Life of Edward Earl of Clarendon — Volume 02

by Sir Henry Craik

Clarendon's remonstrance with the King was as plain spoken as usual. He "doubted that his Majesty had been surprised; it was not only unprecedented, but in many particulars destructive to his services and to the rights of other men." It was an insult to the Lord Treasurer, whose prerogatives it invaded; and lastly, it was fraught with great danger to Ashley himself. The King was brought to consent to the suspension of the warrant; for the rest, he was obstinate. "It would bring prejudice only to himself, which he had sufficiently provided against." Clarendon did not give up the fight. He remonstrated with Ashley, who of all men might have avoided being the medium of a slight upon Southampton, whose niece he had married, and to whose good offices he owed his first advancement; but was met only by sulky obstinacy. He endeavoured to arouse Southampton; but the Treasurer was old and apathetic, and unwilling to engage in new struggles. It was a sign of Clarendon's decaying influence, that all his efforts were in vain. He received a positive order from the King that the Commission should be signed, and he felt it no longer possible to refuse. It is easy for us, judging when the spirit of the constitution has been changed, to condemn Clarendon for not throwing up his office, in the face of such rejection of his advice. It is enough to say that such action would have been deemed by Clarendon himself to be a dereliction of his duty. By all the memories of the past, by his affectionate reverence for his former master, by long association in the days of exile and misfortune—nay, also by his profound veneration for the Crown—Clarendon felt that it was his duty to remain in the service of Charles II. to the end, and to defend the King his master, even against his most deadly enemies, his own selfishness and lack of principle. The easy and convenient method of resignation, sanctioned now by long constitutional usage, was—or seemed to himself to be—impossible to Clarendon. Had it been otherwise, how welcome would such release have been to the weary, disgusted, and despairing statesman!

We have thus seen how Clarendon was driven along, against all his better judgment, in spite of all his remonstrances, by an insane current of warlike frenzy, amidst which his warnings were unheard, and where a small clique exploited the prevalent commercial jealousies, as a means of bringing satisfaction to their own selfish schemes of greed and ambition. We have seen how he strove vainly to moderate international hatred, to compose topics of quarrel, and to bring about a pacific settlement. We have noted his efforts to obtain alliances with, or at least neutrality on the part of, neighbouring Powers, and how cautiously he watched each movement of France, whose adhesion to England's foes might be so full of danger. We have learned his estimate of the cost, and how fully he realized that for the Crown to enter on war without ample supplies, was the certain precursor of a new Parliamentary struggle more keen and more fatal than the last; and we have seen how he managed, in spite of opposition at Court, to secure an unprecedented grant. We have seen how convinced he was of the corruption and mismanagement of the navy, and with what thoughtless lack of preparation we were entering upon a fierce struggle with a foe that fought for very life. We have seen how, even at the entry upon the war, Clarendon found that no remonstrances of his could prevent a huge asset, in the prizes of war, being handed over to a corrupt clique, to be dissipated in grants that were at once illegal in method, and degrading in effect. The incidents of the war do not belong to Clarendon's life, except as they presented new problems for statesmanship, or gave opportunities for attempting accommodation.

At the opening of the war, and in spite of all that hindered efficient work, the fleet was organized upon a scale unknown before. The Duke of York was in command, and under the influence of the outburst of warlike fervour, the nobility hastened to join the fleet as volunteers. Some 30,000 men manned the ships, and the Duke found himself at the head of a hundred sail. The Dutch, who were commanded by Opdam, were in no less ardent mood, and both sides were equally eager for an engagement. They soon got into touch with one another; and in June, 1665, and after some tentative attacks, a general engagement took place in Southwold Bay, off the coast of Suffolk, on the 3rd of that month. The result was a great victory for the English fleet. The Dutch lost some twenty ships, and 10,000 men in killed and prisoners. On the English side some 800 men were killed, and not a few of the leading men who had volunteered for the war fell in the fight. Amongst them was the new Earl of Falmouth, [Footnote: Sir Charles Berkeley, whose name has emerged in our narrative in no honourable guise, had the year before been created Lord Harding, and soon after Earl of Falmouth. At the same time, Bennet, another of the ignoble clique, became Lord Arlington.] whose loss produced a grief on the part of Charles, for which those who had known its object were at a loss to account. A far more serious loss to the nation was that of Admiral Lawson, the very model of the best type of English sailor. He had borne the brunt of naval warfare under Blake in Cromwell's day, had materially helped to bring about the Restoration settlement, and was one of the few who played his part in that work without thought of personal aggrandizement; and he had maintained the older traditions of naval discipline against the newer school who scorned the roughness of the older type. Clarendon's simple words are his best epitaph, and they are none the less sincere because they were written of one who was an ardent Independent: "He performed to his death all that could be expected from a brave and an honest man."

The victory was a notable one, but the chance it offered of completely destroying the Dutch fleet was lost by stupid bungling on the part of the Duke of York or some one in his suite. The remnants of the Dutch fleet were making for harbour, and could easily have been overtaken by the pursuers; but for some reason never well explained—probably some timid order given by his attendant, Brouncker, in order to lessen the risk to the Duke, or, more strange still, in order not to disturb his sleep—a command was issued to slacken sail, and the fugitives escaped. The story was never cleared up, but reasons of policy brought about an order that, as heir to the Crown, the Duke should not again assume active command.

