A story which is told of Louis XVIII., in somewhat analogous circumstances, may furnish a pendant to the above. The King, being compelled to evacuate Courland, engaged the Captain of a Danish merchant ship to convey him and his suite to Prussia. The Captain had a cargo for the Baltic, but, anticipating a handsome reward, he consented to change his course. For this service the King gave the skipper a gold watch and a written promise that, if he regained his throne, he would liberally recompense the Dane. As the Captain did not land his merchandise in time, it could not be disposed of, and the consignees made him pay them heavy damages, with the result that the poor man was ruined. After the King’s restoration the promissory note was presented to His Majesty by the Danish Minister at Paris. Louis XVIII. did not shirk his liability, but handed to the diplomatist what he considered a suitable reward for the Danish Captain who had rendered this service--fifty napoleons and the Cross of the Lily!
If it was an American citizen who, at no little risk, escorted the Empress from Paris to Deauville, it is well to remember that it was a British officer who really saved and brought her to our shores. Sir John Burgoyne, Bart., entered the army in 1850, and retired (Lieutenant-Colonel) from the Grenadier Guards in 1861. Eton should be very proud of its gallant son. Sir John resides at Sutton Park, Sandy, Bedfordshire, and is widely known in clubland as a member of the Carlton, the Travellers’, and the Royal Yacht Squadron (Cowes).
There is yet another version of the Empress’s escape from Paris--that which Her Majesty related at Chislehurst to Lord Ronald Sutherland-Gower, who very kindly allows it to appear here:
How well she described the hurried flight through the Palace and the galleries of the Louvre, followed by only two or three attendants; the respect with which the guardians of the galleries received her, and their emotion at seeing her almost a deserted fugitive in the Palace of which she had been so lately the idol; her great danger of being recognized while alone with Mme. Lebreton in the Rue de Rivoli, where for hours they had to remain, the street being blocked with a mob of mobiles and the rabble forcing their way to the Hôtel de Ville to proclaim the Republic; and another terrible long period of suspense when, at some station near Paris, her only safety from detection while waiting hours for a train was a newspaper that saved her from recognition and probably death.