“My dear Lady Hamilton,—How I miss you and the good Sir William, who, with my father and my good wife, are my only comforts in life, now that I cannot have the ships I want, or even the authority from their Majesties, to finish with these French! How shall I ever thank you and Sir W. for all your goodness to me? You have been so wonderfully hospitable; and for you yourself, you kept me alive. You gave me health, and such a friendship as I had not dreamed was possible in the world. How I miss that gentle voice; the soothing touch of those hands; the friendly glance of those clear eyes; the laughter lurking about the corners of that mouth, which it is difficult for any man to take his eyes off! But dear Sir William will be jealous, if that good man were capable of misunderstanding an upright man’s esteem for his Lady, and were not aware that—

‘To see her is to love her,

And love but her for ever,’

as the new Scotch poet that Campbell (my secretary), has been reading, says.

“Your affectionate
“Nelson.”

“‘Vanguard,’ Leghorn, 28th Nov.—Came on board the British and Neapolitan Ministers, who were saluted. Summoned the town of Leghorn in concert with the Neapolitan General Naselli. At 8 p.m. the Governor consented to give up the place. Landed the troops, cannon, baggage, etc., with all expedition, and took possession. It blew a strong gale on the night of the 22nd, when we sailed from Naples, and the next day. None but the British ships kept me company.

“There seems to be some tangle with the Grand Duke. Have begged our Minister Wyndham to say that I would willingly adopt the mode of procedure most agreeable to him; but the Neapolitan general—d—n his impudence!—only looks upon me as an agent for transporting him. He sends his Summons as he pleases. I shall rejoice to see Wyndham, who reports the capture of Port Mahon by my friend Stuart, and Commodore Duckworth afloat. Leghorn does not, at this moment, receive me on shore. I am anxious to get to the support of the King of Naples.

“29th Nov., ‘Vanguard,’ Leghorn Roads.—Is it war or is it not war? These confounded Sicilians and Tuscans think themselves at liberty to create an artificial state of not-war, which they can plead to the French when they get beaten, as they certainly will be, if they attempt to make war in such a way. Much good it will do them, though! If the French had common gratitude, it might, for all their precautions are in the direction of disobliging us, and we are the only enemy the French have to reckon with in the world, it seems to me. Have signified to the King of the Two Sicilies and the Grand Duke of Tuscany, that the Ports of Genoa (the Ligurian Republic forsooth!) are in a state of blockade, and that should any vessel of either of these nations presume after this notice to attempt entering this port, I have ordered Troubridge, whom I have put in charge, to sink or burn them with their cargoes. Either of them would carry ammunition for the French to fight against their own country.

“Have writ to Lord Spencer to-day—I fear too hastily. It would certainly break things up here if I did not feel confident in his lordship not to expose me if I occasionally write too freely of what I see and know. I am so much in the habit of writing my mind freely, that I cannot say what I wish in a stiff formal letter. Under this impression I have said that the Portuguese squadron are totally useless. The Marquis de Niza has certainly every good disposition to act well; but he is completely ignorant of Sea affairs. I expect to hear they have had all disasters, and that they are returned to Naples. All their Commanders are Commodores, and it is ridiculous to hear them talk of their rank, and of the impossibility of serving under any of my brave and good Captains. Yet these men are English. I say Niza is by far the best among them, and I shall keep up a good harmony with him. As to the port being neutral, that is impossible; and if the Neapolitan General does not consider it as I do, I will directly have orders sent him to that effect. General Acton and the Queen will instantly see the propriety of the measure. To-morrow I return in the Vanguard to Naples. I will be active as long as I can, but my strength fails me daily.

“I was very low to-day till I had, through Wyndham, a surprise so delightful that it was difficult to preserve the diplomatic calm which was already pretty well tried by that weathercock Naselli—no less than a letter from Emma, passed overland with incredible rapidity from shepherd to shepherd. I am not ashamed to say that I kissed it when I had read it. It was like her dear hands pressing on my forehead when I have one of my vile headaches. Why should there be such things as headaches, to incapacitate a man from work? Though, thank Heaven, when there is real work to be done like fighting, the excitement breeds a rush of vigour which carries everything before it. I have copied every word of that dear letter.

“‘Naples, Nov. 22nd, 1798.

“‘My dear good Admiral,—

“‘As this goes overland and through not over-safe hands, I can but send you by it expressions of our esteem and of the wilderness you have left in our little family. Sir William he do miss you terribly, being accustomed to your gayety and also to lean on your supperior judgement. For a woman it is worse by much, for no good woman but is sensible of a kind of support, a kind of holy joy in the presence of the man that she feels to be the greatest man there is, as I feel about you, dearest Nelson, greatest hero of the ancient and modern world. I would I was with you now, for I know how ill and distressed you must be.

“‘The gale has been awfull. The Portuguese is not out yet, nor like to be. They are not like my Nelson, but fine-weather sailors that must be protected by a port, and a fort if there is any enemy near. And you have all the anxiety, which I know you detest, of waiting for others to move, as the good Emperor must, when he hears of the sacrifice we have been making to send so fine an army, from which, by this, I believe, the French will be in full flight. I know how your head will be splitting from the wound you got in the service of your country in your glorious victory; and Emma would like to be with you, laying her hands, which you say are so smooth and full of vittality, on the poor wounded forehead and also on the topp of your head, when the blood is throbbing there. It gives her such joy to think that you like her to be with you, even when you are too ill to raise your head; she can be quiet, indeed she can, and wait until her presence can save you the slightest effort which would make fresh pains in your head. But what pleases me most is that when the badd pains is gone and you suffer from a nervousness that they should return, Emma is able, with scarce observed kisses and gentle wiles, to draw you out of yourself, so that you forgett you are playing hide and seek with the head-ache. I have what is worse, the heart-ache. There is no cure for that but time. You know how I was sick for Greville, that I had lived with as his wife, in the first months that I was at Napoli with dear Sir William. Often have I thought that I was dying of a broken heart; only hearts don’t break, dear Nelson, though you believe that they do, if I may say Nay to so great a man. Every night I wept myself to sleep when I slept at all, and if it had not been for Sir William’s goodness—he was like a father to a dying child, and cheated me out of the death for which I so longed by humouring me. I tell you I was a good wife to Greville, Nelson, though I was never married to him as I have been to Sir William. I had not another earthly thought except to be with him and be his slave to do his slightest wish. Had he beaten me I would have stayed to be beaten, not even trying to escape the blows. I think even they would have been dear to me, because he had given them to me. I was but a girl, and loved a man to be master of me.

“‘I should be wrong if I told you that I feel your absence as I felt my absence from Greville then. But that is the kind of way I feel it, though I have never known your love. I am a fool, Nelson, I know I am; but I am also a loving woman, that can see all the goodnesses there is in the man her eyes are following, and fall down and worship each of them. It is the second commandment that I should break: “Thou shalt not make to thyself any graven image”—for this, I suppose, means that you shall not make an idol of anything, and that is what I cannot but do. Come back to Napoli soon, to your loving Emma.’

“And immediately below this was added, in the Ambassador’s easily recognisable hand:

“‘For God’s sake come back soon. My hero-worshipping Emma has the moping-sickness, and I cannot afford to have her hors de combat at this anxious time.—W. H.’

“And to this dear Emma added a second post-scriptum: