On May 28th Roger sailed in the frigate Guillaume Ic Conquerant which, with fair winds, should have landed him in Europe early in July; but during the first part of her voyage she suffered a severe check. When six days out she was struck by a hurricane, lost her foremast, sprang a leak and was driven from her north-eastern course hundreds of miles to the south.
Roger had a ghastly time, lying in his narrow cabin sick as a dog and praying that an end might be put to his misery by the ship going down. She survived the tempest, but only because good luck brought her on to the northern coast of
Puerto Rico and she was able to put in to San Juan. Their Spanish allies there proved most helpful and hospitable; but time seemed to have no meaning for them, so it was June 14th before the repairs had been completed and they were able to put to sea again.
From then on they were favoured with good weather and on July 3rd, having spent a day scouting round the island of Madeira to make sure there were no British warships in the vicinity, they put into Funchal to water. They were still loading crates of live poultry, pigs and fresh fruit when Villeneuve's fleet came into view.
As soon as it anchored in the bay, the Captain of Guillaume le Conquirant put off in his gig for the flagship to pay his respects to the Admiral, taking Roger with him. They were invited to stay to dine and after dinner, over some good bottles of old Madeira wine, Villeneuve gave them an account of his voyage to the Indies.
Having left Nelson hunting for him in the Mediterranean, after passing Gibraltar, he had picked up the Spanish squadron from Cadiz but it had proved in such ill condition as to be worse than useless and two of its ships had been lost during the ocean crossing. Frigates had later brought intelligence that after leaving the Mediterranean in pursuit Nelson had again been misled and, believing that Villeneuve was making for Ireland, had set a course for the Scillies. But, on learning the truth he had sailed with ten ships-of-the-line to 'save the West Indies', made a surprisingly swift passage and, having picked up two more ships-of-the-line at Barbados, set about scouring the Caribbean for the French.
Intent on obeying the Emperor's orders to clear the British out of the Antilles, Villeneuve had sailed from Martinique early in June with the intention of capturing Barbados. When approaching the island he had captured a convoy of merchantmen and from them learned that he had missed coming into collision with Nelson's fleet only by a few hours. Knowing that the Emperor's prime intention was that the combined fleets should, during the summer, sweep the Channel in order to clear it for the invasion of England, he had cheerfully left Nelson hunting for him in the Caribbean and made all speed to recross the Atlantic.
After two days at Madeira while their reluctant allies, the Portuguese, slowly watered and revictualled the fleet, it sailed north to European waters. Adverse winds made their progress slow but on July 22nd they were off Finisterre in foggy weather. Out of the mist emerged Admiral Calder's squadron. He had only fifteen ships to oppose Villeneuvc's twenty but, nevertheless, gave battle.
Stoically, Roger put the best face possible on having to stand on the poop of Guillaume Le Conquerant and chance his luck whether he survived, while shot ripped through the sails’ crashed through the bulwarks and made men utter agonizing screams.
To his relief the engagement proved a very minor battle compared to that of the Nile, which had raged with the most appalling carnage from sundown all through the night and, eventually, led to his having to go overboard from Admiral Brueys' flagship to save himself from being blown up in her. Here the lines of battle soon became confused and ship engaged ship then drifted away in the fog until each became visible to another enemy.
When night came Admiral Calder drew off so, on that account, it could be considered a French victory; but before the battle was over two of the ships under Villeneuve's colleague, the Spanish Admiral Gravina, struck their flags, whereas none of the British surrendered, and later it was learned that more than twice the number of French and Spanish seamen had been killed or wounded so, on points, the British had had the better of it
On the 23rd Villeneuve put into Vigo to land his wounded and repair his ships. When they arrived in the port Roger took stock of his situation. Northern Spain was still a long way from England. If he remained with Villeneuve's fleet, as soon as it was fit to put to sea again it would head up Channel and he might easily become involved in another sea battle. Whereas if he had himself put ashore he could ride in safety to Bordeaux and, with less risk, cross from there.
It so happened that before he had even made up his mind his decision was taken for him. Villeneuve sent for him to come aboard the flagship and, after some general conversation, said:
'Colonel Brcuc, I must, as soon as possible, send particulars to the Emperor of our action off Finisterre, and I know that you are anxious to rejoin him as swiftly as you can. I wish to inform him, too, that as soon as my fleet is shipshape I intend to move up to Ferrol. Are you willing to take a despatch to His Majesty?'
Roger at once agreed, returned to Guillaume le Conquerant to collect his baggage then picked up the despatch and went ashore. The following morning he set out on his long ride along the northern coast of Spain and round the Bay of Biscay to Bordeaux.
During those days of hacking along the dusty roads and sleeping in bug-ridden inns at Lugo, Oviedo, Santander, Bilbao, San Sebastian and several lesser places, he had ample time to think again about his future, and he decided that, at least for some time to come, he could not settle down at Stillwaters. The picture of Georgina's skeleton was still too clear in his mind; and he felt sure that in the lovely house where they had enjoyed such happiness together it would constantly haunt him.
As an alternative he could have occupied Thatched House Lodge. The two years he had spent there had been among the most enjoyable of his life. During them he had undertaken no dangerous missions and, Richmond being within easy distance of London, he and Amanda had thrown themselves with youthful enthusiasm into the social whirl. But Amanda, too, was dead, he had no inclination at all to dance or chatter among crowds of idle people and to live there alone with only old Dan to talk to must soon become terribly monotonous.
Since the battle off Finisterre other thoughts too had begun to stir his sluggish mind. It had brought home to him that a war was still raging upon which the fate of his country depended. When, after his abortive peace mission, he had broken with Mr. Pitt, it had not seemed to him remotely possible that Napoleon would ever be in a position to invade England, and even a year ago his prospects of doing so had been extremely slender. But during the past six months the results of his shipbuilding programme had begun to show and this, together with the Spanish alliance, had made the picture very different.
When Roger had left Paris in December it was estimated that Britain had seventy-five ships of the line against the Allies' sixty-four; but twelve of the British ships were known to be on far distant stations, so in Atlantic and home waters the Allies had actually achieved a superiority of one. Admittedly, ship for ship the British, being better equipped and their crews far better trained, were superior to the French and greatly superior to the Spanish. But should Napoleon's strategy prove successful and the main fleet under Nelson be kept out of the way for a few weeks, sheer weight of numbers would enable the Allies to drive the British squadrons from the Channel. The more Roger thought about this the more convinced he became that, not only did the best hope of escaping from his terrible depression lie in again actively occupying his mind, but that it was his definite duty to do his utmost to learn the latest French plans and, if possible, get information to England which would prevent the Allied fleets concentrating into another Armada. In consequence, instead of seeking out the smuggler Jubert at Bordeaux, he rode on through Poitiers, Tours and Orleans to Paris. His journey from Vigo had taken him sixteen days and he reached the French capital on August 8th.