Maitland stayed up till 1 o'clock in the morning supervising the arrangements for receiving his French guests. All was expectation and excitement,' wrote the midshipman George Home. 'The first lieutenant was engaged seeing all the belaying pins get an extra polish, and that every rope was coiled down with more than usual care.' At 3 am Maitland was woken by the officer of the watch who told him that another boat had come alongside and had confirmed the earlier report that a chasse-marée had been seen heading for the sea. Although this did nothing to allay Maitland's anxieties he felt that he had no choice but to trust Las Cases. As on previous nights when at anchor in Basque Roads he had arranged for two boats to keep guard in the vicinity of the frigates and these returned to the ship as the first glimmer of dawn lightened the sky over La Rochelle.
The morning of 15 July was grey and overcast with a freshening northerly breeze. The Bellerophon and the Myrmidon were anchored some 2 miles from the Ile d'Aix, and by 5 am most of the sailors and marines were up on the decks staring expectantly at the island and the French warships moored nearby. Captain Maitland and his first lieutenant Andrew Mott took it in turns to stare at the distant anchorage through their telescopes, searching for any sign of movement. They were rewarded by the welcome sight of the topsails being hoisted on one of the smaller vessels, and then a white flag of truce being hoisted at her masthead. Soon she was under way, heeling over before the breeze, and they could see that she was the armed brig Épervier. She was having to beat into a headwind to get to the Bellerophon and by 5.30 she had only the last of the ebb tide to help her on her way. This would not have mattered if it had not been for the fact that the lookouts had seen a strange ship on the horizon. She was flying the flag of a rear-admiral so she must be the Superb, the flagship of Sir Henry Hotham. With the wind and tide in her favour she would be alongside them in a few hours. After the weeks of watching and waiting, and the hours of negotiations, Captain Maitland was naturally reluctant to relinquish to his superior officer the prize which was almost within his grasp. He therefore ordered Lieutenant Mott to take the Bellerophons barge, and bring Napoleon off the brig which was labouring slowly towards them. Within minutes the barge was pushing off from the warship and rowing smartly towards the Epervier.
Napoleon had spent his third and last night at the commandant's house on the île d'Aix. It was, however, a short night because he and his party had to be down at the jetty by 2 am. His valet Louis-Joseph Marchand woke him in good time and helped him get dressed in the uniform which he had made famous and which was familiar to all those French soldiers who had seen him on the battlefield: the white waistcoat and breeches, military boots, and the green coat with scarlet cuffs and lapels of a colonel of the Chasseurs of the Imperial Guard. To keep out the chill of the early morning he put on his olive-coloured greatcoat and his black cocked hat with tricolour cockade. He was used to getting up in the early hours and inspecting his troops in the darkness before dawn but there were no troops around on this occasion. However there was a reminder of old times when he was rowed out from the jetty and his boat pulled alongside the brig Épervier. The crew shouted 'Vive l'Empereur' as he climbed aboard. The commander of the brig, Captain Jourdan de la Passadière, saluted him at the gangway and invited him to inspect the officers and marines drawn up on the deck. When the vessel got under way Napoleon asked for some coffee and he drank it while chatting to the captain. He was cheerful and full of questions. How many guns did the ship have? And how fast could she sail? He wondered what sort of hospitality he could expect from his enemies. Captain Jourdan thought he should have tried to break through the British blockade and believed he was wrong to trust Maitland.
'It is too late', Napoleon replied. 'They expect me; I am going.'
They were halfway between the Ile d'Aix and the anchored British warships when the barge commanded by Lieutenant Mott was seen heading their way, four sets of oars rising and falling rhythmically, their progress helped by the brisk, following wind. The French brig hove to, the sailors in the barge brought her smartly alongside and the British lieutenant clambered up onto the deck. He spoke no French so Countess Bertrand, the wife of Napoleon's most senior adviser, acted as interpreter. Mott explained that he had come to collect Napoleon and had room for half a dozen others in the boat. Napoleon asked him how long it would take them to sail from Basque Roads to England. Mott reckoned it would take eight days. Napoleon pondered this for a moment and then turned to the ladies in his party. 'Well, mesdames, do you feel able to reach the English ship?'
The sailors helped Countess Bertrand and her three children and Countess Montholon and her child into the barge. General Bertrand and General Savary followed. Napoleon was the last to leave the French brig and step down into the British boat. It was a symbolic moment which was not lost on those present. The Emperor was surrendering to the enemy - the enemy which had opposed him and the armies of France for more than twenty years, ever since he had directed his guns at the British fleet during the siege of Toulon. Lieutenant Mott saw that many of the French soldiers and sailors lining the rail were in tears. Napoleon stood in the sternsheets of the barge, hunched in his greatcoat, and as he looked up at them they started cheering, and the cheering grew louder and more defiant as the British sailors bent to their oars and began pulling away. The cheering continued until the passengers in the barge were out of earshot and the sound was replaced by the regular thump and splash of the oars, and the cries of gulls soaring over the grey, windswept waters of the anchorage.
Back on the Bellerophon there was a general feeling of anticipation and excitement among the officers and men. The exception was Captain Maitland who was unable to conceal his anxiety and was observed trudging back and forth between the gangway and his cabin. Every now and again he would peer out of one of the quarterdeck ports to see if the barge was approaching. Earlier he had had to make a decision on a delicate matter of protocol. Should he receive Napoleon on board with the full ceremonial due to a head of state or should he treat him as an enemy officer who had come to surrender? He was conscious of the historic nature of the occasion and he was also acutely aware that he would be answerable to his commanding officer Admiral Hotham, and to his political masters in London, if he put a foot wrong during the next few hours.
He decided on what he hoped was a neat compromise. It was not customary on a British warship to engage in the ceremonial honours due to a person of high rank before 8 o'clock in the morning or after sunset. It was now 6 am. So it would be inappropriate at this hour to man the yards with sailors or fire a salute with the guns. Instead he ordered a guard of marines to be drawn up on the break of the poop deck. They were to come to attention when Napoleon came aboard but were not to present arms. The ship's officers were to wait on the quarterdeck, and the boatswain was to stand at the companionway ready to sound his whistle.