It is said that during the preparation of this grand charge of 12,000 French cavalry,—the finest in the world,—the Duke of Wellington ran forward with his glass in front of the lines, amidst the hot fire which preceded the charge. He was reminded that he was exposing himself too much. "Yes," said the Duke, "I know I am,—but I must see what they are doing." To an officer who asked for instructions in case he should be slain, he answered; "I have no instructions to give; there is only one thing to be done—to fight to the last man and the last moment!"

Some years later the Duke said, "I have never seen anything more admirable in war than those ten or twelve reiterated charges of the French cuirassiers upon our troops of all arms."

It was obvious to the English commander, as he viewed this splendid spectacle, that unless this last and decisive onset should drive him from the post which he had continued to hold during nearly seven hours of intermitting battle, his allies would come fully into the field and give him a vast superiority of numbers wherewith to close the work of the day. The Duke now decided to sacrifice the remainder of his cavalry, and he moved them forward to meet the shock of the advancing foe.

The matchless body of French cavalry continued to dash forward towards the hostile lines, in successive masses, and with all the triumphant fury of a charge upon a retreating enemy. Breaking through many squares of infantry, overthrowing the opposing cavalry, and overwhelming the artillery in front of the lines, they were received by the squares of British infantry, first with a volley of musket-balls, and then upon the immovable array of bristling bayonets. Men and horses, struggling in the agonies of violent death, bestrewed the ground. In his extremity Wellington determined on employing Cumberland's one thousand hussars, who had not yet been engaged; but at sight of this scene of slaughter the hussars fell back in disorder.

The resistance of the Duke was most stubborn but Ney still hoped to destroy the English army at the point of the sword by keeping up a continued charge, having been reinforced by the heavy cavalry of the Guard whose advance had been made apparently without orders.

Meanwhile Ney, seeing Kellerman's carbineers in reserve, hastened to where they were, asked what they were doing and then, despite Kellerman's resistance, led them to the front where they succeeded in making fresh breaches in the British infantry, but were unable to get beyond the second line.

For the eleventh time Ney led on his 10,000 horse to the attack. The cuirassiers wheeled about, reformed, and again charged with tremendous energy, and a valor that set at contemptuous defiance the tempest of grape-shot, and balls of the artillery and musketry which opposed their advance. Men rolled off, and horses fell plunging; even pistols were discharged in their faces, and swords thrust over their bayonets in vain. The British infantry, though shaken for a moment again closed their ranks, fell into line and continued to fire. About this time Ney was heard to say to General d'Erlon, "Be sure, my friend, that for you and me, if we do not die here under the English balls, nothing remains but to fall miserably under those of the émigrés." To his artillery a few moments before he had said, "It is here, my friends, that the fate of our country is about to be decided; it is here that we must conquer in order to secure our independence!"

The Emperor, who was now suffering great bodily pain, scarcely able to sit upon his horse, and falling at times into a sort of lethargy, was much moved by this spectacle. He had never before commanded in person against the English soldiery; but he knew them now—when it was too late! He observed their wonderful self-command, and unflinching courage, and praised it;—but it was his ruin!

Again and again did the brilliant cavalry of the French rush forward to the charge with redoubled fury. They frequently passed between the squares of the first line amidst their united cross-fire from front and rear, and charged the squares of the second line whose fire they also received, but no general effect was produced, no real advantage gained beyond an occasional breaking of the squares in both lines, particularly the second. The baffled cuirassiers were always obliged to retire, receiving the terrible cross-fire of the squares as they passed between them and followed by a volley of musketry and often by the grape-shot of the artillery.

Four thousand of the French cavalry now strewed the ground, while 10,000 English, horse and foot had laid down their lives. Many were the deeds of individual gallantry performed by officers and men on both sides, among cavalry and infantry all over the field. During the conflict Colonel Heymes hastened to Napoleon to ask for the infantry of which Ney was in need. "Infantry!" cried the Emperor, with considerable irritation, "where does he suppose I can get them? Does he expect me to make them? You can see the task before me, and you see what troops I have!" When the Emperor's irritation had somewhat subsided he sent another message to Ney, more hopeful than the former. He made Colonel Heymes tell the marshal that if he were in a difficult position at Mont St. Jean, he was himself in still greater difficulties on the banks of the Lasne, where he was opposed by the entire Prussian army, but when he had repelled, or even checked them, he, with the Guard, would hasten to complete the conquest of the English; until then the plateau was to be held at any cost for an hour when he might reckon on reinforcements.

The desperate assaults of the French cavalry ought to have been supported by strong bodies of infantry; they could not, however, be spared, being needed for the contest with Bulow, on the French right and to prevent his advance.

By 7 o'clock, Bulow's corps of 30,000 men was successfully repulsed, and Count Lobau, with 10,000 men, occupied the positions from which the Prussian general had been driven.

Still the French cavalry could do no more than maintain itself on the plateau from which the Duke's 36,000 men had made a slight retrograde movement. A fresh cannonade was opened by the French along the British line, after the assaults of the cuirassiers, but no further advance was attempted by the former. As one authority truly says, the British were beaten to a stand-still—but there they stood! It was, in effect, a drawn battle up to this time.

