The Portuguese people were left with the last words of their monarch in a declaration he ordered to have printed and distributed once he was on-board. Even then the government was still attempting to avoid a rupture with France, by not using the word ‘invasion’. The monarch referred to the French troops as a foreign army stationed on Portuguese soil and asked the people to receive them, so as to conserve ‘the harmonious relations that must be established with the armies of other nations with which we share the continent’.54 This was the last act in that theatrical show of neutrality.
MEN AT SEA, A COURT ON THE ATLANTIC
Dom João had made his decision in the early hours of the morning of 25 November 1807. He could no longer postpone the immense task that lay ahead of him: to dismantle everything necessary for the survival and sustenance of the monarchy and its government, transfer it from land to the sea, and reassemble it in Rio de Janeiro. Time was short, the journey long, and the future unpredictable: for the first time in history a royal household was crossing the Atlantic and going to meet its destiny in a distant land. In contrast to the nation’s intrepid discoverers, the Bragança dynasty was fleeing (according to its detractors) to avoid its dissolution (according to those who depended on its patronage), courageously escaping the humiliating treatment to which Napoleon had submitted the other royal houses of Europe (according to those who had a vested interest in the maintenance of the Portuguese Empire).
The plan was complex. It was not a case of a royal family travelling alone, with a few chosen favourites. They were joined by a host of others – the families of ministers, of counsellors, of the nobility, of the court, of civil servants – in other words, of all and sundry whose livelihoods depended on the Prince Regent. Nor was it a case of a few individuals making a hurried escape; this was the seat of the Portuguese State being transferred, along with its administrative and bureaucratic machine, its government offices, its secretariats, its law courts, its archives, its treasure and its employees. The Queen and the Prince Regent were accompanied by everything that represented the monarchy: its important figures, religion, institutions, trappings, etiquette, exchequer – the entire arsenal that was needed to sustain the dynasty and the business of the Portuguese government, and ensure their continuity. And thus, thousands of people arrived on the docks of Belém with cartloads of baggage and chests. In the words of José de Azevedo, the future Viscount of Rio Seco,55 this was ‘the host of people who had drained seven centuries of wealth to establish themselves in Lisbon’.
The Prince Regent immediately gave orders for all the ministers of state and the palace servants to travel with the royal family. He also made it clear that any of his subjects who wished to accompany the court were free to do so and that if no room were available they could follow the royal fleet in private vessels.56 Even though it was midnight, José de Azevedo was summoned to the Palácio da Ajuda57 and placed in charge of supervising the embarkation. He immediately set about organizing the transport of the royal treasure. He then directed his attention to the docks at Belém (on the Tagus river) where, armed with maps, he ordered that a tent be set up where he could ‘distribute the number of families in accordance with the size of the ships and the accommodation available’. Even though no one could embark without a laissez-passer from the government, the confusion was such that it was almost impossible for the plan to run smoothly and many people were left behind.58 The Royal Instructor of Equitation, Bernardo José Farto Pacheco, for example, who had embarkation papers from the Royal Equerry, the Royal Stable Master and from the Count of Belmonte, was unable to travel. Although he had the necessary papers, the commander of the frigate did not allow him on-board.
