Opening of the Campaign in Germany under Prince Ferdinand
of Brunswick--Reports of the Battle of Minden--Lord Granby
and Lord George Sackville--Reflections on the latter--His
Lordship’s conduct at the Battle of Minden--He returns to
England--Correspondence of French Generals--King of Prussia’s
Campaign--His Army defeated at Cunnersdorf--He saves Berlin and
retrieves his Affairs--Spain and Naples--Charles III. of Spain
sets aside his eldest son in the succession, in consequence
of weakness of intellect--Admiral Boscawen defeats the French
Fleet--Conquests in America--Lord George Sackville--Death of the
Bishop of Worcester.
Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick had opened the campaign with less
success than reputation, having been obliged to retreat after
attempting to dislodge the French from Bergen. It was this and some
parallel occasions in which the French stood their ground, that
intituled Prince Ferdinand most deservedly to the character of a
consummate General. Retreats before a victorious Army, and prosperous
campaigns against a superior Army, these were his titles--the
incapacity of the hostile Generals, and the shameful behaviour of
their troops, rendered his subsequent achievements less brilliant,
without proving that he would not have succeeded against abler
antagonists. It is a little more problematic whether he could not
have served us better, had he had no interests to serve but ours. As
we were strictly connected with the King of Prussia, co-operating
with him was serving the common cause. The question is, whether
Prince Ferdinand never lost sight of the interests of Great Britain,
when a motion, a diversion that might shield that Monarch, clashed
with an obvious plan of activity for driving the French out of the
territories that more immediately affected our cause.
The advantage of employing so able a German General balanced some
signal inconveniences attending that nomination. The sums which were
never refused to him, and for which, not being a Briton, he could not
be called to account, will perhaps outweigh the glory he procured to
our arms, the benefits that resulted from his success, or the share
which he made us take in saving the King of Prussia from destruction.
Should the last-named Prince prove oftener our enemy than our Ally,
we must comfort ourselves with having guarded the Protestant religion
in Germany--for the Protestantism of its chief, it was too ridiculous
to be made, as it was, even a serious object by the mob! Atheistic
odes were the psalms which that Protestant confessor sung by the
waters of Babylon!
After the check at Bergen, Prince Ferdinand, though retreating,
disputed his ground by garrisoning the chief towns on his march. Yet
they were all taken by the French, particularly Munster and Minden.
Hanover seemed again on the point of becoming their prey. Nothing was
left, but to hazard a battle; on which the Prince determined, and the
news of which arrived here, when such an event was least expected,
except by the King, who, on receiving General Yorke’s[52] courier,
owned that he had had Prince Ferdinand’s plan in his pocket for ten
days, without communicating it to a single person. This testimony
was given immediately, before the slightest particulars were known,
except that the general result of the action was complete success.
Yet, however the event was coincident with the design, however
determined the Prince was to provoke an engagement, it is rather
clear that he was surprised, though not by his own fault, as came out
afterwards.
Colonel Ligonier[53] followed General Yorke’s courier, but had been
dispatched so early from the field of battle, that he scarce knew
any of the circumstances, except the great loss on the French side,
the large number of prisoners, with the capture of their cannon and
baggage.
Three days afterwards arrived Colonel Fitzroy,[54] Aide-de-camp to
Prince Ferdinand, with confirmation of the victory; not so ample as
in the first intelligence, but decisive, and attended immediately by
essential advantages. Contades had passed the river in the night,
ordering the bridges to be destroyed. Minden, with its garrison,
surrendered the next day. The loss on our side had not been
inconsiderable, and had fallen chiefly on the English, who had also
the greatest share in the honour of the day. The Generals Kingsley
and Waldegrave had particularly distinguished themselves.
