Life of Edward Earl of Clarendon — Volume 02

by Sir Henry Craik

CHAPTER XXI

THE DUTCH WAR

Bristol had shot his bolt prematurely, and was foiled in his attack upon Clarendon. For the moment the Chancellor's authority seemed to be consolidated by the very machinations of his enemies. But the rancour of the intriguers was none the less vigorous, and it required all his courage and steadfastness to maintain the load of public care that hung upon him while he saw his influence undermined by secret slander. He knew well that the King was listening to those who spared no effort to excite his jealousy of Clarendon's control; that the easy humour which prompted Charles to avoid a rupture was no trustworthy shield against the effects of his growing irritation. He saw that the Court was sinking deeper in the mire of licentiousness and corruption, and was daily rousing against it more emphatically the anger and contempt of the nation, and making his own task of consolidation more hopeless. The anxieties and hardships of long years of civil war, of exile, and of poverty, were telling sorely upon his own health, and much of his work had to be carried on from a sick-bed, and under the strain of painful illness. Ambition had never played a great part in his life; and even gratified ambition would have been ill-paid by high place and sounding titles, when these were accompanied by baffled hopes, and by the sight of his ideals fading into unreality. But his difficulties were now to be increased, as he saw the nation gradually drifting into war, under the promptings of a selfish and reckless faction, who exploited national jealousies for their own purposes, and, mistaking a spirit of boastful bluster for courage and determination, sought to supply the place of deliberate preparation by thoughtless provocations. And all the while he knew perfectly well that, if disaster ensued, his enemies would lay the blame on him.

Between England and the Dutch Republic, the causes of irritation had been rapidly accumulating. The centre of the commerce of the world had now shifted to North-Western Europe, and the growing commercial interests of the day were a sure and increasing source of international jealousy. The rivalry between England and Holland had begun before the Civil War, and during that war Holland had found in England's distractions a splendid opportunity for stealing a march on her most powerful rival. In her colonial enterprise she had easily outstript Spain and Portugal, and more than held her own with England. Her trade was the largest of the world. Her fleet was admirably equipped, and the great traditions of her naval commanders were worthily maintained since the death of Van Tromp, by De Ruyter. If her marvellous prosperity carried within itself the seeds of decay, these were not as yet apparent; and however dangerous were her internal dissensions, they were for the time neutralized by the cunning and the capacity of De Witt. No Power had better reason to recognize the imperial force of Cromwell, and none was more keenly conscious of the contrast between his master will, and the vacillating and distracted counsels that now prevailed at the Court of England. Clarendon saw the position as well as they. He knew how poor was the bulwark supplied by the noisy loyalty of the Restoration, and how imperatively necessary it was to consolidate authority at home before launching upon a foreign war. We have already spoken of Cromwell's Navigation Act, forbidding any imports into England except those carried in English ships, or in ships belonging to the country of origin, and of the deadly wound which that Act had inflicted upon the Dutch carrying trade. The Act had, as we have seen, been renewed by the Parliament of 1661; but it remained to be seen whether England could maintain by force of arms the supremacy which such legislation assumed. If this was to be done, it could be only by careful preparation, by establishing a sound financial system, and by presenting a united front. All these essentials were ignored by the recklessness of Clarendon's enemies, and his efforts to secure them were baffled by the profusion, the waywardness, and the petty irritation of the King.

The Dutch could offer no direct opposition to the Navigation Laws; but in colonial affairs they had ample opportunity for inflicting injury upon England, and they were not slow to avail themselves of it. A tariff war between the two countries had already begun. The woollen manufacturers of England were threatened by the high import duties imposed by the Dutch upon English goods; and England endeavoured to meet these by prohibiting the export of wool. Each Parliamentary session saw new import duties imposed upon foreign goods imported into England, and in many cases their importation was absolutely prohibited. The rivalry in the fishing trade led to conflicts which were carried almost to the point of war, and the fishing fleets from the Dutch and English ports both reckoned, as an ordinary experience, on having to defend themselves by armed force. But it was on the West coast of Africa, and in the East Indies, that the two Powers came into most serious collision, and there the bitterness of rivalry was increased by a long catalogue of wrongs suffered on both sides. The estrangement was intensified when the chief colonial rival of Holland seemed likely to become, by the marriage treaty, the ally of England, and when Portugal threatened, in the confidence of that alliance, to prosecute her schemes of vengeance for the aggressions of the Dutch. It became of the first importance for the Dutch to patch up some sort of treaty with Portugal before the English alliance should be cemented, and this was the object of the statesmen of the United Provinces. To counteract this seemed to some to be the soundest policy for England.

