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first-hand that British seamen thought of cash rather than glory as they sailed into battle. From long experience, Captain Marryat observed that sailors "always begin to reckon what their share of prize money may be, before a shot is fired". An ordinary seaman, under an enterprising captain, found that his real income was higher than that of many officers on more easy-going ships. As for the commanders, they included such men as Captain Digby, who was to command H.M.S. Africa at Trafalgar and who had amassed £60,000 in prize money before he was thirty years old, which put him well on the way to being a millionaire by modern values.
     
    To most Royal Navy crews there was no incompatibility whatever between glory and cash. Glory was excellent for national morale and personal reputation, but it had proved a notoriously unnegotiable commodity for heroes and their dependents. Once the elation and gratitude of their countrymen began to cool, the heroes of the hour were easily regarded as the "surplus population" of the long years of peace.
    To a young man in Cochrane's position, the life of a naval officer was rich in promise. From the day on which he joined H.M.S. Hind, there was to be almost continuous war for twenty-two years. Few periods in history could have presented a better opportunity for the acquisition of wealth by conquest. Whatever interludes might occur in the land campaigns, the war at sea was likely to be unremitting.
    Such, at least, was the golden prospect offered to hopeful young officers. In more general terms, the nation was possessed by two alternative views of naval life. The first was that of a stout-hearted, £lite fighting service, unrivalled in the world. As the Royal Marine bands piped "Hearts of oak are our ships, jolly tars are our men", they caught this sentiment with trite precision. The second and opposing image was of a navy of surly, press-ganged crews, kept to their duty by homicidal floggings and the fear of being hanged. Starved, diseased, and cowed, these men rose in occasional desperate mutinies, which were put down by brutal repression.
    Like all travesties, each of these pictures reflected an element of truth. Though its officers were less wealthy and its social prestige stood below that of the more famous regiments of t he army, the Royal Navy was an e lite fighting force. "You can always beat a Frenchman if you fight him long enough," Cornwallis assured Nelson. Such sentiments were arrogant as expressions but accurate as matters of record. It was not superior moral character but more thorough training in the techniques of battle which, for example, enabled many British gun crews to deliver two broadsides against a passing French ship in exchange for the one they received. Moreover, while the French Navy had been allowed to dwindle during the eighteenth century, Britain's maritime interests had dictated the opposite policy. Her most impressive ships had been laid down during that period. The Victory was forty years old at Trafalgar, the Defiance was forty-one, and the Britannia was forty-three, having been launched in 1762.
    Despite the dark legends of the press gangs, the lure of prizes was potentially the more effective weapon in recruiting seamen. The attraction was simply that piracy had been made legal for the duration of hostilities. In pursuit of their prey, the most respectable commanders of English ships resorted to devices which would have caused international dismay half a century later. Royal Navy captains flew American, Danish, or even French colours to dupe their opponents, hoping to come close enough to ships or shore-batteries to do untold damage before their victims awoke to the deception. When Sir Sydney Smith sailed almost into Brest harbour in 1795, flying French colours and hailing his enemies in their own language, no one thought he had acted otherwise than honourably. The French, in turn, went hunting in English colours. Though there was a difference in build