While this affair was depending, a more atrocious criminal appeared on the stage. Lawrence, Earl Ferrers, had been parted from his wife,[93] and an allowance settled on her by Parliament out of his estate, for his causeless ill-usage of her. A receiver of his rents, too, had been appointed, but the nomination left to the Earl, who named one Johnson, his own steward. That honest man not proving so tractable as his Lordship expected, had fallen under his displeasure. The Earl lived at his own seat in Leicestershire with a former mistress, whom he had taken again on being separated from his wife, and by whom he had four children. In that retirement there appeared many symptoms of a frenzy incident to his family, as had also during his cohabitation with his lady; and frequent drunkenness inflamed the disorder. In that mood of madness and revenge he sent for Johnson, having artfully dispatched his family and servants different ways on various pretences. The poor man was no sooner alone with him, than the Earl locking the door, and holding a pistol to his breast, would have obliged Johnson to sign a paper, avowing himself a villain. While the unhappy man, kneeling at his feet, hesitated to sign, Lord Ferrers shot him in the body. The wound was mortal, but not instantly so. Remorse or fear seized on the murderer, for he was then sober. He sent for a surgeon, and wished to have Johnson saved. Those sentiments soon vanished, or were expelled by drink; for the Earl passed the remaining hours of that horrid day between his bottle and the chamber of the expiring man, sometimes in promises to his daughter, whom he had summoned to her father, oftener in transports of insult, threats, and cruelty, to the victim himself, who languished till the next morning. At first the Peer prepared to defend himself from being seized; but his courage failed him, as it had on former occasions. He was apprehended by the populace, and lodged in Leicester jail. Thence he was brought to town, and carried before the House of Lords, where his behaviour was cool and sensible. The Lords committed him to the Tower.
In February was tried a criminal of a still different complexion. Dr. Smollett was convicted in the King’s Bench of publishing scurrilous abuse on Admiral Knollys in the Critical Review. Smollett was a worthless man, and only mentioned here because author of a History of England, of the errors in which posterity ought to be warned. Smollett was bred a sea-surgeon, and turned author. He wrote a tragedy, and sent it to Lord Lyttelton, with whom he was not acquainted. Lord Lyttelton, not caring to point out its defects, civilly advised him to try comedy. He wrote one, and solicited the same Lord to recommend it to the stage. The latter excused himself, but promised, if it should be acted, to do all the service in his power for the author. Smollett’s return was drawing an abusive portrait of Lord Lyttelton in Roderick Random, a novel; of which sort he published two or three. His next attempt was on the History of England; a work in which he engaged for booksellers, and finished, though four volumes in quarto, in two years; yet an easy task, as being pilfered from other histories. Accordingly, it was little noticed till it came down to the present time: then, though compiled from the libels of the age and the most paltry materials, yet being heightened by personal invectives, strong Jacobitism, and the worst representation of the Duke of Cumberland’s conduct in Scotland, the sale was prodigious. Eleven thousand copies of that trash were instantly sold, while at the same time the university of Oxford ventured to print but two thousand of that inimitable work, Lord Clarendon’s Life! A reflection on the age sad to mention, yet too true to be suppressed! Smollett’s work was again printed, and again tasted: it was adorned with wretched prints, except two or three by Strange,[94] who could not refuse his admirable graver to the service of the Jacobite cause.
Smollett then engaged in a monthly magazine, called the Critical Review, the scope of which was to decry any work that appeared favourable to the principles of the Revolution. Nor was he single in that measure. The Scotch in the heart of London assumed a dictatorial power of reviling every book that censured the Stuarts, or upheld the Revolution—a provocation they ought to have remembered when the tide rolled back upon them. Smollett, while in prison,[95] undertook a new magazine; and notwithstanding the notoriety of his disaffection, obtained the King’s patent for it by the interest of Mr. Pitt, to whom he had dedicated his history. In the following reign he was hired to write a scurrilous paper, called the Briton, against that very patron, Mr. Pitt.
While the trials of Lord George Sackville and Earl Ferrers were preparing, the attention of the public was drawn off to Ireland. We have mentioned the escape of Thurot from Dunkirk, and his arrival with his pigmy squadron in Sweden. His expedition was a codicil to the lofty plan of invading these kingdoms in various parts at once. While the expedition from the coast of France should pour its flat-bottomed boats on this island, Conflans was to fall on Ireland, and Thurot to make a diversion either in Scotland or in the North of Ireland. His armament, originally composed but of five frigates, was by various accidents reduced to three: his twelve hundred men, by sickness, to half that number. The winter too was so adverse, that they lost three months in beating about among the northern isles; whence their provisions were so consumed, that they were obliged in the middle of February to put into the Isle of Islay to recruit. Supplied they were, and paid for what they received. Scotland was too wise to take a step further in behalf of so forlorn a hope.
