FOOTNOTES:
[70] George, son of Charles Viscount Townshend, whom he succeeded.
[71] Robert Monckton, second son of the Lord Viscount Galway.
[72] The King, the Princes of the Blood, and the Nobility, sent their plate to the mint.
[73] In 1766, Lord Chatham, then Privy Seal, in going down to Parliament with Lord Shelburne, the Secretary of State, in his carriage, communicated to him some intelligence which it was important should be known to the Ministry, and equally important should be concealed from the public. Soon afterwards the coach stopped at the House of Lords, and Lord Shelburne carelessly asked Lord Chatham if he meant to speak that day?—“Not after what I have told you,” was his Lordship’s answer. His companion then observed, that he did not see why that should prevent him, as the matter communicated bore no sort of relation to the question coming on in the House. “True,” said Lord Chatham; “but when my mind is full of a subject, if once I get on my legs, it is sure to run over.”—E.
[74] He said, “This is preferable to being brought to a Court-Martial.” There is a monument in Westminster Abbey to his memory, and a column in the gardens at Stowe.
[75] Robert, brother of Edward and Henry, successively Lords Digby. He died, senior Admiral of the Royal Navy, in 1814.—E.
[76] Henry Pleydell Dawnay, Viscount Downe.
[77] William, only son of William Pulteney, Earl of Bath. These three spirited young men were taken off soon after this period. Lord Downe was killed in Germany, Sir W. Williams at Belleisle, and Lord Pulteney died in Spain, on his return to England.
[78] Charles Poulet, eldest son of Harry, Duke of Bolton. He died in 1775.
[79] Not a Scot, but son of Sir Simeon Stewart, a Hampshire Knight.
[80] Richard Rigby, favourite Secretary to the Duke of Bedford, Lord Lieutenant. He was afterwards Paymaster, and died April 8, 1788.
[81] Only son of the Duke of Bedford. (I find 200 lashes in my notes, but it is not probable that they carried their severity so far for so trifling an offence.)
[82] The plan was Marshal Belleisle’s. The author of La Vie Privée de Louis XV. says, that Thurot had orders not to commit hostilities on Scotland, but to invite the Jacobites to join him.—Vol. iii. That author has collected a great deal of curious matter, as far as he could be assisted by public materials; but his secret history is far from being equally authentic, nor does he seem to have been conversant with persons well informed, and near the scene of action. He thinks the first cause of the Dauphin’s illness and death proceeded from his vexation at the expulsion of the Jesuits. The Dauphin had been bred a bigot; but, before his death, was grown a free-thinker to a very great latitude, and gave very indubitable marks of it in the last days of his life. The author was as ignorant of the motives of the Duc de Choiseul’s opposition to Madame du Barri, and his consequential fall, which the author imputes to the Duchesse de Grammont, his sister, being provoked at not being the King’s mistress herself—a vulgar story. The author seems to be most versed in the marine, and the great object of his work, to show that all the successes of the English, in 1759 and 1760, were owing to the incapacity of all the Ministers and Commanders, and especially to the cowardice of their Admirals, to the King’s indolence, and to Madame de Pompadour’s ascendant.
[83] Hely Hutchinson, afterwards Provost of the college at Dublin; where his conduct was so violent as to draw on him a most acrimonious inquest, which he repelled by equal adulation to power.
1760.
Une noble hardiesse reveille l’enthousiasme national.
Siècle d’Alexandre, p. 177.
[CHAPTER X.]
The War in Germany at the commencement of the year 1760—Prince Ferdinand detaches 12,000 men to the assistance of the King of Prussia—Value of contemporary Memoirs—Lord Bath’s Letter—Macklyn’s Love à la Mode—Lord George Sackville demands a Court-Martial—Earl Ferrers murders his Steward—Smollett punished for a Libel—Thurot’s Expedition to Ireland—Takes Carrickfergus—Re-embarks, and is intercepted—He is killed, and his Vessels captured—Court-Martial on Lord George Sackville—Reference to the Judges—Sentence—Trial and Execution of Earl Ferrers—Qualification Bill—Militia Bills.
The year began, as the last had concluded, with severe weather and hard frost; yet the Armies in Germany kept the field. Glory was not the object of that war. Mutual animosity excluded all confidence, and neither side would retire a foot, while both were impatient to bring things to a conclusion, and while the Empress Queen, especially, flattered herself with hopes of crushing her enemy. What the country suffered from that bitterness is not to be expressed—but when are the number considered? None suffered more than the Saxons. While their King and his criminal favourite were wearing out their inglorious lives in Poland, without power or esteem, Dresden endured the worst consequences of Bruhl’s impertinent ambition. Bread was risen there to elevenpence a pound.
