At length, after nearly one hundred days from the Cape, they are safely landed at Dover, and make their way to London to apprise the immortal Bathurst of their arrival and of their desire to see him, so that he might listen to some observations about St. Helena matters.  This man of mighty mystery and dignity does not deign to reply, but sends a Ministerial messenger to inform the Count that it is the Prince Regent’s pleasure that he quits Great Britain instantly.  Las Cases tells the messenger that it is a “very sorry, silly pleasure” for His Royal Highness to have, but he has to quit all the same, as England is now governed by “sorry, silly pleasure.”  Another batch of papers is taken from him, and he is bundled away to Ostend and from thence to other inhospitable countries, and ultimately lands at Frankfort.

The Count writes many clever, rather long, but disturbing letters to noble lords in England, to members of Governments in other countries, and to every crowned head interested in the little community they have in safe and despotic keeping at St. Helena.  He sends a petition to the British Parliament stating in clear, clinching terms another indictment against the British Ministry and their agent.  This document was sent from the deserts of Tygerberg, but like much more of a similar kind, not a word was said about it.  The author, however, was not to be fooled or driven from the path which he conceived to be his duty to his much wronged Emperor, so the petition was published, and created a great sensation.

This had to be subdued or counteracted, and as the Government were unaccustomed to manly, straightforward dealing, they fell back on their natural method of intrigue and the spreading of reports that were likely to encourage and create prejudice against their captive.  It was imputed to them that while the Congress was sitting at Aix-la-Chapelle they got up a scare of a daring plot of escape.  This was done at a time when the monarchs were touched with a kind of sympathy for the man who had so often spared them, and whom their cruelty was now putting to death.

No wonder that this Ministry of little men were suspected of tricks degrading and treacherous.  The recitals of their distorted versions of their woes affected the public imagination like a dreary litany.  Vast communities of men were beginning to realise that a tragedy was being engineered in the name of sanctity and humanity.

Every agency composed of cunning, unscrupulous rascals was enlisted to picture the Emperor as a hideous monster who should not be allowed to enjoy the liberty so charitably given him, and who, if he got his proper deserts, should be put in chains.  He was depicted as having a mania for roaming about the island with a gun, shooting wild cats and anything else that came within range.  Madame Bertrand’s pet kids, a bullock, and some goats were reported to have fallen victims to this vicious maniac.  Old Montchenu