“Elizabeth” Transport, Mediterranean Sea,
240 miles from Gibraltar. Foul wind, fresh.
November 29, 1807. 30 days at sea.
My dearest Louisa—I know nothing more efficacious in my present misery than writing to you, by which for the moment I may lose the consciousness of it. Do not be alarmed; they are only the miseries of this restless element and stinking prison to which I allude.
On leaving Sicily some one persuaded me that our undoubted destination was Palermo. When that was passed, we all thought Lisbon the mark. Now we learn by the Minstrel (which spoke the Queen about ten days ago) that the Prince Regent of Portugal has declared against us; and I am inclined to think that this event may make the object of this army a secret to Sir John Moore himself; but Brazil is the general speculation. For my part I think our return more likely, as it appears of increasing importance to rivet Sicily as our perpetual colony—a measure which I am persuaded would be unattended with difficulty in the execution, and, as far as I can judge, filled with advantage in the end.
But leave we this to the wise, while we content ourselves with ourselves.
I find complaints about not writing so unavailing that I am quite puzzled how to act. I will have no letter that can be written in a day; I will have a journal! a compilation! Why do I see others—Colonel Campbell, for instance—receive packet upon packet copiously filled? Do you think that because he is a great man his friends write to him about State affairs, which are better treated in the papers—or Philosophy, or History perhaps? No, no; they write to him those heaps of gossip which are interesting only to him, but which of course delight him a thousand times more than any other subjects. Those incidents, dear Lou, which you think too trivial to send two thousand miles, never considering that domestic anecdotes so many thousand miles as they travel are so many thousand times more valuable to a man of affections than if sent to him a trifling distance, which you would not scruple to do.
It surprises me the more that you, my dearest lass, are silent, who write with such apparent facility and impress your expressions with the graces of your nature—the true secret to make correspondence delightful—when that which I have long loved in yourself breathes through your letters and gives them the air of your conversation.
I therefore recommend that you would keep a regular journal, enough to make me an immense letter once a month; and don’t be particular about a subject, so as you talk about what is actually going on amongst you. If “Molly Morley be brave to what she war,” it is very interesting to hear so, and if you still keep your taste for barley sugar! which I doubt not! But Brookes’ exploits must always be productive, with his badgers and things, and I thank you again for those anecdotes. I wrote the lad a letter some time ago. How I long to see him! Nobody makes me laugh half so much as he does, and I love a hearty laugh.
But my home letters feel always so skinny between the finger and thumb that I am always sure there cannot be much in them, and every line I read I grudge, for fear of coming to the end. When once I do get home what a zest will my absence give to every blessing; for whereever I go or whatever I see, I may say with the feeling Goldsmith—
I long incessantly to return to the bosom of that family to which may be applied the words of a less celebrated poet—
This letter will probably be concluded from Gibraltar, where I may have a better idea of my destination. At present I am tired out with this tedious passage and tossing about from one side of the cabin to the other. The soup in my lap! and my fist in the pudding. Oh dear! Oh dear! But now, please Neptune, we may have a fair wind, and may run into Gibraltar in two or three days. The only amusement on board ship is light reading and making verses. It is quite impossible to bore.
Since I came on board I have read with a good deal of attention for the first time Dryden’s Virgil and Pope’s Homer, from which in themselves I did not derive half so much pleasure as the conviction of Milton’s decided superiority to both.
A man reading a translation cannot of course judge of the language or numbers of the original, but these I believe are not of the first consequence, and Pope is generally esteemed a greater master of both than Milton (though I am myself quite of a contrary opinion); but it is in the thoughts that Milton so astonishingly surpasses, I think, both Homer and Virgil; for surely nobody who reads Paradise Lost, and the Iliad by Pope, can doubt how cumbersome rhyme is to an epic poem, or how much it relaxes the energy of the verse, or how much grander a translation of Homer Milton could have furnished than that for which we are so greatly obliged to Pope. I prefer the Odyssey to the Iliad, and the Georgics to the Æneid, for the latter is something like a servile imitation of the Greek.
By the way, if you have never read Boswell’s Life of Johnson, let me recommend you to a most delicious entertainment. Although the biographer portrays himself an inconceivable goose, I never met with anything so interesting as his book, nor so wonderful as the conversation and universal wisdom of Johnson, whom he will never believe to be a coward, though it were proved in fifty thousand courts—and this indissoluble attachment is with me called rectitude of heart.
Gibraltar, December 4, 1807.
After a most unpleasant passage of thirty-six days, we arrived here on the 1st inst. We have received no intelligence of any sort. Sir John Moore has sailed alone to the westward, and it is supposed that his object is to concert what may be best, by what he may find to have happened at Lisbon. All thoughts of South America seem to have subsided; and if in the end we do return, our advance and enterprise do not seem to be yet quashed, from the orders which the General gives us.