There was not the least demonstration on the part of the Duke of Wellington to make any general advance during this almost interminable contest,—nor had there been all day,—and as little sign of his moving back. About twenty thousand men had already been killed, or otherwise lost, on each side.

It was now nearly 7 o'clock. The distant cannonade, which had been faintly heard in the direction of Wavres, opened nearer at hand. It was the announcement,—not of the arrival of Grouchy, in the rear of Bulow's division; but that of the two columns of Blucher, amounting to about 31,000 fresh troops!

The relative strength of the two armies, allowing twenty thousand as lost on both sides, was now considerably over two to one against the French,—the majority on the other side being chiefly composed of fresh men. Wellington was heard to say during the day, "Would to God that Blucher or night would come!" and now both were at hand.

The presence of mind of the Emperor now became most alert, and it was never so clearly manifested as at this critical moment when everything hung in the balance.

The fresh army, advancing to the assistance of the Anglo-Belgian forces, was soon discovered by the French troops, who were in action on the field. The cavalry on the plain were waiting in constant expectation of the Emperor's orders for the advance of his reserves of the infantry of the Guard. They were not alarmed when they saw the communication finally effected between Bulow and the English, but when they perceived the approach of the dense columns of Blucher, they were confounded, and several regiments began to fall back.

Napoleon now sent his aides-de-camp along the whole line to announce the arrival of succor, and that Blucher's advance was only a retreat before Grouchy, who was pressing on his rear. It was a clever ruse, and warranted by the situation in which he now found himself, as it momentarily revived the spirits of the weary troops to a wonderful degree.

At the head of four battalions of the infantry of the Guard, the Emperor now advanced on the left in front of La Haye Sainte. He ordered General Reille to concentrate the whole of his corps near Hougomont and make an attack. He then sent General Friant to support the cavalry on the plain with four battalions of the middle guard. If, by sudden charge, they could break and disorder the centre of the British line before the columns of Blucher could force their way into the plain, a last chance of success still remained. Blucher was hurrying on to La Haye; there was not a moment to lose!

The attack was made, the infantry drove back all that opposed them, and repeated charges of the French cavalry disordered the hostile ranks. Presently some battalions of the Old Guard came up. They too were going to the attack to retrieve the ground lost by the young guard who had fallen back, for, as Thiers says, "It is the privilege of the Old Guard to repair every disaster." The Emperor ranged his veterans by brigades; two battalions being in line, and two in column. As he rode along in front of these battle-scarred battalions, he said, "My friends, the decisive moment is come; it will not do to fire; you must come hand to hand with the enemy, and drive them back at the point of the bayonet into the ravine whence they have issued to threaten the army, the Empire and France."

General Friant was now carried by, wounded. He said that all was going well, but that the attack could not be successful till the balance of the Guard were employed. This movement could not be effected on the instant and in a few minutes it was too late, as the Prussians were coming up in great numbers. The British still stood on the defensive and Blucher had reached the village of La Haye. A violent struggle now ensued, but it was of brief duration; the overwhelming mass of fresh men soon bore down all opposition.

The Duke of Wellington now prepared,—for the first time during the day,—to advance his entire line. He was aware that the decisive moment was at hand and that his safety, as well as that of his gallant men, depended on this last effort.

A panic soon seized some of the French soldiers, exhausted and maddened by the terrible strain they had undergone during the day, and at the sudden appearance before them of the dark mass of fresh assailants, the cry of "Sauve qui peut!" (Every man for himself!) was raised. The disorder soon became general and the men fled as the columns of Prussians poured into the plain.

Napoleon instantly changed the front of the Guard so as to throw its left on La Haye Sainte and its right on La Belle Alliance; he then met the fugitives and led them back to their post. They at once faced the Prussians, whom they immediately charged. The fresh brigade of the English cavalry from Ohain arrived at this crisis and forced their way between General Reille's corps and the Guard, to their utter separation. The Emperor now ordered his four reserve squadrons to charge the fresh brigade of English cavalry but their attack met with no success. As he was leading the four battalions destined to their place of attack on the Charleroi road he met Ney, who was greatly excited, and who declared that the cavalry would certainly give way if a large reinforcement of infantry did not immediately arrive. Napoleon gave him the battalions he was bringing up and promised to send six more.

The ranks of the French were now in general confusion all over the field. Napoleon had barely time to gallop into one of the squares of the Guard which still maintained its position; Ney, Jerome, Soult, Bertrand, Druot, Corbineau, de Flahaut, Labedoyere, Gourgaud and others drew their swords, became soldiers again and followed close to their chiefs heels. They entered the square of the last battalion of reserve,—the illustrious and unfortunate remains of the "granite column" of the fields of Marengo, who had remained unshaken amidst the tumultuous waves of the army. The old grenadiers, incapable of fear for themselves, were alarmed at the danger threatening the Emperor, and appealed to him to withdraw. "Retire" said one of them, "You see that death shuns you!" The Emperor resisted, and commanded them to fire.

The four battalions of the Guard, and the cavalry which had so long held the plains below in opposition to the whole Anglo-Belgian army, were being rapidly depleted. Wellington had ordered Maitland's guards to fire on them at short range as they moved forward for the last time. The sudden shock did not cause the advancing soldiers to stop, but closing their ranks they continued to push on. They were soon beaten, however, by overwhelming numbers of cavalry, both English and Prussian, and were at last compelled to retire that they might not be cut off from the centre of the army, while the enemy continued to advance, preceded by their artillery, which poured forth a most destructive fire.

