CHAPTER IX
ALL KINDS OF FUN
ANY one who had looked in on the sisters one day would have seen that they were greatly excited. Just at this time they were visiting Madame Bertrand, and during their stay a ball was to be given.
Plans that promised much pleasure for them had been made. They were to dine with the Emperor, and then go on to Deadwood in his carriage.
"Don't jerk so, please," cried Betsy, while the maid was arranging her hair.
"But you must have this Chinese coiffure, if you are going to the ball. You would not wish to go looking like a little girl."
"Oh, no," responded Betsy faintly, inwardly rebellious, as her hair was jerked and strained on top of her head. She was willing to bear pain for the sake of appearing well, but when she looked in the glass she thought that she had never seen anything so hideous as the coiffure that the maid had arranged with such care. She no longer desired to appear like a young lady. Her hair had been drawn back so tight that her eyes were fairly starting from the socket. Had there been time she would have pulled the coiffure down, and indeed she was ready to cry with vexation, but she did not really dare to disarrange it now, for she dreaded the Emperor's ridicule. How he would laugh at the funny Chinese coiffure! In a few minutes she was to appear before him.
To her great surprise, when she and her sister entered the dining-room, the Emperor spared her, saying only:
"Mees Betsy, this is the only time I have ever seen you look really neat; but I don't like your frock. What is the matter?"
Poor Betsy! She was almost upset by the Emperor's tone. She looked at him closely, and decided that he meant just what he said. She had thought her little frock so pretty. Now, what could be the matter with it?
The Emperor understood her look of inquiry and answered in words.
"It is too short," he said. "You must have it made long before the ball."
He was certainly in earnest, and the young girl was really troubled. "But I cannot do anything to it," she protested; "there is not time."
"Oh, but no one will wish to dance with you."
"It isn't as bad as that!"
"But it is."
Betsy knew that Napoleon meant what he said. He knew more about balls and ball-gowns than any young girl on the island. Indeed, if his criticism had not been based on his knowledge of the customs of the modish world, Betsy would still have been inclined to trust to his judgment; for though at times she seemed to trifle with his wishes, in her heart she was always ready to please him.
So now, as sensitive as any more conventional girl to the impression she might make at a ball, Betsy ran off to find Josephine, the maid.
Josephine shook her head when Betsy first told her tale of woe, but at last she consented to remedy the defect by lengthening the frock. There was but one thing to do, and consequently some of the tucks were let down.
Neither Betsy nor the maid was proud of the result of their efforts. The effect was not good, and Betsy had to take what consolation she could from the fact that she had obeyed Napoleon.
A dinner with the Emperor was always delightful to Betsy and Jane, and this one was no exception. When it was over the Emperor rose abruptly and all went with him to the drawing-room. There the delectable coffee for which Le Page was famous was brought in, and Betsy, feeling more grown up than ever, drank a cup into which, disdaining tongs, she dropped a lump of sugar.
Soon the carriage was announced, and all set out, Madame Bertrand ahead, carrying her baby, next little Arthur, then Mrs. Balcombe, and finally Betsy and Jane and General Gorgaud.
When the signal was given, the spirited Cape steeds tore away, dashing from side to side, while Madame Bertrand screamed loudly to Archambaud to stop, though without avail, until the carriage ran into a gumwood tree.
Except for the shaking up and the fright, none of the party was injured, and when the door was opened all scrambled hastily out. Nothing would induce them to intrust themselves again to the carriage and the reckless Archambaud, and though the rain was falling heavily they preferred to walk over the muddy road to Dead wood. They had nearly a mile to go, and it was especially hard for Madame Bertrand, whose baby would not be carried.
Betsy, though she knew that she herself probably looked equally absurd, could not help laughing when she saw Madame Bertrand arrayed in one of Mrs. Balcombe's dresses, half a yard too short and small in every way, which she had to borrow while her own clothes were drying.
But the ball itself was pleasant and all felt repaid for going, even though they had to walk home in the mist.
The next morning, as ever, Betsy was the victim of Napoleon's raillery.