Our Army suffered no less hardships: one day in December they were fourteen hours under arms, expecting to be attacked by the French, which was threatened by Broglio, whose natural vivacity was encouraged by Prince Ferdinand weakening our Army. Without waiting for permission from England, he had detached 12,000 men, under the Hereditary Prince, to the assistance of the King of Prussia; a step that highly and justly offended King George; and the more provoking, as there was reason to believe the measure concerted with the King of Prussia to involve both Hanoverians and English in actual war with the Empress Queen; a declaration which the British Monarch, both as King and Elector, had hitherto carefully avoided. The first question Frederic put to the Prince of Brunswick was, “What English have you brought to me?” There were both Highlanders and Hanoverians. Broglio did, indeed, make an attack on Prince Ferdinand, who retreated, but repulsed the French to their loss.
In England the winter was not memorable for any parliamentary debates; the few of consequence shall be mentioned. Other events, too, I shall not omit. These sheets, I have often declared, were less intended for a history of war than for civil annals. Whatever, therefore, leads to a knowledge of the characters of remarkable persons, of the manners of the age, and of its political intrigues, comes properly within my plan. I am more attentive to deserve the thanks of posterity than their admiration. A great modern author (Voltaire) recommends the omission of small circumstances, and would confine history to its capital outlines. In the first place, mine is not history, but Memoirs. Next, what would be less amusing than such a history? Battles, revolutions, and the wild waste of war, are common to all times; but they are the circumstances that distinguish one age from another. Lastly, future historians may reject the rubbish, and preserve only striking events: yet, for the power of such choice, he must be indebted to us contemporaries. With me, I own, one reflection further has determined me to the course I have pursued. They are the minutiæ of which I have observed Posterity is ever most fond; they are the omissions that historians in their grandeur disdain to record, which the humble reader most painfully labours to recover, and, if recovered, to weave into the materials of which he is already possessed. The patchwork seldom unites well, for want of those lights which contemporaries might have given. Is it not more eligible to have chaff to winnow, than to add to a stack?
Lord Bath,[84] assisted by Douglas,[85] his Chaplain, published a piece called “A Letter to Two Great Men,” (Mr. Pitt and the Duke of Newcastle.) It contained a plan of the terms which his Lordship thought we ought to demand, if we concluded a peace. It was as little regarded by the persons it addressed as a work of Mr. Pitt’s would have been, if, outliving his patriotism, power, and character, he should twenty years after have emerged in a pamphlet. However, it pleased in coffee-houses more than it deserved, yet made much less noise than a farce written at the same time by an Irish player, one Macklyn,[86] called Love à la Mode. The principal characters were a Scotchman and an Irishman; the first, heightened and odious; the latter, softened and amiable, played inimitably by one Moody. What made it memorable was, that Lord Bute[87] interposed to have it prohibited. This intervention made the ridicule on the Scotch the more tasted; and being tasted, it would have been too offensive to the public to have stopped the run. A composition was made that it should not be printed. The King, whose age then kept him from public places, sent for the copy, and ordered it to be read to him.
Lord George Sackville, having waited till the officers returned from Germany, had written at the end of the year to Lord Holderness, demanding a Court-Martial. He received for answer, that it would be referred to the Judges; a question having arisen, whether he could legally be tried, the orders he had disobeyed having been given by a foreigner. The Attorney and Solicitor Generals, however, not the Judges, were the persons consulted, and they gave their opinions that he might have a Court-Martial. Another doubt had been started, whether, having been dismissed from the service, his Lordship could yet be subject to military law; but this was then passed over; and, Jan. 18th, Lord Holderness notified the opinion of the Attorney and Solicitor to Lord George, adding, that his Majesty desired to know how his Lordship wished to have the proceeding, as there was no specific charge against him. This disculpation under the hand of a Secretary of State was remarkable. Some surmised that it had been contrived by Lord Mansfield, a friend to Lord George. It was palpable, at least, that the Court had gone even this length, in order to hold out to Lord George an opportunity of not pushing the matter any further.
