SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON—EXPECTED ARRIVAL OF A BRITISH SQUADRON—STATE OF
FEELING AT NAPLES—THE KING AND QUEEN—ARRIVAL OF NELSON—HIS
RECEPTION—EXCITEMENT AT NAPLES.
ON the 4th of June (1798), the birthday of our good and gracious
sovereign George III., Sir William Hamilton[55] gave a grand dinner, to
which he invited all the English then residing at Naples. As soon as the
dessert was placed upon the table he rose to propose the king’s health,
after which he announced what, he said, was certain to afford the
greatest satisfaction to the assembled company—the speedy arrival of a
British squadron in the Mediterranean. This intelligence, he added, had
been communicated to him in a letter from the Earl of St. Vincent, off
Gibraltar, informing Sir William that he would immediately despatch this
squadron, under the command of Sir Horatio Nelson, to oppose the French
fleets and protect the states of our allies.
It would be vain to attempt to describe the sensation produced by this
speech. Week after week, month after month, had our eyes been directed
towards the sea without ever discovering a friendly sail, unless it were
some little privateer with a still smaller prize. I remembered the
praises and civilities bestowed upon a Ragusan commanding a “letter of
mark,” who had displayed considerable bravery and seamanship in
capturing a French vessel. But now we considered ourselves perfectly
safe under the protecting shield of a British admiral, and that admiral
a Nelson, with a Troubridge for second in command, and under his orders
a Saumarez, a Hood, and others who had so gallantly distinguished
themselves as to be commonly called “the fire-eaters.” Daily did we look
out for our destined protectors, and an excellent telescope we possessed
was placed at the window every morning, and never removed till after
sunset.
At length we perceived a group of lofty masts and sails between the
Island of Capri and the furthest point of the coast beyond Posilippo. A
sloop was sent forward in advance, bringing the commodore, to obtain, if
possible, intelligence of the French fleet under Admiral Brueys,
conveying General Bonaparte and his army. Malta had already surrendered
to the enemy, but whither they had since directed their course could not
be positively ascertained. Many and various were the conjectures
hazarded on the subject, but Sir William Hamilton had entirely failed to
gain any reliable information as to their movements. The sloop then
returned to the squadron, and before morning not a mast was in sight.
Our conversation by day and our dreams by night had for their sole and
only subject the expected meeting of the hostile fleets. The Court of
Naples had not publicly renounced its neutrality,[56] though its dislike
of the common enemy, and its wishes for the success of the allies, on
which, indeed, its own safety depended, were well known to all parties.
The common people generally agreed with the Court, but many of the young
nobles were infected with the revolutionary spirit. Endowed with more
imagination than judgment, and greatly addicted to dissipation, they
were anxious to throw off all inconvenient trammels; or, if led by their
genius to nobler pursuits, they were captivated by the false theories of
the philosophers then in fashion, and who had been among the first
victims to the revolution they had evoked.
It must also be borne in mind, that at that time there existed two
opposite national parties. Although the war of 1745 had placed the
Spanish branch of the House of Bourbon on the throne, the Queen herself
was an Austrian, and was supposed to be partial to her native
country.[57] The Spanish families established in the kingdom of the Two
Sicilies, and the adherents of Spain, were secretly, if not avowedly,
her enemies. Spain had taken part with France, and many Neapolitans and
Sicilians of high rank were in the Spanish service. It is but just,
however, to remark, that amongst those who were warmly attached to this
party, there were many who, disgusted by the system of cruelty and
irreligion then prevailing in France, felt a natural horror in the
presence of the revolutionary agents, and heartily wished for their
expulsion from the country. The Italians in general were at that time
well affected towards the English, and certainly the majority of the
inhabitants of Naples anticipated with pleasure the arrival of a British
fleet.
The impatience of our naval heroes to discover the French fleet was
scarcely greater than that which we felt to hear of their success. We
knew that they had touched at Syracuse, and we hoped that they might
follow the directions they would probably receive there, for the
Sicilians, an acute people and sworn enemies of the French, were the
most likely to obtain correct information as to the movements of the
latter.