The negotiations at the Hague were carried on by Sir George Downing, who without being a leading statesman, or wielding any considerable authority in England, yet managed to exert no little influence upon the course of affairs at a very critical juncture. His career had been a strange one. He was of obscure birth, but had managed to ingratiate himself with the Protector, and was employed in various capacities—ranging, it would appear, from chaplain to scout-master—in the Scottish army. In 1656, he appeared in Cromwell's Parliament, as member for Haddington, and secured for himself a plurality of offices, which combined a tellership of the Exchequer, with the captaincy of a troop of horse. The time was favourable for the adventurer whose advance was delayed by no scruples of conscience, and no deficiency of self-assurance; and Downing increased his importance by a marriage with the sister of Howard, first Earl of Carlisle. We next find him resident at the Hague, as Cromwell's representative, and exerting himself, with obtrusive zeal, in urging the exclusion from Dutch territory of the exiled King and his Court. But Downing was one of those who readily, and with no troublesome qualms of conscience or of honour, accommodate themselves to changes of political circumstances. He was astute enough to foresee the coming Restoration, and easily secured the confidence and gratitude of Charles by betraying the secrets of those whose agent he was. He rendered a useful service in betraying to Charles's advisers the double-dealing of Sir Richard Willis, the Royalist who stooped to be spy for Cromwell, and compounded with his conscience by taking care that his betrayals should be accompanied by warnings which enabled those whose movements he betrayed, to provide for their own safety. Downing carefully copied the manoeuvres he exposed, and was dexterous enough to arrange that he should continue, by an easy transference of allegiance, to act at the Hague for Charles, in the same capacity as he had acted for Cromwell, He had gained experience which was eminently useful; and he was soon ready to show the same relentless skill in tracing the hiding places of fugitive rebels, as he had lately shown in harassing the exiled Royalists. He was a man of unquestionable ability, of dauntless audacity, and restless activity; but he moved the hatred and contempt alike of Royalist and rebel, for his arrogance, his brazen insolence, and his cynical lack of conscience. Clarendon had now to use him as agent in a series of complicated diplomatic transactions. To his perspicacity, promptness, and determination, the Chancellor might trust. But again and again, in his correspondence, Clarendon has to urge caution, to rebuke Downing's arrogance, and to expostulate with him for an attitude deliberately provocative, and neglectful of the plainest instructions inculcating prudence and reserve. Clarendon was to have his instinctive dislike of the man aggravated by many future provocations in other fields. At this time, he found him the most dangerous of agents in a negotiation of the utmost delicacy—one impatient of control, impetuous in temper, reckless by his greed of self-glorification, and too intent upon achieving a diplomatic triumph, to pay any attention to the risks of premature hostilities. Downing was determined to prevent the concession of any substantial advantages to the Dutch by means of the Portuguese treaty, and did not hesitate to assert that any such concession would be treated by the King of England as a breach of the engagement between Portugal and himself. Clarendon was not prepared to assume such an attitude. An open breach between Portugal and the United Provinces would undoubtedly have involved England in war.

"You must set all your wits on work to prevent this war, which will produce a thousand mischiefs, "wrote Clarendon to Downing; [Footnote: Letter of November 22nd, 1661.] "the Dutch will undergo their full share of them; nor can any good Dutchman desire that Portugal should be so distressed as to fall again into the hands of the Spaniards."

Clarendon, of course, was alive to the disadvantages of a grant by Portugal to the Dutch of privileges of trade equal to those possessed by England. But if Portugal agreed to indemnify England for any loss of exclusive privilege, then, in God's name, let them sign what treaty they pleased. Anything rather than be plunged in a war to which the resources of the nation were not equal, and which would inflict a far more crushing blow upon those commercial interests in defence of which it would be waged, than could be involved in any unduly generous treaty concessions to a rival. The treaty was ratified, and for the moment the breach between the United Provinces and Portugal was avoided.

Other grounds of quarrel soon supervened. Charles had strongly espoused the interests of his sister's child, the young Prince of Orange, whose exclusion, through the instrumentality of De Witt, from the office of Stadtholder, which had been held by his father, was keenly resented by the English King. Downing was instructed to support the Prince's claim, and was ready, with his usual headstrong pugnacity, to make it an essential condition of any treaty that these should be conceded. "The Dutch would not hazard their trade," he wrote, "upon such a point." But he failed to notice that the point involved the influence of De Witt, the most powerful man in Holland. Once again Clarendon had to moderate the impetuosity of his representative: we could make no such stipulation. "Upon what grounds, I pray," wrote Clarendon to Downing, "can the King, in renewing a league with the States-General, demand that they should choose a general of his recommendation?" It would be time enough to intervene when we had established peace. Then, and then only, could we think of fighting against the intrigues of De Witt with any prospect of success.

Clarendon knew well that nothing would suit the plans of Louis XIV. so entirely as an internecine war between England and the Dutch. Nor was this the sole danger to be feared from engaging in hostilities. It was only by a peace with Holland, that the fear of new dissensions at home could be allayed.

"There is nothing," writes Clarendon to Downing, in August, 1661, "the seditious and discontented people here do so much fear as a peace with Holland, from the contrary to which they promise themselves infinite advantages." "If this peace can be handsomely made up, and speedily, great conveniences will arise from it; and we may, after two or three years' settling at home, be in the better position to do what we find fit."

For the present, the aim of Clarendon's policy was to restore the position to what it had been under Cromwell. If the conditions essential for the free expansion of English trade were secured, the more distant quarrels between the different trading companies in the East Indies and Africa might be matter for subsequent argument, and the dynastic claims of the House of Orange might be postponed to a more convenient season. With these clear aims before him, it was not found impossible by Clarendon to arrange a treaty between England and the United Provinces, which was signed at Westminster, in September, 1662. Each was to aid the other against rebels, and neither was to harbour fugitive rebels from the other Power. The naval supremacy of England was to be acknowledged by the lowering of the flag by Dutch vessels. The island of Polerone in the Malay Archipelago—an old subject of contention—was to be restored by Holland. There was to be full freedom of trade between the two Powers. The quarrels of the independent trading companies of each Power in Africa and the East Indies were not to involve war, but were to form subject of arbitration, and equitable settlement after a due interval. No dispute was to be revived which dated earlier than 1654, and later claims which were still outstanding were to be settled by Commissioners appointed by the two Powers. This last article alone was soon found to involve grounds of dissension far-reaching enough to have broken up the peace, even had no other irritating causes supervened.

But all other causes of hostility were of comparatively small importance compared with the essential and insuperable rivalry in colonial trade. It was in these new and expanding markets that the question of European commercial supremacy must be fought out. The command of them was of absolutely vital importance in the inevitable struggle for existence between the two nations. They were chiefly in the hands of great and independent companies working under the protection of either Power. These companies were careless of international rights; zealous only to secure their own commercial monopoly, and certain of being backed up by all the resources of their own State. In England there were three of these great companies—the Turkey Company, the East India Company, and the Royal African Company. Each could rely upon powerful political support, and their ambitions were supported by the solid mass of England's commercial class. Early in the session, which began in March, 1664, the grievances from which English commerce suffered under the overweening insolence and repeated aggressions of the Dutch, were laid before Parliament. Heavy losses were alleged to have been suffered, and the dangers of the total decay of the trade were forcibly foretold. Parliament was not slow to take the alarm. Both Houses concurred in the resolution—

"That the wrongs, dishonours, and indignities done to his Majesty by the subjects of the United Provinces, by invading of his rights in India, Africa, and elsewhere, and the damages, affronts, and injuries done by them to our merchants, are the greatest obstruction of our foreign trade;"

and they prayed that speedy and effectual means should be taken for obtaining redress, and for preventing such injuries in future. It was clear that the national temper had been thoroughly aroused, and would insist on asserting itself. Clarendon's influence is seen in the moderation of Charles's reply. He approved their zeal and promised inquiry, but went no further than to undertake that his Minister should demand reparation, and take steps for the prevention of such wrongs in future.

