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simply to keep
Admiral Truguet and the principal French fleet capable of operating in
the Atlantic, securely at its moorings in Brest Road. By this means
Napoleon would not be able to secure the naval supremacy in the Channel
that he needed to launch his invasion. Whatever the monotony of the
duty there was no arguing its effectiveness. All the same Drinkwater
was not keen to be kept under the severe restraint of commanding a
frigate on blockade.
    There was a rustle as Cornwallis lowered the papers and leaned
back in his seat. He was a portly gentleman of some sixty years of age
with small features and bright, keen blue eyes. He smiled cordially.
    'Well, Captain Drinkwater, you are not to join us I see.'
    'No, Sir William. I am under Lord Keith's command, attached to
the Downs Squadron but with discretionary orders following the delivery
of those dispatches.' He nodded at the contents of the waterproof
packet which now lay scattered across Cornwallis's table.
    'Which are…?'
    'To return to the Strait of Dover along the French coast,
harrying trade and destroying enemy preparations for the invasion.'
    'And not, I hope, wantonly setting fire to any French villages
en route, Captain?' It was the stranger in civilian dress who put this
question. Drinkwater opened his mouth to reply but the stranger
continued, 'Such piracy is giving us a bad name, Captain Drinkwater,
giving the idea of invasion a certain respectability among the French
populace that might otherwise be not over-enthusiastic about M'sieur
Bonaparte. Hitherto, whatever the enmities between our two governments,
the people of the coast have maintained a, er, certain friendliness
towards us, eh?' He smiled, a sardonic grin, and held up his glass of
the admiral's claret. 'The matter of a butt or two of wine and a trifle
or two of information; you understand?'
    Drinkwater felt a recurrence of the irritation caused earlier
by this man, but Cornwallis intervened. 'I am sure Captain Drinkwater
understands perfectly, Philip. But Captain, tell us the news from
London. What are the fears of invasion at the present time?'
    'Somewhat abated, sir. Most of the news is of the problems
surrounding Addington's ministry. The First Lord is under constant
attack from the opposition led by Pitt…'
    'And we all know the justice of Billy Pitt's allegations, by
God,' put in the stranger with some heat.
    Drinkwater ignored the outburst. 'As to the invasion, I think
there is little fear while you are here, sir, and the French fleet is
in port. I believe St Vincent to be somewhat maligned, although the
difficulties experienced in fitting out do support some of Mr Pitt's
accusations.' Drinkwater judged it would not do him any good to
expatiate on St Vincent's well-meaning but near-disastrous attempts to
root out corruption, and he did owe his own promotion to the old man's
influence.
    Cornwallis smiled. 'What does St Vincent say to Mr Pitt,
Captain?'
    'That although the French may invade, sir, he is confident
that they will not invade by sea.'
    Cornwallis laughed. 'There, at least, St Vincent and I would
find common ground. Philip here is alarmed that any relaxation on our
part would be ill-timed.' Then the humour went out of his expression
and he fell silent. Cornwallis occupied the most important station in
the British navy. As Commander-in-Chief of the Channel Fleet he was not
merely concerned with blockading Brest, but also with maintaining
British vigilance off L'Orient, Rochefort and even Ferrol where neutral
Spain had been coerced into allowing France to use the naval arsenals
for her own. In addition there was the immense problem of the defence
of the Channel itself, still thought vulnerable if a French squadron
could be assembled elsewhere in the world, say the West Indies, and
descend upon it in sufficient force to avoid or brush aside the Channel
Fleet. On Cornwallis's shoulder fell the awesome burden of ensuring St
Vincent's words were true, and Cornwallis had transformed the