Howe’s squadron had been constituted in 1776 with reference to the colonial struggle only, and to shallow water, and therefore was composed, very properly, of cruisers, and of ships of the line of the smaller classes; there being several fifties, and nothing larger than a sixty-four.  When war with France threatened, the Ministry, having long warning, committed an unpardonable fault in allowing such a force to be confronted by one so superior as that which sailed from Toulon, in April, 1778.  This should have been stopped on its way, or, failing that, its arrival in America should have been preceded by a British reinforcement.  As it was, the government was saved from a tremendous disaster only by the efficiency of its Admiral and the inefficiency of his antagonist.  As is not too uncommon, gratitude was swamped by the instinct of self-preservation from the national wrath, excited by this, and by other simultaneous evidences of neglect.  An attempt was made to disparage Howe’s conduct, and to prove that his force was even superior to that of the French, by adding together the guns in all his ships, disregarding their classes, or by combining groups of his small vessels against d’Estaing’s larger units.  The instrument of the attack was a naval officer, of some rank but slender professional credit, who at this most opportune moment underwent a political conversion, which earned him employment on the one hand, and the charge of apostasy on the other.  For this kind of professional arithmetic, Howe felt and expressed just and utter contempt.  Two and two make four in a primer, but in the field they may make three, or they may make five.  Not to speak of the greater defensive power of heavy ships, nor of the concentration of their fire, the unity of direction under one captain possesses here also that importance which has caused unity of command and of effort to be recognised as the prime element in military efficiency, from the greatest things to the smallest.  Taken together, the three elements—­greater defensive power, concentration of fire, and unity of direction—­constitute a decisive and permanent argument in favor of big ships, in Howe’s days as in our own.  Doubtless, now, as then, there is a limit; most arguments can be pushed to an absurdum, intellectual or practical.  To draw a line is always hard; but, if we cannot tell just where the line has been passed we can recognise that one ship is much too big, while another certainly is not.  Between the two an approximation to an exact result can be made.

On his return to New York on September 11th, Howe found there Rear-Admiral Hyde Parker[37] with six ships of the line of Byron’s squadron.  Considering his task now accomplished, Howe decided to return to England, in virtue of a permission granted some time before at his own request.  The duty against the Americans, lately his fellow-countrymen, had been always distasteful to him, although he did not absolutely refuse to undertake it, as did Admiral