Lord George Sackville was haughty, reserved but to a few, and those chiefly Scotch; and with no pre-eminence over his rival, but what his rank in command gave him, and his great talents, in which there could not be the smallest competition; and yet with those superior talents, Lord George never had the art of conciliating affection. He had thwarted Prince Ferdinand, and disgusted him, in the preceding campaign; and was now in the Army against the Prince’s inclination. The latter, with equal haughtiness, but with far more art and address, could not fail of fomenting a breach that tended so much to mortify Lord George, and to promote his own views. Lord Granby was tractable, unsuspicious, and not likely to pry into or control the amazing impositions of the German agents, which Lord George had too honestly, too indiscreetly, or too insultingly, let Prince Ferdinand see had not escaped his observation, instead of remonstrating or withstanding such dissipation, as he should have done, at home—though it is questionable whether his representations would have been listened to by Mr. Pitt, who cared not what he lavished on whoever would carry on his glorious sketches, or rather adventurous darings—a prodigality unhappily copied in the next reign, throughout the American war, by men who imitated Mr. Pitt in nothing else, and who had none of his genius, ambition, patriotism, activity, nor even his lofty ideas.[57]
This was the state of things before the battle of Minden; but being little or not at all known in England, it was with equal surprise and indignation that the people heard Lord George Sackville, who had always stood in high estimation for courage, more covertly at first, soon openly accused of cowardice, and of having thrown away the moment of completing the total destruction of the French Army. Prince Ferdinand had passed this reproach on him, indirectly and artfully indeed, but, when combined with the circumstances of the battle, not to be misunderstood. In the orders which he gave out the next day, he expressed concern that Lord Granby had not had the command of the Cavalry on the right wing, which, if led by him, his Highness did not doubt would have given a more decisive lustre to the day. More mysterious, yet still more pointed, was a paragraph in the same orders, requiring that, for the future, his commands, delivered by his Aides-de-camp, should be more exactly obeyed.
Inquiry soon led to the particular fact alluded to. During the battle, the Prince sent Ligonier, one of his Aides-de-camp, to Lord George, with orders to bring up the Cavalry; Fitzroy immediately after, with orders for Lord George to march with only the British Cavalry, and to the left. Lord George, as Fitzroy, who arrived suddenly after Ligonier, said, received the order with some confusion, and replied, “This cannot be so; would he have me break the line?” Fitzroy, young, brave, and impetuous, urged the command. Lord George desired he would not be in a hurry. “I am out of breath with galloping,” said Fitzroy, “which makes me speak quick; but my orders are positive. The French are in disorder; here is a glorious opportunity for the English to distinguish themselves.” Lord George still hesitated, saying, it was impossible the Prince could mean to break the line. Fitzroy stuck to the Prince’s orders. Lord George asked which way the Cavalry was to march, and who was to be their guide? “I!” said Fitzroy, bravely. Lord George pretending the different orders puzzled him, desired to be conducted to the Prince for explanation; in the meantime dispatched Smith, his favourite, with orders to lead on the British Cavalry; from whence, he pleaded, no delay could happen. Smith whispered Lord George, to convince him of the necessity of obeying. Lord George persisted on being carried to the Prince, who at Fitzroy’s report was much astonished. Even when Lord George did march, he twice sent orders to Lord Granby to halt, who was posting on with less attention to the rules of a march, but with more ardour for engaging. Before they arrived, the battle was gained. Lord George defended himself on the seeming contradiction of the orders; on the short space of time that was lost, at most eight minutes; on obstructions from a wood on his march; and on his own alertness, he having been one of the first on horseback on hearing the French cannonade; the Prince of Anhalt having neglected to send to Prince Ferdinand information of the approach of the French, which he had learnt from four deserters.
