There were Generals Bertrand and Gourgaud, M. de las Cazes, &c., &c.  During the long passages of the voyage, the conversation of these gentlemen, who had been present at so many events and followed the Emperor through so many adventures, was most deeply interesting.  Every day there was a running fire of anecdote and traits of character, much closer to the truth doubtless than many a leisurely prepared history.  I have often regretted we had no shorthand writer with us.

During the first days of our voyage we touched at Cadiz to get our last despatches before starting across the ocean.  I was as glad as ever to see the white walls of Cadiz again, and I made a pilgrimage to the Cortadura, to the Trocadero (this in memory of the brilliant exploits of the Royal Guard in 1823), and also to the battle-field of Chiclana, which witnessed a terrible struggle between ourselves and the English in February 1811, some of the actors in which I had known.  Coming back from Chiclana after a somewhat cheery luncheon, Arthur Bertrand, the general’s son, well known at that time in the gay world of Paris, gave us a specimen of the maddest equestrian prowess.  He galloped at full speed across the Alameda at Chiclana, which was paved with slippery flags, standing upright on his English saddle.  There is a providence that watches over madmen!

A characteristic incident occurred on leaving Cadiz.  In case of delicate negotiations with the English authorities at St. Helena, and also in order to draw up the protocol for the surrender of the body, a young diplomat, the Comte Philippe de Rohan Chabot,[Footnote:  This gentleman died in London as French Ambassador, under the title of Comte de Jarna] had been associated with me.

We had hardly got out of the port of Cadiz, and cut our last communications with France, when I saw him approach me, looking very much embarrassed.  He offered me a paper to read, saying it was only on account of his orders he had not communicated it to me before.  I cast my eye over the signature at the foot of the paper and saw the name of M. Thiers, President of the Council.  By these secret instructions, which were not to be imparted to me till we got to sea, M. Thiers informed M. de Chabot that he, Chabot, was his direct agent and that he invested him with superior authority to mine for as long as the mission should last.  Such was the strange missive, aimed not only at the captain in command of the ship, but also, with an evident intention to wound, at the King’s son—­an application in a very small way of that maxim so dear to M. Thiers, “the King reigns but he does not govern.”  Stranger still was the care he took to keep it secret until, being cut off from France, I was no longer in a position to make any observation on the contradiction between these fresh instructions and the precise orders I had received previously.  Friends from childhood as we were, Philippe and I, no idea of conflict between us was admissible.  I made no complaint to any one and treated M. Thiers’ behaviour to me with contempt, but from that day the sympathetic and almost affectionate relations I had previously lived in with that statesman came to an end—­they were replaced by a sense of deep distrust and a scanty esteem for his character.