I do assure you, my Dearest Emma, that nothing can be more miserable, or unhappy, than your poor Nelson.
From the 19th of February, have we been beating from Malta to off Palma; where I am now anchored, the wind and sea being so very contrary and bad. But I cannot help myself, and no one in the fleet can feel what I do: and, to mend my fate, yesterday Captain Layman arrived—to my great surprise—not in his brig, but in a Spanish cartel; he having been wrecked off Cadiz, and lost all the dispatches and letters.
You will conceive my disappointment! It is now from November 2d, that
I have had a line from England.
Captain Layman says—he is sure the letters are sunk, never to rise again; but, as they were not thrown overboard until the vessel struck the rock, I have much fear that they may have fallen into the hands of the Dons.
My reports from off Toulon, state the French fleet as still in port; but, I shall ever be uneasy at not having fallen in with them.
I know, my dear Emma, that it is in vain to repine; but my feelings are alive to meeting those fellows, after near two years hard service.
What a time! I could not have thought it possible that I should have been so long absent; unwell, and uncomfortable, in many respects.
However, when I calculate upon the French fleet's not coming to sea for this summer, I shall certainly go for dear England, and a thousand [times] dearer Merton. May Heavens bless you, my own Emma!
I cannot think where Sir William Bolton is got to; he ought to have joined me, before this time.
I send you a trifle, for a birth-day's gift. I would to God, I could give you more; but, I have it not!