor."

"I should like to see it; I will ask them to have it brought here to me."

As Betsy herself also desired this, she was naturally disappointed when those in authority decided that the boa constrictor could not be shown to Napoleon.

Napoleon was not the only one on the island affected by the many regulations made for his safety in the matter of sentries. The question of passes, always troublesome to visitors, and the fact that after the sunset gun had been fired no one could pass the sentries without giving the countersign, were annoyances to all on the island. Once Betsy herself had an experience that was far from agreeable, although she was not the only one to suffer, as the incident concerned many others.

As might be supposed, picnics were a favorite form of diversion with the people of St. Helena, and they were particularly delightful when, as usually happened, young and old took part in them. One day there was a large picnic near the celebrated Friar's Valley. The Balcombes and all their friends were to go to it.

The day proved pleasant fortunately, for the journey was difficult. After amusing themselves for hours, the party was at last surprised to hear the sunset gun from Ladder Hill. They found that none of the party had the countersign for the night, and they knew that if they ventured forth without it they would be made prisoners. This was one of the many strict rules made by the Governor to prevent the mishap of helpers coming to Napoleon after dark.

At last some of them decided that it was better to make an effort to reach home rather than spend the night outdoors. Betsy and her parents were among those who ventured to go toward home.

It was a starlight night, but the road was bad. Mr. Balcombe at last hailed a light.

"Who goes there?" cried the sentry.

"A friend."

"Advance, friend, and give the countersign."

Now this was just what none of the party could do, and as protests were useless, they all had to spend the night in the guard-room, where they were half eaten by fleas, mosquitoes, and other insects.

Those who had stayed on the picnic grounds laughed well at the more venturous who had gone ahead. Napoleon, when he heard the story, was highly diverted, pleased to have so good a chance to blame the Government.