FOOTNOTES:
[52] Joseph Yorke, third son of Philip first Earl of Hardwicke, and Minister in Holland; afterwards, in 1788, created Lord Dover.
[53] Nephew of Marshal Lord Ligonier, whom he succeeded in the title.
[54] Charles, only brother of Augustus Henry, Duke of Grafton; afterwards created Baron of Southampton.
[55] Third son of Lionel Sackville, first Duke of Dorset.
[56] He had, however, already offended Mr. Pitt. The latter had offered to him the command of the expedition to St. Cas. Lord George replied, “he was tired of buccaneering.” It was to avoid that service that he had insisted on going to Germany—but Pitt did not forget the sarcasm on his expeditions.
[57] From this passage, as well as others, it is clear that our author revised his work many years after he wrote it. To this chapter, in a copy fairly transcribed, he has subjoined Oct. 28th, 1763; but in the same copy the concluding sentence of the paragraph in text does not occur.
[58] Some went so far as to suppose, that Lord George, concluding the Prince would be beaten, had a mind to have the honour of saving the Cavalry—but I know nothing to confirm that opinion.
[59] Charles Spencer, second Duke of Marlborough. He died between the expedition to St. Cas and the battle of Minden.
[60] John, younger brother of James, Earl of Waldegrave (the author of the Memoirs), whom he succeeded in the title in 1763, died Oct. 15, 1784.
[61] Lord Chesterfield wrote and published a letter to expose that infamous conduct.
[62] Barbara, a Princess of Portugal.—E.
[63] His name was Serras. He urged, “That the Prince was not an incurable changeling; and that age, strengthening his constitution, might strengthen his intellects.”
[64] The rejected Prince lived several years after at Naples, but never attained any degree of understanding. He was allowed to take the air in his coach constantly and publicly, and every body could perceive his insensibility. The next Prince, become Prince of Asturias,[65] was violent and brutal. The third, King of Naples, was not void of symptoms of the malady of his family, though it was doubtful whether his intellects were weak or deranged. Like his father, he was indefatigable in hunting, and passed many more hours of every day with his dogs than with his Ministers—such a sinecure is royalty! Had the eldest Prince been capable of passing his whole time in hunting, he might have been King.
[65] And afterwards Charles IV. of Spain. He never renounced his right to the kingdom of Naples; and though he acquiesced in his brother’s possession of it, always disputed his title, which, as it was in violation of the law of primogeniture, was never distinctly admitted by any government of Spain till the revolution of 1820.—E.
[66] Our author treats Charles III. with undue severity. He was no hero or statesman, but yet not devoid of good qualities. Probity, justice, consistency, and humanity, were among his virtues. On his accession to the Crown of Spain he submitted to great inconvenience, from a principle of honesty—he deemed it wrong to divert any portion of the treasure of Naples from the service of that kingdom; and he adhered so religiously to his scruple, that he not only left the public funds untouched, but divested himself of all private wealth, even to pictures, gems, and rings, considering them as the property of the people whose resources had enabled him to purchase them. He engaged, indeed, in two wars—one manifestly unjust, and both perhaps unnecessary; but he protected literature and the arts of peace. Though a bigoted Catholic, he suppressed the Jesuits, abolished, or at least discountenanced, torture, and mitigated religious persecution by his neglect and dislike of the Inquisition. In short, few absolute Kings, and none of his race and country, have been more free from the reproach of extravagance, injustice, or inhumanity. His reign was less oppressive and less inglorious than any under which Spain languished during the long suspension or evasion of her ancient free institutions.—E.
[67] Edward Boscawen was second son of Hugh, the first Viscount Falmouth.
[68] Jeffery Amherst, afterwards Knight of the Bath, and made a Peer and Commander-in-Chief in the next reign.
[69] The affair of Lord Ravensworth and Fawcet.
[CHAPTER IX.]
Influence of Madame de Pompadour in the Councils of France—French reverses—Wolfe’s Embarrassments—His Conquest of Quebec—His death—Perfidy and cruelty of the French Government—Bankruptcy of France—Meeting of Parliament—Mr. Pitt’s speech—Lord Temple resigns the Privy Seal, and then resumes it—Monument raised to Wolfe, and Thanks conferred on the Officers engaged in the Expedition—Admiral Saunders—Sir Edward Hawke attacks the French Fleet under Conflans, which he destroys—Debates on extraordinary Commissions—Proposals for Peace—Court of the Heir-Apparent—Victorious Officers rewarded—Warburton made a Bishop—Ireland—Tumults in Dublin—Irish Parliament.
