We are told that Mr Huff, who had lived on the island for more than fifty years, became obsessed with the former emperor, fantasising that he was personally ‘destined to restore the fallen hero to his glory’. He so neglected his pupils that Balcombe felt compelled to dismiss him.6

The Reverend Mr Samuel Jones was engaged as the new tutor at The Briars and was able to stay at Ross Cottage, Balcombe’s poultry farm, a comfortable walk some two miles away. Huff ’s former bedroom in the house was taken over by Captain James Mackay, who had been camping in a tent at the front gate. They had all become fond of this cheerful officer, whose main duty was to keep ‘General Bonaparte’ in his sights. Captain Mackay had become fond of young Jane Balcombe and kept her in his sights as well.

‘It soon became evident,’ Betsy heartlessly observed in her Recollections, ‘that old Mr Huff was mad, and, though strictly watched, he found an opportunity one fatal morning to destroy himself.’7 She did not describe the method of suicide, but ‘the act was committed’ where the road to The Briars joined the Sidepath, a favourite lookout point with its spectacular view over the cliff to Jamestown far below. No one seemed to grieve for Huff, least of all anyone at The Briars. A coronial inquest determined that he had died by his own hand. Custom and the church dictated that a suicide be buried with a stake through the heart. Mr Huff ’s corpse was refused a Christian churchyard burial so he was interred near where he had shuffled off his mortal coil, at the crossroads near The Briars, where his skeleton was discovered in 1957 during road mending on the island.8

Betsy did not care to think of the deranged old fellow lying in the ground nearby. She had ‘a terror of ghosts’. She wrote that her weakness became known to Napoleon, and when she retired for the night, blowing out the candle, she could sometimes hear him prowling in the garden, calling softly: ‘Miss Betsee, Ole Huff! Ole Huff!’ One evening she and Jane were sitting with their mother on The Briars’ verandah, enjoying the cool evening breeze, when ‘suddenly we heard a noise, and turning around beheld a figure in white—how I screamed. We were then greeted with a low, gruff laugh, which my mother instantly knew to be the emperor’s.’9 Mrs Balcombe marched across the lawn to the flitting apparition. She lifted the edge of a white sheet to reveal the black face of Alley, the slave boy. The laughter from the shadows left no doubt who had organised the charade.

The Balcombe boys’ new tutor Mr Jones had no proficiency in the French language. Nor had William Balcombe, but as he was catering for the French exiles he considered it imperative that his daughters’ conversational skills uphold family honour. He ruled that Betsy and Jane should complete a translation a day. Bonaparte’s own language lessons had not progressed far—he said he hated irregular English verbs—but he condescended to look over the girls’ French assignments and correct mistakes. Betsy thought him overzealous in the role.10

One afternoon she took her work to the pavilion for correction; Count de Las Cases, receiving dictation, and General Gourgaud, labouring over a fair copy, did not welcome her intrusion. Betsy boiled with resentment as she watched Napoleon make decisive marks on her exercise. ‘Look at your hand,’ she said. ‘It’s like a baby’s, so fat and pretty! I don’t believe it was ever strong enough to hold a sword.’

The courtiers were predictably outraged. Gourgaud drew his sabre from its scabbard and prodded at stains on the blade. ‘That is the blood of an Englishman!’

Napoleon ordered him to sheath it at once. ‘It is bad taste to boast, Gourgaud, especially in front of ladies.’ He told Betsy to judge for herself whether he could handle a weapon, and withdrew his own magnificent sword and scabbard from a richly embossed case of tortoiseshell studded with golden bees. The sword handle was of wrought gold.11

‘May I hold it?’ Betsy asked. Gratified to see her so impressed, Bonaparte placed it in her hands. ‘I drew the blade out quickly from the scabbard, and began to flourish it over his head; making passes at him, the emperor retreating, until at last I fairly pinned him up in the corner. I kept telling him all the time that he had better say his prayers, for I was going to kill him.’

Her exultant cries brought Jane rushing from the house. ‘Stop, stop! I shall tell Papa if you do not desist!’ But the giddy girl laughed and continued to hold the great warrior at bay, until her arm dropped from the weight of the sword.

Napoleon’s reaction was remarkably benign. When Betsy relinquished the weapon, he pinched her ear.