One of the most incredible is the received account of the persons known as the “Detenus.”  It is well known that a great number of English gentlemen passed many years, in the early part of the present century, abroad;—­by their own account, in France.  Their statement was, that while travelling in that country for their amusement, as peaceable tourists, they were, on the sudden breaking out of a war, seized by this terrible Buonaparte, and kept prisoners for about twelve years, contrary to all the usages of civilized nations—­to all principles of justice, of humanity, of enlightened policy; many of them thus wasting in captivity the most important portion of their lives, and having all their prospects blighted.

Now whether these persons were in reality exiles by choice, for the sake of keeping out of the way of creditors, or of enjoying the society of those they preferred to their own domestic circle, I do not venture to conjecture.  But let the reader consider whether any conjecture can be more improbable than the statement actually made.

It is, indeed, credible that ambition may prompt an unscrupulous man to make the most enormous sacrifices of human life, and to perpetrate the most atrocious crimes, for the advancement of his views of conquest.  But that this great man—­as he is usually reckoned even by adversaries—­this hero according to some—­this illustrious warrior, and mighty sovereign—­should have stooped to be guilty of an act of mean and petty malice worthy of a spiteful old woman,—­a piece of paltry cruelty which could not at all conduce to his success in the war, or produce any effect except to degrade his country, and exasperate ours;—­this, surely, is quite incredible.  “Pizarro,” says Elvira in Kotzebue’s play, “if not always justly, at least act always greatly.”

But a still more wonderful circumstance connected with this transaction remains behind.  A large portion of the English nation, and among these the whole of the Whig party, are said to have expressed the most vehement indignation, mingled with compassion, at the banishment from Europe, and confinement in St. Helena, of this great man.  No considerations of regard for the peace and security of our own country, no dread of the power of so able and indefatigable a warrior, and so inveterate an enemy, should have induced us, they thought, to subject this formidable personage to a confinement, which was far less severe than that to which he was said to have subjected such numbers of our countrymen, the harmless non-belligerent travellers, whom (according to the story) he kidnapped in France, with no object but to gratify the basest and most unmanly spite.

But that there is no truth in that story, and that it was not believed by those who manifested so much sympathy and indignation on this great man’s account, is sufficiently proved by that very sympathy and indignation.