"So you had a good time last evening, Mees Betsy. I hear you danced very well and looked well, and might have been Baroness Stunner's younger sister, you looked so much like her."
This compliment pleased Betsy mightily, as doubtless Napoleon realized, for the little English girl thought Baroness Sturmer, wife of the Austrian Commissioner, the prettiest woman she had ever seen.
Not long after breakfast the visitors from The Briars and several from Longwood went to the town and to the Newcastle in the bay, on board of which Sir Pultney and Lady Malcom were to give a breakfast in honor of Lord Amherst.
When next the sisters visited Longwood, "Ah, Mees Betsee," cried Napoleon, "I have heard great stories of you. You locked up little Miss P. the other day, while the other ladies were being shipped over the side of the frigate to return to shore. When they missed her Captain G. had to go back to rescue her."
As Betsy did not deny this charge, Napoleon, turning to her father, exclaimed:
"Balcombe, you must set her a task."
"Indeed I must," responded Betsy's father gravely.
"But I have been punished enough," protested Betsy. "Lady Lowe scolded me, too, and desired me to use my reason and not to be childish. I wondered at her lack of perception in giving me credit for what I never possessed. But I did admire Lord Amherst," she added, a few minutes later.
"He must be a very fascinating man," responded Napoleon, "so to have impressed your youthful fancy."
The kindness that Madame Montholon showed Betsy in allowing her maid to arrange the young girl's hair in a style suitable for a ball, an undoubted kindness in spite of the discomfort it produced, was in a line with many other things that she and Madame Bertrand did for the Balcombe girls. Madame Bertrand was particularly fond of Betsy and often invited her to her house. She advised her about her studies and, to a certain extent, supervised some of them. Madame Bertrand had many accomplishments, some of which she tried to impart to Betsy. Singing was one of them, and under her instruction Betsy made considerable progress. Napoleon sometimes listened to their little concerts in the drawing-room at Longwood. One evening when Betsy was to sing a part from "Les Styriens," the piano was so out of tune that Napoleon was greatly distressed. He at once sent for Mr. Guiness, the bandmaster of the General Kid, then in St. James's Harbor, the only man at hand who could properly tune it, and was naturally annoyed when the Governor expressed his unwillingness to have Mr. Guiness come.
Of all those who accompanied Napoleon to St. Helena, Madame Bertrand had made, perhaps, the greatest sacrifices. She was born in Martinique and was partly of Irish descent, through her father, whose name was Dillon. In spite of her warm devotion to Napoleon, she almost went out of her mind when she heard that he was doomed to imprisonment in St. Helena and that her husband would follow him. Later, however, she became resigned and did not try to dissuade her husband from accompanying the fallen Emperor. Undoubtedly she thought of her children and all that they would lose in living so far from France, but when they were at last in their new home she bore inconveniences patiently and tried in every way to make life pleasant for those around her.
"Come," said Napoleon one day when Betsy was wandering around the Longwood grounds, "come, and I will show you some pretty toys."
Following the Emperor to the billiard-room, she saw upon the table some gorgeously carved chessmen sent to him by Mr. Elphinstone. Each piece was perfect. The castles, surmounting lifelike elephants, were filled with warriors discharging arrows. The knights, cased in armor, were on beautifully caparisoned horses. The mitred bishops were in flowing robes, and the pawns each represented a man of a different nation. The carving was wonderful. Such work had never before left China, and Betsy saw that Napoleon was as pleased as a child with a new plaything.
"I have just finished a game of chess with Lady Malcom," he said, "and she has beaten me because I paid more attention to the men than the game."
Besides the chessmen Mr. Elphinstone had sent workboxes and card counters with the various tradespeople of China minutely carved on them.
Betsy's interest in these beautiful things was increased by hearing how Mr. Elphinstone happened to think of sending gifts to Napoleon. He wished to show his gratitude for Napoleon's kindness to his brother, severely wounded on the field of Waterloo. Napoleon, it seems, perceiving the wounded man and hearing that he was faint from loss of blood, sent to him a goblet of wine from his own canteen.