I have been much gratified by a letter from the mother of my friend,14 promising that the epitaph I sent should be placed on his tomb, and professing to have derived much comfort from my sympathy, and from the affectionate tribute paid to her son’s memory. It has in a manner set my heart at rest on this melancholy subject, for there is a great mental satisfaction, if no solid sense, in the consideration that I have performed the last sad duty to his ashes, by establishing a little register of his virtues and our friendship, which otherwise would have sunk with me and those who loved him into oblivion, the idea of which is horrible.
5th December.—The mail closes to-morrow and I have no time to alter or peruse anything—so take it as it is—it’s just a talk.—Yours,
Charles.
Isle of Wight,
St. Helens, December 29, 1807.
Ever dearest Father—If you have not been prepared for it, my arrival in England will be to you an agreeable surprise, as in fact it is almost to me.
We had a favourable passage of thirteen days, and came to anchor last night. When I have seen Sir John Moore in Portsmouth and General Morse in London, I shall be better able to fix my movements; at present my thoughts are to stay here two or three days, then to London, and so meet you at Sudbury before the 9th.
Hereafter I shall probably wish to adhere to General Moore, who has intimated a disposition entirely friendly to me. But I cannot help hoping to spend the greater part of the winter with you—a hope, however, too flattering to be implicitly trusted. I heard, by means of Colonel Campbell, the valuable intelligence that you were all well on the 12th November. As I trust we shall meet very soon I need not lengthen this letter, farther than to say how much I am, my dearest Dad, your ever most affectionate
Charles.
P.S.—There is not such an air of happiness in this letter as my situation may be supposed to inspire. The fact is, I fear giving myself too much up to certainty which may possibly forerun disappointment.—Adieu.
Sudbury, March 1808.
Dear Sir—I did myself the honour to wait upon you in London, and trust that you will allow me to say by letter what I would have expressed in conversation.
I experienced with much regret the breaking up of that army in which I felt so fortunately situated and befriended by you. But I do not despair of being again under your command, which is my first wish, and have only to fear the being sent out of the way before anything should occur.
As your kindness on that head, as on all others, left me nothing to desire, I am anxious to state that my wish to belong to an army of which you have the command is entirely independent of any hopes I might suffer to arise in consequence of your late disposition to indulge my wishes and promote my advantage, and that I shall ever esteem myself sufficiently fortunate to meet with active practice in my own particular profession under your auspices in any part of the world. I found my father and family here on a visit to Lord Vernon. I delivered your message, which gave him much pleasure, and he is highly gratified to find himself remembered by your kindness to me.—I have the honour to be, dear sir, with great respect, your very obedient, obliged, and humble servant,
Charles Boothby.
I had not long to wait before this letter was answered by a summons to join the expedition to Sweden, under Sir John Moore, and by the 15th April I was in London preparing for departure.
Blenheim Hotel, Bond Street, London,
April 27, 1808.
Ever dearest Dad—I feel conscious from your letter that you have not much spirits to spare. Whatever hurts you, goes to the quick with me also. But God did not mean us to be perfectly happy here, and I hope that we jog on towards the next place with as comfortable prospects as our neighbours.
If from any want of efficiency on my part, it were your business to prescribe my motions, you would (however disagreeable to your affections) direct me as I am now going. The rage that pervades the youth of blood to go with General Moore exceeds anything I ever heard of, and many suicides are expected in consequence of rejected applications.
I pray God to bless you all, and me, in such a return as lately gladdened my heart.—Your ever most affectionate
Charles.
Blenheim Hotel, Bond Street, London,
April 29, 1808.
Ever dearest Dad—I hope it will not be a great disappointment to you not to find me in London, as I was peremptorily obliged to leave on the 30th.
I would have done anything to save you a disappointment. But for myself, I should have had no pleasure in the meeting unless you were merry, and much pain at parting if you were sad.
Your remittance was very convenient and sufficient, and I am not in want of anything.—Ever dearest Dad, yours,
C.
Sheerness, May 6, 1808.
The ships are under way and bound for Yarmouth. Thence I suppose to Gothenburg. Perhaps I shall see Sir Brooke in my rambles.
Yarmouth, May 9, 1808.
We arrived in the roads this morning, and I have just come on shore for an hour to get a few things that are wanting, as a fine fair breeze is to be taken advantage of immediately, and I hope to see Gothenburg in less than a week. General Moore is on board the Mars, and not an officer is to be seen on shore, as the Fleet is to sail at three o’clock.
Amity Brig, May 10.
Got under way at 4 o’clock P.M. Wind blowing towards evening with rain, and threatened a gale; moderated again, and the moon rose in unclouded majesty.
Fine clear night. List of men-of-war of the convoy. Mars 74, Audacious 74, Tigress 16, —— 16, and Piercer.
Friday 13.—All last night hazy weather, moderate breezes; in the morning thick fog—so thick that not a ship in the Fleet could be discovered except at intervals, although the voices of the people aboard could be distinguished.