That the whole affair turned on very few minutes, is certain. Whether, if employed, they would have been of great consequence, cannot now be determined. Enough was evident to prove that Lord George, at best, was too critically and minutely cool in such a moment of importance. Indeed, more was proved. Previous to the arrival of Ligonier, he had lost time in affecting not to understand a message delivered to him by a German Aide-de-camp. Colonel Sloper, too, (who had been obliged to him,) remarking his confusion, said to Ligonier, “For God’s sake, repeat your orders to that man, that he may not pretend not to understand them—but you see the condition he is in!” Had Lord George’s courage been less problematic, one might suspect that his hatred to Prince Ferdinand had made him willing, by an affected delay, to balk the Prince of part of his glory;[58] but some late occasions had already discovered that his Lordship was no hero. The late Duke of Marlborough[59] had remarked it in their joint expedition to the coast of France; and the little spirit he had shown in Ireland, under the most grievous abuse, was now recollected, and concurred to corroborate the present imputation. His real constitution, I believe, was this: he had a high and bold spirit, till danger came extraordinarily near. Then his judgment was fascinated—yet even then he seems not to have lost a certain presence of mind. His quickness in distinguishing a trifling contradiction in a message delivered by two boys in not precisely the same terms, showed that all his senses were not lost; but if that dexterity served his fears, it cut up his fortune by the roots, annihilated his character, and gratified the utmost spleen and vengeance of his enemy. I question if a fuller victory had been more acceptable to Prince Ferdinand.
That disappointment alone had not provoked his Highness, seemed to appear from the choice he made of Lord Granby for the particular object of his compliment. Though the next officer to Lord George in the Cavalry, Lord Granby had only marked a great readiness to lead them to the charge; but had had no opportunity of otherwise distinguishing himself. For Lord George, whether unconscious of having failed in his duty; or whether, which is more probable, to carry on the semblance of having done it, he did not scruple to mix with the general officers at Prince Ferdinand’s table after the battle. “Voilà cet homme,” said the Prince to those nearest to him, “autant à son aise comme s’il avoit fait des merveilles!” No more passed then. The next day’s orders informed Lord George that the Prince’s silence was no indemnity. His Highness knew the English; and left it to them to execute the rest.
Lord George Sackville felt the stroke. He saw Germany and the Army were no longer a situation for him. He wrote for leave to resign his command, and to return. Both were granted. Ere he could arrive, both the Court and the nation were prepared to receive him with little less abhorrence and abuse than had led the way to the fate of Admiral Byng.
A promotion of Lieutenants-General was immediately made, in order to include and hasten the rank to General Waldegrave,[60] to whom the success of the battle had in great measure been owing. The six English regiments, who sustained the whole effort of the French, had begun the engagement with less promise of valour. At first they began to give way. Waldegrave, affecting not to perceive that their motion tended towards a retreat, cried out, “Wheel to the right!”—they did, and recovered the day. Waldegrave was a man who united much frankness with steady attention to his interest. His parts were never taken notice of but on this occasion: but such an occasion is immortality.
Seventy thousand men routed by 35,000 was indeed a shining victory. The defeat of the French was attended with scarce less rancour between their Generals than happened between ours. The Marshals Contades and Broglio threw the blame on each other: but the former never recovered any share of estimation. His papers, which fell into our hands soon after the battle, were artfully published. They included his correspondence with Marshal Belleisle, who directed the operations of the war, and gave orders for the conduct of it with a barbarity that spoke very plainly how little France was influenced by any sentiments of humanity or good faith in pursuit of her views.[61] The Germans were treated in those despatches with the most marked contempt; the Princes suspected by them, despotically; and even their friends, the Electors of Cologne and Palatine, were to be made feel the misery of being connected with a too powerful and arrogant Ally. They were to be plundered under the observance of the most insulting ceremonial. But what shocked Europe most, were repeated commands to reduce the most fertile provinces of Germany to a desert: the pretence, to shorten the war. Had their meditated invasions of this country succeeded, one may judge what would have been the secret instructions to their Generals!
We must now turn to the King of Prussia. The efforts he had made in the preceding campaigns to withstand so many enemies were again to be renewed. The Russians were ready to burst on Silesia, and were not a nation with whom he could temporize, as he could with Marshal Daun, by stratagems, shifting situations, and the other resources of a politic general. Count Dohna, who was opposed to them, had endeavoured to ward off the blow by such expedients: but his master determined in his own mind that the Russian storm should be encountered by a shock like their own. He disgraced Dohna, and substituted Wedel in his place, with absolute command to risk a battle. Wedel accordingly engaged seventy thousand Russians with less than half their number, and was defeated. The towns of Crossen and Francfort-on-the-Oder fell into the hands of the conquerors.