Prince Ferdinand reaped as little advantage from his success at Minden as the enemies had from the defeat of the King of Prussia. The French Army was still superior. Contades had so entirely lost his credit, that Marshal D’Etrées, against his own inclination, was sent to share the command, and at least warded off any new disgrace to his country. Yet so sunk were both their Councils and Commanders in the estimation of the public, and so much of the national shame was attributed to the influence of Madame de Pompadour, that a description of their situation and of the supposed cause was fixed upon the walls of Versailles, in these words,—
“Bateaux plats à vendre,
Soldats à louer,
Ministres à pendre,
Generaux à louer,
O France, le sexe femelle
Fit toujours ton destin,
Ton bonheur vint d’une Pucelle,
Ton malheur vient d’une catin.”
But the measure of their disgraces was not yet complete. They were foiled in the East Indies, as in all other parts. Lally, their General, a man of great parts and impetuosity, but with both the high and the low talents of an adventurer, was forced to raise the siege, which he had undertaken, of Madras, and resigned his command in indignation at the cowardice of his countrymen. Admiral Pococke twice beat their Fleet. Their invasions on the Ohio cost them the second empire which they had so artfully and so silently been founding at the other end of the world.
The joy on those successes, however, was damped by a desponding letter received from General Wolfe before Quebec, on the 14th of October. He had found the enterprise infinitely more difficult than he had conceived, the country strong from every circumstance of situation: the French had a superior Army, had called in every Canadian capable of bearing arms: twenty-two ship-loads of provisions had escaped Admiral Durell, and got into the town; Amherst was not come up: and, above all, Montcalm, the French General, had shown that he understood the natural strength of the country, had posted himself in the most advantageous situation, and was not to be drawn from it by any stratagem which Wolfe, assisted by the steady co-operation of our Fleet, could put in practice. Wolfe, himself, was languishing with the stone, and a complication of disorders, which fatigue and disappointment had brought upon him. Townshend[70] and other officers had crossed him in his plans, but he had not yielded. Himself had been one of the warmest censurers of the miscarried expedition to Rochfort; and he had received this high command upon the assurance that no dangers or difficulties should discourage him. His Army wasted before his eyes by sickness; the season advanced fast which must put an end to his attempts: he had no choice remaining but in variety of difficulties. In the most artful terms that could be framed he left the nation uncertain whether he meaned to prepare an excuse for desisting, or to claim the melancholy merit of having sacrificed himself without a prospect of success.
Three days after, an express arrived that Quebec was taken—a conquest heightened by the preceding gloom and despair. The rapidity with which our arms had prevailed in every quarter of the globe made us presume that Canada could not fail of being added to our acquisitions; and however arduously won, it would have sunk in value, if the transient cloud that overcast the dawn of this glory had not made it burst forth with redoubled lustre. The incidents of dramatic fiction could not be conducted with more address to lead an audience from despondency to sudden exultation, than accident prepared to excite the passions of a whole people. They despaired—they triumphed—and they wept—for Wolfe had fallen in the hour of victory! Joy, grief, curiosity, astonishment, were painted in every countenance: the more they inquired, the higher their admiration rose. Not an incident but was heroic and affecting!
Wolfe, between persuasion of the impracticability, unwillingness to leave any attempt untried that could be proposed, and worn out with the anxiety of mind and body, had determined to make one last effort above the town. He embarked his forces at one in the morning, and passed the French sentinels in silence, that were posted along the shore. The current carried them beyond the destined spot. They found themselves at the foot of a precipice, esteemed so impracticable, that only a slight guard of one hundred and fifty men defended it. Had there been a path, the night was too dark to discover it. The troops, whom nothing could discourage, for these difficulties could not, pulled themselves and one another up by stumps and boughs of trees. The guard, hearing a rustling, fired down the precipice at random, as our men did up into the air: but, terrified by the strangeness of the attempt, the French picquet fled—all but the Captain, who, though wounded, would not accept quarter, but fired at one of our officers at the head of five hundred men. This, as he staked but a single life, was thought such an unfair war, that, instead of honouring his desperate valour, our men, to punish him, cut off his croix de St. Louis before they sent him to the hospital. Two of our officers, however, signed a certificate of his courage, lest the French should punish him as corrupted; our enterprise, unless facilitated by corruption, being deemed impossible to have taken place.