The faint form of the ships, at times in the fog, had rather a sublime appearance. The Commodore was on our starboard beam, which we knew by his occasionally firing guns of guidance; the sound was very near, but the flash could not be perceived. About twelve o’clock he made a signal to alter the course, and at two o’clock he made another signal, and we had some anxiety lest a mistake should make us lose the Fleet.
At about three o’clock, however, the fog cleared away, and discovered the Commodore close on our larboard-quarter, steaming the same course with us, some thirty or forty miles from the coast of Jutland.
These Baltic fogs are extremely unpleasant, and lie chiefly on the shoal called Jutland Reef. The vessel was obliged to be constantly beating drums and ringing bells, lest some other ship should come upon her unknowingly, from the perfect obscurity in which we were involved.
Tuesday, May 17.—Wind blowing very fresh and a heavy sea. At a quarter before three had Gothenburg on the lee beam. At half-past three pilot came on board, at four anchored near Elfsborg Castle; experienced much pleasure from the force of contrast—coming at once from very rough sea-weather into harbour, and leaving the waves in the lurch.
Aspect of Gothenburg Harbour very wild and bleak.
Wednesday 18.—May go on shore, but not to sleep. Mr. Hindmarsh takes us in his boat and we land at Tod’s Quay.
After entering the gates of Gothenburg, we went into a shop to inquire for an inn, and found a very pretty boy translating English into Swedish. His book was entitled Village Dialogues. He spoke English very well, and also French and German, and was exceedingly modest and well-behaved. His father stood by, and contemplated the acuteness of his son with delight, pleased to find that he could make Englishmen understand him.
We proceed, meet a gentleman, and ask for an inn where a dinner might be got.
“’Twas a shocking place,” he said, but told us of an hotel. I then asked where I could hear of foreigners who might be in Gothenburg. “Did not know. Who did I want?” “Sir Brooke Boothby.”15 Had seen him that morning; showed me where he lived—“Not at home.” Go to dine at Eryxon’s and find party of officers. After dinner go again to call on my uncle (Sir Brooke Boothby), whom I had not seen for nine years. We were delighted to see each other; had tea, walked to Tod’s Quay, embarked at nine, and was on board at 11 P.M.
General Stewart is the kindest creature in the world. He went the other day to ask the General (Sir John Moore) to appoint me his aide-de-camp, as the brigadier-generals were to be allowed them; but General Moore’s answer was, that he intended me for himself.
If the General has an opportunity of putting his intentions into execution, I shall have the situation which I wish for more than any other in the Army. But my mind misgives me that we shall come home without achieving or seeing anything.
Sir Joshua Reynolds.
Penelope Boothby.
Born 1785. Died 1791.
Only Child of Sir Brooke Boothby, Bart.
My uncle has introduced me to the best society here. We went to a ball on board the Victory the other day, and the prettiest lady said to me in very pretty broken English, “Wan I dance wid you, sair, I will assure you dat I wish we dance de whole long of de sheep”; and when the two dances were over, she said, “Sair, I tank you; I will assure you it is de plaisantess dance I dance to-day.” Seeing me smile she added, “You not belief it. Ah! it is true!” I went simpering up to another lady and said, “What a very fine day, ma’am, for our party.” She curtseyed, and uttered from her throat with a smile, “Bakkelseg Morgon Vakka Thikka Pukk,” and so I simpering replied as if I understood her, “Yaw, yaw, Pukk,” bowed and went away.
June 14, 1808.—Agree with Wilmot, Sandham, and Foster to go to Trollhättan, and on Friday, 17th, at 5 A.M. start in two gigs with two horses each, arriving at half-past one, after a pleasant journey of fifty-two miles, stopping an hour on the road. The waterfall fell below my expectations, although it be terrible to stand close beside an enormous body of water in motion so rapid; but the view from below is much less grand and astonishing than I can conceive a cataract to be, nor do I think my ideas of the tremendous much invigorated or more defined than they were before, and as a proof that the cataract did not fill or satisfy the mind, I observed, that on beholding it, I ever cast my eyes to the lofty precipice on the right, saying to myself, “Oh, that it came tumbling over that!” The canal was just what I expected, and a most laudable work.
June 19.—Start for Ström at four. This road offers to the eye of the traveller much picturesque beauty. A great part of it lies as if through a beautiful English park, and from the excellence and trimness of the road and culture of the verdure you imagine yourself in some studied approach to a great man’s house, while the beautiful gleams of the romantic Gotha, seen through the trees, make you exclaim, “Happy he whose eye is frequent on such a prospect.” The Gotha is an exquisitely beautiful river: its waves are true silver and azure; its banks are green, enamelled with flowers, embossed with dwellings, and feathered with woods; and its stately windings are frequently caught through an irregular perspective colonnade of the trunks of trees, while their beautiful foliage embowers you above, and calms and attunes your mind to the beauties of the farther prospect. Its vessels never overpower it (I mean as landscape), that is to say, you never think of a crowd of masts, of coals, of bawlings, of canals, and all the horrors of navigation.