This success, incomplete as it was, might have seemed to offer a good opportunity for coming to a settlement, and again Louis XIV. was ready to give his services in the capacity of peacemaker. The Dutch were still obstinate and extravagant in their demands. But the policy of Louis was suddenly changed by the death of the King of Spain, by the new prospects which were thus opened to him, and by his hopes to secure the assistance of the Dutch in seizing Flanders. In the autumn of 1665, France was obviously ready to sacrifice the friendship of England for this new alliance. Never was the prospect more threatening. The burden of the war had been terribly severe. To that burden was added the grievous scourge of the plague now raging in London, with such intensity that it claimed 10,000 victims in one week. When in October, 1665, Clarendon laid before Parliament a narrative of the war, and asked for new supplies, the outlook for England was dark indeed. The appeal was met generously, and a new grant of £1,250,000 was voted. But the King's Ministers had to face the probability of an almost solid alliance against them. The resources of the Bishop of Munster were exhausted, and in no case could he maintain himself in the field when greater Powers intervened. Sweden and Denmark were at best but doubtful friends. France saw her opportunity. She urged that the King of England should formulate his demands against the Dutch, and so permit France to mediate and thus stop a war which was interfering with the trade of Europe, and in which the excesses of the privateers had inflicted heavy damages upon French merchantmen. The intervention of France assumed a more and more threatening aspect. At length, Clarendon had to make a firm stand against the attitude assumed. The words he uses are grave and dignified.

"The counsellors of the King told the French Ambassadors that their master had very well considered the disadvantage he must undergo by the access of so powerful a friend, and of whose friendship he thought himself possessed, to the part of his enemies who were too insolent already; to prevent it, he would do anything that would consist with the dignity of a King; but that he must be laughed at and despised by all the world, if he should consent to make him arbitrator of the differences, who had already declared himself to be a party; that such menaces would make no impression in the last article of danger that could befall the King." [Footnote: Life, ii. 437.]

The conference broke off with no doubt in the mind of Clarendon that France was resolved on war. When the Council was called to consider the situation "there was," he says, "no one present who had not a deep apprehension of the extreme damage and danger that must fall upon the King's affairs, if at this juncture France should declare war against England." But however much he withstood the outbreak of the war, it was not consistent with Clarendon's mood to yield in presence of danger.

Meanwhile no further successes had attended the prosecution of the war. By means of Henry Coventry and Talbot, efforts were still made to bind Sweden and Denmark closer to England, and in July, a scheme had been arranged by which the Dutch fleet of East Indian merchantmen, while in the harbour of Bergen, should be handed over to Lord Sandwich, who had now succeeded the Duke of York as Commander of the English fleet. The plan was not one that reflected much credit on any of those engaged in it; and it was not crowned by the atoning quality of even partial success. The Dutch showed fight, the citizens of Bergen resented the attack by the English fleet, contradictory or dilatory orders produced doubt and confusion, and the damage and loss were distributed equally amongst the attackers and the attacked. De Ruyter drew off with his convoy, and Sandwich returned from a bootless errand. France managed to detach Denmark from England, and to bring about a treaty with the Dutch which bound Denmark to assist Holland against England. Sweden remained at best a half-hearted friend.

Sandwich was injured at once by his failure at Bergen and by a peculiarly ill-conducted case of mal-appropriation of prizes, of which he was guilty. [Footnote: Sandwich had never been a close adherent of Clarendon. But Clarendon is generous enough, in this crisis of his fortunes, to defend him against his enemies, and to acquit him of all but a somewhat awkward exercise of a right of perquisites. In Clarendon's eyes, he had the saving merit of being attacked by Coventry. See post, p. 235.] He was sent as ambassador to Spain, and Prince Rupert and the Duke of Albemarle were appointed to joint command of the fleet. The "affection and unquestionable courage of Prince Rupert were not doubted"—so Clarendon said when arranging the matter with Albemarle—"but the King was not sure that the quickness of his spirit, and the strength of his passion, might not sometimes stand in need of a friend, who should be in equal authority with him." [Footnote: Life, ii. 485. In these words, Clarendon no doubt expressed some lively memories of the days of the Civil War.] The combination did not answer well. By a fatal error—not improbably induced by Rupert's desire for independent action—the fleet was broken up, and the Prince sailed, on the credit of a false report, to meet a French fleet under Admiral Beaufort. While he was thus detached, Albemarle was attacked by the Dutch fleet, and escaped only with heavy loss. A month or two later a portion of the English fleet attacked Schelling—a sea-port on the Zuyder Zee—and burned a fleet of merchantmen and the town itself.

"The conflagration, with that of the ships, appearing at the break of day so near Amsterdam, put that place into that consternation that they thought the day of judgment was come, and thinking of their ships there as being out of the power and reach of any enemy; and no doubt it was the greatest loss that State sustained in the whole war." [Footnote: Life, iii. 80.]