Day-break discovered our forces in possession of the eminence. Montcalm could not credit it when reported to him; but it was too late to doubt when nothing but a battle could save the town. Even then he held our attempt so desperate, that, being shown the position of the English, he said, “Oui, je les vois où ils ne doivent pas être.” Forced to quit his entrenchments, he said, “S’il faut donc combattre, je vais les écraser.” He prepared for engagement, after lining the bushes with detachments of Indians. Our men, according to orders, reserved their fire with a patience and tranquillity equal to the resolution they had exerted in clambering the precipice—but when they gave it, it took place with such terrible slaughter of the enemy, that half an hour decided the day. The French fled precipitately; and Montcalm, endeavouring to rally them, was killed on the spot. General Monckton[71] was wounded early, and obliged to retire.
The fall of Wolfe was noble indeed. He received a wound in the head, but covered it from his soldiers with his handkerchief. A second ball struck him in the belly: that too he dissembled. A third hitting him in the breast, he sunk under the anguish, and was carried behind the ranks. Yet, fast as life ebbed out, his whole anxiety centred on the fortune of the day. He begged to be borne nearer to the action; but his sight being dimmed by the approach of death, he entreated to be told what they who supported him saw: he was answered that the enemy gave ground. He eagerly repeated the question, heard the enemy was totally routed, cried “I am satisfied”—and expired.
In five days the town capitulated. Wolfe dead, and Monckton disabled, General Townshend signed the articles. He, and his friends for him, even attempted to ravish the honour of the conquest from Wolfe. Townshend’s first letter said nothing in praise of him. In one to the Speaker of the House of Commons he went so far as indirectly to assume the glory of the last effort. The words were these, “We determined on the 13th of September to do what we ought to have done in the beginning: but in military operations it is never too late to reform.” In other more private dispatches Townshend was still more explicit. These he ordered to be shown to the Prince of Wales, the Duke of Newcastle, and Mr. Pitt. From the first he received great assurances of countenance—but the passion of gratitude with which the nation was transported towards Wolfe’s memory overbore all attempts to lessen his fame. It was not by surviving him that he could be eclipsed.
Monsieur de Vaudreuil, Governor of the province, had appeared at the close of the engagement, but, seeing his countrymen defeated, retired to Montreal. Had he fallen into our hands, our men were determined to scalp him, he having been the chief and blackest author of the cruelties exercised on our countrymen. Some of his letters were taken, in which he explicitly and basely said, that “Peace was the best time for making war on the English.” Such perfidy, and such barbarism as was contained in the dispatches of Marshal Belleisle, mentioned before, affix a stain on a nation which it requires an age of generous heroism to wash out. The cruelties exercised in the Palatinate by Louis XIV. conjured up that storm which overwhelmed the end of his reign, and enjoined the humiliating proposal of obliging him to concur in dethroning his own grandson. When ambition is inhuman, and tyranny insolent, they double the bitterness of a reverse of fortune by having given a precedent of wanton indignities.
The repeated misfortunes of France, and the efforts they had made without effect to bring the war to some tolerable conclusion, reduced them at last to a state of bankruptcy; a kind of evidence which even their future historians will not be able to parry. Defeated Armies frequently claim the victory, but no nation ever sung Te Deum on becoming insolvent. Three arrêts were published by the Court of France in October, suspending for a year the payment of the orders upon the general receipts of the finances, and allowing five per cent. on the respective sums as an indemnification. The second, of the same tenour with respect to the hills of the general farms; and the third suspending the reimbursement of capitals, as well in regard to the treasury as to the redemption-fund.
This stoppage[72] gave rise to a stroke of humour in the English newspapers, which, in the list of bankrupts, inserted these words, “Louis le Petit, of the City of Paris, peace-breaker, dealer, and chapman.”
Monsieur Thurot, in the meanwhile, who had escaped our Fleet, arrived at Gottenburgh; it was then supposed with an intention of taking some Swedish forces on board, and invading some part of Scotland or Ireland. Mr. Pitt thinking too little attention was paid in Ireland to this project, wrote to the Duke of Bedford to notify the suspicions entertained here on that head. The Duke too rashly communicated that intelligence to the Irish parliament, and his son, the Marquis of Tavistock, moved them to arm. The consequence was, that the bankers there took the alarm, and stopped payment.
