This ebullition of spasmodic courage entitles the Deputy-Adjutant-General to special mention in the dispatches of his chief.  O’Meara relates another of many episodes with which the valiant Sir Thomas is associated.  Further attempts were made to violate the privacy of the Emperor on the 11th, 12th, 13th, and 16th August, 1819, but these were defeated by the fastening of doors.  Count Montholon was indisposed, and the Governor, refusing to correspond with Count Bertrand, insisted upon having communication with the Emperor by letter or by one of his officers twice a day.  So the immortal Sir Thomas Reade and another staff officer were selected to effect a communication.  But “the dog of a Frenchman” that the deputy boasted of “bringing to his senses” refuses admittance, and Sir Thomas, who has now got his opportunity, evidently has some misgivings about the loaded pistols that are kept handy in case of an emergency.  The Emperor, in one of his slashing dictated declarations which hit home with every biting sentence, reminds the Governor again what the inevitable result will be should indecorous liberty be taken.  Sir Thomas would be made aware of this danger, so contents himself by knocking at the door and shouting at the top of his voice:  “Come out, Napoleon Bonaparte.  We want Napoleon Bonaparte.”

This grotesque incident, which is only one of many and worse outrages that were hatched at Plantation House, reflects a lurid light on the delirium of antagonism that pervaded the dispositions of some of England’s representatives.  The hysterical delight of manufacturing annoyances was notorious on the island, and Sir Hudson and his myrmidons shrieked with resentment when dignified defiance was the only response.

Lowe failed to recognise the important ethical fact that a person who acts a villainous part can never realise his villainy.  So oblivious was he of this fundamental law that he never ceased to assure the exiles that he was not only good, but kind.  Here is a note that bears out this self-consciousness:  “General Bonaparte cannot be allowed to traverse the island freely.  Had the only question been that of his safety, a mere commission of the East India Company would have been sufficient to guard him at St. Helena.  He may consider himself fortunate that my Government has sent a man so kind as myself to guard him, otherwise he would be put in chains, to teach him how to conduct himself better.”

To this the Emperor answered:  “In this case it is obvious that, if the instructions given to Sir Hudson Lowe by Lords Bathurst and Castlereagh do not contain an order to kill me, a verbal order must have been given; for whenever people wish mysteriously to destroy a man, the first thing they do is to cut him off from all communication with society, and surround him with the shades of mystery, till, having accustomed the world to hear nothing said of him, and to forget him, they can easily torture him or make him disappear.”