St Helena, the island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean on which Napoleon Bonaparte was exiled and died, is so far away from anywhere else that even pirates never discovered it. The only way to get there is by the last Royal Mail ship in existence, RMS St Helena, after a six-day journey from Cape Town, as I discovered this month when I visited in the course of researching my forthcoming biography of Napoleon.
Although the Emperor was violently seasick on his journey there in 1815, the seas were very calm for mine. Indeed, the calmness was almost eerie; for nearly a week we saw no planes in the sky, no other ships, nothing in the sea except some dolphins and flying fish on the last day, and no birds except two white-throated petrels. It was just sky and sea bisected by a totally flat horizon, for day after day after day.
St Helenans are called ‘Saints’, and they amused themselves on the journey playing deck quoits — a game that combines the skill of darts with the viciousness of croquet — and taking part in hard-fought general knowledge quizzes.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in