Nelson was
"sorrowful" that no results had accrued. Like a strong man who has
opinions and carries them through to the bitter end, he did not "blame
himself." He blew off some of the pent-up bitterness of an aching
heart by writing to a friend, "But for General Brereton's damned
information, I would have been living or dead, and the greatest man
England ever saw, and now I am nothing and perhaps would incur censure
for misfortunes which may happen and have. Oh! General Brereton!
General Brereton!"

This explosion was indicative of bitter disappointment. It is these
outbursts of devotion to a great burning ideal that give an impulse to
the world. His anxiety when he made his landfall and was informed by
scouts sent to meet him that the allied squadrons had not been heard
of was intense. It was not until then that his vigorous mind was
smitten with the possibility of the French having cheated him by going
to Jamaica. Orde had been superseded by Collingwood, and was stationed
off Cadiz, the purpose of which was to watch the entrance to the
Mediterranean. Nelson wrote and sent him the following letter:--

MY DEAR COLLINGWOOD,--I am, as you may suppose, miserable at not
falling in with the enemy's fleet; and I am almost increased in
sorrow in not finding them here. The name of General Brereton
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 capricious