He, notwithstanding, assuming to himself such a conviction of innocence, that he declared he would even accept of Lord Tyrawley[88] (a brutal man, and one of his bitterest foes on that and former occasions) for president of the Court-Martial, wrote in reply to Lord Holderness, “that he had no business to accuse himself, nor had been guilty of any fault; but that he concluded Prince Ferdinand must have exhibited some charge against him; otherwise, undoubtedly his Majesty would not have stripped him of everything in so ignominious a manner. He therefore repeated his petition for a Court-Martial, and would abide the event.” Intimations at the same time were privately given to Lord George, that if he would desist from prosecuting the affair, the Court would also. On the other hand, he was told, that be the consequence how severe soever, the King was firm to let the law take its course, should the Court-Martial once proceed.
With any mitigation of his fate, if the event was sinister, Lord George could not flatter himself. He had too many and too powerful enemies, to expect any remission. The King hated him, and hated those who favoured him, the Prince’s faction. The Duke was as ill-inclined to him. Fox, from private resentments, was his enemy. The Army, whether the officers were attached to the Duke, to Prince Ferdinand, or to Lord Granby, were equally averse to him. Mr. Pitt, though no bitter enemy, had adopted Prince Ferdinand’s cause. The people, too, who in a free country are reckoned for something, were prepossessed against him. In his own profession he had disgusted many, both of superior and inferior rank. Newcastle, who never felt for a powerless friend, had abandoned him. The house of Bedford, from reasons of family,[89] were not his well-wishers.
What had he to depend on?—an ancient father and mother, of great dignity indeed, and old servants of the Crown;[90] but the Duke retired, disgraced almost, and worn out by age and infirmities; their small circle of friends; the Scotch obnoxious at Court by the mutual hatred between the Duke of Cumberland and them since the last Rebellion, and from being attached to the Prince, and even by being attached to Lord George; his own parts; and perhaps the unwillingness of every profession to proceed against a member of their own corps—what frail trust, when weighed against influence!—yet he pushed on his trial, and sought danger, though he saw it, and must have weighed it. If here ambition preponderated over fear, at least he was not always a coward. It was pretended that Lord Mansfield had assured him he could not be convicted—but do General Officers weigh legal niceties in the scales of Westminster Hall? Does their education qualify them for the tenderness required of English juries? Are not military men apt to pique themselves on showing antipathy to every suspicion of cowardice, unless they are very brave and sensible indeed?
For my own part, I would sooner pronounce Lord George a hero for provoking his trial, than a coward for shrinking from the French. He would have been in less danger by leading up the Cavalry at Minden, than in every hour that he went down to the Horse-guards as a criminal. But whatever apology is due to Lord George’s spirit, none offers itself for his judgment. The obvious consequence of a trial was condemnation. Laying aside the consideration of life, ambition, and restlessness under the ruin of his fortune, which probably dictated his insisting on a Court-Martial, were almost certain of being disappointed by a formal sentence.[91] A legal conviction of cowardice would for ever dash his hopes. An acquittal would but partially remove such an imputation. The Court’s avowal of there being no specific charge against him was equal in value to such an acquittal. Time would have drawn a kind of oblivion over what was passed: art and future incidents might have superinduced a plea in his favour from the supposed animosity of Prince Ferdinand. A declaration of the Court rather in his favour was of more weight than even an acquittal after the reproach of an actual trial. As a Military man he could entertain no further views. In a civil light he might thereafter construe the rigour he had felt into substantial merit. The approaching reign promised to be favourable to any sufferer under the present; nor could Lord George but know, that to be the enemy of Prince Ferdinand would be meritorious in the eyes of the Prince and Princess Dowager, who hated the Ducal line of Brunswick.
But this was not the only error Lord George Sackville had made in judgment. It is not easy to conceive why he had persisted to seek employment in Germany, if he felt that within him which told him the road of martial glory was not his proper walk. He had interest enough to waive service; and had his declining it been interpreted to his disadvantage, what was suspicion in comparison of proof? On the 23rd of January he was acquainted that he should have a Court-Martial. It was appointed, and General Onslow[92] constituted President. A messenger was dispatched to Prince Ferdinand to send over evidence. To General Balfour, nominated one of his Judges, Lord George objected, on the score of former enmity between them.
