will not soon be forgot. I must now hope that the enemy have not
tricked me, and gone to Jamaica; but if the account, of which I
send you a copy, is correct, it is more than probable that they
are either gone to the northward, or, if bound to the
Mediterranean, not yet arrived.

The vivid symptoms of disquietude in this communication to his old
friend are distinctly pathetic. In parts he is comically peevish and
decidedly restrained. He mixes his fierce wrath against the hapless
General Brereton with the generalizing of essentials, and
transparently holds back the crushing thoughts of misadventure for
which he may be held responsible by the misanthropic, scurrilous,
self-assertive experts. His impassive periods were always associated
with whimsical sensitiveness of being censured if his adventures
should miscarry. No one knew better than he that a man in his position
could only be popular if he continued to succeed. He had many critics,
but always regarded them as inferior to himself, and his record
justified him. What he secretly quaked at and openly defied was a
general outburst of human capriciousness. There are veiled indications
of this in his letter to Collingwood, who replied in well-reasoned
terms, interwoven with that charm of tender sympathy that was so
natural to him.

He says: "I have always had the idea that Ireland was the object the
French had in view," and that he still believes that to be their
destination; and then he proceeds to develop his reasons, which are a
combination of practical, human, and technical inferences. His
strongest point is one that Nelson did not or could not know, though
it may be argued that he ought to have foreseen; even then it is one
expert's judgment against another's. Collingwood affirms that the