But one last effort to stem the torrent still remained. If the British centre could be broken, and their advance checked, some favorable chance was just possible. The Emperor therefore ordered the advance of the reserve infantry of the Imperial Guard,—the flower of his army. He exhorted them, by a hasty personal appeal, and confided the direction of their efforts to "the bravest of the brave," who had had five horses killed under him and who now advanced on foot, sword in hand. The 2900 heroic stalwarts moved forward in two columns, headed by Ney, and supported by a heavy fire of artillery, while four battalions of the Old Guard, formed into squares, took post in their rear as a reserve and to protect the march of the columns.

Either wing of the English had by this time advanced in consequence of the repulses of the French and their line now presented a concave. They were formed in an unbroken array, four deep, and as the French advanced poured on them a shower which never intermitted, each man firing as often as he could reload. Wellington gave the order to advance in the familiar and brusque terms of, "Up guards and at them!" The English wings kept moving on all the while; and when the heads of the French columns, who continued to advance till within forty or fifty yards, approached to this point, they were met with such a storm of musketry in front, and on either flank, that they in vain endeavored to deploy into line for the attack, under a terrific and unremitting fire. They stopped to make this attempt, reeled, lost order, and the 800 men who were left standing fled at last in one mass of confusion.

The Duke of Wellington now dismounted, placed himself at the head of his line and led his men against the remaining numbers of four battalions of the Old Guard—the only unbroken troops remaining behind, while Ney was striving to rally his fugitives. His cocked hat was gone, and his clothes were literally riddled with bullets, though he himself remained untouched. The intrepid marshal, at Wellington's approach, took part once more in the mêlée, sword in hand, and on foot. But nothing could withstand the impetuous assault of the victorious British.

Napoleon, who had watched this last terrible contest from the heights of La Belle Alliance suddenly exclaimed, "They are mingled together, all is lost for the present," and accompanied by but three or four officers, he gave the signal for retreat and hurried to the left of Planchenois, to a second position, where he had placed a regiment of the Guard, with two batteries in reserve.

The four battalions of the Old Guard, under General Cambronne, still remained to protect the retreat of the French army. If they could succeed in holding the British in check, and prevent their advance during half an hour longer, darkness would enable the army to retreat in safety, and partially recover its disorder by morning. The Old Guard formed in square, flanked by a few pieces of artillery, and by a brigade of red lancers. "The Duke of Wellington" says Captain Pringle, "now ordered his whole line to advance and attack their position." They advanced to the charge in embattled array, condensed and tremendous, against the remnant of noble veterans of that old Imperial Guard, which, during twenty years of slaughterous wars, had never once been vanquished. Gathering round the standards of their former glory, they received the dreadful onset with souls prepared for death. Nothing could now withstand the vigor of the attack of the British soldiers who thus had an opportunity to relieve their breasts of the heavy burden they had borne all day when compelled, for hours, to stand the fierce attacks of the French, being frequently driven back, and never making an advance.

The Old Guard, as was to be expected, were beaten down,—slaughtered. Their general, Cambronne, was called upon to surrender by some British officers who seemed to revolt at the uneven contest. The only reply made by him was,—not the generally believed, but inaccurate declaration recorded by some historians, "The Old Guard dies, but does not surrender!" but was a single word of military jargon frequently used by French soldiers. Almost immediately afterwards he fell from his horse, cut down by a fragment of a shell striking him on the head; but he would not allow his men to leave their ranks to bear him away.

Once more these heroes, now reduced to but one hundred and fifty men, are commanded to surrender; "We will not yield!" they answer back, and discharging their muskets for the last time, rush on the cavalry and with their bayonets, kill many men and horses, and then sink to the earth exhausted or in death.

The Old Guard was destroyed,—not defeated! The advancing British troops rode over their prostrate bodies piled in ghastly heaps,—a monument to their valor and heroism, even in death. Ney, bareheaded, his clothes hanging in shreds, and with his broken sword in his hand, seeing a handful of his followers still remaining, ran forward to lead them against a Prussian column that was pursuing them. As the fearless marshal threw himself once more into the fray he exclaimed, "Come my friends; come see how a marshal of France can die!" But his time had not come: he was not destined to die upon the battlefield. His small band was soon overpowered and scarcely two hundred escaped death. Rulliere, who commanded the battalion, broke the flag-staff, hid the eagle beneath his coat, and followed Ney who had been unhorsed for the fifth time, but who was still unwounded. Under cover of the darkness they made their escape.

The Emperor attempted to protect the retreat and rally the fugitives; but it was now fast growing dark. The soldiers could not see him or they might have rallied, while many believed the report that he had been killed. "He is wounded," said some, "He is dead" cried others. Nothing could be heard above the uproar and hideous confusion that everywhere prevailed. The Prussian cavalry, supported by some battalions of infantry, and the whole of Bulow's corps, now advanced by the right of Planchenois.

