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.