There he learned the fate of the larger machine, the defeat of Conflans. Ambitious, however, of personal honour, and aware that desperate characters can only be supported by desperate actions, he determined to make an attempt on some part of Ireland; and about the 28th of February appeared before Carrickfergus. The remonstrances of the English Ministry had operated so little on the Administration in Ireland, that Carrickfergus, though seated in the heart of the Protestant interest, where arms might securely have been trusted, was found by Thurot totally unguarded and unprovided. Making a draught from his seamen, he landed with a small body, and prepared to attack the town which was so little prepared to resist. The walls were ruinous, in many places incomplete. The force within consisted of four companies—unluckily, they consisted but of seventy-two men. They were commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Jennings, a man formed for a hero; for he had great bravery and a small portion of sense. Thurot, who wanted provisions even more than glory, was content to make a demand of about twenty articles, for which he promised to pay. In case of refusal he threatened to burn the place, and then to march to Belfast, a far more opulent and commercial town. Colonel Jennings, who had scarce any ammunition, thought it more prudent to comply than to resist, when he had no means of resisting. He agreed to furnish Thurot with what he wanted. Some disagreement, however, arising, the capitulation was broken. The gates were shut against the invaders—still to the honour of Jennings, for the gates had neither bars nor locks. The fight began by firing at each other through the gates: but the Irish ammunition soon failing, so brave was the garrison, and so zealous the inhabitants, that for some time they defended themselves with brick-bats, which the rotten condition of the walls easily supplied. When even those stores were exhausted, Jennings retired to the castle, while four or five raw recruits still defended the shattered gates. The citadel, however, could not hold out without either powder or provisions. It surrendered, and the garrison were made prisoners. Thurot plundered the town, and then sent to demand contributions from Belfast.
Ridiculous as this campaign was, it was no joke to the Duke of Bedford. Jennings and his puny force had shown themselves willing to do their utmost. The success of Thurot was a glaring comment on the negligence of his Grace’s administration. The danger to which so wealthy a town as Belfast was exposed was still more alarming. General Fitzwilliam was immediately detached with four regiments of Foot and three of Horse to drive out the invaders. The Lord Lieutenant in person promised to overtake him at Newry. But Thurot would not give his Grace an opportunity of retrieving his own carelessness. Taking along with him the Mayor and three of the principal inhabitants of Carrickfergus, Thurot again put to sea.
Another measure taken by the Irish Administration had luckier consequences. They had sent advice of the invasion to Kingsale, where lay three of our best frigates. Elliot[96] commanded them. He instantly sailed, and came up with Thurot in the Irish Channel. Elliot’s vessels were inferior in size and number to Thurot’s, but cleaner, and the men fresh. After a smart action, he boarded Thurot’s ship. The latter fell, but not till he had given proof of the most romantic bravery. The other two frigates soon struck, and were all carried into the Isle of Man. Elliot’s account to the Admiralty was penned with such modesty, that a more important victory had not been more honourable.
Feb. 28th, Lord Barrington acquainted the House of Commons that Lord George Sackville had been put under arrest for disobedience of orders. The Speaker had been much averse to the trial of a member who was no longer in the Army, and hoped it would be opposed: but it was not. Lord Milton,[97] brother-in-law of Lord George, was empowered by him to say that the trial was what he earnestly desired. Lord Barrington then moved an Address of Thanks to the King for the communication, and for his Majesty’s tenderness of the privileges of the House. This being readily agreed to, Lord Barrington said it was nemine contradicente; but Doddington[98] had faintly said no, and the Speaker said there had been a negative. Sir Francis Dashwood then said, that he had not opposed the Address, as Lord George wished the trial; but he hoped the measure would be considered hereafter in some Mutiny Bill, and that the time might be limited how long persons who had quitted the Army should be liable to martial law. Doddington added, “that everybody seemed to agree it ought not to remain law; that he did not think it law; nay, that Lord George might have been tried while he was a military man. Martial law was growing upon us, would eat up the banks, and overflow the whole. The Mutiny Bill fell to the ground every year, but, like the giant, recovered new strength on touching it.” Sir John Rushout added, that, were he in the Army, he would not sit on the trial of any man out of it. Sir Francis Dashwood promised to call for a revisal of the Mutiny Bill, if nobody else did.
The next day the Court-Martial met. When Lord George Sackville appeared before it, seeing General Balfour on the bench, he said, he thought that officer had not been to sit on him, he having made his exceptions, and been told Balfour should not be of the Court. Balfour said, he came not to be a judge, nor desired to be, but to know the exception, which he thought touched his honour—a strong proof how dissonant Courts-Martial are from the spirit of the English constitution, which does not understand that persons accused are to be awed by points of romantic honour from excepting against their jury, if suspected of enmity or partiality. Lord George pleaded opposition that Balfour had exercised against him in the Ordnance. The Court-Martial voted that reason insufficient, but told Balfour they would excuse his attendance if he desired it; which he did. They had no such power either of voting the exception invalid, or of excusing him. The King had appointed him, and had allowed the exception. The next step was more respectful to the laws, and came from a quarter which was not suspected of much tenderness to the prisoner. Lord Albemarle[99] asked him if he was in the Army; the judge-advocate for the prisoner answered, “No.” The Court then was cleared, and adjourned to the following Thursday (it was then Friday), desiring to have the opinion of the Judges, whether a man no longer in the Army was subject to martial law. The Attorney and Solicitor Generals had determined in the affirmative, grounding their sentiment on those words of the Mutiny Bill, “All persons being officers on the 25th of March, and committing such and such faults within the course of the year,” &c. These words being in force as long as the Bill, they thought comprehended such persons for the same period.
Lord Albemarle had gone further: he had asked if the Court was empowered to inflict any punishment under capital on the delinquent. This provision of tenderness was not expected from the favourite of the Duke of Cumberland, or from one who had expressed himself warmly enough against Lord George. Private reasons were sought for this conduct by those who would not suppose that in that trial any motives but those of passion or interest would be hearkened to. They who canvassed Lord Albemarle’s behaviour under such prejudice accounted for it by the Duke’s envy of Prince Ferdinand, and desire of rescuing even that hated criminal from his vengeance—yet were those but surmises, not corroborated by any appearance of acrimony in the complexion or conduct of the judges. So ill, however, was Lord Albemarle’s obstruction of the proceedings accepted by the King, who now pushed on the trial angrily and indecently, that his mother, Lady Albemarle,[100] was omitted in the private nightly parties at Court, and not spoken to in the morning Drawing-Room.