A graceful sail now and then glides swiftly through the trees, or dimples the silver surface, the here-and-there cascade having eminent beauty, deserving of notice; and the cultivated fields enwrapping the hills.
The skirts of the vast cataracts at Trollhättan, and indeed at Edet, are applied to the sawing of timber; and in various parts of Sweden the sledgehammer is raised, the borer driven, and the polisher whirled by the same perpetual power.
Thursday, June 30.—Sir John Moore embarked last night. Learn that he had been a prisoner at Stockholm, and had made his escape. See General Stewart; learn that the point in dispute between the General and the King16 had been the attack upon Norway, which His Majesty had stated was impossible, but in a subsequent conversation, being reminded of this statement, he denied it in the most positive terms.
The General said, “Not only I, but Colonel Murray, heard you; but if your Majesty says you did not say so, I must have misunderstood you.”
The King accuses him of disrespect—in a rage.
Sir John, to pacify, concedes so far as to say he will wait for further despatches, but on going home and reflecting, finds his instructions too positive to admit of it, and apprises the King that he must depart from the country.
The King sends to him in the middle of the night to say that he must not leave Stockholm without his permission.
The General immediately despatches a messenger to embark every part of the army, and remonstrates upon the detention. No answer; but the next day a repetition of prohibition arrives.
Sir John takes a drive in the curricle of the Secretary of Legation beyond the first stage, where he is taken up in his plain clothes by a messenger, who, with his courier’s pass, gets along uninterrupted. He arrived at Gothenburg on Wednesday, 29th June, and pushed off for the Victory. Only the Admiral knew him.
Saturday, July 2.—The General desires to see Burgoyne and me immediately, and we go on board the Victory.
Sir John Moore informs us that the Admirals, particularly Keats, are anxious about the little island of Sproe in the Great Belt, upon which during winter the French might establish themselves, and harbour gunboats, to the annoyance of the passage in summer.
The French had designed to possess it, and built a barrack on it, and there is a probability that next winter they may complete their design, which formerly they began too late.
The Admirals desire to forestall the enemy, and I must go to see if the nature of the island and our means admit of such a defence being established before the necessary departure of the Fleet. The British have destroyed the barrack made by the French, so that barracks, storehouses, etc., for the troops must be established, as well as fortifications.
Sunday, July 3.—Get up at 3 A.M.; pack. At four pilot comes on board. Fleet gets under way. At seven Admiral sends on board and takes me away.
Go on board the Superb. No instruments, no colours. Apply to be sent on board the Victory to see Sir John Moore. Sir John comes up himself to take me to the Admiral’s breakfast. General Stewart brings instructions; Admiral very civil.
Sail with a convoy of merchantmen and the Etna towards the Belt. The army leaves for England.
July 5.—Heavy foggy weather with rain; coast of Jutland in sight.
July 6.—Came in sight of Sproe. Next morning I go on shore with surveying implements, half survey it, and next day complete survey. Superb in sight. As I go on shore in the afternoon, I receive a note from Admiral Keats to breakfast with him, and come again on board the Superb. Takes me altogether into the cabin. I enlarge my scale of plan, and prepare it for the field.
Sunday, July 10.—Victory, Edgar, and Cruizer in sight, entering the Belt. Admiral Keats takes me a divil of a row to meet the Superb. Captain Graves dines there, and begs the boys to go on shore. Joey Easterbrook prefers it to the Admiral’s dinner. Poor FitzClarence left behind. “It was a cruel thing,” he said. After dinner ye Admiral, Captain Graves, and myself, go on shore. Boys shoved off ere our arrival. Admiral snuffs the green air; walk over the ground, gather wild spinach, return on board. The youngsters were in dismay! The Captain’s Newfoundland dog Tigress having run down a sheep, which had taken refuge in the sea, they feared it would be laid to them, but they had neatly skinned it, and hoped their mess would benefit by it. Little rascals! The Admiral, from prudential motives, took particular care that they should not taste it.
Dear little Georges begged the officer on deck to let him put me on board the Brunswick. This began our friendship. He put me on board, I having agreed with Admiral Keats that, as I should finish with the island to-morrow, I should again come on board the Superb.
Tuesday, July 12.—This day drew up my report. Ships weigh, and anchor again.
July 19.—Desired by Sir James to travel in plain clothes. Make necessary change. Signal made, “Send Mr. Boothby on board the Swan cutter immediately. Make haste.”17
Sit down in the cabin with a party of particular friends. Georges in the chair, Lord Bury on my right hand, little Johnny Russell over against me. Boat ready; cutter waiting. Take an affectionate leave of my friends, Georges, Lord Bury, and Johnny, and part from Admiral Keats in the kindest manner; indeed, his behaviour and friendly conduct had quite attached me to him.