Our telescope was constantly directed towards the entrance of the
beautiful bay, the prospect of which we so perfectly enjoyed from our
windows. At length, one morning, while I was reading to my mother, I
happened to turn my eyes towards the sea, and thought I discerned a
sloop of war in the offing. I consulted the glass, and found that I was
not mistaken. I also plainly saw that a blue ensign was hoisted, but
this was no proof that the vessel belonged to the squadron of Sir
Horatio Nelson, for blue was also the colour of Lord St. Vincent’s flag.
My attention was instantly distracted from my book, and my dear mother
was rather displeased with my evident preoccupation, for I did not
venture to confess my hopes lest I should raise hers too high, and cause
her the pain of disappointment.
I forget what I was reading, but it was something that peculiarly
interested my mother, and she began at last to think that I could not be
so negligent without a cause of some importance. She rose from her seat,
and went to the telescope. The sloop was now approaching nearer and
nearer to the land. The book was laid aside, and we alternately kept an
eye at the glass. Presently we saw a boat put off from the shore, and
pull out to the ship. Two officers were on deck, and drew near to the
side. We clearly distinguished a gold epaulet on the shoulder, and this
was quite sufficient to convince us that one was the commander of the
sloop and the other a captain going home with despatches. News of a
victory, no doubt. We observed the gestures of the officers while they
were conversing with the persons in the boat, Englishmen resident at
Naples. We fancied we could see them, with the commotion natural to
sailors, and particularly on such an occasion, depict by their action
the blowing up of some ships and the sinking of others.
Our conjectures were soon happily realised. The vessel was the _Mutine_,
to which Captain Hoste,[58] who had distinguished himself as lieutenant
on board the flag-ship, had been appointed in the room of Captain Hardy,
who had been posted to succeed Captain Berry, sent home with the news by
another route. Captain Hoste had been sent by Sir Horatio to Naples with
despatches for Sir William Hamilton, and to convey Captain Capel,[59]
who was to proceed to England.[60] The battle of the Nile had been
fought and won. Never, perhaps, was a victory more complete. What a
deliverance for Italy! What a glory for England! The cause of religion,
of justice, of humanity had triumphed!
Old General di Pietra, one of the few survivors of the gallant band who
had assisted in the conquest of Naples during the war between Spain and
Austria, lived in a house adjoining our hotel, and there was a door of
communication between them. He had been very attentive to us, and we met
excellent society at his table, for he delighted in giving dinner
parties. We knew his anxiety to receive the earliest accounts of the
meeting of the two fleets, and my mother desired me to give him the
first intelligence. I ran to the door, and the servant who opened it,
and to whom I delivered my message, uttered exclamations of joy, which
were heard in the dining-room, where the general was entertaining a
large party of officers. The secretary was instantly sent to me, and I
was obliged to go in and tell my story. Never shall I forget the shouts,
the bursts of applause, the toasts drank, the glasses broken one after
another by the secretary in token of exultation, till the general,
laughing heartily, stopped him by saying that he should not have a glass
left to drink Nelson’s health in on his arrival.
The first care of Sir William Hamilton was to take Captain Capel to the
palace. The king and queen were at dinner with their children, as was
their custom, for they dined very early. As soon as the king heard the
good news, he started up, embraced the queen, the princes, and the
princesses, and exclaimed, “Oh, my children, you are now safe!”
Cardinal York was then at Naples, having fled from Rome to avoid falling
into the hands of the French. Sir William Hamilton, on his return from
the palace, met him in his carriage, called to the cardinal’s coachman
to stop, and, getting out of his own carriage, he went up to the
cardinal’s, and said: “I beg pardon of your eminence for stopping your
carriage, but I am sure you will be glad to hear the good news which I
have to communicate.”
The cardinal, rather surprised, asked, “Pray, sir, to whom have I the
honour of speaking?”
“To Sir William Hamilton.”
“Oh! to the British minister,” rejoined the cardinal. “I am much obliged
to you, sir; and what is the news?”