While this affair was depending, a more atrocious criminal appeared on the stage. Lawrence, Earl Ferrers, had been parted from his wife,[93] and an allowance settled on her by Parliament out of his estate, for his causeless ill-usage of her. A receiver of his rents, too, had been appointed, but the nomination left to the Earl, who named one Johnson, his own steward. That honest man not proving so tractable as his Lordship expected, had fallen under his displeasure. The Earl lived at his own seat in Leicestershire with a former mistress, whom he had taken again on being separated from his wife, and by whom he had four children. In that retirement there appeared many symptoms of a frenzy incident to his family, as had also during his cohabitation with his lady; and frequent drunkenness inflamed the disorder. In that mood of madness and revenge he sent for Johnson, having artfully dispatched his family and servants different ways on various pretences. The poor man was no sooner alone with him, than the Earl locking the door, and holding a pistol to his breast, would have obliged Johnson to sign a paper, avowing himself a villain. While the unhappy man, kneeling at his feet, hesitated to sign, Lord Ferrers shot him in the body. The wound was mortal, but not instantly so. Remorse or fear seized on the murderer, for he was then sober. He sent for a surgeon, and wished to have Johnson saved. Those sentiments soon vanished, or were expelled by drink; for the Earl passed the remaining hours of that horrid day between his bottle and the chamber of the expiring man, sometimes in promises to his daughter, whom he had summoned to her father, oftener in transports of insult, threats, and cruelty, to the victim himself, who languished till the next morning. At first the Peer prepared to defend himself from being seized; but his courage failed him, as it had on former occasions. He was apprehended by the populace, and lodged in Leicester jail. Thence he was brought to town, and carried before the House of Lords, where his behaviour was cool and sensible. The Lords committed him to the Tower.
In February was tried a criminal of a still different complexion. Dr. Smollett was convicted in the King’s Bench of publishing scurrilous abuse on Admiral Knollys in the Critical Review. Smollett was a worthless man, and only mentioned here because author of a History of England, of the errors in which posterity ought to be warned. Smollett was bred a sea-surgeon, and turned author. He wrote a tragedy, and sent it to Lord Lyttelton, with whom he was not acquainted. Lord Lyttelton, not caring to point out its defects, civilly advised him to try comedy. He wrote one, and solicited the same Lord to recommend it to the stage. The latter excused himself, but promised, if it should be acted, to do all the service in his power for the author. Smollett’s return was drawing an abusive portrait of Lord Lyttelton in Roderick Random, a novel; of which sort he published two or three. His next attempt was on the History of England; a work in which he engaged for booksellers, and finished, though four volumes in quarto, in two years; yet an easy task, as being pilfered from other histories. Accordingly, it was little noticed till it came down to the present time: then, though compiled from the libels of the age and the most paltry materials, yet being heightened by personal invectives, strong Jacobitism, and the worst representation of the Duke of Cumberland’s conduct in Scotland, the sale was prodigious. Eleven thousand copies of that trash were instantly sold, while at the same time the university of Oxford ventured to print but two thousand of that inimitable work, Lord Clarendon’s Life! A reflection on the age sad to mention, yet too true to be suppressed! Smollett’s work was again printed, and again tasted: it was adorned with wretched prints, except two or three by Strange,[94] who could not refuse his admirable graver to the service of the Jacobite cause.
Smollett then engaged in a monthly magazine, called the Critical Review, the scope of which was to decry any work that appeared favourable to the principles of the Revolution. Nor was he single in that measure. The Scotch in the heart of London assumed a dictatorial power of reviling every book that censured the Stuarts, or upheld the Revolution—a provocation they ought to have remembered when the tide rolled back upon them. Smollett, while in prison,[95] undertook a new magazine; and notwithstanding the notoriety of his disaffection, obtained the King’s patent for it by the interest of Mr. Pitt, to whom he had dedicated his history. In the following reign he was hired to write a scurrilous paper, called the Briton, against that very patron, Mr. Pitt.
While the trials of Lord George Sackville and Earl Ferrers were preparing, the attention of the public was drawn off to Ireland. We have mentioned the escape of Thurot from Dunkirk, and his arrival with his pigmy squadron in Sweden. His expedition was a codicil to the lofty plan of invading these kingdoms in various parts at once. While the expedition from the coast of France should pour its flat-bottomed boats on this island, Conflans was to fall on Ireland, and Thurot to make a diversion either in Scotland or in the North of Ireland. His armament, originally composed but of five frigates, was by various accidents reduced to three: his twelve hundred men, by sickness, to half that number. The winter too was so adverse, that they lost three months in beating about among the northern isles; whence their provisions were so consumed, that they were obliged in the middle of February to put into the Isle of Islay to recruit. Supplied they were, and paid for what they received. Scotland was too wise to take a step further in behalf of so forlorn a hope.