With Fitzroy came over the Duke of Richmond; and they, particularly
the latter, disclosed a passage, which soon threw the nation into a
flame. Lord George Sackville,[55] by his weight with Mr. Pitt,[56]
and in Parliament, had insisted on going to Germany, and had gone
without the King’s approbation, and even without waiting on his
Majesty. Lord Granby was next to Lord George in command, and so
popular, that when he set out for the Army, fifty-two young officers
had solicited to be his Aides-de-camp. Between these two Lords a
coolness soon ensued, and divided the Army, if it can be called
_division_, where almost every heart sided with Lord Granby. He
was open, honest, affable, and of such unbounded good-nature and
generosity, that it was impossible to say which principle actuated
him in the distribution of the prodigious sums that he spent and
flung away.
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.
The King, to vindicate his own measure, and indeed from the necessity
of making a decisive effort, hastened with ten thousand men to the
shattered remains of Wedel’s army; while Marshal Daun, who knew that
the Russians wanted nothing but a body of cavalry, despatched twelve
thousand horse to them under General Laudohn, who was accompanied,
too, by eight thousand foot. This supply made the Russian force
amount to above fourscore thousand men, already blooded with victory
and barbarity. The King, with all the recruits he could collect,
had not assembled above fifty thousand men--enough to sacrifice
to despair! It was near the village of Cunnersdorf that he once
more tried what the most intrepid rashness could perform. Even the
advantage of situation was against him; yet nothing stopped his
impetuosity. His Generals had no option: his troops were animated
by revenge, by the dangers that threatened their country, and by
the example of their King, who was so far entitled to lavish the
blood of his soldiers, as he was prodigal of his own. Such motives
and such fury bore down all before them. The Russian entrenchments
were forced; seventy pieces of their cannon were taken; posts after
posts were carried, and prodigious slaughter made of their bravest
battalions. The King, confident of success, and impatient to notify
it, despatched a courier to the Queen with these words: “Madam, we
have beaten the Russians from their entrenchments; in two hours
expect to hear of a glorious victory.” Unless he concluded that the
expeditious divulging of his success could check the progress of his
other enemies, or encourage his people to withstand the tempest that
was ready to break upon them, this anticipation of his good fortune
was childish, and more like the juvenile ardour of an unpractised
hero, than of a man accustomed both to victory and reverses, and who
was now fighting for dearer objects than glory.
The promised two hours never arrived. Soltikoff, the Russian General,
collected the remains of his right wing, and, with supplies drawn
from his centre, reinforced his left, which he observed to be the
most entire, and posted it on a rising ground to advantage. The King,
flushed with success, and now engaged in honour to make it complete,
resolved to drive the Russians from that last post too. The fatigue
of his troops, the representations of his Generals, the advantages
already gained, nothing could dissuade him from pushing his fortune
to the utmost. The command for attack was given, and was obeyed with
alacrity by the Prussians, though almost spent by the heat of the
day, and the efforts they had exerted. At that moment the Austrian
cavalry, so judiciously furnished by Daun, and as ably put in motion
by Laudohn, rushed upon the enfeebled victors, broke their ranks,
drove them back in disorder, and ravished from them in few moments
the fruit of their glorious ardour and intrepidity.
A total defeat of the Prussians ensued, notwithstanding the undaunted
valour of their monarch, who could not recover by despair what he had
let slip out of his hands by presumption. Yet, to that intemperance
in action succeeded the coolest prudence and judgment. He had acted
as in despair at the head of fifty thousand men; he took measures for
re-establishing his Army, when he knew not whether he had an Army
left. All his Generals were killed or wounded, all his cannon taken,
the flower of his troops slaughtered or dispersed: yet, in those
circumstances he made so able a retreat, so assiduously reassembled
the remains of his Army, and chose his ground in so masterly a
manner, that the Russians not only did not venture to make any
attempt on Berlin, but drew no advantages from so complete a victory.
