The Dream and the Glory

by Barbara Cartland

  Cordelia having collapsed and nursing a temperature lay in a darkened room and had no knowledge of the drama taking place in the Palazzo Sessa.

  But once she was well enough, the story of the anxiety of those tense and dynamic days was related to her by Lady Hamilton.

  And how dramatically Her Ladyship told the tale.

  When Napoleon had slipped out of Toulon while Nelson was in Sardinia, he had sailed down the Mediterranean like a fox confusing the scent by every means in his power.

  Admiral Nelson pursued him hampered by misinformation and by lack of frigates, the scouts of the Fleet, but steadfastly in pursuit.

  “On that pursuit the Fate of Europe hung!” Lady Hamilton cried. “I knew that the British Fleet would need food and water, but what could we do?”

  Cordelia learnt that the King had shut himself away in an agony of fear, terrified of a rising in the City, terrified of the French, imagining the guillotine being set up in the Piazza de Mercato and his barbaric splendour being set ablaze about his ears.

  “My only hope was the Queen,” Lady Hamilton told Cordelia. “We clung together and wept while Sir William argued, pleaded and begged the King for help.”

  “If he could not obtain water in Naples,” Cordelia asked, “where would Admiral Nelson have had to go?”

  “Gibraltar was his nearest Port, but by turning back on his tracks he would leave Egypt open to Napoleon.”

  “What – happened?” Cordelia asked breathlessly.

  “Admiral Nelson in the Vanguard was anchored off Capri. He sent two of his trusted Captains to Sir William, but there was nothing my husband could do but tell the truth. ‘Gentlemen,’ Sir William said, ‘I have tried every avenue already to break that most infamous pact forbidding our ships to enter Naples or the Sicilian Ports. I will make further application to the King, but I must be honest and say that I am not very optimistic it will succeed’.”

  Lady Hamilton drew in her breath.

  “It was then I decided to see what I could do and I sought an audience with the Queen.”

  “She helped you,” Cordelia asked.

  She was impatient to hear the end of the story. But Lady Hamilton wished to tell it her own way.

  “Sir William came back with a Ministerial Order written under the King's eye, which was hedged with conditions and barbed with restrictions. The Governors of the Sicilian Ports were to permit the wounded to be taken ashore, but victualling and water were to be accorded only in certain narrowly defined circumstances.”

  She gave a deep sigh.

  “I could see how downcast the Captains were and I said to Sir William, ‘let’s go in our own yacht to call on Admiral Nelson before he puts to sea’.”

  “And Sir William agreed?” Cordelia enquired.

  “He agreed and it was dusk when we boarded the Vanguard. Admiral Nelson greeted us and led the way to his cabin.”

  “‘Has Your Excellency obtained an Order?’ he asked Sir William. ‘After a fashion, yes,’ Sir William replied, ‘but I doubt if it will serve your purpose’.”

  “That must have been a blow to the Admiral,” Cordelia murmured.

  “I saw his face go pale and a tragic expression came into his eyes,” Lady Hamilton said. “Then I produced a paper from under my cloak.”

  “What was it?” Cordelia asked.

  “As I explained to Admiral Nelson, the Queen had a seat on the Council. I had urged Her Majesty to use her power. She feared to do so, but I went down on my knees and beseeched her for the sake of her Kingdom and her children – ”

  Lady Hamilton’s voice broke, as it must have broken when she had ceased to speak in Nelson’s cabin and for a moment his white face had swum before her eyes.

  “Sir William took the paper from my shaking hand,” she declared. “He read it and then extended it to the Admiral. ‘I offer you, sir,’ he said, ‘from my Lady Hamilton a Royal Order for watering and provisioning the Fleet where you will!’”

  “I thought for a moment,” Lady Hamilton related, “that Admiral Nelson would break down. Then he laid the paper on the table and said in a voice of great solemnity,

  “‘Madame, you have saved your country. God grant the Fleet may be worthy of your courage and wisdom.’”

  It had been a glorious story to listen to, Cordelia thought, but still they did not know the end of it.

  As soon as she was better in health, she realised that the tension in the Palazzo Sessa increased every hour that passed without news.

  There was no disguising the anxiety in Lady Hamilton’s beautiful face and Cordelia learnt from the maids who waited on her that worry had made Sir William ill as day after day he waited for a report that never came.

  There was always the apprehension that Napoleon’s new ships had defeated the older British ones.

  Would Admiral Nelson, in bad health, handicapped by the continuous pain he had suffered after the loss of his arm and with one blind eye, be able to hold his own against the young confident conqueror of Europe?

  But at this particular moment Cordelia was concerned only with herself and her appearance.

  Today she would see Mark for the first time since reaching Naples and she was anxious that he might not be waiting for her with the same impatience that consumed her.

  She loved him, she loved him desperately.

  Her love was so overwhelming and so complete that it was hard to contemplate that he might not feel the same.

  What had she to reassure her? One kiss and the moment on board the St. Jude when he had held her in his arms.

  She had been prepared to die at his side on the deck of the St. Jude, but he had been barely conscious at the time and there had been no chance for an intimate conversation aboard the Thunderer.

