“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.