"The chessmen are too pretty for St. Helena," said Napoleon; "I must send them to the King of Rome."
Among Mr. Elphinstone's presents, Napoleon showed Betsy a superb ivory tea-chest, which when opened showed a perfect model of the city of Canton. Beneath it were packages of fine tea, done up in fantastic shapes.
"Ah," said Napoleon, turning to Betsy, "this reminds me that when I was Emperor I did not permit any tea in my dominion, except that grown in Switzerland. No one could tell the difference from the Chinese tea. I also cultivated the beet-root to make sugar, instead of depending on foreign goods."
Napoleon was probably no less pleased with the chessmen because each piece had a small eagle carved on it. When Sir Hudson Lowe heard of the eagles he regretted that they had escaped his notice, and that he had given permission for the gifts to be received at Longwood.
Among the Emperor's treasures were many rare coins and seals which he often permitted his little neighbor to handle and examine. Yet even while she appreciated this special privilege, Betsy could not let her sense of obligation entirely suppress her love of mischief.
Once, for instance, when Betsy approached a table at which Napoleon was seated, the little girl, unperceived by him, saw that he was in the act of sealing a letter with one of his precious seals. The temptation was too strong to resist, and she surprised Napoleon by joggling his arm. This sudden movement caused a drop of hot sealing wax to fall on his hand, and as a blister was the result, the pain for the moment must have been extreme. Nevertheless, Napoleon said hardly a word of reproof, and his patience was so remarkable that Betsy immediately apologized for her mischief.
Yet it was not unusual for Napoleon to show patience when teased. In all his sports with the children, even when they took liberties that their parents would have disapproved, Betsy never saw him show any temper. He never fell back on his rank or age, but always professed to be one of themselves, a good comrade, claiming only for his own part the right to tease them when he chose.
What wonder that Las Cases, the dignified Chamberlain, sometimes stood aghast at the merry pranks shared by his illustrious master and his young friends; but even with the eyes of the disapproving Las Cases upon her, Betsy always enjoyed her visits to Longwood. Often some pleasant surprise awaited her on her arrival there.
Napoleon was interested in the various legends of St. Helena, and these legends are very numerous. Nearly every rock and valley and bit of water has some story connected with it. The Friar's Valley, for example, takes its name from a huge rock fashioned by nature into the figure of a monk with his cowl thrown back, wearing a flowing robe and a rosary. Immediately around are sterile rocks, some many hundred feet high, some with aloes growing from the fissures.
Napoleon sometimes rode into this valley, and one day he turned to Betsy:
"Mees Betsee, have you ever seen 'Will-o'-the-Wisp' that they say lights the friar's lantern?"
"Oh, yes; my mother used to send me over there for purer air, and my old nurse had a cottage overlooking the vale. She was teaching me the alphabet, and when I did not arrange my letters properly she would threaten me with the friar."
The story, as Betsy had often heard it, was that the friar had been a good Franciscan monk, but he fell in love with a girl in a mountain cottage, whom he met while she was tending goats. She asked him to help her find something that she had lost, and thus attracted his attention. Later he made love to her and she promised to marry him if he would give up his faith. So the man broke his vows to the Church; but, when he was to be married, as he was clasping the bride's hand, there was a fearful crash: the chapel disappeared and with it all those who were taking part in the unholy wedding.
"Have you noticed," asked Betsy of Napoleon, coming on him when out riding, "those three queer sugar-loaf rocks that they call 'Lot's Wife and Daughters'?"
"Yes," responded Napoleon, "I have seen them."
"Well," persisted Betsy, "do you know the story about them?"
"No, I do not."
"Then I must tell you. More than fifty years ago there were two slaves on the island who hated to work and to obey their masters, so they hid themselves in a cave, halfway up the cliff on the top of which we now see Lot's wife. Every night they used to go down and steal whatever they could lay their hands on. For a long time people could not find out where they lived, but at last they were tracked to their cave. No one could reach them, however, because they rolled stones down toward all who tried to climb up the cliff."