Sir William then gave an account of the victory as succinctly as he
could. The cardinal, agitated and rejoiced, said, “But may we depend on
the truth of this great affair? There are so many false reports.” Sir
William then introduced Captain Capel, saying, “This gentleman, a
brother of Lord Essex, was in the action, and is going home immediately
with the despatches.”
“In that case, sir,” said the cardinal to Captain Capel, “when you
arrive in England, do me the favour to say that no man rejoices more
sincerely than I do in the success and glory of the British navy.”
The effect produced by this event was instantaneously perceptible. The
French consul, M. de Sieyès, brother of the celebrated Abbé Sieyès, did
not venture to show himself on his balcony, and even Madame Sieyès and
her pug were seldom visible. The joy was universal, and the impatience
for the arrival of the victors daily increased in intensity. Two ships
of the line at length appeared in sight. The weather was particularly
calm, and a great number of boats went out to meet them, conveying not
only English residents, but many of the natives likewise. The king
himself went in his barge, followed by a part of his band of music in
another, and several of the foreign ministers and others joined in the
glad procession. I was with Sir William and Lady Hamilton in their
barge, which also was followed by another with a band of musicians on
board. The shore was lined with spectators, who rent the air with joyous
acclamations, while the bands played “God save the King” and “Rule
Britannia.”
As we approached the two ships we made them out to be the _Culloden_,
Commodore Troubridge;[61] and the _Alexander_, Captain Ball.[62] We
first rowed up to the _Culloden_, which had suffered considerably from
running aground in the Nile, and was going to Castellane to be repaired.
Commodore Troubridge came into our barge, and we then pulled on to the
_Alexander_, on board of which we found several French prisoners, and
among others Admiral Blanquet du Cayla, a man of good family, but an
enthusiastic republican. He had fought his ship the _Franklin_ most
bravely, for there was scarcely a gun left undismounted when he
consented to surrender, and he himself was wounded. Captain Ball, one of
the most gentlemanly men breathing, was very courteous to his prisoners;
and as his ship was nearest, and chiefly instrumental to the blowing up
of _L’Orient_, the flag-ship of Admiral Brueys, he and his officers and
men were peculiarly anxious to save as many of the enemy’s people as
possible, and at the hazard of their own lives rescued a great number
from the flames and from the sea.
The King of Naples did not go on board either of the ships, but from his
barge saluted the officers on deck. His Majesty had expressed his desire
to be incognito, so as not to give the trouble of paying him the usual
honours. Sir William Hamilton, observing some of the seamen looking
earnestly out of the portholes, said to them, “My lads! that is the
king, whom you have saved, with his family and kingdom.” Several of the
men answered, “Very glad of it, sir—very glad of it.”
Two or three days later (September 22) the _Vanguard_, with the flag of
Sir Horatio Nelson, came in sight; and this time the concourse of
barges, boats, and spectators, was greater than before. The _Vanguard_
was followed by two or three ships of the line, which had been in the
engagement. It would be impossible to imagine a more beautiful and
animated scene than the bay of Naples then presented. Bands of music
played our national airs. With “God save the King” they had long been
familiar, but for the present occasion they had learned “Rule Britannia”
and “See the conquering hero comes.” No Englishman or Englishwoman can
hear those airs without emotion in a foreign land, however trifling may
be the effect they produce in our own country; but under such
circumstances as these they create a powerful excitement.
We rowed out to a considerable distance, following the king, who was
anxious to greet his deliverers, as he did not scruple to call them.[63]
Sir Horatio Nelson received his Majesty with respect, but without
embarrassment, and conducted him over every part of the vessel, with
which he seemed much pleased, and particularly so with the kindness and
attention shown to the wounded seamen, of whom there were several on
board. The king afterwards sat down with us to a handsome breakfast, at
which I remarked a little bird hopping about on the table. This bird had
come on board the _Vanguard_ the evening before the action, and had
remained in her ever since. The admiral’s cabin was its chief residence,
but it was fed and petted by all who came near it, for sailors regard
the arrival of a bird as a promise of victory, or at least as an
excellent omen. It flew away, I believe, soon after the ship reached
Naples.