Even Marshal Daun, who had selected the very moment for deciding
the King’s ruin, improved the conjuncture with far less capacity
than the vanquished Prince, who seemed to have no resource left. The
Marshal, instead of being born, as men conjectured, to weary out the
fertility of that monarch’s genius, seemed at last but the proper
touchstone for proving the extent of his abilities. In a second note
to his Queen, his Majesty ordered her to remove from Berlin with
the Royal Family; the archives to be transported to Potsdam. The
capital, he added, might make conditions with the enemy. This was
the first thought--yet he not only saved Berlin; but though Marshal
Daun joined Soltikoff, and though the King received two more defeats
during the course of the campaign, yet by the dexterous manœuvres of
his brother, Prince Henry, whose military talents the King professed
to prefer to his own, and who drew the Marshal towards Saxony by
a daring and celebrated march, by the retreat of the Russians, to
which the King forced them, and by the too deliberate councils of the
Austrian chief, who continued to act in a defensive style even after
he had reduced the King to the last gasp, that Prince was still saved
to baffle the reasonings of the speculative, and to terminate his
glorious career in a manner worthy of its progress.
While the war seemed drawing towards a conclusion in the North, it
looked as if fate was opening a new source of calamities to mankind.
Ferdinand King of Spain died; a Prince of no abilities, and lately of
disordered intellects. His want of issue had formerly been imputed
to drugs administered to him by the practices of his mother-in-law,
Elizabeth Farnese, the politic Queen-dowager. Men of a suspicious
cast might attribute his frenzy to the same cause; but a more
pregnant reason might be assigned. His father, who certainly was far
from being afflicted with any bodily debility, had been equally
disturbed in his understanding. Ferdinand’s Queen,[62] who had great
ascendant over him, had kept his madness within bounds. On her death
nobody had any influence with him. His disorder, thus left to itself,
increased, and put an end to his life about a year after the decease
of his Queen.
The Queen-dowager, though not absolute directress of affairs during
the life of her son-in-law, had yet, from her intrigues, bribes,
and dependents, and still more from the visible and approaching
prospect of her own son’s succession, acquired much authority,
though not enough to throw the kingdom, as she wished, into direct
connexion with France. The probability of the weight she would
have with her son Don Carlos; the power his own Queen, who was a
daughter of Saxony, was known to have with him; and the subjection in
which we had held him while only King of Naples--all these motives
concurred to lead him into French measures. Naples, by the peace of
Aix-la-Chapelle, had been destined to his brother the Duke of Parma.
Don Carlos, indeed, had never given his consent to that disposition:
he was less inclined to conform to it when the forces of Spain
enabled him to dispute it. Accordingly, on obtaining the Spanish
Crown, he destined that of Naples to one of his younger sons.
The eldest, called Duke of Calabria, and heir-apparent of Spain,
inherited the weakness of mind of his grandfather and uncle. Him,
therefore, it was determined totally to set aside. Solemnity was used
in proceeding to that rejection. The young Prince, then thirteen,
was formally examined by physicians. One[63] of them was so honest
as to refuse to sign his persuasion of the Prince’s incapacity,
though at length he too yielded. The case was novel and striking.
Just, undoubtedly, to the people who were to be governed: but many
favourers of hereditary right--that is, men who think that no want
of talents or virtues ought to exclude a Prince from exercising
that office which requires the noblest share of both, and hold that
mankind, like land, ought to be the property of birth--will not be
pleased with the reasons which the Neapolitan physicians were of
opinion disqualified the Prince for the throne of Spain.
“He was short, his joints were contracted, he stooped, looked down,
squinted, was sometimes indifferent to things convenient for him,
at others too warm and impetuous. His passions not restrained by
reason; he had an obstinate aversion to sweetmeats; was disturbed by
all sorts of noise; pain or pleasure made no lasting impressions
on him; he was utterly unacquainted with good-breeding; had not the
least idea of the mysteries of their holy religion; loved childish
amusements, the most boisterous the best; and was continually
shifting from one thing to another.”
If these defects were disqualifications, hard would be the fate of
most sovereigns! how seldom would an eldest son succeed his father!
Would not one think that the faculty of physic at Naples had rather
been describing a Monarch than dispossessing him? One thing is
evident--it must have been a King who selected _such_ criterions for
judging whether his son was capable of governing a great nation. “Ask
him,” we must suppose, said his Neapolitan Majesty, “whether he loves
sweetmeats! if he does not, he is unworthy of filling the Throne of
his ancestors.” The Prince’s ignorance of good-breeding and of his
religion seems rather imputable to his parents and preceptors than
to him. If it were the mysteries of the Roman Catholic faith which
he was incapable of comprehending, I should suspect the Prince was a
sensible lad. Perhaps the honest physician thought as I do--at least,
I do not doubt but, if permitted, he would have asked the Prince
other questions.