The English Parliament met October 13th. Beckford, by a high-flown encomium on Mr. Pitt, paved the way for that Minister to open on his own and our situation, which he did with great address, seeming to waive any merit, but stating our success in a manner that excluded all others from a share in it. He disclaimed particular praise, and professed his determination of keeping united with the rest of the Ministers. Fidelity and diligence were all he could boast, though his bad health perhaps had caused him to relax somewhat of his application. Not a week, he said, had passed in the summer but had been a crisis, in which he had not known whether he should be torn in pieces, or commended, as he was now by Mr. Beckford. That the more a man was versed in business, the more he found the hand of Providence everywhere. That success had given us unanimity, not unanimity success. That for himself, however, he could not have dared, as he had done, but in these times. Other Ministers had hoped as well, but had not been circumstanced (not so popular) to dare as much. (This was handsome to them, yet appropriated the whole merit to himself.) He thought the stone almost rolled to the top of the hill, but it might roll back with dreadful repercussion. A weak moment in the field, or in council, might overturn all; for there was no such thing as chance; it was the unaccountable name of Nothing. All was Providence, whose favour was to be merited by virtue. Our Allies must be supported: if one wheel stopped, all might. He had unlearned his juvenile errors, and thought no longer that England could do all by itself; (This was an indirect apology for having embraced the German system; and what followed on the invasion was perhaps an artful method of soliciting more troops, which once voted, might be sent abroad)—who had never been subject to a panic, was not likely to be terrified now.
He stated Prince Ferdinand’s Army as containing but 60,000 effective men: France, the next year, would have an hundred thousand—was Prince Ferdinand, therefore, as strong as we wished him? He did wish 10,000 more could be found for him; believed France meaned to invade us, though he should not look on the attempt as dangerous if she did. He balanced his attention between the landed and the monied interest; said, he did not prefer the monied men and the eighty millions in the Funds to the landed interest, though he thought our complaisance for the former ought to increase as public credit became more delicate. He ended with a mention of peace. Anybody, he said, could advise him in war: who could draw such a peace as would please everybody? He would snatch at the first moment of peace; though he wished he could leave off at the war. This conclusion seemed to come from his heart, and perhaps escaped him without design. Though no man knew so well how to say what he pleased, no man ever knew so little what he was going to say.[73]
Lord Buckingham moved the Address in the Lords, and flung in much panegyric on George Townshend; whose friends were now reduced to compose and publish in his name a letter in praise of Wolfe. The Ministers had proposed that the Address of the Commons should be moved by Charles Townshend, the nearness of whose connection would exclude him from being profuse on his brother: but he refused, on finding how little incense was intended to be offered to their name.
The unanimity in the Government which Mr. Pitt had advertised was far from solid. It was not the fault of one man’s vanity that it was not dissolved. Lord Temple, taking advantage of the adoration which the nation paid to Mr. Pitt, asked—considering the moment, it may be said demanded—the Garter; and being refused, abruptly resigned the Privy Seal. The insult, in effect, was to the nation: it was saying, “I will have that I will, or here end your victories; Mr. Pitt shall serve you no more.” It was sacrificing largely to friendship and gratitude that Mr. Pitt did not reckon himself deeply insulted too. An ascendant so notified could not be endured by many men. What if Antony had said to Cæsar, “Abandon the conquest of Gaul, if I am not allowed to wear a chaplet of laurel!”
Two days afterwards, the King commissioned the Duke of Devonshire to persuade Lord Temple to resume his place: some civil hints towards a promise of the Garter were added. Lord Temple finding his resignation received by the world with due indignation, was not obdurate, and kissed hands again for the Privy Seal. He pretended to Lord Hertford, that finding himself ill-treated by the King, he had asked for the Garter as an indication of returning favour; that his suit being rejected, he had begged an audience, in which he hoped he had effaced his Majesty’s ill impressions; and in which audience the King had three times pressed him to reconsider his resolution of retiring: that he had entreated Mr. Pitt to resent nothing on his account; and had insisted on his brothers retaining their places, and continuing to support the Government, as he should himself: that he was then going out of town the most contented man in England. This passed before his resumption of the Seal. To others he denied having asked the Garter. He obtained it shortly after this violence.