The bellicose attitude of Parliament had given much alarm to the Dutch.

"The resolution of the two Houses of Parliament," writes Downing to Clarendon, [Footnote: Letter of April 29th, 1664.] "is altogether beyond their expectation, and puts them to their wits' end." "Believe me," he goes on, "at the bottom of their hearts, they are sensible of the weight of a war with his Majesty."

The moderation of the King's reply served to allay the Dutchmen's fears of the imminence of war; but De Witt found it prudent to promise that he would do his utmost to meet the English demands. He expressed to Downing "with great appearing joy," his satisfaction with the King's reply; and said that "since his Majesty had so tenderly declared himself, he would upon that account condescend so much the more to give him satisfaction." Downing doubtless thought that the demand went unduly far in the direction of moderation. But if he had any fears that pacific motives would prevail, he was soon to be undeceived. For the moment war seemed to be averted. Louis XIV.—however he might wish to see the naval Powers exhaust themselves by mutual injuries—had no wish to see the outbreak of a war in which the Treaty rights of the Dutch warranted them in calling for his assistance, and he offered himself as a mediator. But both the disputants were drifting rapidly to the arbitrament of arms.

Downing had a powerful ally for his own warlike inclinations in the Duke of York. James was restless when deprived of opportunity of adding to his influence, and satisfying his chief ambition, by engaging in some warlike operation. He had already acquired some reputation, not without warrant, as a capable naval commander, and as a man of personal courage. He had little opportunity of political action in England, and a war with the Dutch not only promised vengeance for old grudges against the nation, but offered a good chance of winning new renown. He had other less creditable motives. He had taken an active part in the management of some of the great trading companies, and was deeply interested in various colonial enterprises. In March, 1664, James obtained a grant of Long Island on the American coast—a territory nominally belonging to the English, but now, in default of their colonizing it, occupied by the Dutch, who had built a town called New Amsterdam. With the help of two ships of war, lent him by the Crown, the Duke organized an expedition to seize the island. The scanty Dutch colony could offer no effective resistance. Their town was ceded to the emissaries of the Duke, who changed its name to one destined to hold a large space in the history of the world. New Amsterdam became New York, as the result of a buccaneering raid, carried out by some three hundred men, hired by the Duke of York to prosecute a private proprietorial claim.

The Duke was also Governor of the African Trading Company, and this again brought him into even more serious conflict with the Dutch. That company had established its operations upon the Guinea coast before the Civil War, and had carried on a successful trade, which had been grievously interrupted by the troubles at home. The Dutch had, meanwhile, established a rival factory, and prosecuted their trade with such success as seriously to cripple that of England. After the Restoration, the company was re- organized, and the Duke being persuaded to become Governor, a Royal Charter was easily obtained. Those who knew the region were convinced of its promise; and high profits were confidently expected by bartering English goods against the gold and the slaves, of which the supply was so rich. The gold was brought in sufficient quantities to give the name of "Guineas" to a new designation in the English coinage; and the slaves were easily disposed of at a high price to other plantations in various parts of the globe. The only inconvenience arose from the hindrance which the Dutch could offer to English trade, by means of their own superior trade organization, and the more suitable situation of their factory.

Once more the difficulty in the way of the Duke and his Company was settled by an armed raid. Exactly as in the case of New York, he "borrowed" two ships of war from the King, and sent an expedition under the command of Sir Robert Holmes, which, by a flagrant violation of every international right, seized the Dutch fort. The balance of wrong was thus roughly reversed. By an act of unwarrantable violence the Duke of York had fixed upon his own nation the burden of maintaining what amounted to piratical aggression; and he had done it—as Clarendon is obliged to allow—"without any authority, and without a shadow of justice," [Footnote: Letter to Downing, October 28th, 1664.]—solely in satisfaction of his own private rights as a company promoter. Clarendon's diplomacy was, of a truth, conducted under untoward circumstances! Between the filibustering of his royal son-in-law, and the deliberate exasperation of his accredited representative at the Hague, peace had become well-nigh hopeless. Under such conditions negotiations became tangled beyond the possibility of repair. De Witt recognized that no reparation for the wrong done at Cape Verde would be secured except by armed force. But in carrying out this purpose he still endeavoured to avoid any declaration of war. De Ruyter and the English Admiral Lawson were now cruising in the Mediterranean, on a joint expedition, for suppression of piracy, and for releasing the captives of Tunis and Algiers. De Ruyter secretly separated himself from his English ally, sailed for Cape Verde, and there took vengeance for the English aggression on the trading operations of the Dutch. It was an open breach of the stipulation of the Treaty, which required that reparation for colonial wrongs should be sought by peaceable arbitration. Clarendon had recognized fully that such reparation was due, and had instructed Downing to offer it. The elusive tactics of De Witt, and the armed intervention of De Ruyter, frustrated Clarendon's efforts for a peaceful settlement.

