This is very tiresome—­not to be able to walk abroad for an instant, but to be kept in this old house which they call “The Fountain,” a mansion made of wood in imitation of a ship.  The timbers were well tried last night during the squall.  The barometer has sunk an inch very suddenly, which seems to argue a change, and probably a deliverance from port.  Sir Michael Seymour, Mr. Harris, Captain Lawrence came to greet us after breakfast; also Sir James Graham.  They were all learned on this change of weather which seems to be generally expected.  I had a good mess of Tory chat with Mr. Harris.  We hope to see his daughters in the evening.  He keeps his courage amid the despair of too many of his party.  About one o’clock our Kofle, as Mungo Park words it, set out, self excluded, to witness the fleet sailing from the ramparts.

October 27.—­The weather is more moderate and there is a chance of our sailing.  We whiled away our time as we could, relieved by several kind visits.  We realised the sense of hopeless expectation described by Fielding in his Voyage to Lisbon, which identical tract Captain Hall, who in his eagerness to be kind seems in possession of the wishing-cap of Fortunatus, was able to provide for us.  To-morrow is spoken of as certainly a day to move.

October 28.—­But the wind is as unfavourable as ever and I take a hobbling morning walk upon the rampart, where I am edified by a good-natured officer who shows me the place, marked by a buoy, where the Royal George went down “with twice four hundred men."[482] Its hull forms a shoal which is still in existence, a neglect scarcely reconcilable with the splendour of our proceedings where our navy is concerned.  Saw a battle on the rampart between two sailor boys, who fought like game-cocks.  Returned to “The Fountain,” to a voluminous breakfast.  Captain Pigot calls, with little hope of sailing to-day.  I made my civil affidavit yesterday to a master extraordinary in Chancery, which I gave to Sophia last night.

October 29 (The Barham).—­The weather is changed and I think we shall sail.  Captain Forbes comes with offer of the Admiral Sir Michael Seymour’s barge, but we must pause on our answer.  I have had a very disturbed night.  Captain Pigot’s summons is at length brought by his own announcement, and the same time the Admiral’s barge attends for our accommodation and puts us and our baggage on board the Barham, a beautiful ship, a 74 cut down to a 50, and well deserving all the commendations bestowed on her.  The weather a calm which is almost equal to a favourable wind, so we glide beautifully along by the Isle of Wight and the outside of the island.  We landsfolk feel these queerish sensations, when, without being in the least sick, we are not quite well.  We dine enormously and take our cot at nine o’clock, when we sleep undisturbed till seven.

October 30.—­Find the Bill of Portland in sight, having run about forty miles during the night.  About the middle of the day turn sea-sick and retire to my berth for the rest of the evening.