On the 21st, Mr. Pitt moved the House of Commons to order a monument for General Wolfe; and, in a low and plaintive voice, pronounced a kind of funeral oration. It was, perhaps, the worst harangue he ever uttered. His eloquence was too native not to suffer by being crowded into a ready-prepared mould. The parallels which he drew from Greek and Roman story did but flatten the pathetic of the topic. Mr. Pitt himself had done more for Britain than any orator for Rome. Our three last campaigns had over-run more world than they conquered in a century—and for the Grecians, their story were a pretty theme if the town of St. Albans were waging war with that of Brentford. The horror of the night, the precipice scaled by Wolfe, the empire he with a handful of men added to England, and the glorious catastrophe of contentedly terminating life where his fame began—ancient story may be ransacked, and ostentatious philosophy thrown into the account, before an episode can be found to rank with Wolfe’s.
Beckford commended General Townshend, and hoped some thanks would be given to those who completed the conquest. Sir William Williams enlarged on the praise of Wolfe. Lord North, in a more manly style, said it was a proof of Mr. Pitt’s abilities, that they sat there securely discerning rewards, while the French Fleet was sailed from Brest. For Wolfe he had paid his debt of expectation. Pitt then moved, in general words, for thanks to the Generals and Admirals; mentioned them all, particularly Admiral Saunders, whose merit, he said, had equalled those who have beaten Armadas—“May I anticipate?” cried he, “those who will beat Armadas!” He expatiated more largely on Townshend, who, he said, had gone unrequested whither the invited never came. This was far from being strictly the fact. Townshend had gone unwillingly; sent even, as was believed, by Mr. Pitt, who wished to get rid of so troublesome a man. George Grenville put an end to the day in an affecting manner; mentioning the death of his younger brother Thomas, who, in the preceding war, had fallen with expressions of content[74] on a day of victory.
Mr. Pitt’s anticipation of Saunders’s renown was prophetic. That Admiral was a pattern of most steady bravery, united with the most unaffected modesty. No man said less or deserved more. Simplicity in his manners, generosity, and good-nature, adorned his genuine love of his country. His services at Quebec had been eminent. Returning thence, he heard that Monsieur Conflans had taken the opportunity of Sir Edward Hawke’s retiring to Gibraltar to refit, and had sailed out of Brest. Saunders, who heard the news at Plymouth, far from thinking he had done enough, turned back instantaneously, and sailed to assist Hawke. His patriotism dictated that step, and would not wait for other orders. He arrived too late—but a moment so embraced could not be accounted lost. Such, too, was the age, that England did not want the addition of a Saunders!
That prudent and active officer, Sir Edward Hawke, had sailed on the first notice to seek the French squadron. He had twenty-three ships, they twenty-one. He came up with them on their own coast; and, before half his Fleet had joined him, began the attack. Conflans at first made a show of fighting, but soon took the part of endeavouring to shelter himself among the rocks, of which that coast is full. It was the 20th of November: the shortness of the day prevented the total demolition of the enemy—but darkness nor a dreadful tempest that ensued could call off Sir Edward from pursuing his blow. The roaring of the elements was redoubled by the thunder from our ships; and both concurred in that scene of horror, to put a period to the Navy and hopes of France. Seven ships of the line got into the river Vilaine, eight more escaped to different ports. Conflans’ own ship and another were run on shore and burnt. One we took. Two of ours were lost in the storm, but the crews saved. Lord Howe, who attacked the Formidable, bore down on her with such violence, that her prow forced in his lower tier of guns. Captain Digby,[75] in the Dunkirk, received the fire of twelve of the enemy’s ships, and lost not a man. Keppel’s was full of water, and he thought it sinking: a sudden squall emptied his ship, but he was informed all his powder was wet—“Then,” said he, “I am sorry I am safe.” They came and told him a small quantity was undamaged—“Very well,” said he; “then attack again.” Not above eight of our ships were engaged in obtaining that decisive victory. The invasion was heard of no more, but in a puny episode that will be mentioned hereafter. While in agitation, it was expected that the people would call for the Duke of Cumberland to command. The Duchess of Bedford told him of the rumour. “I do not believe, madam,” replied the Prince, “that the command will be offered to me, but when no wise man would accept it, and no honest man would refuse it.”