When taking leave of the wardroom officers I am entreated below to wine, steadily refuse, but Captain Jackson being gone with the Admiral, Mr. Crowe, the first lieutenant, orders me to be carried below, upon which officers, youngsters, and marines surround me, and spite of a strenuous resistance, carry me bodily by neck and heels into the wardroom, where I drink adieu.
Sent on board the Admiral to receive more despatches. Get on board the cutter; nasty odious little thing. Pass close under the Superb’s stern. All hands crowd the poop, and actively wave me many farewells.
Wind foul; go to bed.
July 20.—Wind still fouler. Change our tack, and at length conceive hopes of arriving at Ystad, a pretty-looking town as seen from the distance; but nothing can be more park-like and beautiful than the shores of the Great Belt.
Get on shore about 5 P.M. Sailors take up my baggage. Go to the inn. Mr. Lucas brings Mr. Strom (clerk to an Ystad merchant), who undertakes my passports, horses, etc. Asking about Swedish travelling, it appears that robbing or breach of trust are species of dishonesty unknown to the Swedes. Send my baggage off at ten, start at eleven. No moon, good horses. As I go along, astonished to see the sea on my right hand. “How the devil,” said I, “can this be?”
The sea, in or out of sight, must be to the left hand. But still I saw the sea approaching even to the edge of the road, broken by beautiful ports, isles, and rocks. “Diable,” said I, “what call you dat?” pointing to a fine harbour, embossed with islands and romantic shores. The driver looked, but returned no answer, for he saw nothing but the white mist arising from the face of the earth. The deception was complete. A bank on the left of the road obstructed my view, but on the right it commanded an extensive tract of country. The thick, white, shining mists lying in the low grounds gave them the exact appearance of water at that dusk time of night, while mountains in their range sketched out the harbours and islands which I had discovered.18
Overtake my baggage, and arrive.
July 21.—At Everslip by half-past one. Dispatch the holker for horses. Go into a room in the house, like an oven; no light, but merely darkness visible; lie on a sofa; see a black many-legged reptile glide across the wall; start up and go out to meet my baggage.
Men impatient for payment. “What will you have?” “For my two horses, five dollars.” “Rascal! I will give you one and a half, which I know to be right, and a half for yourself.” “Very right, tanka,” said he. Baggage arrives—relieved.
Daylight now, as with a mantle, robed our world, and bade fictitious seas and white mists yield the deceptive mask. And now I took the reins.
Sudden each blade of grass, each feathered shrub, gleamed golden bright, and turning to the east, the glorious orb above the hills exalted half his disk.
Arrive at Regerberg much tired, and roost. Wait for horses; start at half-past twelve, and arrive at Glumslouf. View beautiful—wooded banks of Zealand, Copenhagen spires. Meet divers Swedish nobles; they are diverted at the manner in which I expedite the hostler. “Holker,” said I, and he looking back, I shake a bag of halfpence at him, and he runs like blazes.
Arrive at Helsingborg at five; much delighted as I approach with the view of Zealand.
The Orion and Vanguard and Calypso in the Sound, and beautiful Cronberg Castle beyond them.
Drive to Mr. Fenwick, the British Consul, and deliver letters. He, a gentlemanlike young man, actively obliging, procures me a room, and invites me to his house. Covered with dust and sweat, I plunge delightedly, and lave my limbs, then I robe myself afresh, and freed from all my dirt, sally forth and drink tea at the Consul’s. The boat announced, we proceed on board the Orion, and I deliver my despatches. As Admiral Bertie is not on board, I reclaim them, and pursue him to the Vanguard. Return on shore, sup with Mr. Fenwick, who gives me a snuff-box. Go to bed at twelve.
July 22, Friday.—Get up half-past 2 A.M., open the window, to find a midshipman looking for me, so I dress quick and send baggage to boat.
Admiral had said at daylight the Calypso’s instructions should be perfectly ready. Get on board about four—delightful brig. Captain goes on board the Orion; no despatches yet. Fine breeze, which would shoot us by Cronberg Castle and the swarming gunboats, blowing to waste. At 2 P.M. calm.
Signal made by telegraph: “Come on board; bring the engineer.” So we go on board, and Calypso weighs; as the breeze rises away we go; there is no firing, and we dart along.
July 25, Monday.—Fall in with a Dutch fishing-boat and board her, and get ten or a dozen very large cod. Fish ourselves; catch numerous mackerel in a light breeze—beautiful dying—green, blue, red, and rose. Becalmed. Plumb for cod; catch plenty, very large codfish and ling, also a dogfish. Cabinetmaker begs the skin to finish off his work. This evening the sun set in unusual splendour; he sank down into a thick indigo bank, whose edges he tinged with colours dipt in heaven. Sky tinctured green, and all above was yellow golden radiance, richly fretted in vapours, which blended off to the wilder clouds in the richest roseate glow. The sea was glassy smooth, but heaved gently with majesty, in her borrowed robe of gold refulgent, while in the east a perfect bow shone in full colours, striding over heaven, an arch superb, which the reflecting waves joined underneath again, making the round complete:—
Rain,—imperceptible breeze; slip through at four knots. 140 miles from Yarmouth.
