As winter advanced, his perplexities increased, for each correspondent, by long dwelling on his particular concern, saw its danger and importance growing in his own eyes, and dwelt upon them with greater emphasis in his letters.  “Ball is sure they are going to Egypt; the Turks are sure they are going to the Morea; Mr. Elliot at Naples, to Sicily; and the King of Sardinia, to his only spot.  Every power thinks they are destined against them; but whatever the French may intend to do,” he concludes, with a quaint humor occasional with him, “I trust, and with confidence, they are destined for Spithead.”  He recognized, too, that Bonaparte himself was not wholly master of his own projects when contending with such uncertain elements; and the great master of War, in this instance as in many others, had placed his force so centrally, in the heel of Italy, that he threatened with equal facility in two opposite directions, to his own advantage and his enemies’ perplexity.  “Circumstances may even make it necessary to alter its destination by Buonaparte; Egypt or Ireland, and I rather lean to the latter destination.”  Anything, indeed, is possible; for, as winter approaches, “we can be sure of nothing in so short a run,”—­as to Sardinia or Sicily.

For a little while during February, 1804, he was further stirred up by reports that the French were about to concentrate their naval forces, from Brest and Ferrol, in the Mediterranean; and this he was inclined to believe, unfavorable as the season would be for maritime operations in that stormy sea, with the inexperienced crews of the enemy.  In the summer his conviction of the importance of the Mediterranean had fully prepared him for such an attempt.  “Naples, the Morea, and ultimately Egypt, are in Buonaparte’s view,” he had then written.  “With this idea, I fully expect that the French fleet from Brest will assuredly come into the Mediterranean, to protect this army across the water.  I shall try and fight one party or the other, before they form a junction.”  “Much may be done before British reinforcements arrive,” he reminded St. Vincent.  “Your Lordship knows what Admiral Bruix might have done, had he done his duty, and they may buy their experience.”  Now he says to Ball, “The Admiralty tells me nothing, they know nothing; but my private letters say, that the Brest squadron, as well as Ferrol,[62] is bound here—­if so, we shall have work enough upon our hands.”  Thirty thousand troops, also, were ready to embark in Marseilles and Nice.  The conclusion, in view of so great a force assembling, was natural:  “Egypt, I have no doubt is the favourite and ultimate object of the Corsican tyrant.”  Nelson’s spirit rises with the occasion.  “I shall try to intercept them, but I cannot go so far to the westward as is necessary; for I will not lose sight of the Toulon fleet.  What a most zealous man can do to meet all points of difficulty, shall be done.  My squadron is the finest for its numbers in the world, and much may be expected of it.  Should superior numbers join, we must look it in the face. Nil desperandum! God is good, and our cause is just.”