In a few minutes the Emperor was almost surrounded by hostile forces. He had formed the regiment into a square, and was still lingering, when Marshal Soult seized the bridle of his horse, exclaimed that he would not be killed, but taken prisoner, and, pulling him away, the Emperor at last yielded to his destiny! Behind him on the battlefield lay 60,000 French, English and Prussians, dead or wounded. The battle of Waterloo was lost and this hitherto almost invincible warrior was obliged to gallop across the fields in the dark, amidst the whistling of the Prussian bullets, and detachments of their cavalry which were scouring the field in all directions.

Napoleon was so fatigued, on the road to Genappe, that he would no doubt have fallen from his horse, had he not been supported by General Gourgaud and two other persons, who remained his only attendants for some time.

Wellington and Blucher met about 10 o'clock, at the farm-house of La Belle Alliance, and after congratulating each other on the success of the day, the Prussian commander, whose men were still fresh, eagerly undertook to continue the pursuit during the night, while the English general halted to rest his weary men and care for the dead and wounded.

The English loss on this eventful day was 100 officers slain and 500 wounded; very many mortally. The Duke who was himself exposed to great danger throughout the day, and one other person, were the only two among his numerous staff who escaped unhurt. The enemy, according to their own accounts, lost over thirty thousand men, including Hanoverians, Belgian troops of Nassau, Brunswick, etc.; those of the English army alone amounted to 22,800; to which are to be added 8,000 to 10,000 Prussians. Of the 72,000 men whom Napoleon headed in this, his 85th pitched battle and greatest defeat, not more than 30,000 were ever again collected in arms. The remainder were either killed or wounded on the battlefield, or deserted and fled separately to their homes, or were murdered by the Prussians who followed hard on the miserable and defenseless fugitives, cutting down all they overtook without resistance or mercy.

Several French officers blew out their brains to escape their brutality and some of the veterans of the Imperial Guard, who lay wounded upon the battlefield, killed themselves when they heard the Emperor had lost the battle, in order that they might not fall into the hands of the enemy, or through remorse at the downfall of their chief.

Napoleon made a brief halt at Genappe, at about 11 o'clock at night; but all his attempts to rally the frantic masses were in vain. He then continued his course towards Quatre-Bras, where he dismounted at a bivouac at about 1 o'clock in the morning. At Phillipville, he received news of Grouchy's movements, and sent him word of the loss of Mont St. Jean, (Waterloo).

At this point he caused orders to be dispatched to Generals Rapp, Lecourbe and Lamarque, to proceed by forced marches to Paris, and to commanders of fortified towns to defend themselves to the last extremity. He also dictated two letters to his brother Joseph, one to be communicated to the council of ministers relating imperfectly the fatal issue of the day, and the other for his private perusal giving a faithful account of the total rout of the army, and declaring that he would soon have an army of 300,000 troops with which to oppose the enemy. The Duke of Bassano (Maret) and Baron Fleury now came up and greeted the Emperor who was much affected at meeting them, and was scarcely able to suppress his emotions. He then prepared to set off in a calash, accompanied by Bertrand. At Rocroi, where Napoleon stopped to take refreshments, his attendants appeared in a pitiable state; their clothes were covered with blood and dust, their looks were haggard, and their eyes were filled with tears. Napoleon continued his journey to Paris, via Laon, accompanied by two or three hundred fugitives, who had been collected to form an escort, arriving at the capital on the evening of the 20th of June.

XVII
CONCLUSION

The "military career" of Napoleon Bonaparte having ended at Waterloo, but little remains to be added here. Other writers, especially those noble self-sacrificing friends who shared with the Exile his life at St. Helena, have told in detail of his weary hours on the rocks in the Atlantic Ocean, and a brief summary of the events which finally ended in Napoleon becoming a prisoner of England for life will only be recited.

The arrival of the Emperor at Paris had been preceded by the news—received on June 19th, of the victories at Charleroi and Ligny, and one hundred cannon had been fired in honor of his successes. On the morning of the 21st it became known that the Emperor had arrived the night before, at the Elysée. When he stopped at the flight of steps leading to the palace General Druot, who had accompanied him exclaimed, "All is lost!" "Except honor," answered Napoleon quickly. He had not spoken before since leaving Laon.

Immediately on his arrival the Emperor was received by Caulaincourt—his censor in prosperity and real friend in adversity. To him he said, with head bowed by grief and fatigue, "The army performed prodigies; a panic seized it, and all was lost. Ney conducted himself like a madman; he got my cavalry massacred. I can say no more—I must have two hours' rest, to enable me to prepare for business"; "I am choking here!" he exclaimed a moment later, laying his hand upon his heart. After ordering a bath, and a few moments silence he said: "My intention is to assemble the two Chambers in an imperial sitting and demand the means of saving the country."

He was then informed that the deputies appeared hostile towards him, and were little disposed to grant his requests. While he remained in his bath the ministers and great officers of state hastened towards the Elysée. When they arrived, his clothes were still covered with dust, as he had left the field of Waterloo; yet, exhausted by the fatigues of three battles, and the dreadful events of his flight and the hurry of his journey being still vivid in his mind, he gave a rapid but distinct view of the resources of the country, the strength already organized for resistance, and the far greater power still capable of development. Among his listeners were his brothers Joseph and Lucien.