To add to the chaos, a gale blew in from the south bringing torrential rain that flooded the streets and filled them with mud. These conditions made it even harder for the carriages to reach the docks of Belém and to get the huge quantity of supplies on-board that would guarantee the crew’s survival during the crossing.59 A list of items that were still required on the eve of the departure gives some idea of the lack of organization:
Rainha de Portugal – 27 water casks empty. Fragata Minerva – has only 60 water casks. Conde d. Henrique – 21 water casks empty; needs livestock as it has none. Golfinho – 6 water casks empty; no livestock, chickens or firewood. Urânia – has no firewood. Vingança – has no water or firewood. Príncipe Real – needs livestock, chickens, rope, wax, 20 water casks, tar, cables and firewood. Voador – needs 3 water casks. Príncipe do Brasil – no olive oil, wax, rope, firewood; needs 30 water casks.60
At the height of the confusion, the papal ambassador to Lisbon, Lourenço de Caleppi, arrived at the Palácio da Ajuda to show his solidarity. He was a member of the court circle and the Prince Regent had invited him to accompany him on the journey. Despite his age, sixty-seven, the Nuncio accepted the invitation. He consulted the Minister of the Navy, Viscount Anadia, who offered him a place on either the Martim de Freitas or the Medusa where he and his secretary could be accommodated. But despite the Prince’s personal invitation and the intervention of the naval minister, he was denied access to either ship on the grounds they were ‘overloaded’. The Irish lieutenant Thomas O’Neill, who was on-board one of the British ships, noted down information confided to him by one of the Portuguese officers. Although the aim of his chronicles, at least in part, seems to be self-promotion, and some of them were probably invented, they nevertheless give a vivid depiction of the desperation that preceded the Prince Regent’s departure: ‘as soon as the Prince’s intention of embarking for the Brazils became known, a dreadful scene of desperation and panic pervaded every rank; thousands of men, women and children, filed onto the beach, endeavouring to escape on-board. Many ladies of distinction waded into the water, in the hope of reaching the boats, with some even perishing in the attempt.’61
To make matters worse, country folk, in their fear and haste to get to Lisbon, and bewildered by the conflicting rumours, abandoned all of their belongings along the way.62 The beaches and docks that lined the Tagus at Belém were littered with packages and trunks left behind at the last minute. Amid the chaos fourteen cartloads of silverware from the cathedral were left on the riverbank. Boxes of priceless books from the Royal Library were also left behind, much to the indignation of the city’s booksellers, who yelled insults at royal officials in their disbelief at the sight of such negligence.63 Luxury carriages, many of which had not been unloaded, were also abandoned. There were even those who embarked with no luggage, with only the clothes on their backs.64 Too late, the Marquis of Vagos65 realized the royal carriages with their saddles and harnesses had been left behind, and yelled orders from the deck ‘in uncouth language’ for an appropriate vessel to be hired to transport them to Brazil.66
The general atmosphere was emotional and highly charged:
Copious tears of sadness were shed on that occasion, some weeping the separation from parents, husbands, sons and loved ones, others criticizing the desertion of the Fatherland invaded by a foreign enemy, and reflecting on the evils they would suffer without protectors in the midst of the terrible French.67
The reaction of the inhabitants of Lisbon oscillated between alarm and disgust. Some of the fortunate few who accompanied the Prince Regent, as they made their way to the ships, were berated with ‘insults and imprecations’, and others were actually ‘set upon’.68 Joaquim José de Azevedo describes the reaction of the people:
Roaming […] around the squares and streets, in disbelief, their tears and curses giving vent to the dolorous oppression that stifled their hearts amidst an effusion of sighs: the horror, the grief, the heartbreak, the noble nature of their suffering […] well-nigh engulfing them in despair!69
Descriptions of the Prince Regent’s departure are as moving as they are contradictory. According to one version, he arrived on the docks disguised as a woman; in another, he left furtively during the night to avoid the people’s anger. Yet another relates how he arrived at the port with no one
to receive him, accompanied only by his nephew. Two policemen who were standing guard in the pouring rain allegedly placed wooden boards over the mud and helped the Prince Regent across before he was rowed out to the Príncipe Real.70 Other versions ridicule his departure, mocking the attitude of the royal family by citing the only lucid words spoken by the queen, who by then had succumbed to dementia: ‘Go slower! They’ll think that we’re running away.’71 In reality, Dom João’s departure was extremely discreet, totally lacking in pomp, and in no way recalling the all-powerful head of a once great empire.