Already Clarendon's pronounced inclination for peace had earned for him the ill-will which the Duke of York's habitual sulkiness of temper was so apt to indulge. The King had given their due weight to the arguments of the Chancellor, and felt the danger which war would involve at once to his own authority at home, and to the position of England in Europe. This he had impressed upon his brother; and James rightly ascribed the King's backwardness to Clarendon, and found a convenient medium of remonstrance in his wife, whom he instructed to explain to her father the Duke's annoyance at finding him his chief opponent "in an affair upon which he knew his heart was so much set." [Footnote: Life, ii. 240.] It was characteristic of James that he should deal with a matter of vital interest to the kingdom, as if it was the fitting subject of petty personal pique. Anne undertook the duty, and begged her father no longer to oppose the Duke. Clarendon told her that she "did not enough understand the importance of that affair;" but he would speak to the Duke about it. At their interview, James renewed his tone of personal annoyance, urged the expediency of the war, and above all complained that, as "he was engaged to pursue it," Clarendon should allow the world to see "how little credit he had with him."

Clarendon's reply was as dignified as it was candid. "He had no apprehension that any sober man in England, or his highness himself, should believe that he could fail in his duty to him, or that he would omit any opportunity to make it manifest, which he could never do without being a fool or a madman." But on the other hand he would never give advice, nor consent to anything, which his judgment and his conscience told him would be mischievous to the Crown and to the Kingdom, "though his royal highness, or the King himself, were inclined to it." From the first, the King, he told the Duke, had been "averse from any thought of this war;" but he did not deny that he had done all in his power to confirm the King in that opinion. A few too complacent friends, he told the Duke, might for the moment concur in his view; reflection would soon change their minds. "A few merchants, nor all the merchants in London, were not the city of London, which had had war enough, and could only become rich by peace." The hopes of a liberal grant from Parliament were delusions. He was old enough to remember what had been the fate of James I., who had been tempted "to enter into a war with Spain, upon promise of ample supplies; and yet when he was engaged in it, they gave him no more supply, so that at last the Crown was compelled to accept of a peace not very honourable;" and, Clarendon might have added, to begin that long struggle over supply which had led to the Rebellion.

Clarendon's plain speaking did not end here. The Duke plumed himself upon his military prowess, and was eager for the war because of the laurels which he believed it had in store for him. With a better appreciation of his son-in-law's abilities, Clarendon begged him to reflect "upon the want of able men to conduct the counsels upon which such a war must be carried on." For a time it had seemed as if the Duke were ready to listen to reason, and there had been less talk of war; but the recent aggressions on both sides had dispelled such hopes. De Ruyter had inflicted heavy injury on the English merchants on the African Coast. This was answered by an attack by Prince Rupert's fleet upon the Dutch merchantmen in the Channel. War had virtually begun, in spite of all the Chancellor's counsels of prudence, and all his warnings of the imminent danger. Specious proposals for a settlement were now too late.

"Though I am very glad," wrote Clarendon to Downing, [Footnote: Letter of October 28th, 1664.] "to find any temperate and sober considerations, which dispose that people to peace, I wish they had entertained it sooner, for I scarce see time left for such a disquisition as is necessary. They have too insolently provoked the King to such an expense, that fighting is thought the better husbandry."

It was now needful to apply to Parliament, which met on November 24th. Clarendon was again prostrated by a severe attack of gout, and could not himself appear in Parliament; but a narrative in writing, which was to be the basis for asking for a liberal grant, was laid before the House. The treachery of the Dutch and their open aggressions were exposed; and as the King was thus "forced to put himself in the posture he is now in for the defence of his subjects at so vast an expense," he trusted that Parliament "would cheerfully enable him to prosecute the war with the same vigour he hath prepared for it, by giving him supplies proportionate to the charge thereof."

Those very men, such as Bennet and Coventry, who had chiefly urged the war, were now backward in risking their popularity by asking for an adequate grant. It was left to Clarendon and Southampton to urge that the amount to be asked for should be commensurate with the vastness of the undertaking, and that the resolution of the King and his subjects, to carry out the great task to which they had applied themselves, should be proved to the world by an abundant supply. This they could not reckon at less than two millions and a half. It was an unprecedented charge, and must necessarily strain the relations between the Crown and the Parliament, and stimulate that very discontent which Clarendon knew to be slumbering and ready to break out.

When Parliament came to consider the matter, there was no apparent lack of zeal, but there was, amongst the crowd of private members, no one ready to name a sum. The Chancellor and the Treasurer had prepared for this, by consultations with two or three members of established reputation and of weight in the House and the country; and after an ominous pause, Sir Robert Paston, one of these members, proposed that "the present supply ought to be such as might as well terrify the enemy as assist the King, and that it should therefore be two millions and a half." "The silence of the House," Clarendon proceeds in his narrative, "was not broken." Some one, "who was believed to wish well to the King"—with that sort of well- wishing which characterized the time-serving of Bennet and his confederates—moved that the grant should be much smaller. But those who had been prepared by Clarendon manfully backed the suggestion of Sir Robert Paston; and it was carried by a majority of 172 to 102 in the grudging silence of those who dreaded lest such a grant might secure Clarendon against the odium of repeated applications to the generosity of Parliament. The very men who had secretly opposed it, were not ashamed now, in view of this lavish grant, to stimulate the King to a new warlike zeal, and to confirm the hostile inclinations of the nation at large.

"There appeared," says Clarendon, "great joy and exaltation of spirit upon this vote, and not more in the Court than upon the exchange, the merchants being unskilfully inclined to that war, above what their true interest could invite them to, as in a short time afterwards they had cause to confess." [Footnote: Life, ii. 311.]

Clarendon's prophetic fears were not diminished as time went on. He knew well how quickly such warlike zeal as now prevailed would spend itself, when the burdens of war were felt, and when the interference with commerce made those burdens all the harder. He had good reason to know the corruption that prevailed in the dockyards, and how soon money would melt away in the hands of those who took care that all warlike preparations should yield an abundant harvest of illegal gain to those engaged in them. But the die was now cast, and on February 22nd, 1665, war was declared. Never was hazard run with more reckless thoughtlessness, and with less of a spirit of stern resolution, and of that mood that could brace the nation to such work. The Chancellor knew well that he had lost the confidence of the King, and he was under no delusion as to what loss of confidence involved with one so selfish and so unprincipled as Charles. Never had the Court stood so low in the estimation of all that was soundest in the nation. Clarendon's own words bear the impress of his misgivings.