While consulting with his ministers, presided over by Joseph, on the morning of the 21st, as to what manner he should inform the Chambers of his great misfortune, news was received that both assemblies had met on learning of his defeat and resolutions passed,—one of which declared the State to be in danger, and the other that their own sittings be made permanent. Thus the Chamber of Representatives overturned the new constitution, and put aside the authority of the Emperor. These resolutions were also adopted by the Chamber of Peers. Lucien Bonaparte, and some of Napoleon's more intimate friends, wished him to instantly put himself at the head of 6,000 of the Imperial Guard, who were then in the capital, and dissolve the Senate, which was unfriendly to him. The Emperor, however, was undecided; as Lucien said of him ever after that, "the smoke of Mont St. Jean had turned his brain."

Late in the evening of the 21st Napoleon held a council to which the presidents and vice presidents of both Chambers were admitted, but no decision was arrived at. Lafayette, the friend of Washington, declared that nothing could be done until "a great sacrifice could be made." The Emperor heard all in silence and broke up the meeting without having come to any decision.

"I have often asked myself," said Napoleon to Las Casas at St Helena, "whether I have done for the French people all that they could expect of me—for that people did much for me. Will they ever know all that I suffered during the night that preceded my final decision? In that night of anguish and uncertainty, I had to choose between two great courses; the one was to save France by violence, and the other to yield to the general impulse." He finally decided that abdication was the only step he could adopt, and his determination was taken.

Early next morning—the 22d—the Chambers again met, and the necessity of the Emperor's abdication was discussed with vigor. It was demanded on all hands, and without any reservation or condition whatever. Finally, Lafayette instructed that word should be sent Napoleon that he would be given an hour in which to abdicate, and be told if he had not done so by that time he would be deposed. Between noon and 1 o'clock the abdication was signed and carried by Carnot to the Chamber of Peers, and by Fouché to the Chamber of Deputies.

When Fouché appeared, the Deputies were about to declare the Emperor deposed, and he saved them that trouble by producing the following proclamation, in the handwriting of Joseph Bonaparte, to whom it had been dictated, and addressed to the French people:

"Frenchmen! When I began war for the maintenance of the national independence, I relied upon the union of all efforts, all wills and all the national authorities. I had reason to hope for success, and I braved all the declarations of the powers against my person. Circumstances appear to be changed. I offer myself as a sacrifice to the hatred against France. May they prove sincere in their declarations, and to have aimed only at me! My political life is ended. I proclaim my son under the title of Napoleon II., Emperor of the French. The present ministers will provisionally form the council of the Government. The interest which I take in my son induces me to recommend the Chambers should immediately enact a law for the organization of a Regency; unite together for the general safety, and to the end of securing your national independence. Done at the Palace of the Elysée, June the 22d, 1815.—Napoleon."

The Chambers had awaited this reply in a state of the greatest impatience in both houses. In the Chamber of Peers, Carnot, having received some exaggerated accounts of the force and success of Grouchy, endeavored to persuade the Assembly that the marshal must ere then have added 60,000 men at Laon to Soult, the relics of Waterloo, thus forming an army capable, under proper guidance, of yet effectually retrieving the affairs of France.

Ney, who had arrived in Paris the same morning, declared otherwise. "Grouchy" said he, "cannot have more than twenty, or at most, more than twenty-five thousand men; and as to Soult, I myself commanded the Guard in the last assault—I saw them all massacred before I left the field. Be assured there is but one course,—negotiate and recall the Bourbons. In their return I see nothing but the certainty of being shot as a deserter. I shall seek all I have henceforth to hope for in America. Take you the only course that remains for France."

Ney's prophecy was soon to be fulfilled, for on the return of the Bourbons to the throne he was shot as a traitor to France, although, as has been frequently said of him, he fought more than five hundred battles for his country and never raised arms against her!

A deputation from the Senate waited on the Emperor at the Elysée, and in respectful terms thanked him for the sacrifice he had made, but he was unable to exact from them the avowal that his abdication necessarily carried with it the immediate proclamation of Napoleon II.

The Emperor, for the last time clothed in imperial garb, and surrounded by his great officers of state, received the deputation with calmness and dignity. "I thank you for the sentiments which you express," he said, "I desire that my abdication may produce the happiness of France; but I cannot hope it; the State is left by it without a chief, without a political existence. The time lost in overturning the Empire might have been employed in placing France in a position to crush the enemy. I recommend that the Chamber promptly reinforce the armies; whoever wishes for peace must be ready for war. Do not place this great nation at the mercy of strangers. Beware of being deceived in your hopes. This is the real danger. In whatever position I may be placed, I shall always be satisfied, if France is happy."

He perceived clearly that there was no hope for his son. Thus ended the second reign—the "Hundred Days" of Napoleon. His public career was ended. The council of ministers broke up, and the palace of the Elysée soon presented the appearance of being deserted. Napoleon, surrounded only by a few friends, had now become a private individual. When Caulaincourt advised him to seek safety from the Allies in flight to the United States, he replied; "What have I to fear? I have abdicated—it is the business of France to protect me!"

The repeated protestations of Napoleon and his friends, that unless Napoleon II. was recognized the abdication of his father was null, and that the country that could hesitate about such an act of justice was worthy of nothing but slavery, began to produce a powerful effect among the soldiery in Paris, and Napoleon was called upon to signify to the army that he no longer claimed any authority over them, to which he complied.