All of the formalities had been concluded and everyone was on-board; now all that was needed was some good weather to begin the voyage. The morning of 29 November dawned bright and clear as the squadron set sail from the Tagus. When it reached the mouth it was greeted by a gun salute from the British fleet – the four ships that stood in readiness to escort the Portuguese squadron to Rio de Janeiro under the command of Sir Sidney Smith.72 The admiral went aboard the Príncipe Real to pay his respects to the Prince Regent and received from the vice-admiral a list of the fifteen vessels that composed the royal fleet: eight ships of the line, four frigates, two brigs and one schooner.73 In witness reports and in later studies the numbers vary, but they made an impressive sight nonetheless.
At least thirty private merchant ships followed in the wake of the royal fleet. There may have been many more. The British ship Hibernia sighted fifty-six vessels at nightfall on the first day of the journey. Sir Sidney Smith, although he did not count them, reported seeing ‘a multitude of large merchant ships, fully equipped’.74 At all events, the royal squadron formed a fighting unit that inspired respect: its eight warships each carried between sixty-four and eighty-four guns. Each of the frigates was armed with between thirty-two and forty-four guns, the brigs with twenty-two and the freight ship bringing supplies with twenty-six guns.75 The royal family – the queen, Dona Maria, the Prince Regent with his wife, Carlota Joaquina, and eight children, the queen’s sister, the widow of the Prince Regent’s elder brother and Carlota Joaquina’s Spanish nephew who had been raised at the Portuguese court – were distributed between the ships with the greatest capacity. Aboard the Príncipe Real were the queen, by then seventy-three; the Prince Regent, who was forty; the Infante Pedro, Príncipe de Beira, and his younger brother, the Infante Miguel, and the nephew, Don Pedro Carlos. Travelling on the Afonso de Albuquerque were the thirty-two-year-old Princesa Carlota Joaquina, with her daughters Maria Teresa, Princesa de Beira, and the infantas Maria Isabel, Maria da Assunção and Ana de Jesus Maria. And aboard the Rainha de Portugal travelled Dona Maria Benedita, the widow of Dom João’s elder brother, Dona Maria Ana, the queen’s sister, and the remaining daughters of Dom João and his wife: the infantas Maria Francisca de Assis and Isabel Maria.
According to Nuncio Caleppi’s secretary, who viewed the entire exodus, 10,000 people travelled with the royal fleet. In his calculations the civil servant João Manuel Pereira da Silva76 included the numerous merchants and landowners who had hired ships to follow the royal squadron: ‘On that day around fifteen thousand people of all ages and sexes abandoned the lands of Portugal.’ Five hundred and sixty-three passengers, including nobles, ministers of state, counsellors and court officials, were listed by name on the official register. However, comments beside the names reveal this number was, to say the least, imprecise: ‘the Viscount of Barbacena with his family’; ‘the Count of Belmonte, his wife and the Count, their son, with male and female servants’; ‘José Egídio Alves de Almeida with his wife and family’; ‘[…] and more than sixty people, both men and women, not including the families that accompanied them […]’, and, vaguest of all, ‘with others’.77
It was true that almost everyone on-board was accompanied by their families, close friends and servants. The Duke of Cadaval, for example, travelled with his French wife, their four children, a brother, eleven servants (one of whom was ‘a coloured man who had been trained to sweep’), as well as a number of families attached to his household. The Marquis of Belas brought no fewer than twenty-four servants. The register also listed the employees of the royal household: the pantries alone employed twenty-three ‘menservants’ and the royal kitchens a further fourteen, all of whom brought their families. At the very last moment another register was opened with the intention of listing the names of everyone on-board. However, after mentioning a few aristocratic families, it ends rather abruptly with the words ‘and another five thousand people’.78
