As the latest book from James Davey, Tempest does not disappoint as a vehicle for Davey's skill as a writer and is designed to appeal beyond the purely academic market. Drawing on the traditional historiographies of government failure and repression, strategic paralysis, financial collapse, and social turmoil, Davey has added a new layer of detail that considers the social and political lives of Royal Navy crews during the 1790s. Davey's inspiration comes from the work of E.P. Thompson, who used the intellectual bridge between sociology and history to argue that revolutionary ideologies had politicized the working classes. This class-based interpretation has become embedded in the historiography and has been a springboard for Tempest to consider the Navy's politicization as a mirror to British domestic politics.

Davey begins his account by demonstrating that naval recruitment and impressment practices at the beginning of the war sowed the seeds of discontent toward the state within seafaring communities. Detailing the brutality these men suffered through harrowing accounts of impressment practices and newspaper reports of organized local protests, the author presents a picture of a repressive, violent, and state-sanctioned system that tarnished the Navy's reputation and would turn ordinary seamen into political dissenters. Ministers were aware of the hostility that the press caused, as well as its dubious legality and constitutionality, but they also knew it was necessary because the specialist seafaring skills that were required by at least two-thirds of the crew ensured that naval mobilization was always problematic. It was an issue for all maritime powers in all wars, but Britain's extensive merchant seapower created significant competition for the recruitment and retention of skilled seamen, and, in consequence, both the state and commercial sectors developed incentive schemes. Unfortunately, the state incentives of the King's Bounty and the potential for rapid advancement and prize money were not universally attractive, especially when merchant marine wages were rising, and naval wages were below market rates. Therefore, a proportion of the requisite manpower was pressed, often violently, into the service, antagonizing seamen, shipowners, and merchants alike. Despite ministers’ attempts to alleviate some of this friction, tensions remained.

Some sailors’ hostility toward the state became a nascent politicization as demonstrated by the increasing role that petitions and revolutionary language played in crew protests. Focus is placed on the changing nature of these protests following the Glorious First of June in 1794 and culminating in the large-scale, fleet-wide naval mutinies of Spithead and the Nore during the Spring of 1797. Protests tended to focus on perceived injustices or abuses of power, and Davey notes that crews soon understood that petitions, a popular form of protest onshore, had greater traction than individual complaints. Eventually, these transformed into the mutinies of 1797, which, the most recent literature has concluded, possessed an internal political dimension that reflected the politicization of British society. In line with these recent works, Davey builds a picture of an educated, politically engaged workforce who used revolutionary language such as “delegate,” “freedom,” and “liberty,” and hoarded seditious papers, ballads, and texts.

Between the mutinies and the threats of invasion from 1796 to 1798, the Navy's reputation became increasingly contested within parliament, and newspapers joined in the political battle for the Navy's credibility and identity. The Navy's strategy was integral to this scrutiny, and Davey reiterates familiar themes of a strategy divided between Empire and Europe and of tactical victories amidst strategic failure. Skillfully leading the reader through a series of global operations, Davey argues that the Navy was the symbol of Britain's imperial hunger and opposition to revolutionary ideologies. Much as John Fortescue concluded over a century ago, Davey contends that these operations often wasted British lives and had little strategic effect, but did serve to export British culture, values, and politics. Consequently, Davey has engaged with the often complex and contradictory role that the Navy played in the slave trade, the revolts of enslaved peoples, and even their status within the British Empire and globally. The Navy's inconsistent approach was driven by personal as well as national imperatives, prejudices, and interests.

Davey paints a picture of diminishing domestic confidence in the Navy because of a failing strategy. Despite continuing to produce tactical victories, the war did not end, and the Navy continued to be riven by conflict as the effects of the mutinies continued to be felt. The identity and loyalty of the tars were contested in parliament, and in response, the government increased its efforts to promote an image of the brave and loyal seaman defending the state. They soon found the “hero tar” they were looking for, after one sailor, Jack Crawford, nailed the fallen colors of the flagship, Venerable, to the mast during the Battle of Camperdown against the Dutch. With sufficient government-sponsored publicity, his actions captured the public's imagination, and Crawford was a prominent guest at the Naval Thanksgiving of December 1797, arriving symbolically with the Dutch colors taken in the battle.

The peace of Amiens in 1801 that marks the end of the book was, for many Britons, a welcome release from war. Davey's narrative has drawn on an array of archival material and constructed a fascinating social and political history of the Navy that critically demonstrates its role as a crucible for national politics and debates. He has presented new and detailed evidence in an important and highly readable naval history of this period, connecting the past and the present coherently and logically in a way that will interest a broad audience.