"All serious and prudent men took it as an ill presage, that whilst all warlike preparations were made in abundance suitable to the occasion, there should be so little preparation of spirit for a war against an enemy, who might possibly be without some of our virtues, but assuredly was without any of our vices." [Footnote: Life, ii. 352.]

It is hard to estimate the burden of bitter disappointment that is compressed into these words.

At the Admiralty, and in the dockyards, there was activity enough. There was one, the candid pages of whose secret diary have given us a faithful picture of the business, and who was no insignificant part of the administrative machine. Month by month Pepys was earning more of his own genial self-approbation by acquiring new consideration, and by his growing mastery of Admiralty business. Month by month he found his little store waxing larger, by gains more or less legitimate, and his official importance enhanced by devices which were not always very high-principled. But the English fleet would have been far better equipped than it was, had those in higher places shown half the energy of Samuel Pepys, had their peculations been kept within his limits, had their stratagems been controlled even by his occasional respect for principle, and had their characters been tainted by no more than his fantastic vanity, and his schoolboy debauchery. Day by day, with all his uncontrolled propensity for carouses, with all his lively taste for gossip, with all his gallantries and all his petty selfishness, Pepys shows us how manfully he struggled to make his work efficient, how often he strove successfully against profusion, and peculation, and hopeless mismanagement, and how he managed to steer his way safely amidst the jealousies, and corruptions, and gross jobberies of those under whom he served. There is something dramatic in comparing the record of his struggle with details that Pepys has left us, with the picture of hopeless corruption which revealed itself to Clarendon, standing at the other end of the official ladder. Under the patronage of the Duke, there was a little knot of men, who regarded the Admiralty chiefly as a field where they could reap a rich harvest of illegal gains. Coventry had now established for himself a control over all appointments. His agent was Sir William Penn, who had failed to rise to Cromwell's standard of efficiency, and had found himself discarded, and a prisoner in the Tower, after his defeat at St. Domingo, but who had managed to creep back into employment by cultivating the new powers. These two carried on a shameless, although well-recognized, sale of offices, and disarmed all criticism that might be dangerous by sharing their ill-gotten booty amongst a wide circle of confederates, of whom that model of chivalry, Sir Charles Berkeley, was one of the chief.

"This was the best husbandry he (Coventry) could have used; for by this means all men's mouths were stopped, and all clamour secured; whilst the lesser sums for a multitude of officers of all kinds were reserved to himself, which, in the estimation of those who were at no great distance, amounted to a very great sum, and more than any officer under the King could possibly get by all the perquisites of his office in many years." [Footnote: Life, ii. 330.]

Thefts and embezzlements became almost acknowledged practices, and as each ship returned, its equipments were shamelessly sold by the Admiralty representatives, and the proceeds divided amongst the officers.

"When this was discovered (as many times it was) and the criminal person apprehended, it was alleged by him as excuse 'that he had paid so dear for his place, that he could not maintain himself and his family, without practising such shifts;' and none of these fellows were ever brought to exemplary justice, and most of them were restored to their employments." [Footnote: Life, ii. 329.]

We have the picture painted from below and from above; and as we look on it, the wonder is, not that the pressure of the war was great, and its successes meagre, but rather that disasters did not crowd upon us more thickly. The conduct of the war does not, of course, belong to the life of Clarendon. [Footnote: "They who contrived the war had the entire conducting of it, and were the sole causes of all the ill effects of it" (Life, ii. 325).] We have hitherto seen only his efforts to stay its outbreak, and the despairing thoughts, which the prospect of the danger, and the recklessness with which it was met, provoked in him. It was part of his business to try to organize some sort of alliances abroad, which might counteract the influence of De Witt. Denmark and Sweden had every reason to oppose the growing commercial power of the Dutch, and to help in any scheme for checking it. But they were divided by mutual jealousies, and their alliance could hardly be gained jointly for the English Crown. Henry Coventry, whose talents and character Clarendon esteemed very differently from those of his brother Sir William, was envoy to Sweden, and managed to secure at least temporary neutrality from that Power, as did Sir Gilbert Talbot from Denmark. But time soon showed that any hope of effective alliance was vain. The warlike Bishop of Munster did, indeed, find it convenient to avenge his own wrongs by attacking the United Provinces, and by acting in conjunction with England. But such an ally was not a source of much strength, and it might well be doubted whether his co-operation was worth the very considerable subsidy which he demanded, of two hundred and fifty thousand pounds. In truth, it soon became evident enough that England must rely upon herself alone, and that a still greater danger lurked in the background, in the doubtful neutrality, and very probable hostility, of France. Amidst this gathering cloud of unfriendliness, a new source of enmity was started by the extensive resort to privateering on the part of England, the danger of which Clarendon fully perceived. He had no words too strong to condemn this practice.

"They (the privateers) are a people, how countenanced so ever or thought necessary, that do bring an unavoidable scandal, and it is to be feared a curse, upon the justest war that was ever made at sea. A sail! A sail! is the word with them: friend or foe is the same; they possess all they can master, and run with it to any obscure place where they can sell it (which retreats are never wanting) and never attend the ceremony of an adjudication." [Footnote: Life, ii. 335. We must not forget that Clarendon had himself suffered from these licensed robbers, and bore them a grudge.]

The resort to privateering drew upon England the hatred of every trading company in Europe; but what was still worse, the career it opened was a far more lucrative one than that offered by the royal navy, and recruiting was fatally injured so long as the prospect of uncounted booty lay open to those who sailed as privateers. More fatal still, any opposition to it was interpreted by the little knot of the Duke's protégés as a personal disloyalty. "Whoever spake against those lewd people, upon any case whatsoever, was thought to have no regard for the Duke's profit, nor to desire to weaken the enemy." [Footnote: Life, ii. 336.]

