Well might she say, “My position in this Court is now very extraordinary”—there was little vanity in that statement. My Lady Hamilton was a prima donna in earnest. And her stage was Europe.
And the years darkened slowly down, as the rising comet of Napoleon swept into the established systems, dragging half the heavens in his train.
The English Fleet, most absolutely for the whole world, for its last hope of freedom, all, all depended on those silent admirals, those wearied captains at watch in the Mediterranean. Since the visit of the Agamemnon Emma had never seen Nelson, yet she had not forgotten him, nor the sense of something dynamic, unforeseeable, with which he had inspired her. He was hawking all over the Mediterranean since Corsica was taken. He had lost an eye. He had lost an arm. He was Sir Horatio now. Items reached her, but little more. And the thought haunted her that her work was what he would applaud if he could know it. She was Patroness of the Navy to some purpose, if she could only boast herself as she dared not.
The Two Sicilies were forced to a hateful compact with France. They dared not break it; if they did, the kingdom, trembling to a republic under French domination, must fall.
Oh, for an English Fleet! That was the prayer of Emma and of Marie Caroline day by day. They appealed to Sir John Jervis, now Lord St. Vincent, commanding in the Mediterranean, for help, help, at any cost.
And then a great, a terrible portent broke upon the world, holding its breath in terror. Napoleon, not yet thirty years old, who had been making great and secret preparations, had launched a mighty expedition on Egypt, resolving to catch England by the throat where she might be easiest strangled and shaken from her domination in India. Nelson knew, the world knew, of preparations at Toulon, but not a soul where the blow would fall until the fox had slipped cover and it was too late. He was doubling down the Mediterranean eastward, confusing the scent by every means in his power. And Nelson was pursuing him, hampered by misinformation, by the lack of frigates, scouts of the Fleet, but steadfastly pursuing.
And on that pursuit the fate of Europe hung. It is easy even now to picture the fever of hope and fear in Naples and in Sir William’s and Emma’s hearts. They knew, none better, that the British Fleet would need the sinews of war, food and water. Ships, like armies, fight on their bellies. But yet the compact with the French hindered the necessary aid from the Sicilian King. Further, it forbade the Sicilian kingdom to receive at any time more than four frigates at once into any of the King’s harbours.
Napoleon was taking no risks. He had burned the prairie behind him.
True, Nelson had his secret instructions to seize food and water by force of arms if no better could be, but that was doubtful, was an insult to the Sicilian King, and therefore playing into Napoleon’s hands, and must be his last and dangerous resort.
But what was to be done? Food and water refused, Gibraltar, far off Gibraltar at the mouth of the Mediterranean, was Nelson’s nearest port of help, and with that throwing back on his trail Egypt lay free before Napoleon.