July 28, Thursday, 4 A.M.—Fair wind, going nine miles per hour. Board a suspicious vessel like a French privateer and find her a Greenland schooner. Heavy rain, dirty weather, close to Norfolk coast. Anchor for the night.
July 29, Friday, 4 A.M.—As we were getting up anchor the fog came on very thick. And though the wind at length relents, the envious fog still obscures the entrance to port; as it clears away we weigh anchor about 1 P.M., at which time I land, having preceded in the gig with Captain Bradby.
I wait upon Admiral Douglas, and hear that Sir J. Moore is at Portsmouth and expected to sail hourly. After this very fretful. Go on board again to make distribution of bag, but return immediately and get on shore half an hour before the mail starts. Take my place. In the mail are two men in coarse jackets and trousers, just escaped from France, having broken their parole. The joy of having escaped seemed entirely to fly away with all compunction, if indeed they had any conscience. They had undergone great hardships, so I smothered the severity of my disapprobation.
July 30.—Go to the Blenheim Hotel, Bond Street. Find that General Moore has taken care that I shall follow him. The General invites me to breakfast to talk of my report. See Sir R. Milnes. Call on Mrs. Meynell.
July 31.—Breakfast with General Moore. Office to-morrow. No tidings of baggage. Write letters home.
Blenheim Hotel, New Bond Street,
July 31, 1808.
My Louisa—First let me tell you that I am going to-morrow to Portsmouth to join or follow Sir John Moore, so hope not to see me just yet.
Having completed my services in the Baltic, I arrived at Yarmouth yesterday, and hearing that Sir J. Moore only waited for a wind, I was upon tenterhooks until in London, so half an hour after I landed I put myself into the mail, and arrived here at nine o’clock this morning. “Keep moving” has been for some time my motto.
Now, my own lass, have I much to discourse with thee about. There is my journey to Trollhättan and my peregrinations in the Baltic, my travels again through Sweden, all which, as I kept a circumstantial journal, you shall be sure to have. The civility and kindness of Admiral Keats, with whom I lived, made my stay quite delightful. After I had been on board three days it was necessary to transfer me to another line-of-battle ship, and when I was going he told me he should be back in a few days: “And then, if you please, you shall take up your quarters with me.” This pleased me much, and when he did return he took me into his cabin, and I was as happy as the day was long, although very hard worked. He is by all the Navy esteemed now the first character in it, and all his officers, although they dislike him, absolutely swear by him in a professional point of view, and acknowledge that they believe a better or more tender-hearted man does not exist, but still he is disagreeable on duty. He, as Captain Keats, commanded the Superb in Admiral Saumarcy’s action off Algeciras, dashed in between two Spanish three-deckers, and, giving each a broadside, passed clear in the smoke and engaged another ship of equal force, which he sank. Meanwhile the two Spaniards continued by mistake to fight each other in the smoke until they both blew up; thus by such conduct he destroyed three line-of-battle ships. All the great folks send their sons under his charge, and admirably kind and masterly he is with them. A son of the Duke of Clarence is with him, a fine lad. I never saw such delightful boys. The Admiral makes them write sham letters to him every Saturday. My favourite, little Georges, gave an account of a sea-fight. “My Lords,” he says, “I enclose a copy of my letter to Admiral Easterbrooke (another monkey just like himself), and in an event of this importance I have thought it necessary to send my first lieutenant, Hawkins (another), to whom I refer your Lordships for any further, etc., and beg to recommend him, etc., as an officer of distinguished merit, etc.,” and so on.
The Admiral has a favourite little dog and a favourite cow. “I think it very odd, Mr. Georges,” said he, “that none of you youngsters have had the civility to write to my dog or cow; it would do just as well to exercise you; besides, you might take a sly fling at the Admiral.”
So next time young Georges writes:—“Dear Madam Cow,” begging her to bestow a little of her great bag of milk on the youngsters—a pretty broad hint to the Admiral. But what prattle is this! I delivered my papers to the chief engineer this morning, the originals of which are sent, I fancy, to Lord Castlereagh and the Admiralty. My chief received me very graciously. I learned from him with great joy that General Moore had applied to Lord Chatham to have me follow him, and that his Lordship had acceded; but as General Moore does not command in chief, I have no staff hopes, for the present at least.
The people in this house speak in raptures of dearest old Dad.... Do you write by return of post, and I shall write to-morrow, and in the meantime, my dearest Lou, Heaven have thee in its holy keeping.
Charles.