The Parliament in the meantime had sat on the Army for the future year, and a new case had appeared before the Committee of the Commons. Lord Downe,[76] Lord Pulteney,[77] and Sir William Peere Williams, had received general commissions to act as officers, yet their seats in Parliament had not been declared vacant. As this seemed an innovation, and contrary to the usage of the House of Commons, Sir John Philipps desired to have the case explained. Lord Downe, he said, he knew had received a brevet, that if taken prisoner, he might be entitled to the benefit of the cartel. Sir William Williams took upon him to explain it: declared he had no pay, never would accept pay, and had only a commission to raise men, as his zeal had prompted him to do. Mr. Fox asked, how he came then to be employed in any particular regiment? He replied readily, though his usual manner was formal, that he acted only by the regimental book at Northampton. Lord Barrington urged for Lord Downe, who was in Germany, that he acted only as Deputy Lieutenant-Colonel, another person receiving the pay. Favour to those three disinterested young men obtained the connivance of the House, though the case indubitably was unparliamentary. The partiality of the Tories to George Townshend, who, having quitted the service during the command of the Duke of Cumberland, had again lately entered into it, and accepted a regiment, was still more remarkable. As no evasion could except him from the law, his case was not mentioned, and he continued to enjoy his seat without a re-election.
Lord Barrington then opened the state of the Army, which, including 18,000 Militia, would amount to above 175,000 men in British pay. Sir John Philipps again glanced at new regiments and extraordinary commissions. Mr. Pitt avowed the measure for his own, and owned he would have carried it further, if he had been permitted: related how he had been pleased with the behaviour of Colonel Hale, who had brought the news of the conquest of Quebec; and who finding an invasion threatened, and himself at a distance from his regiment, had offered to form a corps of the footmen and chairmen of London, and lead them against the best household troops of France. For the economic part, to push expense was the best economy—for blood, we had lost none; never had been so bloodless a war; not fifteen hundred men had fallen in America. That the city of London had raised more men than Ireland in a twelvemonth. He hoped it would be related to the Irish Parliament that they had been censured in the English. He did justice to the merit of General Amherst, whose campaign, if in Vegetius, all the world would admire: it was in America, and nobody regarded it. He dwelt on Amherst’s letters to the provinces, exhorting, encouraging, and commanding their efforts for the common cause. He painted France in a state of bankruptcy and despondence; and their attempts as rather those of a dying than living monarchy. On this topic he made a fine conclusion—and the battle of Minden was not forgotten.
So much given to glory, something was to be done that might look like moderation. Europe began to take umbrage at our success: but, sailing with prosperity, Mr. Pitt did not trouble himself whether Europe’s voice went along with his achievements. It was the nation that he had made so great, that must be allured to approve his further enterprises. General Yorke, at the Hague, had received some anonymous proposals of peace, and had transmitted them to his father, who communicated them to the Duke of Newcastle. The latter mentioned them to Knyphausen, the Prussian Minister, who, though enjoined to secrecy, revealed them to Lord Holderness. The latter, who had quitted Newcastle for Pitt, instantly carried the intelligence to his new patron. Pitt, enraged to find a kind of negotiation carrying on without the participation of either Secretary, reproached Newcastle in warm terms. The latter threw the blame on General Yorke. Pitt, however, thought it prudent (whether to have the honour of the treaty, or an opportunity of breaking it off) to direct General Yorke, in the name of his own King and of the King of Prussia, to acquaint Prince Lewis of Brunswick, who commanded the forces of Holland, and through him Monsieur D’Affry, the French Minister at the Hague, and the Ministers of Spain and Russia, that, notwithstanding our victories, we were willing to listen to terms of peace, if France would specify her proposals—an overture that ended in air. Nor did any subsequent step of Mr. Pitt speak him cordial to the business of peace. “I have been told,” he said, “that some time before he should have been well contented to bring France on her knees; now he would not rest till he had laid her on her back.”
During these events of éclat, an incident happened that led to a discovery of some of the secret politics of the Heir-Apparent’s Court. A seat for the county of Hampshire was become vacant, the Marquis of Winchester,[78] one of its members, succeeding his father in the Dukedom. Legge, about the same time, had likewise vacated his seat for the same county, a patent-place devolving to him by the death of his brother. Lord Bute took that opportunity of notifying his resentment to Legge, who stood for the county, and carried it against one Stewart,[79] recommended by the Earl. Pitt did not favour Legge; and was as little inclined to favour the views of the Prince’s Court. Their mutual haughtiness and reserve had early impaired the connexion of Lord Bute and Pitt. The Prince’s Court had secrets of their own; nor was Pitt more communicative to the successor of his grandfather’s measures. The affair of Lord George Sackville, who was patronized by the Prince, widened the breach.
