CHAPTER VII.
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.