Voltaire, who, I do not know why, thinks Princes are always to be
mentioned with strict decorum, could hardly persuade any man to
refrain from laughing at this absurd catalogue of royal deficiencies.
The Prince really was an idiot; nor was it likely that a father would
wish to disinherit his own child, especially who was not old enough
to have given him jealousy, unless the incapacity had been glaring
and hopeless--but one would think the whole Cabinet of Naples had
been idiots likewise, when they could find no better colours to
dress up a notorious fact. Indeed, the Spanish as well as Portuguese
statesmen have been wofully defective in composition in this age, as
often as they have attempted to lay the grounds of their proceedings
before the rest of Europe. The most barbarous periods of monkish
ignorance and despotism produced nothing more despicable than several
manifestos of those Crowns.
The Prince was set aside in consequence of the decision of the
physicians.[64] The second son was carried to Spain and declared
Prince of Asturias. To the third was actually resigned the Crown
of Naples, though too young to have it known whether he was more
fit to reign than his eldest brother--but a baby is never thought
disqualified. The tranquillity, however, of that child’s reign
depended so much on preserving the friendship of England, that the
new King of Spain was not impatient to hurry into French councils.
His wife too had prepossessed him with apprehensions of being
governed by his mother. The Crown of Naples, which he had owed
entirely to her intrigues, could not induce him to put that of Spain
under her direction. She could not even obtain to see him alone--a
mortifying return from a darling son, who had been absent from her
thirty years! But if the new Queen in that instance showed her
influence, she lost it in every other. The King was extremely weak,
but unmeasurably obstinate. The Crown of Spain, or probably some
Spanish Minister, infused into him higher thoughts of himself. He
grew jealous of his wife’s ascendant, sent away a Neapolitan Duchess
who governed her, and took a resolution of deciding everything by his
own judgment. He could not have chosen a worse counsellor.[66] The
disgraces that soon attended his measures made the true Spaniards
wish that the Neapolitan doctors had been consulted on more cases
than one.
The death of King Ferdinand was followed (September 4) by that of the
Lady Elizabeth of England, second daughter of Frederic, Prince of
Wales, in her eighteenth year. She had the quickest parts of any of
his children, but was extremely deformed and homely. She died at Kew,
of an inflammation in her bowels, having been ill but two days.
The beginning of the same month was distinguished by a torrent of
prosperous news. The French fleet had sailed from Toulon. Admiral
Boscawen[67] was refitting his squadron at Gibraltar, an inaction
of which they hoped to profit, but the alertness of our commander
demolished their hopes. On notice of their approach, he sailed out,
and came up with the French off Cape Lagos, in Portugal. They made
a running fight, but could not escape the vigilance and bravery of
Boscawen. Two of their largest ships were taken; two others forced on
shore and burnt; in one of which was the Commander, who was wounded
in both legs, and expired soon after. The action passed on the 18th
of August.
At the same time we learnt the conquest of Niagara by Sir William
Johnson, the provincial hero. The account was carried to General
Amherst on the very day on which he took possession of Ticonderoga
and Crown Point, abandoned by the French. It had been the plan to
attack all the strong posts of the French at once. Amherst[68] had
the command in chief; and, by the river St. Lawrence, was to fall on
Quebec on one side, while the expedition under Wolfe and Saunders
was to undertake the siege on the other. The conduct of that against
Niagara was committed to General Prideaux, who was killed in the
trenches by the bursting of a cohorn. Sir William Johnson, on whom
the command devolved, took the place, after beating an army of French
and Indians sent to relieve it.