Just before we sat down to breakfast the Bailli Caraccioli[64] made his
appearance, and congratulated Sir Horatio on his victory with seemingly
genuine sincerity. That unfortunate man, however, had before this
conceived a jealous resentment against the hero of the Nile. We had been
in the habit of meeting him at General di Pietra’s, and some days before
the arrival of the _Vanguard_ he told me that in the engagement off
Corsica, in which he as commander of a Neapolitan frigate had joined the
squadron under Admiral Hotham, Nelson had passed before him, contrary to
the directions previously issued. This he thought very unfair, because
British officers had frequent opportunities of distinguishing
themselves, which was not the case with his own service. He was a man of
noble family, about fifty years of age, a Bailli of the Order of Malta,
and a great favourite at Court, being charged with the nautical
education of Prince Leopold, the king’s second son, then nearly nine
years old.
After the king had taken his leave, Sir William Hamilton asked the
admiral to make his house his head-quarters, and accordingly Sir Horatio
accompanied us ashore. In the evening the minister’s house was
illuminated in the most splendid manner, and many of the English
residents followed the example. Every imaginable honour was paid by the
Court to Admiral Nelson. General Sir John Acton,[65] who was
commander-in-chief, prime minister, &c., was very zealous in the cause
of the allies, and at a dinner-party which he gave, the young Prince
Leopold was sent by the queen, accompanied by the bailli, with a very
gracious message from her Majesty to Sir Horatio, regretting that she
had not yet been able to see him, as for some days she had been very
unwell.
A grand ball was also given in honour of the British admiral by Count
Francis Esterhazy, and on the 29th of September Sir William Hamilton
celebrated Nelson’s birthday by a splendid fête. At the extremity of the
saloon where we danced was a rostral column, on which were inscribed the
names of the heroes of the Nile, while a profusion of flowers and a
magnificent illumination added to the brilliancy of the entertainment.
Nothing could be more gay than Naples at that period. All anxiety and
fears were forgotten. Nor was the homage paid to our admiral confined to
the higher classes. It was impossible for him to appear in the streets
without being surrounded and followed by crowds of people, shouting out
“Viva Nelson!” Indeed, our officers and men were invariably treated with
the utmost respect and cordiality, and were hailed as the deliverers of
the country. Not a dissentient voice was ever heard. It was also very
gratifying to hear the praises bestowed in society upon the firmness of
our excellent sovereign, and on the sagacity of his ministers.
The French being in possession of Rome were masters of the post-office,
and thus in a great measure enabled to prevent the communication of any
exact intelligence as to the progress of the war. The Romans, however,
are a people not easily duped. So, when they were commanded to
illuminate their houses for a pretended victory gained by the French
navy at the Nile, they guessed the truth, and hung out lanterns,
representing St. Michael subduing the enemy of mankind. The authorities
at Paris were rather more modest than their subordinates at Rome, and
contented themselves with describing the affair as a drawn battle. I
remember that one day when we were rowing round some of the ships that
had been taken in the engagement, Sir William Hamilton remarked, “Look
at these, and ask how they can call it a drawn battle.” Nelson answered:
“They are quite right; only they drew the blanks and we the prizes.”
The foreigners who were obliged to remain at Rome were naturally anxious
to obtain correct accounts of what was passing elsewhere. Of this number
was the excellent Angelica Kauffman, who was civilly treated, however,
by the French, as they rather paid court to artists, though one of their
generals and his aide-de-camp made her paint their portraits
gratuitously,[66] and all the pictures they found in her house belonging
to Austrians, Russians, or English, were carried off by them. These were
tolerably numerous, as there had been for some time past no means of
forwarding them to their respective destinations. I used to send her the
news in terms of art, calling the French “landscape painters,” and the
English “historical painters.” Nelson was Don Raffaell; but I recollect
being puzzled how to inform her that our fleet was gone to Malta, until
I thought of referring her for the subject of “the picture” to a chapter
of the Acts of the Apostles, well knowing that the Book in which that
island was mentioned was not likely to be opened by the inspectors of
the post. To another lady I was in the habit of writing in the millinery
style, giving descriptions of gimps and ribands; and to Monsignor
Maretti, who was with the Pope in his confinement at Valence,[67] I
conveyed intelligence, as fragments of ancient Greek tragedies found
amongst the MSS. in the library of Capo di Monte. He had lately
translated into Italian verse the “Seven against Thebes,” and the
“Agamemnon” of Æschylus; and these were subjects that had very little
interest for our enemies.