Rewards were now bestowed on the meritorious Commanders. Sir Edward Hawke, a man void of ostentation or ambition, was rewarded with an annual pension of 1500l. for thirty years. Admiral Boscawen was made General of Marines, and Saunders Lieutenant-General; the former with 5l. a day, the latter with 4l. A present of twenty thousand pounds was given to Prince Ferdinand by the King, but brought into the House of Commons with other charges of the year. Sir John Philipps, obliquely to make the King’s parsimony remarked, who had made a present to his General at the expense of his people, found fault with the manner, and said that the gift of the House ought to have been transacted in a handsomer manner. Pitt took the advice on himself, and descanted on the merit of the Prince, who had served us for two years without pay; talked on the rewards to the Duke of Marlborough; and quoted Lord Stair for having in one article charged 40,000l. for putting the Austrians in motion. But neither was the present itself blamed, nor could the Prince be said to have served for nothing. Twelve thousand pounds a year were paid to him for his table and stables: he had the Garter, and a pension of two thousand a year on Ireland. If he suffered his German agents to embezzle millions without accounting with him, he had less prudence than the Duke of Marlborough—and yet did not escape similar suspicions.
Towards the close of the year, Nugent was made Vice Treasurer of Ireland, on the death of Potter, and was succeeded in the Treasury by Oswald. Pitt, in contradiction to the House of Manners, who solicited for Dr. Ewer, to Newcastle, who stickled for a Cambridge man, and to the opposition of the Episcopal Bench, made Warburton Bishop of Gloucester; whose doubtful Christianity, whose writings and turbulent arrogance, made him generally obnoxious. Warburton, inquiring of a friend what the Clergy thought of his promotion, and being told how much it offended them, said, “Tell them it was well for their cause that I did not embrace any other profession.”—We must now take a view of another scene.
Mr. Pitt, as I have said, had endeavoured to instil apprehensions of an invasion into the Irish Parliament; at least, to encourage a spirit of raising troops, which might afterwards be applied to other services. It happened at that juncture that there was another point which alarmed the Irish more than the rumours of invasion. This was a jealousy that an union with England was intended, which they regarded as the means of subjecting them further to this Crown. This union was, indeed, a favourite object with Lord Hilsborough. He had hinted such a wish a year or two before in the Parliament of England; and being now in Ireland, let drop expressions of the same tendency. This was no sooner divulged than Dublin was in a flame. The mob grew outrageous, and assembled at the door of the House of Commons. Mr. Rigby[80] went forth and assured them there was no foundation for their jealousy; but his word they would not take. Ponsonby, the Speaker, was at last obliged to go out and pacify them; and Mr. Rigby declared in the House, that if a Bill of Union was brought in, he would vote against it. The tumult then subsided; but Rigby soon after, in consequence of the representations from England, moving that the Lord Lieutenant might on an emergency, such as on an invasion, summon the Parliament to meet without an intervention of forty days, the former suspicions revived, and Rigby’s motion was interpreted as preparatory to some sudden scheme of union before measures could be taken to oppose it. The surmise was absurd; for were any surprise intended, the forms are so many before a Bill can be complete in Ireland, that time can never be wanted to withstand the most expeditious. A Bill must come from the Irish Privy Council to their House of Commons, must return to the Council, must then be transmitted to England and back again before it becomes a law.
But mobs do not reason, nor, if once prepossessed, listen to reason. A dangerous riot ensued; the people rose in all parts of Dublin, and possessing themselves of the avenues of the Parliament, seized on the members, and obliged them to take an oath to be true to their country, and to vote against an union. Many were worse treated. One Rowley, a rich Presbyterian, who had long opposed the Administration, they seized and stripped, and were going to drown, from which they were with difficulty prevented. Lord Inchiquin, who was newly arrived from the country on purpose to oppose the rumoured union, was alike insulted. They pulled off his periwig and Red Riband, and put the oath to him. He had an impediment in his speech, and stuttering, they cried, “Damn you, do you hesitate?” but hearing that his name was O’Brien, their rage was turned into acclamations. They pulled the Bishop of Killala out of his coach, as they did the Lord Chancellor Bowes, obliging him to take their oath; but being seized with a droll scruple that their administering the oath did not give it legality, they stopped the Chief Justice, and made the Chancellor renew the oath before him. Malone was so little in their favour, that though he had taken the oath, one of the ringleaders dipped his fist in the kennel before he would shake hands with him.