A provisional government was now proclaimed, consisting of Fouché, Carnot, Caulaincourt and Generals Grenier and Quinette, and installed in the Tuileries. Fouché declared that Napoleon's continued presence at the capital might produce disturbance, and Carnot was deputed to request him to withdraw to Malmaison, which he was compelled to do on the 25th. Arriving there he soon became aware of the fact that he was in effect a prisoner, for Fouché's police surrounded him on all sides—ostensibly "to protect his person." It was at Malmaison, in compliance with the suggestions of some members of the government, that Napoleon addressed his last proclamation to the army; "Soldiers!" he said, "When I yield to the necessity which forces me to separate myself from the brave French army, I take away with me the happy conviction that it will justify, by the eminent services which the country expects from it, the high character which our enemies themselves are not able to refuse to it. Soldiers! I shall follow your steps, though absent. I know all the corps, and not one among them will obtain a single advantage over the enemy that I shall not render homage to the courage which it will have shown. You, and I, have been calumniated. Men, incapable of appreciating your actions, have seen, in the marks of attachment which you have given me, a zeal of which I was the whole object; let your future success teach them that it was the country, above all, that you served in obeying me, and that if I have any part in your affection, I owe it to my ardent love of France, our common mother. Soldiers, some efforts more, and the coalition will be destroyed. Napoleon will know you by the blows that you will give to it. Save the honor, the independence of the French; be what I have known you for twenty years, and you will be invincible."

This address, however, although written at the instigation of the government, its representatives would not allow to be published in the "Moniteur."

The relics of Waterloo, and Grouchy's division, were now marching towards Paris under Soult, followed closely by Wellington and Blucher. The provisional government began to feel some anxiety concerning Napoleon, whom they feared might make his escape from Malmaison and place himself at the head of an armed force to take the field against the invaders, and in favor of Napoleon II.

General Becker, who had been appointed by Fouché to the unthankful office of guarding Napoleon, was prevailed upon to repair to Paris and convey a letter to the government, in which the ex-Emperor offered to assume the command of the army and beat the enemy, not with an intention of seizing the sovereign power, but agreeing to pursue his journey as soon as victory should give a favorable turn to the negotiations. In this letter, which was addressed to the Committee of Government, Napoleon said: "In abdicating the sovereign authority, I did not renounce the noblest right of a citizen, that of defending my country. The approach of the Allies upon the capital leaves no doubt of their intentions and bad faith. Under these weighty circumstances, I offer my service as general, still considering myself the first soldier of my country!"

Fouché read the letter aloud, and then exclaimed, "Is he laughing at us? Come, this is going too far." His proposal was of course rejected, although Carnot was desirous that his prayer should be granted.

General Becker was instructed to carry back to Malmaison this response; "The duties of the Committee toward the country do not permit it to accept the proposition and the active assistance of the Emperor Napoleon."

He found the Emperor in uniform, believing a favorable reply would be returned. When he had finished the missive Napoleon said: "These men are incapable of energy. Since that is the case, let us go into exile."

Fouché now urged his prisoner to consent to depart at once for some foreign port—naming the United States as a haven in which he might find relief from outside interference. If Napoleon had acted promptly, as he had all his life been accustomed to do, he might in all probability have made his escape to this country, as our vessels were in every French port—and he could have crossed the Atlantic; but he hesitated, and those golden moments, which meant so much to him, even liberty itself, were soon irretrievably lost. Fouché, who was extremely anxious to have the man who had made him all he was out of the way, did not hesitate to resort to questionable means of pressure to get Napoleon to leave France. One of these was the stimulating of the personal creditors of the dethroned Emperor, and his family, who repaired incessantly to Malmaison to torment him with their demands.

Meanwhile Fouché sent to the Duke of Wellington announcing that Napoleon had declared his intention of departing for America, and requesting for him a safe conduct across the Atlantic. The Duke replied that he had no authority to grant passports to Napoleon Bonaparte but the request, as Fouché hoped, had the effect of causing the English admirality to quicken their diligence and there was immediately stationed no less than thirty cruisers along the western coasts of France in order to intercept Napoleon should he attempt to depart. No one could be deceived as to the intention of this proceeding; it clearly denoted that the men, who, for the moment, possessed the government of France, had determined that the late Emperor should not leave the country freely. The fear that he might return to the capital, and to his throne, had made them take a step which was certain to place him in the power of the English government.

The next move was to inform Napoleon of the Duke's reply and with it the declaration that two frigates, and some smaller vessels, awaited his orders at Rochefort. He was informed that "if he repaired thither on the instant" he would still be in time. For a moment he hesitated, wavering between hope and doubt. Baron Fleury then went to Paris and learned that the Prussians designed to carry off the Emperor; that Blucher had said, "If I can catch Bonaparte, I will hang him up at the head of my army," but that Wellington had strenuously opposed such a cowardly design. At half past 3 o'clock in the morning Napoleon was informed that Wellington had refused him safe conduct, and he was ordered to depart immediately from Malmaison. Preparations were hurriedly made, and on the 29th of June, eleven days after the battle of Waterloo, he left Malmaison, accompanied by Savary, Bertrand and Las Casas, and others of his attached servants, and attended by a guard of mounted men.

