This stoppage[72] gave rise to a stroke of humour in the English newspapers, which, in the list of bankrupts, inserted these words, “Louis le Petit, of the City of Paris, peace-breaker, dealer, and chapman.”
Monsieur Thurot, in the meanwhile, who had escaped our Fleet, arrived at Gottenburgh; it was then supposed with an intention of taking some Swedish forces on board, and invading some part of Scotland or Ireland. Mr. Pitt thinking too little attention was paid in Ireland to this project, wrote to the Duke of Bedford to notify the suspicions entertained here on that head. The Duke too rashly communicated that intelligence to the Irish parliament, and his son, the Marquis of Tavistock, moved them to arm. The consequence was, that the bankers there took the alarm, and stopped payment.
The English Parliament met October 13th. Beckford, by a high-flown encomium on Mr. Pitt, paved the way for that Minister to open on his own and our situation, which he did with great address, seeming to waive any merit, but stating our success in a manner that excluded all others from a share in it. He disclaimed particular praise, and professed his determination of keeping united with the rest of the Ministers. Fidelity and diligence were all he could boast, though his bad health perhaps had caused him to relax somewhat of his application. Not a week, he said, had passed in the summer but had been a crisis, in which he had not known whether he should be torn in pieces, or commended, as he was now by Mr. Beckford. That the more a man was versed in business, the more he found the hand of Providence everywhere. That success had given us unanimity, not unanimity success. That for himself, however, he could not have dared, as he had done, but in these times. Other Ministers had hoped as well, but had not been circumstanced (not so popular) to dare as much. (This was handsome to them, yet appropriated the whole merit to himself.) He thought the stone almost rolled to the top of the hill, but it might roll back with dreadful repercussion. A weak moment in the field, or in council, might overturn all; for there was no such thing as chance; it was the unaccountable name of Nothing. All was Providence, whose favour was to be merited by virtue. Our Allies must be supported: if one wheel stopped, all might. He had unlearned his juvenile errors, and thought no longer that England could do all by itself; (This was an indirect apology for having embraced the German system; and what followed on the invasion was perhaps an artful method of soliciting more troops, which once voted, might be sent abroad)—who had never been subject to a panic, was not likely to be terrified now.
He stated Prince Ferdinand’s Army as containing but 60,000 effective men: France, the next year, would have an hundred thousand—was Prince Ferdinand, therefore, as strong as we wished him? He did wish 10,000 more could be found for him; believed France meaned to invade us, though he should not look on the attempt as dangerous if she did. He balanced his attention between the landed and the monied interest; said, he did not prefer the monied men and the eighty millions in the Funds to the landed interest, though he thought our complaisance for the former ought to increase as public credit became more delicate. He ended with a mention of peace. Anybody, he said, could advise him in war: who could draw such a peace as would please everybody? He would snatch at the first moment of peace; though he wished he could leave off at the war. This conclusion seemed to come from his heart, and perhaps escaped him without design. Though no man knew so well how to say what he pleased, no man ever knew so little what he was going to say.[73]
Lord Buckingham moved the Address in the Lords, and flung in much panegyric on George Townshend; whose friends were now reduced to compose and publish in his name a letter in praise of Wolfe. The Ministers had proposed that the Address of the Commons should be moved by Charles Townshend, the nearness of whose connection would exclude him from being profuse on his brother: but he refused, on finding how little incense was intended to be offered to their name.
The unanimity in the Government which Mr. Pitt had advertised was far from solid. It was not the fault of one man’s vanity that it was not dissolved. Lord Temple, taking advantage of the adoration which the nation paid to Mr. Pitt, asked—considering the moment, it may be said demanded—the Garter; and being refused, abruptly resigned the Privy Seal. The insult, in effect, was to the nation: it was saying, “I will have that I will, or here end your victories; Mr. Pitt shall serve you no more.” It was sacrificing largely to friendship and gratitude that Mr. Pitt did not reckon himself deeply insulted too. An ascendant so notified could not be endured by many men. What if Antony had said to Cæsar, “Abandon the conquest of Gaul, if I am not allowed to wear a chaplet of laurel!”
Two days afterwards, the King commissioned the Duke of Devonshire to persuade Lord Temple to resume his place: some civil hints towards a promise of the Garter were added. Lord Temple finding his resignation received by the world with due indignation, was not obdurate, and kissed hands again for the Privy Seal. He pretended to Lord Hertford, that finding himself ill-treated by the King, he had asked for the Garter as an indication of returning favour; that his suit being rejected, he had begged an audience, in which he hoped he had effaced his Majesty’s ill impressions; and in which audience the King had three times pressed him to reconsider his resolution of retiring: that he had entreated Mr. Pitt to resent nothing on his account; and had insisted on his brothers retaining their places, and continuing to support the Government, as he should himself: that he was then going out of town the most contented man in England. This passed before his resumption of the Seal. To others he denied having asked the Garter. He obtained it shortly after this violence.
On the 21st, Mr. Pitt moved the House of Commons to order a monument for General Wolfe; and, in a low and plaintive voice, pronounced a kind of funeral oration. It was, perhaps, the worst harangue he ever uttered. His eloquence was too native not to suffer by being crowded into a ready-prepared mould. The parallels which he drew from Greek and Roman story did but flatten the pathetic of the topic. Mr. Pitt himself had done more for Britain than any orator for Rome. Our three last campaigns had over-run more world than they conquered in a century—and for the Grecians, their story were a pretty theme if the town of St. Albans were waging war with that of Brentford. The horror of the night, the precipice scaled by Wolfe, the empire he with a handful of men added to England, and the glorious catastrophe of contentedly terminating life where his fame began—ancient story may be ransacked, and ostentatious philosophy thrown into the account, before an episode can be found to rank with Wolfe’s.
Beckford commended General Townshend, and hoped some thanks would be given to those who completed the conquest. Sir William Williams enlarged on the praise of Wolfe. Lord North, in a more manly style, said it was a proof of Mr. Pitt’s abilities, that they sat there securely discerning rewards, while the French Fleet was sailed from Brest. For Wolfe he had paid his debt of expectation. Pitt then moved, in general words, for thanks to the Generals and Admirals; mentioned them all, particularly Admiral Saunders, whose merit, he said, had equalled those who have beaten Armadas—“May I anticipate?” cried he, “those who will beat Armadas!” He expatiated more largely on Townshend, who, he said, had gone unrequested whither the invited never came. This was far from being strictly the fact. Townshend had gone unwillingly; sent even, as was believed, by Mr. Pitt, who wished to get rid of so troublesome a man. George Grenville put an end to the day in an affecting manner; mentioning the death of his younger brother Thomas, who, in the preceding war, had fallen with expressions of content[74] on a day of victory.