December 5th.—William, Duke of Devonshire, died of a dropsy. I have nothing to add of the account given of him in the first part of these Memoirs, but what showed a conscientious idea of honesty in him; and, though the circumstance is trifling, a virtue is always worth recording. Sometime before his death he had given up to two of his younger sons 600l. a year in land, that they might not perjure themselves, if called upon to swear to their qualifications, as Knights of the Shire.
The same day the new Secretary at War moved for an Army of 34,263 men, which was an augmentation of 15,000 men, the extent of what could be raised at that time in such a country as England; in poor countries levies are made with more facility. When this should be completed, a farther increase was intended. Eight thousand eight hundred men were designed for North America; where two battalions had disgraced their country. Lord Barrington commended the North Americans, extolled Braddock, who, he said, had been basely traduced; praised Nova Scotia, Lord Halifax, and Cornwallis.
Pitt, in one of his finest florid declamations, seconded the Motion, adding, that last year he had pronounced 18,000 men not sufficient; our whole force was necessary at this dangerous and critical conjuncture. Other efforts were requisite than sending two miserable battalions to America as victims. Every step since had tended to provoke a war, not to make it—and at last the Crown itself was to be fought for by so ineffective or so raw an Army! He hoped, by alarming the nation, to make the danger reach the ears of His Majesty, who was likely, after so gracious a reign, to be attacked in his venerable age! to see such a country exposed by the neglect of his Ministers! He could not avoid turning from the venerable age of the King, to his amiable posterity, born among us, yet given up by some unskilful Minister or Ministers!—yet he meaned no invectives; he made no accusation; he spoke from his feeling.
He then drew a striking and masterly picture of a French invasion reaching London, and of the horrors ensuing, while there was a formidable enemy within the capital itself, as full of weakness as full of multitude; a flagitious rabble, ready for every nefarious action: of the consternation that would spread through the City, when the noble, artificial, yet vulnerable fabric of public credit should crumble in their hands! How would Ministers be able to meet the aspect of so many citizens dismayed? How could men so guilty meet their countrymen? How could a British Parliament assemble without these considerations? The King’s Speech of last year had been calculated to lull us into a fallacious dream of repose—or had his Ministers not had understanding, or foresight, or virtue,—he repeated the words, that he might not be misquoted,—had they had none of these qualifications to prompt them to lay the danger before his Majesty? Was it not a proof of his assertions, that where his Majesty himself had a foresight even of fancied, not threatened, danger, we knew what provision, vast provision had been made? did the subjects of the Crown want a feeling which the subjects of the Electorate possessed in so quick a degree? did he live to see the day, when a British Parliament had felt so inadequately? That there were but ten thousand men in this part of the United Kingdom; that not more than half would be left to defend the Royal Family and the metropolis; and half security is full and ample danger.
Accursed be the man, and he would have the malediction of his country, who did not do all he could to strengthen the King’s hands! he would have him strengthened by laying open the weakness of his Councils; would substitute reality to incapacity and futility, and the little frivolous love of power. To times of relaxation should be left that fondness for disposal of places: wisdom ought to meet such rough times as these. It was that little spirit of domination that had caused the decay of this country, that ambition of being the only figure among ciphers: when that image was first used, perhaps it was prophecy, to-day it was history. Two hundred and eighty thousand pounds, the charge of this augmentation, would last year have given us security: for that sum our Stocks would fall, and hurry along with them the ruin of this City, vulnerable in proportion to its opulence. In other countries, treasures remain where a city is not sacked; paper credit may be invaded even in Kent; it is like the sensitive plant, it need not be cropped; extend but your hand, it withers and dies. The danger had been as present last year to any eye made for public councils; for what is the first attribute of a wise Minister, but to leave as little as possible to contingents? How do thoughtlessness, folly, and ignorance, differ from wisdom and knowledge, but by want of foresight?
He would not recur, like Lord Barrington, to the Romans for comparisons; our own days had produced as great examples. In 1746, thirteen regiments raised by noblemen, who, though they did not leave their ploughs, left their palaces, had saved this country; he believed it. With what scorn, depression, cruelty, as far as contempt is cruelty, were they treated by the hour! with what calumny! He wished the Government would encourage the Nobility and Gentry to form a militia, as a supplement to the Army. He wanted to call this country out of that enervate state, that twenty thousand men from France could shake it. The maxims of our Government were degenerated, not our natives. He wished to see that breed restored, which under our old principles had carried our glory so high! What would the age think they deserved, who, after Washington was defeated and our forts taken—who, after connivance, if not collusion, had advised his Majesty to trust to so slender a force?—on cool reflection, what would they deserve? He did not call for the sagacity of a Burleigh or a Richelieu to have foreseen all that must happen—that may happen in two months. He had no vindictive purpose, nor wanted to see penal judgments on their heads: our calamities were more owing to the weakness of their heads than of their hearts.
