Apart from one or two exclamations that he would commit suicide rather than go to St. Helena, Napoleon had behaved with a calm and serenity that contrasted with the peevish gloom of his officers and the spasms of Mme. Bertrand.  This unhappy lady, on learning their fate, raved in turn against Maitland, Gourgaud, Napoleon, and against her husband for accompanying him, and ended by trying to throw herself from a window.  From this she was pulled back, whereupon she calmed down and secretly urged Maitland to write to Lord Keith to prevent Bertrand accompanying his master.  The captain did so, but of course the Admiral declined to interfere.  Her shrill complaints against Napoleon had, however, been heard on the other side of the thin partition, and fanned the dislike which Montholon and Gourgaud had conceived for her, and in part for her husband.  These were the officers whom he selected as companions of exile.  Las Cases was to go as secretary, and his son as page.

Savary, Lallemand, and Planat having been proscribed by Louis XVIII., were detained by our Government, and subsequently interned at Malta.  On taking leave of Napoleon they showed deep emotion, while he bestowed the farewell embrace with remarkable composure.  The surgeon, Maingaud, now declined to proceed to St. Helena, alleging that he had wanted to go to America only because his uncle there was to leave him a legacy!  At the same time Bertrand asked that O’Meara, the surgeon of the “Bellerophon,” might accompany Napoleon to St. Helena.  As Maingaud’s excuse was very lame, and O’Meara had had one or two talks with Napoleon in Italian, Keith and Maitland should have seen that there was some understanding between them; but the Admiral consented to the proposed change.  As to O’Meara’s duplicity, we may quote from Basil Jackson’s “Waterloo and St. Helena”:  “I know that he [O’Meara] was fully enlisted for Napoleon’s service during the voyage from Rochefort to England.”  The sequel will show how disastrous it was to allow this man to go with the ex-Emperor.

In the Admiral’s barge that took him to the “Northumberland” the ex-Emperor “appeared to be in perfect good humour,” says Keith, “talking of Egypt, St. Helena, of my former name being Elphinstone, and many other subjects, and joking with the ladies about being seasick."[543] In this firm matter-of-fact way did Napoleon accept the extraordinary change in his fortunes.  At no time of his life, perhaps, was he so great as when, forgetting his own headlong fall, he sought to dispel the smaller griefs of Mmes.  Bertrand and Montholon.  A hush came over the crew as Napoleon mounted the side and set foot on the deck of the ship that was to bear him away to a life of exile.  It was a sight that none could behold unmoved, as the great man uncovered, received the salute, and said with a firm voice:  “Here I am, General, at your orders.”