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than the much publicised manoeuvre at Trafalgar that brought Nelson his apotheosis seven years later.
    â€˜Sir Horatio will see you now sir,’ said the lieutenant re-emerging. Drinkwater followed Griffiths, ignoring the gesture of restraint from the duty officer. They passed under the row of ciphered leather fire-buckets into the shade of the poop, passing the master’s cabin and the rigid marine sentry. Uncovering,Drinkwater followed his commander into the admiral’s cabin.
    Sir Horatio Nelson rose from his desk as Griffiths presented Drinkwater and the latter bowed. Nelson’s smallness of stature was at first a disappointment to Nathaniel who expected something altogether different. Disappointing too were the worn uniform coat and the untidy mop of greying hair, but Drinkwater began to lose his sense of anti-climax as the admiral quizzed Griffiths about the stores contained in
Hecuba
and
Molly
. There was in his address an absence of formality, an eager confidence which was at once infectious. There was a delicacy about the little man. He looked far older than his thirty-nine years, his skin fine drawn, almost transparent over the bones. His large nose and wide, mobile mouth were at odd variance with his body size. But the one good blue eye was sharply attentive, a window on some inner motivation, and the empty sleeve bore witness to his reckless courage.
    â€˜Do you know the whereabouts of my frigates, Captain?’ he asked Griffiths, ‘I am driven desperate for want of frigates. The French have escaped me, sir, and I have one brig at my disposal to reconnoitre for a fleet.’
    Drinkwater sensed the consuming frustration felt by this most diligent of flag officers, sensed his mortification at being deprived of his eyes in the gale that had dismasted
Vanguard
. Yet
Vanguard
had been refitted without delay and the battle line was impressive enough to strike terror in the French if only this one-armed dynamo could catch them.
    â€˜There is
Hellebore
, Sir Horatio,’ volunteered Griffiths.
    â€˜Yes, Captain. Would that the whereabouts of the French squadron was my only consideration. But I know that their fleet, besides sail of the line, frigates, bomb vessels and so forth, also comprises three hundred troop transports; an armada that left Sicily with a fair wind from the west. It is clear their destination is to the eastward. I think their object is to possess themselves of some port in Egypt, to fix themselves at the head of the Red Sea in order to get a formidable army into India, to act in concert with Tipoo Sahib. No, Captain, I may not permit myself the luxury of retaining
Hellebore
 . . .’ The admiral paused and Drinkwater felt apprehensive. Nelson made up his mind. ‘I must sacrifice perhaps my reputation but that must always subordinate itself to my zeal for the King’s service which demands I acquaint the officer on the station of the danger he may be in. I have already written toMr Baldwin, our consul at Alexandria, to determine whether the French have any vessels prepared in the Red Sea. As yet I have had no reply. Therefore, my dear Griffiths, I desire that you wood and water without delay and send a boat for your written orders the instant you are ready to proceed to the Red Sea.’
    Drinkwater felt his mouth go dry. The Red Sea meant a year’s voyage at the least. And Elizabeth had given him expectation of a child in the summer.

Chapter Three
A Brig of War
July–August 1798
    Lieutenant Drinkwater stared astern watching the seas run up under the brig’s larboard quarter, lifting her stern and impelling her forward, adding a trifle to her speed until they passed ahead of her and she dragged, slowly, into the succeeding trough.
Hellebore
carried sail to her topgallants as she raced south west before the trade wind, the coast of Mauretania twenty-five leagues to the east.
    Drinkwater had been watching Mr Quilhampton heave the log and had