There was another innovation, adopted in the interests of this nest of shameless pilferers, who throve under the Duke's protection. It was in vain that Clarendon remonstrated, and appealed either to constitutional precedent, or to the prudence and the self-interest of the King. Heavy as had been the burden of taxation caused by the war, hopes had been raised that the prices realized by the sale of captured vessels and goods would, soon after the beginning of the war, yield revenue enough to go far to meet the cost. "After one good fleet should be set out to beat the Dutch, the prizes, which would every day after be taken, would plentifully do all the rest"—such was the confident prediction. It would, under no circumstances, have been realized. But in previous wars a strict account had been kept. Commissioners were appointed for the sale of prizes, and they were bound to account for every penny received. Such a course no longer met the views of Charles and of those who now had his confidence.

The new design for dealing with these prizes of war was sprung without warning upon the Chancellor, and with circumstances that might have stirred a temper less quick than his. One evening a servant of Lord Ashley brought to the Chancellor a warrant, the object of which was to constitute Lord Ashley Treasurer of all the monies raised upon prizes of war, to assign to him the patronage of all offices necessary for the service, to make him accountable to none but the King, and to direct him to pay out all such monies as the King should order. To this warrant the Chancellor was requested to affix the seal that evening. Clarendon replied that he would speak with the King before he sealed the grant.

The purport of such an order was only too clear. The prize money was not to be spent in mitigating the heavy burden of taxation, but was to be administered according to the caprices of the King, in the ignoble expenses of his Court, and through the hands of an unscrupulous clique, whose peculations would thus be completely concealed. It is an indication of the inveterate prejudice which has infected the Whig historians of the period, that this scandalous iniquity has been glozed over, or, at the most, timidly criticized. Ashley was a Whig, and the friend of Whig philosophers. His falsehoods, his treacheries, his flagrant acts of peculation, are therefore to be veiled under a discreet silence, or visited with condemnation that is lightened by profuse apology. It is surely time that this pharisaicism of party prejudice should be shaken off. [Footnote: It is a perpetual amusement to contrast the timid condemnation with which such a Whig as Lister visits the turpitudes of such as Ashley, with the solemn lectures poured out over any deviation in the case of Clarendon from the accepted standard of Whig orthodoxy.] Ashley was primarily responsible for a scandalous fraud and an indecent robbery of the public purse, for which not a shadow of defence can be offered. He became the head of a gang of ignoble tricksters, who stooped to be pandars to their royal master's pleasures, at the price of sharing the fruits of public plunder, and with the aim of undermining the influence of the Minister whose rectitude shamed them. The fact that Ashley was a friend of John Locke does not lessen his turpitude by one jot.

Clarendon's remonstrance with the King was as plain spoken as usual. He "doubted that his Majesty had been surprised; it was not only unprecedented, but in many particulars destructive to his services and to the rights of other men." It was an insult to the Lord Treasurer, whose prerogatives it invaded; and lastly, it was fraught with great danger to Ashley himself. The King was brought to consent to the suspension of the warrant; for the rest, he was obstinate. "It would bring prejudice only to himself, which he had sufficiently provided against." Clarendon did not give up the fight. He remonstrated with Ashley, who of all men might have avoided being the medium of a slight upon Southampton, whose niece he had married, and to whose good offices he owed his first advancement; but was met only by sulky obstinacy. He endeavoured to arouse Southampton; but the Treasurer was old and apathetic, and unwilling to engage in new struggles. It was a sign of Clarendon's decaying influence, that all his efforts were in vain. He received a positive order from the King that the Commission should be signed, and he felt it no longer possible to refuse. It is easy for us, judging when the spirit of the constitution has been changed, to condemn Clarendon for not throwing up his office, in the face of such rejection of his advice. It is enough to say that such action would have been deemed by Clarendon himself to be a dereliction of his duty. By all the memories of the past, by his affectionate reverence for his former master, by long association in the days of exile and misfortune—nay, also by his profound veneration for the Crown—Clarendon felt that it was his duty to remain in the service of Charles II. to the end, and to defend the King his master, even against his most deadly enemies, his own selfishness and lack of principle. The easy and convenient method of resignation, sanctioned now by long constitutional usage, was—or seemed to himself to be—impossible to Clarendon. Had it been otherwise, how welcome would such release have been to the weary, disgusted, and despairing statesman!

We have thus seen how Clarendon was driven along, against all his better judgment, in spite of all his remonstrances, by an insane current of warlike frenzy, amidst which his warnings were unheard, and where a small clique exploited the prevalent commercial jealousies, as a means of bringing satisfaction to their own selfish schemes of greed and ambition. We have seen how he strove vainly to moderate international hatred, to compose topics of quarrel, and to bring about a pacific settlement. We have noted his efforts to obtain alliances with, or at least neutrality on the part of, neighbouring Powers, and how cautiously he watched each movement of France, whose adhesion to England's foes might be so full of danger. We have learned his estimate of the cost, and how fully he realized that for the Crown to enter on war without ample supplies, was the certain precursor of a new Parliamentary struggle more keen and more fatal than the last; and we have seen how he managed, in spite of opposition at Court, to secure an unprecedented grant. We have seen how convinced he was of the corruption and mismanagement of the navy, and with what thoughtless lack of preparation we were entering upon a fierce struggle with a foe that fought for very life. We have seen how, even at the entry upon the war, Clarendon found that no remonstrances of his could prevent a huge asset, in the prizes of war, being handed over to a corrupt clique, to be dissipated in grants that were at once illegal in method, and degrading in effect. The incidents of the war do not belong to Clarendon's life, except as they presented new problems for statesmanship, or gave opportunities for attempting accommodation.