  Because of the intense pain he was suffering Mark had been kept asleep most of the two days at sea under the influence of laudanum.

  He had roused himself when they reached Naples, but Cordelia had known that it was a superhuman effort on his part and it had left him pale and exhausted when finally he was carried away on a stretcher.

  After that she herself remembered little more.

  For some days, however, she had felt like herself again and today the doctor had given her permission to dress and go downstairs.

  “You are to lie in the sun, my Lady, and do nothing to exert yourself,” he had said severely.

  “You are turning me into an invalid!” Cordelia protested, but she had known that what he/ ordained was sensible.

  “The footmen are outside the door, my Lady,” the maid said now, “waiting to carry you down the stairs.”

  “I can walk,” Cordelia replied indignantly.

  “Her Ladyship has arranged for you to be lifted down in a chair.”

  It was impossible for Cordelia to disregard her hostess’s orders.

  When she was carried through the salon onto the terrace outside, she found that with her usual consideration Lady Hamilton had arranged a chaise longue heaped with silk cushions under a canvas awning that would protect her from the heat of the sun.

  The view of the Bay and the flowers rioting in the garden were even lovelier, Cordelia thought, than she remembered.

  It was almost unreal in its beauty, like a scene from a play. Was she the heroine?

  She felt a little tremor of fear in case, in her longing and need of Mark, she had built up a false image of his response.

  But she had hardly been alone for more than five minutes before the Major Domo’s voice announced in stentorian tones,

  “The Earl of Hunstanton to see you, my Lady.”

  Cordelia gave a start.

  She had forgotten that Mark had inherited the title from David and that his position in life was now very different from what it had been before.

  Then any thought about his title was swept away with an inexpressible gladness as he appeared.

  He looked thinner and his face had lost a little of its tan, but his eyes were brilliantly blue.

  The
only difference was that instead of walking lithely and quickly in the athletic manner that she was accustomed to, he came towards her slowly, leaning on an ivory handled walking stick.

  There was so much that she had planned to say to him and so much that she had rehearsed in her mind, but now the words were swept from her lips.

  She could only stare at him, her eyes very large in her small face.

  “You are – well?” he asked.

  She had forgotten how deep his voice was and that it vibrated through her so that she felt as if it was a note of music that she must respond to.

  “Is your leg – better?”

  “Thanks entirely to you I still have it!”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Only when I stand.”

  “Then sit down,” Cordelia said quickly. “You must rest – you must take care of yourself.”

  He smiled and it made him look younger.

  “There is so much I want to say to you, Cordelia,” he began, “but first I must thank you.”

  “No – please – ” she protested.

  “How could I imagine that any woman could be so courageous, so amazingly and unbelievably wonderful?”

  Cordelia felt the colour flood into her cheeks.

  Because she was shy her eyes fell before his and she could look only at his heavily dressed leg and remember the terrifying open wound that she had bandaged on board the St. Jude.

  Mark was here, near her as she had wanted, but he was so large and so overwhelming that he made her tremble.

  “Is the Baron very depressed about the loss of his ship?” she asked inconsequently.

  “He is so deeply grateful to be alive that everything else is of little consequence,” Mark replied.

  “I hear he is – better.”

  “I went to see him yesterday and in a short while he will be well enough to return home to his family.”

  “That is good news,” Cordelia said, “and the seamen?”

  “Several have already recovered enough to go to sea again and they were all very grateful for the fruit and delicacies you sent them.”

  Cordelia hesitated, and then she said tentatively,

  “As they lost – the prize money – I wondered – ”

  Mark smiled.

  “I have already seen to that. It was a thank offering and as you know I am now a rich man. But I am hoping that you do not resent my taking David’s place.”

  “No, no, of course not,” Cordelia replied. “I am so glad it is – you. And I hated to think of Stanton Park shut up and the estate – neglected.”

  Mark bent forward towards her.

  “Cordelia – ” he began.

  Her heart missed a beat. She felt that he was about to say something of such significance that she held her breath.

  At that moment they were interrupted.

  Lady Hamilton came out of the salon onto the terrace.

  “My dears,” she exclaimed. “How delightful it is to have you both here. Please don’t rise, my Lord. I don’t intend to stay more than a few moments, Sir William needs me.”

  She put her white hand on Mark’s shoulder and said with a smile,

  “I am sure you two have a great deal to talk about. I will see that you are not disturbed. Be careful of the sun, it’s very hot today.”

  She walked to the balustrade of the terrace as if to confirm that she was not exaggerating.

  Then she gave a little cry.

  “A ship! An English ship making Harbour!”

  Even as she spoke there was a salute to the Royal flag at St. Elmo and the Forts replied.

  “It must be news,” Lady Hamilton cried. “News of Admiral Nelson and the British Fleet. Pray God we will not be disappointed!”

  Mark rose from his chair to stand beside her.

  A rowboat was putting out from the ship, which had dropped anchor near the shore.

  “Do you think there has been a battle?” Lady Hamilton asked in an agonised whisper. “Perhaps the French ships have eluded them again. Oh, God, how can I stand the suspense?”

  “It will not be long now,” Mark tried to console her.