Napoleon listened attentively, and Betsy continued:
"At last it was thought necessary to send a party of soldiers to fire on them, if they refused to surrender, but before this was done one of the besiegers managed to climb the cliff on the other side. He reached a point opposite the cave and higher up, so that he could roll down stones toward the slaves. When one of these wretched creatures was standing on the edge of the cliff he was killed by one of the rocks rolled from above, and the other who was with him was severely injured; and now," concluded Betsy solemnly, "if you go there at the right time, the islanders say that you will see the murdered slave rushing around at night just as he used to when alive."
Napoleon, after hearing Betsy's legend, said: "When I ride that way again I shall certainly look at the sugar-loaf mountain with much greater interest than ever before."
Undoubtedly these various legends, which Betsy had heard from her earliest childhood, tended to make her superstitious. Napoleon soon found that she was easily frightened, and took advantage of this fact sometimes to tease her unmercifully. When he arrived at The Briars, one of Betsy's little brothers had as tutor an elderly man named Huff. The coming of Napoleon had a strange effect on the tutor's brain. Among other delusions, he believed that it was to fall on him to free the Emperor from his imprisonment and restore him to his throne again. Old Huff, as they called him, talked constantly on this subject and no one could reason with him. It was evident that the poor fellow was mad, but before it was decided to put him under guardianship he found a chance to kill himself, although he was closely watched. According to custom, he was buried at a spot where three crossroads meet. This happened to be a place near The Briars, and, in consequence, poor Betsy was far from happy. Napoleon, aware of her fears, would call out, just before she said good night to the household, "Mees Betsee, ole Huff, ole Huff."
Poor Betsy! She was indeed unhappy, and after these words lay long awake at night, and in the end often scrambled into her mother's room and stayed there until morning.
One evening, when Betsy and her mother and her sister Jane were sitting on the cottage porch enjoying the refreshing evening breeze, a strange noise made Betsy turn her head, and in an instant she had risen to her feet 
THE BRIARS
From an old print
Mrs. Balcombe at once understood the situation, for at the moment of the figure's appearance she had heard a smothered laugh that she recognized as Napoleon's. Advancing to the white figure, she turned back the covering, and underneath appeared the black face of a little slave, grinning from ear to ear.
"What brought you here?" asked Mrs. Balcombe sternly.
"To frighten Miss Betsy;" and the black girl pointed toward Napoleon, who had now come forward to see what effect his trick had had upon his young neighbor.
This little ghost scene had a wider effect than Napoleon intended, for it put the idea of playing ghost into the heads of other servants. One of the Balcombe slaves had lately run away and could not be found. The family suspected that he was hiding not far off, because every night pigs, poultry, bread, and other provisions were stolen in quantities, by whom nobody could tell. After a while Napoleon began to complain of thefts, but when the various black servants were questioned they all said that the thief must be a ghostly white figure that they saw skipping around the valley from rock to rock. That they believed what they said was shown by the alarm they showed, for none of them would go out alone by night.
"I believe that it really and truly is old Huff's ghost," insisted Betsy.
"You can't believe such a foolish thing; indeed, I should think you would know better after what happened the other evening, when you allowed yourself to be terrified by a little black girl," said her mother reprovingly. She added, "You look pale, Betsy. What is the trouble?"
"I can't help it. I may be foolish," responded poor Betsy, "but for nights and nights I have been afraid to close my eyes."
"All on account of the ghost," thought Mrs. Balcombe, wishing that Betsy were less nervous.
Mr. Balcombe and some friends now undertook to catch the thief, feeling sure that he would prove to be a substantial individual. After long watching, one night they saw a figure move stealthily across the valley toward the house. They called upon it to stop, but when it neither obeyed nor answered, they felt obliged to shoot. A loud scream followed the report of the gun, and when they came upon the fallen figure they discovered the runaway slave Alley. He was badly hurt, although not fatally, and they did what they could for him. The next morning the whole party went to the cave to which Alley directed them. Napoleon accompanied them and was much interested in what he saw.
It reminded him of the catacombs of Paris, he exclaimed, as he looked about at the heaps of bones which the slave had placed in neatly arranged piles after he had gorged himself with food.