It is with pleasure that I reflect upon the comfort which these
pretended fragments afforded to our friend and his venerable master, who
bore his captivity with wonderful fortitude. Lord St. Vincent had issued
orders to all his cruisers that in case they fell in with the Pope at
sea—for it was reported that he was to be sent to Spain or
elsewhere—they were at once to set him at liberty, and escort him
whithersoever he pleased to go, deferring the performance of every other
duty to the accomplishment of this one. I communicated this order to
Monsignor Maretti in the manner above described, and it excited the most
lively gratitude in the breast of the aged sovereign. His last brief, as
I afterwards learned from Monsignor Maretti, was addressed to the Roman
Catholic bishops and clergy then in England, exhorting them so to
conduct themselves as to show their gratitude to the king and people of
that country for the protection and hospitality they enjoyed.
“God save the King” was, of course, often sung amongst the English at
Naples, and the following stanza was added to the national anthem:
Join we great Nelson’s name,
First on the roll of fame,
Him let us sing;
Spread we his fame around,
Honour of British ground,
Who made Nile’s shores resound—
“God save our king!”[68]
The French officers of rank who had been made prisoners were permitted
to return to France on their “parole.” When Admiral Blanquet du
Cayla[69] left the _Alexander_, he called on the French consul, whose
apartments adjoined ours. As he entered the room, we heard M. Sieyès
exclaim, “Oh! how delighted I am to see you, my dear admiral, out of the
hands of those abominable Englishmen!” Du Cayla instantly replied: “Say
nothing against the English, consul. They fight like lions, and they
have treated me and my officers and men most kindly.” Without any
intention to listen, it was impossible to avoid hearing much that was
said in the adjoining room. I have no doubt our neighbours listened when
Sir William Hamilton brought the officers to give us an account of the
victory, for their child made a prodigious noise with his drum at the
door which communicated with both apartments. It was natural enough they
should be grieved, but it was an odd way of showing their vexation.
In the midst of all this festivity, however, the Neapolitan government
soon became aware of the necessity of raising an army to check the
further progress of the French arms in Italy. With this object in view,
they applied to Austria for a general to organise and command their
troops. Mack was the general solicited for this purpose, and the king
invited Sir William Hamilton and Lord Nelson—for he had been created a
peer in honour of his victory of the 1st of August—to be present at the
review, which was to take place at a short distance from the capital.
They went, and on their return reported favourably of the appearance of
the soldiers, though they seemed surprised that General Mack should have
said that he only regretted such a fine army would not have to encounter
an enemy more worthy of its prowess. This boastful security appeared to
them very extraordinary, for there was no doubt that the French were
still just as formidable as in their more chivalrous times.
The Neapolitan army soon afterwards marched to Rome, and took possession
of that city, after its evacuation by the French. The King of Naples
entered in triumph, and appointed some members of the Roman nobility to
form a provisional government during the absence of their sovereign.
Their tenure of office, however, was very brief. The French returned in
such force that the Neapolitans had barely time to secure their own
retreat, leaving the provisional governors to shift for themselves.
Fortunately they had still a few blank passports left, and having filled
them up with their own names, they sought safety in instant flight.
Like a dark cloud announcing a tremendous storm, the enemy kept
gradually approaching. A very indifferent understanding existed between
the Austrians and Russians in those parts of Italy where they were
acting in assumed co-operation. The populace of Naples, and many of the
higher orders, indeed, stoutly affirmed that they would never suffer
their king and his family to fall into the hands of the enemy; but still
it was thought more prudent to make preparations for departure.