There he learned the fate of the larger machine, the defeat of Conflans. Ambitious, however, of personal honour, and aware that desperate characters can only be supported by desperate actions, he determined to make an attempt on some part of Ireland; and about the 28th of February appeared before Carrickfergus. The remonstrances of the English Ministry had operated so little on the Administration in Ireland, that Carrickfergus, though seated in the heart of the Protestant interest, where arms might securely have been trusted, was found by Thurot totally unguarded and unprovided. Making a draught from his seamen, he landed with a small body, and prepared to attack the town which was so little prepared to resist. The walls were ruinous, in many places incomplete. The force within consisted of four companies—unluckily, they consisted but of seventy-two men. They were commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Jennings, a man formed for a hero; for he had great bravery and a small portion of sense. Thurot, who wanted provisions even more than glory, was content to make a demand of about twenty articles, for which he promised to pay. In case of refusal he threatened to burn the place, and then to march to Belfast, a far more opulent and commercial town. Colonel Jennings, who had scarce any ammunition, thought it more prudent to comply than to resist, when he had no means of resisting. He agreed to furnish Thurot with what he wanted. Some disagreement, however, arising, the capitulation was broken. The gates were shut against the invaders—still to the honour of Jennings, for the gates had neither bars nor locks. The fight began by firing at each other through the gates: but the Irish ammunition soon failing, so brave was the garrison, and so zealous the inhabitants, that for some time they defended themselves with brick-bats, which the rotten condition of the walls easily supplied. When even those stores were exhausted, Jennings retired to the castle, while four or five raw recruits still defended the shattered gates. The citadel, however, could not hold out without either powder or provisions. It surrendered, and the garrison were made prisoners. Thurot plundered the town, and then sent to demand contributions from Belfast.
Ridiculous as this campaign was, it was no joke to the Duke of Bedford. Jennings and his puny force had shown themselves willing to do their utmost. The success of Thurot was a glaring comment on the negligence of his Grace’s administration. The danger to which so wealthy a town as Belfast was exposed was still more alarming. General Fitzwilliam was immediately detached with four regiments of Foot and three of Horse to drive out the invaders. The Lord Lieutenant in person promised to overtake him at Newry. But Thurot would not give his Grace an opportunity of retrieving his own carelessness. Taking along with him the Mayor and three of the principal inhabitants of Carrickfergus, Thurot again put to sea.
Another measure taken by the Irish Administration had luckier consequences. They had sent advice of the invasion to Kingsale, where lay three of our best frigates. Elliot[96] commanded them. He instantly sailed, and came up with Thurot in the Irish Channel. Elliot’s vessels were inferior in size and number to Thurot’s, but cleaner, and the men fresh. After a smart action, he boarded Thurot’s ship. The latter fell, but not till he had given proof of the most romantic bravery. The other two frigates soon struck, and were all carried into the Isle of Man. Elliot’s account to the Admiralty was penned with such modesty, that a more important victory had not been more honourable.
Feb. 28th, Lord Barrington acquainted the House of Commons that Lord George Sackville had been put under arrest for disobedience of orders. The Speaker had been much averse to the trial of a member who was no longer in the Army, and hoped it would be opposed: but it was not. Lord Milton,[97] brother-in-law of Lord George, was empowered by him to say that the trial was what he earnestly desired. Lord Barrington then moved an Address of Thanks to the King for the communication, and for his Majesty’s tenderness of the privileges of the House. This being readily agreed to, Lord Barrington said it was nemine contradicente; but Doddington[98] had faintly said no, and the Speaker said there had been a negative. Sir Francis Dashwood then said, that he had not opposed the Address, as Lord George wished the trial; but he hoped the measure would be considered hereafter in some Mutiny Bill, and that the time might be limited how long persons who had quitted the Army should be liable to martial law. Doddington added, “that everybody seemed to agree it ought not to remain law; that he did not think it law; nay, that Lord George might have been tried while he was a military man. Martial law was growing upon us, would eat up the banks, and overflow the whole. The Mutiny Bill fell to the ground every year, but, like the giant, recovered new strength on touching it.” Sir John Rushout added, that, were he in the Army, he would not sit on the trial of any man out of it. Sir Francis Dashwood promised to call for a revisal of the Mutiny Bill, if nobody else did.