Fox replied, he wished Mr. Pitt had made this awakening speech when we were asleep, and before France had awakened us: but the honourable gentleman had judged by the event; if he had foreseen, he would undoubtedly have made this noble speech sooner: “if he had made it,” said Fox, “I am sure I should have remembered it; I am not apt to forget his speeches. Was it ever in that House reckoned virtue to advise the King to ask more money? it was rather a mark of understanding than of virtue. Let Pitt prescribe a method to quicken recruiting; let him set to a Militia Bill. Yet,” said he, “I have been told by a wise man, that it is too nice a line to draw a scheme for a militia in the hands of the Crown; the House alone could do it.” Yet he should think it less to be despaired of, since Mr. Pitt thought it practicable. That the scheme for recruiting must be to enlist for a term of years. That the total silence of Parliament was an excuse for not having made the augmentation sooner. With regard to the thirteen regiments, he would always own if he repented, or persist if he thought his opinion right. He remembered at that time there was a noble Duke[27] able and willing, (thank God! he was able and willing now,) at the closet-door, who, as soon as it was opened, went in and offered his service, saying, he would go with his Lowlanders and see if he could not oppose those Highlanders:—he remembered another anecdote; he was now forced to tell it; it was a scheme for a cheap regiment of Dragoons, which, by another Duke,[28] was converted into two dear regiments of Horse—but he would ask, did all those Noblemen act from public spirit? did they all raise their regiments? there had been a mixture which he wanted to unmix.
Pitt answered; why had he not alarmed last year? he had been deluded by the speech. Those then in the confidence of the Minister—Fox then was not of the number—declared they did not believe we should have a war: could he believe it in defiance of that speech, smoothing over all the horrors of our situation? The Ministers could no longer secrete our danger; they had concealed it for fear of awakening speeches. Could he pronounce those speeches, till overpowered by the conjuncture? he did in private: while he was suffered to represent in private, he did—now we must sound the alarum in Parliament, when we have invited into our bowels a war that was the child of ignorance and connivance—if there is justice under Heaven, the Ministers must one day answer it.
Thus far the Debate was serious: will it be credited that the following speech was so? Will not my narrative be sometimes thought a burlesque romance? as Don Quixote had his Sancho, and Hudibras his Ralph, may not some future commentator discover, that the Duke of Newcastle was my trembling hero, and Nugent his abandoned squire? This modest personage replied to Pitt, that he thought the Administration wise and honest; that he did not think there was a more honest set of men. Could Pitt have said more, if all had happened that he thinks will? Everything was exaggerated, yet nothing had been done wrong. That he would defend the Ministry till five in the morning. Though engaged against the greatest power in the universe, in every part of the universe, have we proved weak? That this foolish—Pitt objecting that he had not used that term, Nugent continued,—he thought he had used every epithet in the English language—well then! this weak and ignorant Administration had contrived to oppose a superiority of force, and had miscarried but in one place. That he did not wonder Pitt expected everything from this Administration—but he expected more. That though the censure had been so unjust, he could not help knowing at whom it was aimed: but great history-painters are often very bad portrait-painters: he must own he knew who was meant; professed himself a friend to that great man: vowed he never heard any doubt of who ought to be First Minister—but, like the dedication of the Tale of the Tub to Lord Somers, all men agreed in the Duke of Newcastle. France never made so pitiful a figure as against this Administration. Pitt’s were but assertions; his assertions were as good; he would say, the Duke of Newcastle was honest and wise.
The burlesque increased; Sir Thomas Robinson played a base to Nugent’s thunder; his pompous rumbling made proper harmony with the other’s vociferation. The latter had exhausted flattery on another man; Sir Thomas contrived to be as bombast in a panegyric on himself. He said, he had been banished[29] for eighteen years, without a friend to communicate with; with no opportunity of practising eloquence, with no university education—yet he must speak, as complicated in the charge on the Administration of the last twelve months. He cried out, “Me, me adsum qui feci, in me convertite telum! If I am proper for anything, continued he, I am for the closet: I am proper for it from my courage, from my virtue, do not say for my understanding. I have enjoyed a happier year and half than ever I knew, for I have spoken my mind. Why should I not have dared to speak my mind in the closet, when I have dared to speak it here? Men took courage from what I said; virtue was out of my mouth. Et dubitamus adhuc virtutem extendere factis? Why is forgot what we have done by sea? We have acted fortiter in re, suaviter in modo.”