NELSON & BRONTE.
Poor Captain Le Gros had your note to him in his pocket-book, and that was all he saved.
Mr. Este left him at Gibraltar, and went to Malta in the Thisbe.
Captain Le Gros is now trying. I think, it will turn out, that every person is obliged to his conduct for saving their lives.
She took fire thirteen leagues from the land.
Victory, April 23,1804.
MY DEAREST EMMA,
Hallowell has promised me, if the Admiralty will give him leave to go to London, that he will call at Merton.
His spirit is certainly more independent than almost any man’s I ever knew; but, I believe, he is attached to me. I am sure, he has no reason to be so, to either Troubridge or any one at the Admiralty.
I have sent, last night, a box of Marischino Veritabile of Zara, which I got Jemmy Anderson to buy for me, and twelve bottles of tokay. I have kept none for myself, being better pleased that you should have it.
I am, ever, and for ever, your most faithful and affectionate
NELSON & BRONTE.
Hallowell parted last night; but, being in sight, I am sending a frigate with a letter to the Admiralty.
May God Almighty bless you, and send us a happy meeting!
Victory, May 5, 1804.
I find, my Dearest Emma, that your picture is very much admired by the French Consul at Barcelona; and that he has not sent it to be admired—which, I am sure, it would be—by Buonaparte.
They pretend, that there were three pictures taken. I wish, I had them: but they are all gone, as irretrievably as the dispatches; unless we may read them in a book, as we printed their correspondence from Egypt.
But, from us, what can they find out! That I love you, most dearly; and hate the French, most damnably.
Dr. Scott went to Barcelona, to try to get the private letters; but, I fancy, they are all gone to Paris. The Swedish and American Consuls told him, that the French Consul had your picture, and read your letters; and, Doctor thinks, one of them probably read the letters.
By the master’s account of the cutter, I would not have trusted a pair of old shoes in her. He tells me, she did not sail, but was a good sea-boat.
I hope, Mr. Marsden will not trust any more of my private letters in such a conveyance; if they choose to trust the affairs of the public in such a thing, I cannot help it.
I long for the invasion being over; it must finish the war, and I have no fears for the event.
I do not say, all I wish; and which, my dearest beloved Emma—(read that, whoever opens this letter; and, for what I care, publish it to the world)—your fertile imagination can readily fancy I would say: but this I can say, with great truth, that I am, FOR EVER, YOUR’S