If one of his followers had not taken the precaution to have the bridges in front of Malmaison burned, Napoleon would have run a great risk of falling into the hands of the Allies, as three corps of Prussian cavalry appeared there in quest of him very soon after he started. They had arrived by a circuitous route, and must have been led by a guide well acquainted with the locality. Napoleon, however, had escaped this danger. He slept at Rambouillet the first night, at Tours on the 30th, and at Niort on the 1st of July. He was well received wherever he was recognized; but at the last named place the enthusiasm of the people and troops was extreme.

Rochefort was reached on the 3rd of July. Here Napoleon, who was joined by his brother Joseph, took up his residence in the prefect's house with the view of embarking immediately, but he was informed that a British line-of-battle ship, and some smaller vessels of war, were off the roads, watching the roadstead and harbor, and his departure was therefore impossible.

Meanwhile the French army had once more retired from before the walls of Paris under a convention, and Blucher and Wellington were about to enter the capital and reseat Louis on the throne. The only alternative, therefore, was to open negotiations with Captain Maitland, who commanded the Bellerophon, an English man-of-war which had taken up its station at Rochefort two days before the arrival of the ex-Emperor.

On being asked for a safe conduct to America the English commander replied that his orders were to make every effort to prevent "Bonaparte" from escaping, and if so fortunate as to obtain possession of his person, to sail at once with him for England. Savary and Las Casas, who conducted the negotiations, were unable to exact a definite promise from the captain, when they visited him on the 10th of July, or to learn from him if it was the intention of the British government to throw any impediment in the way of his voyage to the United States. In the course of the conversation, Captain Maitland, according to his own statement, threw out the suggestion, "Why not seek an asylum in England?" to which various objections were urged by Savary, and thus the interview terminated.

The succeeding days were passed by Napoleon in discussing various plans devised for his escape, but they were all abandoned by him. He saw no possible chance of success, for, as he himself said: "Wherever wood can float, there is the flag of England. I will throw myself into her hands—a helpless foe." Then, too, Napoleon was weary of strife, and had the feelings of one who had done with action, and whose part it was to endure. He at last rejected all such proposals, and once more dispatched Las Casas, accompanied by Lallemand, to Capt. Maitland, on the 14th of July, with instructions to inquire again whether the intentions of the British government were yet declared as to a passage to America, or if permission for Napoleon to pass in a neutral vessel could be obtained. The answer was in the negative; but Capt. Maitland again suggested his embarkation on board the Bellerophon, in which case he should be conveyed to England. The words of Captain Maitland, quoted by himself to Lord Keith were; "If he chooses to come on board the ship I command, I think, under the orders I am acting with, I may venture to receive him, and carry him to England." Upon this a negotiation took place, which terminated in Las Casas saying; "Under all circumstances, I have little doubt that you will see the Emperor on board the Bellerophon."

Las Casas returned to the Isle of Aix after his interview with Captain Maitland on the 14th. The result of his mission appeared to be "that Captain Maitland had authorized him to tell the Emperor if he decided upon going to England, he was authorized to receive him on board; and he accordingly placed his ship at his disposal." Napoleon then finally made up his mind to place himself on board the British vessel. On the same day Gourgaud delivered to Captain Maitland the following letter addressed to the Prince Regent of England:

The letter was received by the royal commander and sent to England, but no answer was returned.

On the 15th Napoleon and his friends decided to board the Bellerophon and were transported thither by a barge sent by Captain Maitland. The parting scenes with those left behind were most affecting. The English commander received his charge in a respectful manner, but without salute or distinguished honors; Napoleon uncovered himself, on reaching the quarter-deck, and said in a firm tone of voice, "I come to place myself under the protection of your prince and laws!"

The captain then led him into the cabin, which was given up to his use, and afterwards, by his own request, presented all the officers to him. He visited every part of the ship during the morning, conversing with much freedom with those on board, about naval and other affairs. About noon the ship got under weigh and made sail for England.

On the 23d of June the Bellerophon passed Ushant, and for the last time Napoleon gazed long and mournfully on his beloved country, but said nothing. At daybreak on the 24th they were close to Dartmouth, and when the ship was at anchor the captain was instantly admonished by the Lords of the Admiralty to permit no communication of any kind between his ship and the coast. On the 26th the commander was ordered to Plymouth Sound, where he was the object of great curiosity on the part of thousands of people who swarmed about the vessel in small boats, eager to behold the man who had had the attention of the world for so many years. Napoleon appeared on deck and was greeted with loud cheers, to which he bowed and smiled in return, and remarked to Captain Maitland: "The English appear to have a very large portion of curiosity." On one occasion the captain counted upwards of a thousand boats within view, each containing on an average eight people.

On the 31st of July Napoleon was visited by Sir Henry Bunbury, under-Secretary of State, and Lord Keith admiral of the channel fleet, who came on board and announced the final decision of the British government respecting him, and which was that "General Bonaparte," their prisoner, should not be landed on the shores of England, but removed forthwith to St. Helena, as being the situation which, more than any other at their command, the government thought safe against a second escape, and the indulgence to himself of personal freedom and exercise, and which might be reconciled with the "indispensable precautions which it would be necessary to employ for the security of his person." Secondly, with the exception of Savary and Lallemand, he was to be permitted to take with him any three officers he chose, besides one surgeon and twelve domestics, none of whom were to be allowed, however, to quit the island without the sanction of the British government.