I breakfast with my chief to-morrow, and only wait my baggage from Yarmouth.
I think after a Spanish or Portuguese campaign I may rest a bit, and perhaps a peace will bless the world and fetter Buonaparte, for unfettered the rascal cannot be left.
August 2.—Wretchedly fidgety about my baggage. Get a letter from Bradby telling me where to find it, as it has been delayed by the Custom House officers.
August 4, 5 o’clock A.M.—Start on the stage for Portsmouth, having sent my baggage on before.
“Penelope” Transport (P.S.),
August 9, 1808.
Dearest Louisa—Here I am embarked, and your letters in future had better be addressed to me with the expedition under Sir Harry Burrard and sent to the engineers’ office.—Ever yours,
Charles.
August 9, Tuesday.—N.E. Bustle aboard the Penelope brig. Get on board at twelve. Get under way.
N.W. Tossing ten at night. God send a good passage. Forty-two sail, including the convoy.
August 10, Wednesday.—Off. St. Albans barely in sight. Foul wind. At the old work—toss, tack, toss, toss, tack toss, toss tack. Stercoraceous smells under my berth; porter used to be stored there; a chance fracture stains the straw and accounts for it.
August 12.—A very numerous fleet under the land, sailing up Channel. Breeze freshens. Cool dry weather. An Italian tailor told me to-day that the English have good pay, but that in five weeks in London he spent all he had gained in the rest of the year. When mirth sat in the heart and money lay in the pocket he could not resist it, he said; and what with dances, coaches, dresses, and feasts, guineas flew out like dust, and he was forced to come to sea again!
Breeze increased at about 11 P.M.; blew very hard; short high sea; signal to veer, and sail on starboard tack.
August 13, Saturday, 2 A.M.—A gale S.W. very high. Suppose at daylight he will run for Plymouth. Rendezvous signal. Plymouth Sound. Anchor outside the Drake Islands at 8 P.M.
August 14, Sunday.—Weigh and get within the bight. Write letters.
Plymouth Sound,
“Penelope” Brig, August 14.
Sweet Sister—Encountering a S.W. gale has led us a sad rakish life. We were glad to put in here to-night, an operation which the thickness of the weather rendered very bothering.
As the wind may blow contrary some time, write to me here, directed Army under Sir H. Burrard, Plymouth, or elsewhere.
Chickens all well, but Jack and I cannot get the ducks to eat now; they waddle about and crack their toes. Jack’s great delight (Jack is the cabin boy, my only companion) is my solicitude about the ducks, and I thought he never would have done laughing when I told him to clean away some tar from the coop because it made them sneeze; and when we turned them out to exercise the other day, one tried to quack and could not, so Jack said, “He’s speechless, sir.” We anchored at eight o’clock—sad, sad work. Should have been half way to Lisbon.—Ever yours,
Charles.
August 15, Monday.—French prize brought in yesterday, a fine brig of war of eighteen guns. She was in company with a corvette and another brig of equal force. They gave chase to an English twenty-gun ship, which disguised herself and stopped her way. The brig that was taken outsailed the other and began to engage the Englishman, upon which the corvette and other brig crowded sail and made off, while their more honourable companion, after fighting thirty-five minutes, was taken.
August 19, Friday.—Wind fresh, six knots, smooth water. At evening a bird flying like a duck met the ship, and lighted on the foretopsail yard, where he began looking up and down and all about, peering, as it were, with his long flexible neck and long beak. When it became dark, Antonio, a cunning, merry Italian, went aloft to try to catch him, at which everybody cried, “Fool!”—As he perched with his face aft, the man got on the foreside the sail (they wondered how the devil he managed it), and we could see his hands glide under the yard until they laid hold of the animal, which he brought down with him upon deck, the enraged creature snapping at him all the time with great dexterity.
He was very savage and the size and colour of a large goshawk, but a much slimmer-bodied bird; his pinions, plumage, tail, and standing position of his body like a hawk; his head but very slightly deviating from the bulk of his neck; sleek appearance; his long beak hooked at the end of the upper limb; his eyes, light blue, yet wild, ardent, and piercing, were placed close to the sit of the beak; his legs short and thick, of a black colour; his feet large, long, and triangular, the webs white, and claws at the ends of the toes.
Unfortunately and thoughtlessly Antonio’s wish to have his wing cut was complied with, and he would not eat.
August 20, Saturday.—At 6 P.M. land discovered well on the larboard bow; supposed neighbourhood of Cape Ortegal. Blowing exceeding hard, heavy sea, eight knots. Bird won’t eat.
August 21, Sunday.—3 A.M. wind drops. Eight o’clock thick fog; not yet weathered Cape Finisterre. Having seen the land at no great distance, and the strange bird refusing all food, I proposed to liberate him, thinking that of two chances for his life that was the least desperate, namely, his being able to row to some land where he might seek his food unassisted by flight. Accordingly the string was taken from his leg and he was left at large. After walking about a bit, he came in sight of the water through the door of the gangway that had been opened for him. He immediately perched upon the edge of the vessel, looking earnestly about as if to discover land, tried his wings, seemed sensible of the defect, but at last he stooped and soon reached the water.