The next day the Court-Martial met. When Lord George Sackville appeared before it, seeing General Balfour on the bench, he said, he thought that officer had not been to sit on him, he having made his exceptions, and been told Balfour should not be of the Court. Balfour said, he came not to be a judge, nor desired to be, but to know the exception, which he thought touched his honour—a strong proof how dissonant Courts-Martial are from the spirit of the English constitution, which does not understand that persons accused are to be awed by points of romantic honour from excepting against their jury, if suspected of enmity or partiality. Lord George pleaded opposition that Balfour had exercised against him in the Ordnance. The Court-Martial voted that reason insufficient, but told Balfour they would excuse his attendance if he desired it; which he did. They had no such power either of voting the exception invalid, or of excusing him. The King had appointed him, and had allowed the exception. The next step was more respectful to the laws, and came from a quarter which was not suspected of much tenderness to the prisoner. Lord Albemarle[99] asked him if he was in the Army; the judge-advocate for the prisoner answered, “No.” The Court then was cleared, and adjourned to the following Thursday (it was then Friday), desiring to have the opinion of the Judges, whether a man no longer in the Army was subject to martial law. The Attorney and Solicitor Generals had determined in the affirmative, grounding their sentiment on those words of the Mutiny Bill, “All persons being officers on the 25th of March, and committing such and such faults within the course of the year,” &c. These words being in force as long as the Bill, they thought comprehended such persons for the same period.
Lord Albemarle had gone further: he had asked if the Court was empowered to inflict any punishment under capital on the delinquent. This provision of tenderness was not expected from the favourite of the Duke of Cumberland, or from one who had expressed himself warmly enough against Lord George. Private reasons were sought for this conduct by those who would not suppose that in that trial any motives but those of passion or interest would be hearkened to. They who canvassed Lord Albemarle’s behaviour under such prejudice accounted for it by the Duke’s envy of Prince Ferdinand, and desire of rescuing even that hated criminal from his vengeance—yet were those but surmises, not corroborated by any appearance of acrimony in the complexion or conduct of the judges. So ill, however, was Lord Albemarle’s obstruction of the proceedings accepted by the King, who now pushed on the trial angrily and indecently, that his mother, Lady Albemarle,[100] was omitted in the private nightly parties at Court, and not spoken to in the morning Drawing-Room.
The King went further: Prince Ferdinand was impatient for the return of the officers: General Onslow, President of the Court-Martial, was member of another on Lord Charles Hay,[101] a brave but mad officer, who having in America reflected on the dilatoriness of Lord Loudon, had been put under arrest by him. Onslow at that trial was seized with an apoplectic fit, and died. The King was so impatient of any delay on Lord George Sackville’s case, that the Duke of Newcastle, at four in the afternoon, was ordered to send to the Secretary at War, then in the House of Commons, directions to have a new commission made out that very evening, that not a day might be lost. Four more members too were added to the Court, to guard against any deficiency, the law allowing not a greater number than twenty-one, nor less than thirteen.
Ten Judges (the other two, Bathurst[102] and Clive, of which the former held Lord George’s trial illegal, being absent on the Circuit,) gave their opinions, that, as far as they could then see, he might be tried; but they reserved to themselves a further consideration, if any appeal should be made from the sentence. On the very day on which they were to deliver their opinion arrived the account of Thurot’s defeat and death. There was a great Court to congratulate the King; yet so impatient was he to learn the decision of the Bench, that he scarce stayed a moment in the Drawing-Room. In private he expressed, without decency, his apprehensions of what the German Princes would think of his want of power, should he not be able to obtain Lord George’s trial and condemnation. The moment he was certified that the trial might proceed, he named General Pulteney[103] President of the court in the room of Onslow; and Pulteney excusing himself, Sir Charles Howard[104] was appointed.
March 7th, the trial recommenced. Lord George, who treated his adversaries with little management, desired the Judge-Advocate to explain to Wintzenrode, Prince Ferdinand’s Aide-de-camp, the nature of perjury: the German replied handsomely, that he understood it both from religion and honour, and supposed it was the same in all countries.
Through the course of the trial, which being in print it is not necessary to recapitulate, the chief examinents were General Cholmondeley[105] and Lord Albemarle; both appearing unfavourable to Lord George, and the latter as little sparing Prince Ferdinand, when, by any indirect question, he could draw forth evidence of the Prince having been surprised into the battle. The rest of the Court took so little share in the examination, that Cholmondeley complained of the invidious part that was forced on him. Sloper was particularly acrimonious in his evidence against Lord George, and was believed actuated by General Mordaunt, so warmly did the latter resent Lord George’s practices on the miscarriage at Rochfort; though, if Lord George stirred up the prosecution of that affair, Mordaunt had only suffered by implication: Conway was Lord George’s object; but Conway was far from retorting that injury in the same manner.