Unfortunately, there was no English ship of war then in the bay, except
that which bore the flag of Lord Nelson,[70] and a frigate with a
Turkish ambassador on board, attended by a numerous suite. A Portuguese
squadron, however, was lying there, and also a fine Neapolitan
man-of-war, commanded by Prince Caraccioli, and likewise another ship of
the line; but it was the opinion of the Court, that although the bailli
himself was trustworthy, the same reliance could not be placed in his
crew. It was therefore resolved that the royal family should go with
Lord Nelson.
How far these suspicions were well founded I cannot say, but I have no
doubt that this step hastened the desertion of Prince Caraccioli. We met
him about this time at a dinner-party at General di Pietra’s, and I
never saw any man look so utterly miserable. He scarcely uttered a word,
ate nothing, and did not even unfold his napkin. However, he took the
ships safe to Messina, where they were laid up in ordinary.
Notwithstanding the secrecy observed with respect to the intended
departure of the king and the royal family, his Majesty’s intention was
generally known and lamented. We were informed of it by Sir William
Hamilton, but with injunctions of strict secrecy, and permission was
even refused us to give a hint to the Roman exiles who were staying in
the same hotel as ourselves. We packed up everything as quietly as
possible. We dared not venture out, as we knew not at what time we might
be sent for to embark, and we were equally ignorant of the destination
of our voyage.
The populace had become very riotous, crowding about the king’s palace,
beseeching his Majesty not to leave them. It was even unsafe for
strangers to be in the streets, unless well known; for all foreigners
were liable to be mistaken for Frenchmen. Day after day passed away in
anxious expectation, until one evening, just as we were retiring to
rest, an officer from Lord Nelson’s ship, attended by some seamen, made
his appearance, and told us that a boat was waiting to take us on board.
We hastily paid our bill, and sent an ambiguous message to our Roman
friends, which would put them on their guard. We then accompanied the
officer to the shore. Both he and his men were armed.
The night was cold, for we were in the month of December (21st), and it
was between twelve and one before we were in the boat. There were
several persons already in it, and an English child fell into the water,
but was taken out unhurt. We had a long way to go, for the ships had
cast anchor at a great distance from the city, to be beyond the range of
the forts in the event of treachery or surprise. When he came alongside
the admiral’s ship, the captain, Sir Thomas Hardy, stepped into the
boat, and told my mother that the ship was so full there was no room for
us. In vain we entreated to be taken on board. The thing was impossible.
We must take our passage in a Portuguese man-of-war, commanded by an
Englishman, who had formerly been a master in our navy, but had now the
rank of commodore. There was no alternative; but we were some time
before we reached the ship to which we had been consigned. The young
midshipman who conducted us was constantly jumping about in the boat to
keep himself from falling asleep, for during the last forty-eight hours
he had been unceasingly engaged in getting the baggage and numerous
attendants of the royal family on board.
We reached our destination about two in the morning, and were ushered
into the chief cabin, where we found many ladies of different countries.
One only—a Russian lady of high rank and great wealth—had a bed to sleep
in, the others being obliged to content themselves with mattresses laid
on the floor. We now learned that we were bound for Palermo, and it was
a great satisfaction to us to receive this confirmation of our previous
hopes.
The manners of the commodore were by no means prepossessing, but he was
apparently annoyed at having his ship so crowded with helpless
passengers. All the ships of the Portuguese squadron were commanded by
Englishmen, except the flag-ship, the captain of which was a French
emigrant nobleman. The admiral himself was a well-bred, good-natured
man, much liked by all his acquaintances, and on the best terms with
Lord Nelson and all the officers of our fleet.
After an uncomfortable night, we rose to witness so violent a storm that
no communication could take place between the ships. We obtained,
however, a small cabin for our exclusive use, which was an unspeakable
comfort.
On the following morning, the weather being more calm, we perceived on
Lord Nelson’s ship the signal for sailing; but none on the other ships.
