The Emperor, in his eulogy of Nelson, is not unmindful of the terrible crime he was led to commit at the instigation of that human viper, Queen Caroline, and the licentious Emma Hamilton.  He, to some extent, whittles down Nelson’s share of the responsibility by putting the whole blame on them.  But who can read the gruesome story of the trial and hanging of the aged Prince Carraciolli without feeling ashamed that a fellow-countryman in Nelson’s position should have stamped his career with so dark a crime?  At the capitulation of St. Elmo, Carraciolli made his escape.  He commanded a Neapolitan warship called the Tancredi, and had fought in Admiral Hotham’s action on the 14th March, 1795, and gained distinction, accompanying the Royal Family to Palermo.  He was given permission by the King to return for the purpose of protecting his large property.  The French had entered Neapolitan territory and seized his estates, on the ground that he was a Royalist, and the only way he could recover them was by agreeing to take command of the Neapolitan fleet.  The French were obliged to evacuate the country, and left their friends to settle matters for themselves as best they could.  Carraciolli concealed himself, but was discovered in disguise and put on board the Foudroyant with his hands tied behind his back.  Captain Hardy, who was a man with a heart, was indignant when he saw the old man subjected to such gross indignity, and immediately ordered his hands to be liberated.

Nelson committed him for trial, which commenced at ten o’clock, and at twelve he was declared guilty.  At five o’clock he was hanged at the yardarm of the Neapolitan frigate Minerva.  This poor old man was tried solely by his enemies without being allowed to have counsel or call witnesses.  A miscreant called Count Thurn, a worse enemy than all, presided over the court.  Carraciolli asked Lieutenant Parkinson to obtain for him a new trial.  Nelson, who had ordered the first, could not or would not grant a second.  Carraciolli asked to be shot, and this also was refused.  On the grounds of former association, he sought the aid of Lady Hamilton, but she, being an approving party to the execution, only came from her concealment to enjoy the sight of the old Prince’s dead body dangling at the yardarm.  “Come, Bronte, come,” said she, “let us take the barge and have another look at Carraciolli”; and there they feasted their eyes on the lifeless remains of their former associate, who had assuredly cursed them both with his last dying breath.  It is the custom when sailors are buried at sea to weight their feet so that the body may sink in an upright position.  The same course was adopted with Carraciolli; shot was put at his feet, but not sufficient, and he was cast into the sea.  In a few days the putrified body rose to the surface head upwards, as though the murdered man had come again to haunt his executioners and give them a further opportunity of gazing at the