They then went to the House of Lords, where Sir Thomas Pendergrass looking out, they pulled him forth by the nose, and rolled him in the kennel. In the House they found Lord Farnham taking the oaths on the death of his father, instead of which they made him take theirs. There they committed the grossest and most filthy indecencies, placed an old woman on the Throne, and sent for pipes and tobacco for her. They next went to the House of Commons, and ordered the clerk to bring them the journals to burn. He obeyed; but telling them they would destroy the only records of the glorious year 1755, they were contented to restore them. But their greatest fury was intended against Rigby, whom the Duke of Bedford had lately made their Master of the Rolls. The office there is no post of business: still the choice of a man so little grave was not decent. The mob prepared a gallows, and were determined to hang Rigby on it; but, fortunately, that morning he had gone out of town to ride, and received timely notice not to return. The Duke of Bedford sent to the Mayor to quell the tumult, but he excused himself on pretence of there being no Riot Act in Ireland. The Privy Council was then called together, who advised sending for a troop of horse. That was executed: the troopers were ordered not to fire; but riding among the mob with their swords drawn, slashing and cutting, they at length dispersed the rioters, after putting to death fifteen or sixteen.
The Duke of Bedford and Rigby, in their letters to England, carefully concealed the enormity of the outrage. They knew Lord Temple wished to be Lord Lieutenant; and perhaps suspected, that that ambition had been the foundation of Mr. Pitt’s expostulations. Those seeds of jealousy, combining with Rigby’s devotion to Fox, gave rise to the succeeding animosities between the Duke and Pitt. What was more remarkable was, that the letters from the Castle acquitted the Papists of being authors of the sedition; yet, a short time before, the Duke had quarrelled with the Primate for saying he had no apprehensions from that quarter. Whatever was pretended, there was much reason for believing that the insurrection had deeper foundation than in a mere jealousy of an union with England. Seditious papers had been printed: two drummers, in the livery of the College, had commenced the uproar in the Earl of Meath’s Liberties, telling the people, that if they did not rise by one o’clock, an Act would be passed to abolish Parliaments in Ireland. So small, too, was the dislike to the then Government, that one of the rioters skimming away Lord Tavistock’s[81] hat, his comrades gave him 200 lashes, saying, Lord Tavistock had not offended them.
But the strongest presumption of the tumult being excited by the emissaries of France came out afterwards; it appearing that the commotion began the very day after intelligence was received that the French fleet was sailed from Brest. Indeed it is now past doubt, that the Court of France had laid a very extensive plan, meditating an attack on the three kingdoms at one and the same time. England was to be invaded from Dunkirk, Ireland by the Brest Fleet, while Thurot[82] was to fall on the north of Scotland. Nor was Dublin the sole theatre where confusion was to be spread. Riots were raised at Cork on the prohibition of exporting Irish cattle. Mr. Pitt wrote a warm letter to the Duke of Bedford to complain of his supineness after such repeated intelligence of the designs of France.
That storm weathered, the Castle met with little opposition. Perry, the most formidable of the minority, they bought off. One man alone gave them trouble; his name Hutchinson,[83] a lawyer. His views he owned himself. Being asked, on leaving England, whether he should addict himself to the Opposition or to the Castle, he replied, “Not to the Castle, certainly; nothing is to be gotten there”—meaning that Rigby engrossed everything. Hutchinson had good parts, and exerted them briskly, annoying Rigby, Malone, and the Courtiers. He said, Lord George Sackville had parts, but no integrity; Conway, integrity, but no parts; now, they were governed by one who had neither. There was more wit than truth in this description. Conway’s parts, though not brilliant, were solid: for Rigby, though he never shone in the Irish Parliament, no man wanted parts less—and his joviality soon made him not only captivate so bacchanalian a capital, but impress a very durable memory of his festive sociability.
For the Irish Courtiers, it required no masterly pencil to expose their profligacy. That was the case of Sir Richard Cox. Hutchinson moved a resolution that the vote against pensions had had effect. “It is true,” said Sir Richard; “I lost a small pension, and have got a good place—yet I should not have expected such a Motion from that gentleman.” “Oh!” replied Hutchinson, “I should have opposed the Motion in the House, though I have now made it in the Committee; I only had a mind to try if this Committee would not vote for anything—yet I cannot believe that gentleman (Sir Richard Cox) is so very profligate and abandoned as he says himself.”
Finished Oct. 28, 1763.