Lord Granby, who was actually involved in the trial as evidence, showed the same honourable and compassionate tenderness. So far from exaggerating the minutest circumstance, he palliated or suppressed whatever might load the prisoner, and seemed to study nothing but how to avoid appearing a party against him—so inseparable in his bosom were valour and good-nature. That the constitution of the Court itself was not unfavourable to Lord George, appeared, when a question that bore hard against him being put by General Cholmondeley, and Lord Robert Bertie objecting to it, it was put to the vote, and by the majority not admitted to be asked.
Lord George’s own behaviour was most extraordinary. He had undoubtedly trusted to the superiority of his parts for extricating him. Most men in his situation would have adapted such parts to the conciliating the favour of his judges, to drawing the witnesses into contradictions, to misleading and bewildering the Court, and to throwing the most specious colours on his own conduct, without offending the parties declared against him. Very different was the conduct of Lord George. From the outset, and during the whole process, he assumed a dictatorial style to the Court, and treated the inferiority of their capacities as he would have done if sitting amongst them. He browbeat the witnesses, gave the lie to Sloper, and used the Judge Advocate, though a very clever man, with contempt. Nothing was timid—nothing humble in his behaviour. His replies were quick and spirited. He prescribed to the Court, and they acquiesced. An instant of such resolution at Minden had established his character for ever.
The trial had lasted longer than was expected. The Mutiny Bill expired. A new warrant was forced to be made out, and the depositions were read over to the witnesses. It was the third of April before the whole proceeding was closed: the event different from what Lord George had presumed, and yet short of what he had reason to expect. The Court-Martial pronounced him guilty of having disobeyed Prince Ferdinand’s orders, whom by his commission and instructions he was ordered to obey, and declared it their opinion that he was unfit to serve his Majesty in any military capacity whatever.
The King confirmed the sentence, but, dissatisfied that it had gone no further, he could not resist the ungenerous impulse of loading it with every insult in his power; impotent, as circumscribed in narrower limits than his wishes; and unjust, as exceeding the bounds of a just trial; since no man ought to be punished beyond his sentence. The Court-Martial’s decision was directed to be given out in public orders to the Army, declaring the sentence worse than death. The King struck Lord George’s name out of the Council Book, and forbad his appearance at Court. The Lord Chamberlain, too, was ordered to notify that prohibition to the Prince of Wales and the Princess-Dowager; and lest that should not be sufficient, the Vice Chamberlain was sent to acquaint Lord Bute with it, who said, to be sure the Prince would not think of seeing Lord George while it was disagreeable to his Majesty. Lord George’s witnesses and friends were treated with no less cruelty. Hugo, a Hanoverian, was dismissed on his return to the Army. John Smith was obliged to quit it here; and Cunningham was sent to America, though he had been there three times already. Yet not a murmur followed: as the object was obnoxious, even the dangerous precedent of persecuting witnesses who had thwarted the inclinations of the Court made no impression—so much do liberty and power depend on circumstances and seasons.[106]
The trial of Lord Ferrers had more solemn conclusion. To one man his crimes were advantageous. Sir Robert Henley, Lord Keeper, had been hoisted to that eminence by circumstances of faction; which, however, could not give weight to his decisions in Chancery. Those, as he complained, were often reversed before his face by the House of Lords without his being empowered to defend them, he not being a Peer. It was proper to appoint him Lord High Steward for the trial of Lord Ferrers; and it was requisite, to fill that office, that he should be a Peer. Henley was accordingly created a Baron; but as the Seals had not taught him more law, a Coronet and White Staff contributed as little to give him more dignity. He despised form, even where he had little to do but to be formal. He did not want sense, and spirit still less; but he could not, or would not, stoop to so easy a lesson as that of ceremonial.
Nothing is more awful than the trial of a British Peer; yet, the mean appearance of the prisoner, and the vulgar awkwardness of the Chief Judge, made the present trial as little imposing as possible. The Earl’s behaviour conciliated no favour to him: it was somewhat sullen, and his defence contemptible, endeavouring to protract the time, though without address. At length he pleaded madness—unwillingly, but in compliance with the entreaties of his family. The audience was touched at the appearance of his two brothers, reduced to depose to the lunacy in their blood. But those impressions were effaced, and gave way to horror, when it appeared to the Court that the Earl had gloried in his shocking deed. Being easily convicted, he begged pardon of his Judges for having used the plea of madness. But if his life was odious, and during his life his cowardice notorious, he showed at his death that he did not want sense, resolution, or temper. He bore the ignominy of his fate like a philosopher, and went to meet it with the ease of a gentleman. In the tedious passage of his conveyance from the Tower to Tyburn, which was impeded by the crowds that assembled round his coach, he dropped not a rash word, nor one that had not sense and thought in it. Little was wanting to grace his catastrophe but less resentment to his wife, the peculiarity of being executed in his wedding habit too strongly marking that he imputed his calamity to that source. His relation, Lady Huntingdon, the Metropolitan of the Methodists, had laboured much in his last hours to profit of his fears for the honour of her sect; but, having renounced the plea of madness, he did not choose to resign his intellects to folly. So impudent, however, were those knavish zealots, that one Loyd, a Methodist, having been robbed by his coachman, a Methodist too, Whitfield appeared at the trial before the Lord Mayor, and read an excommunication that he had pronounced against the coachman. They would have accepted a murderer, if a proselyte from the Established Church; and flattered themselves that they could shake off the infamy of a house-breaker by casting him out from their own—so brief and effectual do enthusiasts hold their own legerdemain.