We had endeavoured to palliate the injury by cutting the other wing exactly in the same manner as the first, not pinioned, merely the ends of the feathers taken off. When he reached the water he rowed from the ship with amazing swiftness and began to wash himself and play with infinite delight, plunging his head into the water, and seeming in complete enjoyment. The ship was stealing on about a mile and a half an hour, and we had lost sight of the bird, when, to our great surprise, he hove again in sight, and seemed pulling after the ship as hard as he could. There was a very heavy swell, and we could see him dive up hill and down, and gain upon the ship astonishingly fast. We still could hardly think he wished to come on board again, until he came close alongside, and kept close to the gangway (where he had gone from the ship), looking up with anxiety. A man was then let down to the water’s edge, when, instead of pulling off, the bird came to him with open mouth, clapping its wings, and showed the utmost impatience to be taken up. When he came on board he was much fatigued and his plumage was wet. He still refused to eat, but a little fish and water was put down his beak, which he swallowed. He seems weak and ill, and I fear will die before we are able to relieve him. He is become tame, however, and has his liberty about the deck, and he knows he may go when he likes, which I hope comforts him. I would give two guineas at this moment (and I have but six) to restore him those bits of feathers of which he was robbed; but, at any rate, he is no longer disgusted with the nastiness of the ducks, with whom we put him at first, in hopes they might get acquainted and induce him to take pot-luck with them; but he treated them with the most scorning contempt, and seemed to think them most filthy companions, and the devotion and animation with which he cleansed himself from their filth when he got into the water was quite beautiful to see. At twelve it cleared up so as we could see the land—Cape Finisterre. Light breeze. Fog gone.
August 22, Monday.—This morning the strange bird at four o’clock leapt again from the side and pulled from the ship with a swift and steady course until out of sight. He kept up his looks amazingly well, and probably the fish and water stuffed down his throat sustained him, and, as if aware that he had exhausted himself before, he never stayed to wash or amuse himself. Fare him well.
August 24, Wednesday.—Fogs, foul wind, good breeze towards evening. Land ahead. Signal made for Mondego, and bear away accordingly.
August 25, Thursday.—A nice breeze at 12 A.M. and very clear. Sandy shore, sand hills, north of Mondego. Lay to for three ships astern.
August 26, Friday.—Breeze blowing right out of harbour. Very angry at the wind; expect not to get in to-day. At half-past nine boat alongside. Onions, pears, apples, apricots, bread. Learn from them that the great fleet is gone to Lisbon, and am then sure that we shall follow. Soon after signal to steer W.S.W.
August 27.—Dead calm, fog, rain, heavy sea.
Foul breeze.
Sad work.
August 31, Wednesday.—At 5 A.M. Rock of Lisbon in sight. Pass through Sir Harry Burrard’s fleet on their way to England. When we come abreast of the Rock, seven o’clock, we soon hear from the agent that the army had made a bad business of the landing, which took place on the Maer, many lives being lost. It was supposed that we were either to land in the same place, should the wind favour, or return to Mondego.
An action had taken place, in which Sir H. Burrard was in person. 5000 French taken, 800 British lost. The British forces said to consist of Sir A. Wellesley’s expedition. Stand in at ten o’clock for the Rock of Lisbon. Come in sight of the Tagus blockading fleet, under command of Sir Charles Cotton. Bring to, then go on the starboard tack, and God knows when or where we shall land. Eurydice leaves us for Halifax.
September 1.—Still tacking for Lisbon. I go on board—the commander of the convoy, Captain Mayne—Primrose brig sloop.
Tell him that, being astray, I was just now particularly anxious to get to the army, as I supposed the Engineers might possibly be actively employed. He then told me that the game was up, that Junot was allowed to return to France with his troops and plunder, but that the English had told the Russian Admiral that he must either surrender or fight; that Sir J. M. and Sir A. W. were raving at Sir H. D.19 and Sir H. B. on account of the terms allowed to General Junot, and that we should go in to-day or to-morrow. Stand out till twelve. Wind blowing very hard.
September 2, Friday.—Signal to anchor. Beat up towards an anchorage near the Rock of Lisbon, where the African and convoy had brought up last night. At nine o’clock see a Russian flag of truce go to the British Admiral.
Come to an anchor off Cascaes at two o’clock. Go on shore. See Captain M’Leod of the Barfleur. Find on inquiry that it is not known where the army was. It had been at Mafia, but it appeared that it was moving. The 42nd Regiment, commanded by Colonel Stirling, had taken port at Cascaes. The Colonel despaired of getting important despatches to Sir Henry, so I determined not to set out for the army until their situation is known. Write home.