THE RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE FATE OF PRINCE NAPOLEON.
TT is quite natural, and rather laudable, that the English people should be annoyed, as well as grieved, at the unhappy fate of the Prince Imperial. He was in a sense the guest of the nation. He had claimed, with his father, the right of asylum, he had been admitted without competition into the Military Academy at Woolwich, and he had been treated in many ways, by officials as well as by society, as an honoured guest of the State. The feeling of the country de- manded that he should be treated as if his father had still been reigning, and he himself a man of high political import.
ance,—as, indeed, when his chances are remembered, he un- doubtedly was. His desire to visit the scene of the campaign in Zululand had been complied with, as it would not have been had he been an ordinary French refugee ; and though he had not been invested with any rank in the Army, he had been specially recommended by the Horse Guards to the care of Governors and Commanders-in-Chief. It is impossible to question, after the two letters to Lord Chelmsford and Sir Bartle Frere, very wisely read out by the Duke of Cambridge in the House of Lords, that the Prince was intended to enjoy the sort of extra distinc- tion, and special opportunities, and special care which Princes usually enjoy in foreign countries where they are welcome, and that Lord Chelmsford, in particular, was made in some sort responsible for the charge of him while engaged with the Army in South Africa. Courtesies of that kind, even when they are only courtesies, are entirely laudable, and in the instance of the Prince Napoleon they were a little more than courtesies. There was a strong wish among the people to gratify the Empress, whose fate had excited a deep sympathy, and to show the world that the British, while rejoicing at the establishment of the Republic, did not forget that Napoleon III., whatever the demerits of his domestic rule, had been their ally in arms. It is, therefore, with extreme annoyance that the country perceives that the duty of guardianship towards the lad which had been undertaken, though in an informal fashion, had been neglected ; that he had been allowed, not once, but two or three times, to risk his life in a way that would have been considered foolish on the part of any man of importance ; that he had, on the last day of his life, been in- sufficiently escorted ; and that when the attack came he was, we will not yet say, deserted, but certainly treated as of as little account as any ordinary trooper.
This annoyance, as we have said, is natural and laudable, but it should not throw the country into a mood of hasty injustice. The evidence as to the true causes of the Prince's fate is as yet most imperfect. He probably insisted himself on going to the front, instead of remaining with Lord Chelmsford's Staff ; and if he did, Lord Chelmsford would have had no choice except to comply with his request. Under the terms of the Duke of Cambridge's letter, which was, in fact, an order, though couched in the form of a letter of introduction, Lord Chelmsford was directed to "let the Prince see as much as he can with the columns in the field." That, in fact, is what he went out for, not to pore over maps with Staff officers, and in attaching him to General Newdigate's column, or the part of it nearest the front, Lord Chelmsford did nothing but what he had been requested by his superiors to do. We cannot see why he is blamed, unless, indeed, he failed to convey to the General in immediate command of the column the spirit of his Royal Highness's instructions. He should have done that, certainly, but there is not a tittle of evidence that he did not do it ; and if he did, he is being censured without any reason. We cannot believe that Lord Beaconsfield's statement that the Prince had been "cruelly and needlessly sacrificed" was in- tended to apply to Lord Chelmsford, but that is how the country at large evidently reads it. Yet he did nothing except what he was directed to do. We regret, with the whole country, that Lord Chelmsford was not superseded before; but it is not fair to hold him responsible for the Prince's fate, which, as far as he was concerned, may have been a bit of the inveterate ill-luck which always seems to harass the incompetent. His subordinate, be he General Crealock, or General Newdigate, or any other General intrusted with the Prince's guardianship, may be to blame for insufficient care, but there is no case as yet against Lord Chelmsford. As to the subordinate General, whoever he was, we think there was a case, but it is not a strong one. He did not understand the full importance or meaning of his trust, and let an impetuous lad have his own way too much, as he would hardly have done had Napoleon been an English Prince, recommended to his care by the Commander-in-Chief. He probably thought that a bold lad of high degree wanted to see as much active work as he could, that he ought to see it, and that for the rest, he must take his chance. That was an error, but only an error of judgment. He should, no doubt, have attached an officer to the person of the Prince, with special charge of him, and have given the Prince to understand that as a responsibility for him devolved on the General, he must either consent in certain cases to take orders, or go back. If Prince Napoleon was a man to be escorted at all, he was a man to be protected with a little more care than was actually shown. But then, was he escorted at all ? That is a most important point, for it
involves the grave question of the conduct of Lieutenant Carey and his troopers,—and upon this point there is as yet no decisive evidence.
According to the more numerous accounts, the Prince was allowed to ride to some point he wished to see, whether to reconnoitre or to sketch, and six troopers and six Basutos were ordered to go with him, under the command of Lieutenant Carey. The six Basutos were late, and the Prince impatiently rode forward, but waited an hour for them in a field of Indian corn, a very dangerous position, as the tall corn would conceal any number of savages in ambush. He had just been tired out, and had given the order to mount, when thirty concealed Zulus poured in a volley, and Lieutenant Carey and all the troopers rode off, and the Prince, unable to catch his horse, ran after them, but was caught up and assegaied by the foe. If that account is true, Lieutenant Carey, specially detailed for escort duty, deserted his charge, and provided for his own safety without thinking of the Prince,—a distinct military as well as moral offence. And this view of the occurrence is supported by all the accounts of the unfortunate Lieutenant's own words, he declaring that the Prince had given the word to mount, and that he himself, after galloping some three hundred yards, assumed that the Prince was dead,—state- ments showing that the Prince, as the person under escort, was allowed to give the word of command, and that the speaker never' waited to see if he was safe, still less to perform his clear duty of protecting his retreat. But then there are other accounts, apparently equally trust- worthy, in which it is stated that the Prince himself chose to accompany a reconnoitring party sent out to find a site for a camp : that the Staff opposed his wish, but that he insisted on having his own way, which, as the Staff had reason to believe that all male Zulus had been withdrawn to Ulundi, it would have been hard to refuse. In that case, Lieutenant Carey was not in charge of the Prince, and was not bound to regard his safety any more than that of any other valued comrade. His first duty, if he had no responsibility, was to take himself and his troopers into cover. Indeed, one account, in Wednesday's Daily News, clears Lieutenant Carey even of carelessness about a comrade, for the correspondent states that Prince Napoleon fell at the first fire. That statement is inconsistent with the otherwise unbroken assurances that the Prince had' no bullet-wound ; but still, made as it is, by a careful reporter on the spot, it is sufficient to justify an arrest of judgment, and change the present chorus of angry denunciation into a demand for full and patient inquiry. There is no doubt that such an inquiry will be made. The uproar on the Continent is serious, and the authorities at home are too anxious to relieve them- selves of all blame not to make it certain that the inquiry will be complete. Till it has been finished, it will be more becoming, as well as more just, to wait, and not destroy officers still unheard, on evidence which may be inaccurate on most material points. It would have been better for Lieutenant Carey, in any case, to have died by the Prince's side, for the people will never forgive him for not having fulfilled a national expectation on so marked an occa- sion; but that is no reason why he should be condemned un- tried and unheard for want of courage or dereliction of duty, in a scene of which we have half a dozen mutually destructive accounts. All this rage, though in itself neither unnatural nor blameworthy, is not judicial, and is prompted rather by a sense of irritation than by any steady desire for justice.
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