At the opening of the war, and in spite of all that hindered efficient work, the fleet was organized upon a scale unknown before. The Duke of York was in command, and under the influence of the outburst of warlike fervour, the nobility hastened to join the fleet as volunteers. Some 30,000 men manned the ships, and the Duke found himself at the head of a hundred sail. The Dutch, who were commanded by Opdam, were in no less ardent mood, and both sides were equally eager for an engagement. They soon got into touch with one another; and in June, 1665, and after some tentative attacks, a general engagement took place in Southwold Bay, off the coast of Suffolk, on the 3rd of that month. The result was a great victory for the English fleet. The Dutch lost some twenty ships, and 10,000 men in killed and prisoners. On the English side some 800 men were killed, and not a few of the leading men who had volunteered for the war fell in the fight. Amongst them was the new Earl of Falmouth, [Footnote: Sir Charles Berkeley, whose name has emerged in our narrative in no honourable guise, had the year before been created Lord Harding, and soon after Earl of Falmouth. At the same time, Bennet, another of the ignoble clique, became Lord Arlington.] whose loss produced a grief on the part of Charles, for which those who had known its object were at a loss to account. A far more serious loss to the nation was that of Admiral Lawson, the very model of the best type of English sailor. He had borne the brunt of naval warfare under Blake in Cromwell's day, had materially helped to bring about the Restoration settlement, and was one of the few who played his part in that work without thought of personal aggrandizement; and he had maintained the older traditions of naval discipline against the newer school who scorned the roughness of the older type. Clarendon's simple words are his best epitaph, and they are none the less sincere because they were written of one who was an ardent Independent: "He performed to his death all that could be expected from a brave and an honest man."

The victory was a notable one, but the chance it offered of completely destroying the Dutch fleet was lost by stupid bungling on the part of the Duke of York or some one in his suite. The remnants of the Dutch fleet were making for harbour, and could easily have been overtaken by the pursuers; but for some reason never well explained—probably some timid order given by his attendant, Brouncker, in order to lessen the risk to the Duke, or, more strange still, in order not to disturb his sleep—a command was issued to slacken sail, and the fugitives escaped. The story was never cleared up, but reasons of policy brought about an order that, as heir to the Crown, the Duke should not again assume active command.

This success, incomplete as it was, might have seemed to offer a good opportunity for coming to a settlement, and again Louis XIV. was ready to give his services in the capacity of peacemaker. The Dutch were still obstinate and extravagant in their demands. But the policy of Louis was suddenly changed by the death of the King of Spain, by the new prospects which were thus opened to him, and by his hopes to secure the assistance of the Dutch in seizing Flanders. In the autumn of 1665, France was obviously ready to sacrifice the friendship of England for this new alliance. Never was the prospect more threatening. The burden of the war had been terribly severe. To that burden was added the grievous scourge of the plague now raging in London, with such intensity that it claimed 10,000 victims in one week. When in October, 1665, Clarendon laid before Parliament a narrative of the war, and asked for new supplies, the outlook for England was dark indeed. The appeal was met generously, and a new grant of £1,250,000 was voted. But the King's Ministers had to face the probability of an almost solid alliance against them. The resources of the Bishop of Munster were exhausted, and in no case could he maintain himself in the field when greater Powers intervened. Sweden and Denmark were at best but doubtful friends. France saw her opportunity. She urged that the King of England should formulate his demands against the Dutch, and so permit France to mediate and thus stop a war which was interfering with the trade of Europe, and in which the excesses of the privateers had inflicted heavy damages upon French merchantmen. The intervention of France assumed a more and more threatening aspect. At length, Clarendon had to make a firm stand against the attitude assumed. The words he uses are grave and dignified.

"The counsellors of the King told the French Ambassadors that their master had very well considered the disadvantage he must undergo by the access of so powerful a friend, and of whose friendship he thought himself possessed, to the part of his enemies who were too insolent already; to prevent it, he would do anything that would consist with the dignity of a King; but that he must be laughed at and despised by all the world, if he should consent to make him arbitrator of the differences, who had already declared himself to be a party; that such menaces would make no impression in the last article of danger that could befall the King." [Footnote: Life, ii. 437.]

The conference broke off with no doubt in the mind of Clarendon that France was resolved on war. When the Council was called to consider the situation "there was," he says, "no one present who had not a deep apprehension of the extreme damage and danger that must fall upon the King's affairs, if at this juncture France should declare war against England." But however much he withstood the outbreak of the war, it was not consistent with Clarendon's mood to yield in presence of danger.

Meanwhile no further successes had attended the prosecution of the war. By means of Henry Coventry and Talbot, efforts were still made to bind Sweden and Denmark closer to England, and in July, a scheme had been arranged by which the Dutch fleet of East Indian merchantmen, while in the harbour of Bergen, should be handed over to Lord Sandwich, who had now succeeded the Duke of York as Commander of the English fleet. The plan was not one that reflected much credit on any of those engaged in it; and it was not crowned by the atoning quality of even partial success. The Dutch showed fight, the citizens of Bergen resented the attack by the English fleet, contradictory or dilatory orders produced doubt and confusion, and the damage and loss were distributed equally amongst the attackers and the attacked. De Ruyter drew off with his convoy, and Sandwich returned from a bootless errand. France managed to detach Denmark from England, and to bring about a treaty with the Dutch which bound Denmark to assist Holland against England. Sweden remained at best a half-hearted friend.

Sandwich was injured at once by his failure at Bergen and by a peculiarly ill-conducted case of mal-appropriation of prizes, of which he was guilty. [Footnote: Sandwich had never been a close adherent of Clarendon. But Clarendon is generous enough, in this crisis of his fortunes, to defend him against his enemies, and to acquit him of all but a somewhat awkward exercise of a right of perquisites. In Clarendon's eyes, he had the saving merit of being attacked by Coventry. See post, p. 235.] He was sent as ambassador to Spain, and Prince Rupert and the Duke of Albemarle were appointed to joint command of the fleet. The "affection and unquestionable courage of Prince Rupert were not doubted"—so Clarendon said when arranging the matter with Albemarle—"but the King was not sure that the quickness of his spirit, and the strength of his passion, might not sometimes stand in need of a friend, who should be in equal authority with him." [Footnote: Life, ii. 485. In these words, Clarendon no doubt expressed some lively memories of the days of the Civil War.] The combination did not answer well. By a fatal error—not improbably induced by Rupert's desire for independent action—the fleet was broken up, and the Prince sailed, on the credit of a false report, to meet a French fleet under Admiral Beaufort. While he was thus detached, Albemarle was attacked by the Dutch fleet, and escaped only with heavy loss. A month or two later a portion of the English fleet attacked Schelling—a sea-port on the Zuyder Zee—and burned a fleet of merchantmen and the town itself.