Napoleon, on listening to the decree which sealed his fate for life, made no comment whatever until the reading of the decision had ended. He then solemnly protested against their cruel and arbitrary act. He protested, not only against the order, but against the right claimed by the English government to dispose of him as a prisoner of war. "I came into your ship" said he, "as I would into one of your villages. If I had been told I was to be a prisoner I would not have come. I asked him if he was willing to receive me on board, and convey me to England. Captain Maitland said he was, having received, or telling me he had received, special orders of government concerning me. It was a snare then, that had been spread for me. As for the Island of St. Helena, it would be my sentence of death. I demand to be received as an English citizen." He objected strenuously to the title given him, declared his right to be considered as a sovereign prince, that his father-in-law, or the Czar, would have treated him far differently, and concluded by expressing his belief that "if your government act thus, it will disgrace you in the eyes of Europe." "Even your own people will blame it," he added.

His protests were in vain, however, and at length, the interview having terminated, he was informed that Admiral Sir George Cockburn was ready to receive him on board the Northumberland to convey him to St. Helena. Napoleon then declared with animation, "No, no, I will not go there; I am not a Hercules; but you shall not conduct me to St. Helena. I prefer death in this place. You found me free—send me back again; replace me in the condition in which I was, or permit me to go to America." Still his protests were ignored and preparations were at last begun for departure. In a private conversation with Captain Maitland, Napoleon reverted to the painful subject in the following terms: "The idea is a perfect horror to me. To be placed for life on an island within the tropics, at an immense distance from any land, cut off from all communication with the world, and everything I hold dear to it! It is worse than Tamerlane's iron cage. I would prefer being given up to the Bourbons."

Napoleon's suite, as finally arranged, consisted of Counts Bertrand, Montholon and Las Casas, General Gourgaud, and Dr. O'Meara, an Irish naval surgeon. Bertrand and Montholon were accompanied by their ladies and children, and twelve upper domestics of the late imperial household, who desired to share in the fortunes of their master. The money, diamonds and salable effects Napoleon had with him he was deprived of. When the search of his belongings was in progress, Bertrand was invited to attend, but he was so indignant at the measure that he positively refused. Four thousand gold napoleons ($16,000) were taken from him; the rest of the money, amounting to about one thousand five hundred napoleons, were returned to enable the Exile to pay such of is servants as were about to leave him.

The Northumberland sailed for St. Helena on the 8th of August. After a voyage of about seventy days, without unusual incident, on the 15th of October, 1815, Napoleon had his first view of his destined retreat. He was then forty-six years of age, enjoyed fairly good health, and but for the repeated denials of many necessary comforts to which he was now to be subjected might, in a measure, have enjoyed the remaining years of his life. Here he found himself immured for life in a small volcanic island, in the southern Atlantic, measuring ten miles in length and seven in breadth, at a distance of two thousand leagues from the scenes of his immortal exploits in arms, and separated from the two great continents of Africa and America by the unfathomable ocean.

The admiral landed about noon with a view of finding a fitting abode for Napoleon and his suite, returning in the evening. On the 16th the imperial prisoner landed, and as he left the Northumberland the officers all assembled on the quarter-deck with nearly the whole of the crew stationed in the gangways. Before he stepped into the small boat to be taken ashore he took leave of the captain and desired him to convey his thanks to his officers and men. He then made off for the shore to take up his residence at "the Briars," a small cottage about half a mile from Jamestown, during the interval which must elapse before other quarters could be provided for him. On the 10th of December he took possession of his newly appointed abode at Longwood, a villa about six miles distant from Jamestown. At this latter place he died on the 5th of May 1821 at half past 5 o'clock in the evening, after an exile of nearly six years. His death was no doubt hastened by a succession of petty annoyances on the part of his "jailer," Sir Hudson Lowe, governor of the island, which began on his arrival, and were followed up during all the years of his exile, despite his repeated protestations. He had already lived much longer than he desired, and had completed all his preparations for death's coming, during his last year of bad health. In his final hours he was surrounded by Bertrand, Montholon and other devoted friends to whom he had given his final instructions.

Four days later, or on May 9th, with the cloak he had worn at Marengo thrown over his feet, and clothed in the uniform of the Chasseurs of his Guard, he was buried with military honors, surrounded by the sorrowing friends who had shared his long confinement. The only inscription permitted on the tablet over his body was "General Bonaparte."

Nineteen years later, at the request of the French government, England honored a request for his ashes, and his body was disinterred and conveyed to France to rest once more "on the banks of the Seine, among the French people whom he had loved so well." On December 15th 1840, in the midst of the most imposing and magnificent ceremonies Paris had ever witnessed, the body of the Emperor was borne to the Invalides where it lay for many days publicly exposed. On the 6th of February 1841 the coffin was taken from the imperial cenotaph and placed in the chapel of St. Jerome, in the Church of the Invalides where it was to remain till the completion of the mausoleum some years later. Beneath the golden dome which crowns the Invalides, and towards which the faces of all visitors to Paris are most frequently turned, there still rests all that is mortal of this most wonderful warrior and statesman. His magic name continues to defy even time itself, and as the years roll on each generation inquires of its predecessors what they knew of this man who was so great that his name fills more pages in the world's solemn history than that of any other mortal.