  They watched the boat reach the quay. Then they heard a cheer in the distance, the screeching foreign cheer that had often amused Lady Hamilton.

  She had laughed about it with Admiral Nelson.

  The sound came nearer, gathered volume and grew louder and louder.

  Naples was yelling for joy but why? And what for?

  Without a word Lady Hamilton turned and ran from the terrace.

  Mark then walked back to Cordelia, who had not moved.

  “I will find out what is happening,” he suggested.

  She saw that he too was anxious and, as he turned to leave her, his lips were set in the line she knew so well that meant he was exerting a strong control over his feelings.

  Passing through the salon Mark found that Lady Hamilton had gone to the entrance of the Embassy.

  She was standing on the steps and joining her from every part of the Palazzo Sessa were the servants, clerks and secretaries.

  All were aware that something momentous was occurring, although everyone was afraid to put a name to it.

  Mark could not move quickly and when at length he reached Lady Hamilton’s side he saw two naval Officers walking swiftly and steadily towards them looking neither to the right nor to the left.

  Outside the wrought-iron gates the crowds had stopped, but they were still yelling and cheering.

  Mark recognised Captain Hoste and Captain Capel, two of Nelson’s most valued commanders and he knew them both.

  They saw Lady Hamilton and came to the bottom of the steps almost at a run.

  “What is – it?”

  It was doubtful whether they could have heard her question, because the words seemed to be strangled in her throat.

  “Madam, a great and glorious victory. The French Fleet is destroyed!”

  Even as the words left Captain Hoste’s lips, the strain that she had felt these last weeks seemed to snap in Emma Hamilton’s mind.

  She flung up her arms and fainted dead away, falling heavily on the marble steps.

  The Captains and the servants carried her to the room nearest the entrance, but, as they laid her down, her eyelids fluttered and the colour came back into her cheeks.

  The story of the battle was to be told over and over again, but at that moment all that mattered was that Admiral Nelson had found the French Fleet anchored in Aboukir Bay.

  He had given the signal to attack on the afternoon of August 1st.

  Admiral de Brueys in command of the French Fleet had been unable to get his ships into the abandoned and neglected Port.

  “He offered ten thousand livres to any pilot who would guide his flotilla into Harbour,” Captain Capel related.

  “But he had to anchor in the open road-stead, lying in a long line moored stern to stern in what was considered an impregnable position,” Captain Hoste interposed.

  Everyone was listening breathlessly as the Captains went on to tell how the French ships had more than one thousand cannons and over eleven thousand men.

  “A North-West wind bore our Fleet towards the French at half past six in the evening,” Captain Hoste carried on. “By a brilliant and unexpected manoeuvre the Goliath and the Zealous, followed by several more, got between the French ships and the shore.”

  “That meant,” Captain Capel explained, seeing that Lady Hamilton did not understand, “that they could escape the French gunfire for all their cannons were pointing seaward!”

  Lady Hamilton clasped her hands together.

  “The French ships,” Captain Capel continued, “were immobile and now caught as if between a pair of nutcrackers. Sir Horatio opened a murderous cannonade and the French were raked by our broadsides from both flanks. We fought all night!”

  “And the British losses?” Mark asked.

  They were the first words he had spoken since the Captains had begun their tale.


  “Heavy!” Captain Hoste replied. “The great ships were so closely engaged that every cannonade swept off victims. Three times the gunners on the Vanguard were dragged away dead.”

  “But so skilfully had the British plan been made,” Captain Hoste went on, “that our battle line remained unbroken as our ships steadily moved forward along each side of the line. One by one the French ships, though they fought obstinately, succumbed.”

  There was a moment's silence and then Captain Capel said tentatively,

  “Sir Horatio had only just received the news of the last surrender when he was hit by a stray shot.”

  Lady Hamilton gave a cry of horror.

  “He was wounded, but not dangerously,” Captain Hoste explained quickly, “while the French Admiral was killed.”

  “The French fought bravely,” Captain Capel conceded. “One of their frigates blew herself up, five were sunk and over four thousand Frenchmen died that night. There was however one regrettable loss.”

  “What was that?” Mark quizzed him.

  “L’Orient was set on fire and, when the fire reached the powder magazines, the whole ship went sky high!”

  “That was a pity,” Mark said laconically. “The prize money would have been tremendous.”

  Lady Hamilton rose from the couch where she had been lying.

  “I must write to Admiral Nelson, but first, gentlemen, I will take you to the Palace at Caserta. The Queen must hear all that you have to relate.”

  She ran to the door and called to the servants,

  “My cloak. My hat. Order a carriage.”

  And a few minutes later, having told Sir William the stupendous news, she left the Palazzo Sessa with the two Captains.

  Mark went back to Cordelia.

  As he appeared, she watched him wide-eyed until he was close to her.

  Then she held out her hand.

  “I know by your expression that it is a victory!”

  “A great victory,” he agreed. “But before I tell you all about it, before anything else interrupts us, I have a question to ask you.”

  “What is it?” she enquired.

  His fingers tightened on hers and he said gravely,

  “Will you, my darling, marry me immediately?”