A man, whose pretensions to virtue were as equivocal as Whitfield’s to sanctity, took upon him about this time to lay straiter obligations on members of Parliament. The plan, like that of hypocrites of all denominations, was, by coining new occasions of guilt. Sir John Philipps brought a Bill into the House of Commons to oblige the members to give in particulars of their qualifications, and to swear to the truth of them. A known Jacobite, who and whose friends had taken the oaths to King George, ought to have been sensible that perjury was not the crime at which most men stuck in that age: nor could it be hoped that they who made a seat in Parliament the foundation of their fortune would not overleap any obstacle to obtain one. Pitt, James Grenville, and Beckford promoted the Bill. Lord Egmont opposed it with great ability, and pointed out how much it would subject all estates to the inspection, and, consequently, to the iniquitous practices of attorneys: and he showed that western estates in particular were so circumstanced, that, without double the qualification required, they would not be sufficient to answer it. Much spirit against the Bill appeared in others. The Duke of Newcastle was very averse to it, but forced to swallow it a little curtailed, as Pitt insisted that something must be done to gratify the Tories. Lord Strange ridiculed it, particularly one notorious blunder: the Bill directed that no man should take his seat till he had produced his qualification, and sworn to it in a full House, the Speaker in the chair. This, at the opening of a new Parliament, was an impossibility—by whom was the Speaker to be chosen? Young Thomas Townshend spoke warmly against it, and traced its origin to the four last disgraceful years of Queen Anne, when a like Bill had been attempted by the Tories.
The Bill, however, passed both Houses. In the Lords, the Duke of Richmond and the Earls of Gower and Hilsborough opposed it. Lord Temple supported it insolently, threatening disunion if it were not allowed to pass. Lord Hardwicke seemed but cool towards it; yet he treated the Commons arrogantly, and said he had winked at many things for the sake of union. Lord Gower put it home to the Bishops, whether the Bill would not multiply perjuries; yet it was carried by fifty to sixteen, as it had been in the other House by fourscore to forty.
A Bill for a Militia in Scotland was less successful; nor could the disaffected there obtain this mode of having their arms restored. Pitt had acquiesced; but the Duke of Newcastle, the Solicitor-General Yorke, Nugent, Lord Barrington, and the young Whigs, attacked it with all their force. Even the Scotch Lord Advocate spoke with spirit against it. Elliot defended it masterly; and Sir Henry Erskine went so far as to say that all Scotland would come and demand it at the bar of the House. Unluckily for that menace, the man who had most weight in that country, the Duke of Argyll, was not cordial to the Bill, and it was rejected by one hundred and ninety-four to eighty-four.
A proposed extension of the Militia met with the same fate. It had been granted for five years. The counties which had adopted it grew tired of the expense. The Tory gentlemen were fond of this more decent mode of accepting emoluments. To humour them and George Townshend, Pitt had consented that a Bill should be brought in to make the expense common to the whole kingdom, by enabling the counties where Militia was raised to draw on the Exchequer. The Speaker advertised the House that this would not only be a Money Bill, but must have the consent of, nay, must be recommended by, the Crown. That the King absolutely refused to give. Notice being taken of the Bill’s non-appearance, Lord Strange, in his frank manner, said, “Why did not gentlemen speak out? was it not that his Majesty would not consent to the Bill?” Pitt, to draw all possible honour from what he could not bestow, replied, it was now too late in the session; but if any man would renew the Motion the second day of next session, even to make the Militia perpetual, he would not only second, but try to get the Bill passed before the supplies; yet what were those supplies to feed but his own war, which he boasted had doubled the expense of any year of Queen Anne? This very year above sixteen millions were voted.