The Last Speech Of The Earl Of Chatham.
He let himself fall back on his seat exhausted and fainting. Soon he tried to rise in order to answer the Duke of Richmond; his strength failed him; for the last time the wavering flame of this great torch had flung out its brilliancy. A weakness seized him. The House, silent and anxious, surrounded him. They carried out the great orator, the illustrious adversary of France who had lately conquered her, and who was about to succumb while yet following her "with his sad and inflexible looks." [Footnote 5]
[Footnote 5: Bossuet, Sur le Cardinal de Retz.]
Some days later he breathed his last in his country house at Hayes, encompassed by national regret and respect, and soon afterwards was buried at the expense of the state in Westminster Abbey. He was to await his son there only twenty-seven years—that son who was the enthusiastic witness of his glory, the emulator of his eloquence and political virtues; who was greater than he in the governance of his country, and who sleeps at his feet without other monument than a simple name, "William Pitt," without other epitaph than the funeral oration which his father, with outstretched arm, seems constantly to pronounce over his tomb.
The proposals of the Duke of Richmond had been rejected, but Lord North's bills had excited great uneasiness in Washington's mind. He knew better than any one else at what price the war had been hitherto sustained; he dreaded for his country those concessions which had no effect upon his own soul. He wrote immediately to his friends, "Accept nothing that is not independence. We can never forget the outrages which Great Britain has made us suffer; a peace on other conditions would be a source of perpetual broils. If Great Britain, impelled by her love of tyranny, sought anew to bend our foreheads beneath the yoke of iron—and she would do it, be certain, for her pride and ambition are indomitable—what nation would hereafter believe in our professions of faith and lend us her aid? It is now to be feared that the proposals of England may have great effect in this country. Men are naturally friendly to peace; and more than one symptom leads me to believe that the American people are generally tired of war. If it is so, nothing is more politic than to inspire confidence in the country by putting the army on an imposing footing, and giving a greater activity to our negotiations with the European powers. I believe that at the present hour France ought to have recognized our independence, and that she is going to declare war immediately on Great Britain."
From natural taste and from English instinct, Washington did not care for France and had no confidence in her. M. de la Fayette alone had been able to make conquest of his affection and esteem. He raised himself, however, above his peculiar inclinations, and felt the need of an efficient alliance with the great continental powers which were enemies or rivals of England. Congress had just declined all negotiation with Great Britain as long as an English soldier remained on American soil. On all seas the English and French fleets obstinately engaged each other. In the naval combat in sight of Ouessant, on the 27th of July, 1778, success remained doubtful. The English were accustomed to be the conquerors, and Admiral Keppel was put on trial. The merchant shipping of France, however, suffered great loss. On all sides English vessels covered the sea.
Franklin had recently said, with penetrating foresight, "It is not General Howe who has taken Philadelphia; it is Philadelphia which has taken General Howe." The necessity of guarding this important place had obstructed the operations of the English. Upon the news of the alliance of France with the United States and of the departure of Count d'Estaing's squadron, orders had been given to evacuate the place and to fall back on New York. Howe had been actively pursued by Washington, who had gained a serious advantage over him at Monmouth. The victory would have been decisive but for a jealous disobedience on the part of General Lee. Sir Henry Clinton had taken the chief command of the English army, being more active than his predecessor, while himself insufficient to struggle against Washington. "I do not know whether they cause fear to the enemy," said Lord North, ironically; "what I do know is that they make me tremble whenever I think of them." Washington established his camp thirty miles from New York. "After two years of marches and countermarches," he exclaimed; "after vicissitudes so strange that no war, perhaps, has ever presented their like since the commencement of the world, what a subject of satisfaction and astonishment it is for us to see the two armies returned to their starting-point and the assailants reduced, in order to their defence, to recur to shovel and pickaxe."