But this number still does not include the crew and passengers on the merchant ships. According to historian Kenneth Light, it is probable that between 12,000 and 15,000 people embarked. He estimates the number of people on-board the Príncipe Real at 1,054, adding that the task of weighing anchor alone, tying it to the prow and storing the cable, occupied 385 men.79 A veritable horde of people travelled aboard each of the ships. And there is controversy about the number of people who arrived in the colony. The historian Nireu Oliveira Cavalcanti, for example, calculated the number of crew members at 7,262.80 It is thought that many of these remained in Brazil – some out of fear of the French invasion, others preferring to stay with the monarchy, others simply marooned. According to these estimates the total number of emigrants must have been more than 10,000.81
There can be no doubt that the food supplies were insufficient for the number of people on-board. The list for the frigate Minerva gives a total of 741 crew, similar to the number that sailed on the Martins Freitas. The Minerva, which had not been prepared in advance, presented problems from the time it set sail. On 26 November the captain had reported that his ship was at the mercy of fate ‘because there hadn’t been time to prepare her’. Even though there were only supplies of ‘biscuits and gruel’ on-board, and despite the ‘woeful conditions at the Royal Arsenal, with confusion and lack of attendants in every department’, the frigate set out with the fleet on 29 November. However, due to the ‘need in which the ship found itself’, on 5 December it received orders from the vice-admiral to separate from the fleet and sail to Bahia. When it docked in the city, on 10 January 1808, the Minerva had completely run out of supplies.82 The warship Medusa, severely damaged, also docked on the coast of Brazil’s northeast, ahead of the royal family. Despite all the hazards a journey of this kind entailed, there were no reports of deaths or serious accidents. But the hurried departure had caused a series of problems: families divided between the ships, belongings either lost or abandoned on the docks, overcrowding, lack of hygiene, and rationing of water and food – all of which would have to be borne throughout the two-month journey across the high seas.
At the very beginning of the journey the fleet ran into a storm. They escaped with little damage, but the second storm that erupted, in mid-December, as they passed the island of Madeira, separated some of the ships from the main body of the fleet, forcing a change of plan. Although part of the squadron was already headed for Rio de Janeiro, the Príncipe Real and the ships that accompanied her changed route and set sail for Bahia.83 Apart from these hazardous moments, the journey went smoothly, at least as far as nature’s moods and the state of the ships were concerned, every one of which – despite the inevitable damage suffered during the crossing – reached its destination.
But the excess of passengers caused a great many problems: ‘there were no beds to sleep in, no chairs or benches to sit on; people sat down in the open, on the bare boards of the decks, with no plates to eat off, squabbling over the filthy little bowls of food that came from the kitchens.’ The crew was too small for so many tasks. Water was reserved for drinking, and ‘even the ships that conducted the Prince Regent, the queen and the princes, were disgraceful and stank like pigsties’. The ladies’ hair became infested by fleas, obliging them to shave their heads. Thus the journey dragged on, monotonous, interminable. Apart from the distractions of watching the sails being hoisted, and of singing to guitars at sunset and on moonlit nights, there was nothing to do but play cards: faraó, espenifre, pa
cau and chincalhão.84
MEANWHILE BACK IN PORTUGAL …
While the court was making its way across the Atlantic, free from the perils of war, those who remained behind faced a large-scale military invasion. On the turbulent day of 29 November 1807, no sooner had the royal squadron disappeared over the horizon than the first lines of French troops appeared on the edges of Lisbon.85 A declaration by the French general was posted around the city, warning the inhabitants of the entry of his army and ensuring them of his protection: ‘Inhabitants of Lisbon, live at peace in your homes: fear nothing from my army, or from me: only our enemies, and the wicked, need fear us. The great Napoleon, my commander, has sent me to protect you, and protect you I will.’86
On 30 November, Junot made his triumphant entry into Lisbon, with an entourage of officers filing past the Rossio,87 followed by around six thousand soldiers, little more than half the number of the original contingent. Thousands had perished from an epidemic of fever and dysentery, and hundreds more had been murdered or wounded in the Portuguese countryside. The troops were a pitiful sight as they staggered into the town – ragged, barefooted, exhausted and starving.88
Brazil Page 24