Despite these careful dispositions, his mind was still ill at ease lest the enemy might escape undetected.  He never had frigates enough to make the result as sure as it ought to be, where such vast issues were at stake.  While eight at least were needed to be always with the fleet before Cadiz, he had but five; and to maintain even so many it was necessary to cut short other services and essential stations.  This deficiency he urged upon the Government still more than he did the inadequacy of the line-of-battle force; for his fear of the enemy eluding him was greater than that of a conflict with superior numbers.  As regards the latter contingency, he wrote to Lord Barham that, if the enemy came out, he would immediately bring them to battle; “but, although I should not doubt of spoiling any voyage they might attempt, yet I hope for the arrival of the ships from England, that as an enemy’s fleet they may be annihilated.”  On the other hand, “the last fleet was lost to me for want of frigates.”  Besides his own direct representations, he pressed Rose to obtain an intimation to the Admiralty from the Prime Minister, that the latter was personally solicitous that more small cruisers should be supplied.  Both Collingwood and Nelson believed the allies bound to the Mediterranean; but in this they might be mistaken, and as the real object might be again the West Indies, lookouts should be placed off Cape Blanco on the coast of Africa, and off the Salvages,[129] both which he knew had been sighted by Villeneuve, in the outward voyage of the previous spring.

To his concern about the immediate situation before Cadiz were added the universal cares of the Mediterranean, with all parts of which he renewed his correspondence, occupying his active mind with provisions for forwarding the cause of Great Britain and her allies.  Under his many anxieties, however, he preserved his buoyant, resolute temper, not worrying over possible happenings against which he was unable to provide.  “The force is at present not so large as might be wished,” he writes to Ball, “but I will do my best with it; they will give me more when they can, and I am not come forth to find difficulties, but to remove them.”  “Your Lordship may depend upon my exertions,” he tells Barham.  The possibility that he himself might fall was, as always, present to his thoughts, and never did life mean more to him than it now did; yet, as the twilight deepened, and the realization of danger passed gradually into a presentiment of death, he faced the prospect without gloom—­steadfast still in mind.  “Let the battle be when it may, it will never have been surpassed.  My shattered frame, if I survive that day, will require rest, and that is all I shall ask for.  If I fall on such a glorious occasion, it shall be my pride to take care that my friends shall not blush for me.  These things are in the hands of a wise and just Providence, and His will be done!  I have got some trifle, thank God, to leave those I hold most dear, and I have taken care not to neglect it.  Do not think I am low-spirited on this account, or fancy anything is to happen to me; quite the contrary—­my mind is calm, and I have only to think of destroying our inveterate foe.”