"The conflagration, with that of the ships, appearing at the break of day so near Amsterdam, put that place into that consternation that they thought the day of judgment was come, and thinking of their ships there as being out of the power and reach of any enemy; and no doubt it was the greatest loss that State sustained in the whole war." [Footnote: Life, iii. 80.]

But it was a costly success; "it raised great thoughts of heart in De
Witt, and a resolution of revenge before any peace should be thought of,"
[Footnote: Life, iii. 80.] and it did not materially improve the
position for England.

To the burden of the plague and of war there was now added—in September, 1666—the calamity of the Great Fire of London. Clarendon was not disposed to accept humiliating terms, but prudence forbade him to reject openings for peace. Charles offered in January, 1667, to send an embassy to the Hague to treat of peace. The place was selected because it was believed that there the party of the Prince of Orange might best balance the influence of De Witt, and give an impulse to the peace negotiations. Delay was caused by other places being proposed in its stead, but there was no unwillingness to enter upon negotiations. These, however, received their chief impulse from the separate proposals for a treaty between England and France. These proposals had at first been made through the Queen-Mother, Henrietta Maria; but at a later stage the Earl of St. Albans (Jermyn) was deputed to act for the King. The wheels of the negotiations drove heavily, and suspicion clogged the proceedings on both sides; but it became clear that both sides desired peace. Breda was now named, on the suggestion of the English King, as the meeting-place for the wider negotiations, and was accepted by the Dutch. But their intentions were still doubtful, and even when the negotiations opened at Breda, in May, 1667, they absolutely declined a proposal for a cessation of hostilities pending the negotiations. De Witt had not yet given up "the great thoughts of heart" that the burning of Schelling had raised, nor had he dismissed his "resolution of revenge before any peace should be thought of." He was not without hope from the state of the English fleet; he knew well that the English Treasury was in no position to meet new outlays; and he counted upon the depression caused by pestilence and the Fire. The city would be hard put to it to advance money on the credit of the supplies newly voted.

As a fact, the largest ships of the fleet were actually laid up. Only the lighter vessels which could act against the enemy's merchantmen were kept in commission, and the necessary defences of the kingdom were reduced to a minimum, in reckless reliance on the speedy conclusion of the peace negotiations. It was that prime object of Clarendon's dislike, Sir William Coventry, who was responsible for this act of treasonable neglect. Such was the position, when De Ruyter's fleet appeared at the Nore on June 10th, 1667. The Dutch Fleet divided; one division moved up to Gravesend; another broke through the defences of the Medway, [Footnote: Works were in progress at Sheerness, and the King had visited the place, and given orders for new fortifications. The Commissioners of the Admiralty had been too busy with peculations to carry them out.] burned the guardships, captured the first-class warship, the Royal Charles, and next day pursued their advantage further, and burned three more first-class ships of war. The guns were heard in London, and for the first time for six hundred years, the way seemed open for the invader. The citizens of London realized the straits to which the folly of their rulers had brought them. [Footnote: Disastrous and disgraceful as was the episode, the alarm and confusion which it caused at Court seemed to Clarendon even more degrading. "All they who had most advanced the war and reproached all who had been against it, as men who had no public spirit, and were not solicitous for the honour and glory of the nation; and who had never spoken of the Dutch but with scorn and contempt, as a nation rather worthy to be cudgelled than fought with, were now the most dejected men, railed very bitterly at those who had advised the King to enter into that war— and wished that a peace, as the only hope, were made on any terms" (Life, iii. 251). The braggart repeats himself in all ages and all nations.]

These exploits, serious as they were, marked the limit of the Dutch success. Their memory would not soon be wiped out, and they inflicted a sore wound upon the pride of England. But De Witt could not hazard the impossible. Other attempts were made elsewhere—at Portsmouth and at Plymouth—but they were easily repelled. Even De Witt could feel that his resolution of revenge was satisfied, and he allowed the negotiations at Breda to proceed. On July 21st, treaties were there signed with France, with Holland, and with Denmark. Peace was based upon the maintenance of the status quo; no cession of territory was to take place. The rights of commerce and of navigation were to be as provided by the treaty of 1662. Never was a costly and devastating war entered upon more recklessly, conducted, on our side at least, with more helpless inefficiency, and closed with a smaller result in any change which it effected. The people of England accepted peace as a relief; they found in it neither honour, nor compensation for their heavy loss.

A point of no little importance may be noted before we conclude the narrative of this disastrous war, to which Clarendon was so bitterly opposed, and for which he was afterwards so unjustly blamed. Before the negotiations were completed, while the impression of the bold attack of De Witt was still heavy upon the country, and when his ships still threatened the dockyards and the home counties bordering on the Thames, a constitutional question of some difficulty arose. It was necessary suddenly to levy troops and incur heavy expenses for the defences of each bank of the river. No provision had been made for this, and Parliament was prorogued until October 20th. It was debated in Council whether Parliament could be summoned in anticipation of that date, or how otherwise money could be obtained. Clarendon saw that the meeting of Parliament could only increase the prevailing alarm, that it might lead to serious confusion, and that as a means of obtaining money, its grants would be so delayed as to be useless. For himself he held that Parliament could not legally be summoned in advance of the date proclaimed; and he strongly urged that money could be legally provided by way of loan, to be deducted from next assessment. After full debate the point was decided contrary to his advice: but fortunately before Parliament met, the peace had been concluded, and the emergency was gone. The vexed question of special supplies, and of the extraordinary powers of the Crown, was thus luckily avoided. But Clarendon's contention was soon to form a good handle of attack to his enemies.