Our feeling of “desertion” is not to be described, and the murmurs and
animadversions we were constrained to overhear, added not a little to
the painful sensations we ourselves experienced. Presently, however, we
perceived a barge making towards us. It was that of Captain Hardy, whom
Lord Nelson had sent with a message to my mother, expressive of his
concern that he could not take us on board his own ship, and informing
us that the _Culloden_, Captain Troubridge, was shortly expected from
Leghorn, and would, if we wished it, convey us to Palermo. Captain Hardy
then returned to his ship, and soon after we saw the anchor weighed, and
Lord Nelson, with the king and queen and royal family of Naples, sailed
out of the bay. It is impossible for any one who has not been in similar
circumstances to imagine the feeling of helpless abandonment which I
then experienced. Accustomed to look up to our squadron as our sole
protection, having little or no confidence in the persons with whom we
were left, and hearing of nothing but revolutionary horrors, I was
really miserable, though perhaps very silly for being so.
By-and-by we were joined by two cardinals, both men of excellent family,
and far advanced in life. The Portuguese admiral had given orders that
they should be treated with the utmost attention, and one of the ship’s
officers was obliged to resign his cabin to them. By all accounts it was
a miserably dirty hole, and smelt so strongly of rotten apples that it
was impossible to sleep in it. The valet of one of the cardinals,
however, threw the apples overboard, and by so doing grievously offended
the officer whose property they were, and drew from him expressions by
no means respectful to the dignitaries of the Church. But the entire
crew was a strange medley of negroes, mulattoes, and people of different
nations, without order, discipline, or cleanliness.
On the 24th December, 1798, Captain Wilmot,[71] of the _Alliance_, came
into the bay from a cruise, and kindly invited us the same evening to go
on board. He told us that he was to sail on the following morning for
Palermo, and offered us a passage in his ship. My mother, however, from
a motive of delicacy towards Lord Nelson, who had arranged for our going
in the Portuguese vessel, declined his offer, but after his departure,
observing how uncomfortable the two cardinals were, she gave them a note
for Captain Wilmot, who at once took them, on board, and showed them
every possible kindness. Not being gifted with my mother’s fortitude, I
passed the night in misery, anticipating every imaginable misfortune,
until at last she took compassion on my nervous feelings, and consented
to change, if the _Alliance_ should not have sailed before the morning.
As the next day was Christmas, we were obliged to wait until the first
mass was said before we could get a boat to take us off. At length we
reached the _Alliance_, and were heartily welcomed by Captain Wilmot. We
found our two good cardinals most grateful for the comforts that had
been provided for them, and much pleased with the change from the
Portuguese man-of-war. We weighed anchor about dinner-time, and Captain
Wilmot begged me to explain to the cardinals how sorry he was that he
could not do the honours of his table. He came down for a moment,
however, and drank their health, and expressed his good wishes _for the
season_. They returned the compliment, and both of them were so much
affected by his kindness that they could scarcely utter their
acknowledgments. Captain Wilmot afterwards begged me to order anything
they might like to have, in case they wished to keep a fast-day during
the voyage. “How different is this treatment,” said one of them, “to
what we experienced on board a ship belonging to persons of our own
religion.”
A violent storm came on during the night, and early in the morning
Captain Wilmot knocked at the door of our cabin to say that we were
safe, but that he had found it necessary to return to our old moorings.
The storm had, indeed, been tremendous, and we were, not without reason,
uneasy about the admiral’s ship, for the wind was contrary, and the sea
running very high.
When the Portuguese admiral, who was also commander-in-chief on this
station, heard of our return, he sent orders to Captain Wilmot to assist
in saving the stores in the dockyard that had not been sent to Sicily,
and in destroying what could not be removed, so that the enemy might
find as little as possible that was likely to be of any service to them.
Count de Thurn, an officer of distinction in the Neapolitan service,
though an Austrian by birth, brought these instructions, and lent his
aid in carrying them out. He afterwards received despatches for the
king, and accordingly took his passage with us, as did also the Russian
minister, a man of considerable information, and a great lover of
antiquities. We also picked up Lord Nelson’s chaplain, who had been
accidentally left behind.
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