Amid such a tide of success Lord George Sackville arrived in
London. He immediately wrote to Lord Holderness to demand a
Court-Martial. The demand was evaded for the present. He was told,
the officers necessary were employed abroad. Lord Ligonier, the
Commander-in-Chief, and Lord Barrington, Secretary at War, were more
explicit, and informed him, that if he desired a Court-Martial, he
must seek it in Germany. This was followed by a message, delivered by
the latter, acquainting Lord George, that not only the command of his
regiment would be taken from him, but that he would be dismissed from
his rank of General, and from his post of Lieutenant-General of the
Ordnance; and Lord Barrington asked civilly if his Lordship chose to
receive that notification then from his mouth, or in writing! Lord
George preferred the latter. “That,” replied Lord Barrington, “will
be easy; for I know but one precedent, that of the late Lord Cobham.
I will send your Lordship the same.” Lord George smiled, and replied,
“I hope your Lordship will send me a copy of Lord Cobham’s answer,
too.”
This behaviour of the Court was not very intelligible, many even
thought it had been concerted, as the gentlest way of letting Lord
George escape. Certain it is, that their avoiding to call him to a
trial made him presume on his cause, and resolve to try to correct
the severity of his fortune. On the other hand, the punishment
seemed too rigid to a man untried, uncondemned, who asked a trial,
and against whom no complaint was preferred in form. He had even, a
fortnight after his disgrace, written to Prince Ferdinand to know
his charge. The latter protested he had no complaint against him,
nor had written a word in his disfavour, _till_ on hearing the
discourses in the camp. Tenderness to so old a servant as the Duke of
Dorset, perhaps, made the King willing to avoid the last severity,
which, should Lord George be condemned, would be difficult to avoid.
The officers of the Fleet, who had seen an example made in their
profession, would exclaim against partiality to a land officer, the
greatness of whose birth would be the obvious cause of such lenity.
Mr. Pitt, too, was of no sanguinary complexion, though a rigid
exactor of obedience. From the first moment of Lord George’s
disgrace, Mr. Pitt warmly adopted the sentiments of Prince Ferdinand,
whom he was determined heartily to support. Though he went to visit
Lord George in form, he by no means meant to protect him. He would
not, he said, condemn any man unheard. But he was sworn to the German
cause, and to the heroes whose success reflected such lustre on his
own Administration, and concurred so much to give it stability. When
Fitzroy returned to the Army, Mr. Pitt charged him with the strongest
assurances to Prince Ferdinand (as Fitzroy told Mr. Conway): “Tell
him,” said Mr. Pitt, “he shall have what reinforcements, what
ammunition, he pleases--tell him I will stand or fall with him.”
Hearing, too, that Lord Mansfield connected with Lord George, and the
Law intended to support him, “The Law,” said Pitt, “have nothing to
do with that question.” Lord Granby succeeded Lord George Sackville
in the Ordnance, and General Waldegrave in the regiment. Lord George
published a short address, intreating the nation to suspend their
opinion till he could have an opportunity of clearing himself.
In this month of September died Dr. Madox, Bishop of Worcester, a
man who, from very low beginnings, and with no visible address, had
raised himself to great height in the Church; and which at that
time was singular, he never pushed his fortune through the Duke of
Newcastle. He had higher merit--assiduously promoting regulations to
prevent the destructive vices of the common people. He was succeeded
by Johnson of Gloucester, who has been much mentioned in these
Memoirs on a particular occasion.[69]
FOOTNOTES:
[52] Joseph Yorke, third son of Philip first Earl of Hardwicke, and
Minister in Holland; afterwards, in 1788, created Lord Dover.
[53] Nephew of Marshal Lord Ligonier, whom he succeeded in the title.
[54] Charles, only brother of Augustus Henry, Duke of Grafton;
afterwards created Baron of Southampton.
[55] Third son of Lionel Sackville, first Duke of Dorset.
[56] He had, however, already offended Mr. Pitt. The latter had
offered to him the command of the expedition to St. Cas. Lord George
replied, “_he was tired of buccaneering_.” It was to avoid that
service that he had insisted on going to Germany--but Pitt did not
forget the sarcasm on his expeditions.
[57] From this passage, as well as others, it is clear that our
author revised his work many years after he wrote it. To this
chapter, in a copy fairly transcribed, he has subjoined Oct. 28th,
1763; but in the same copy the concluding sentence of the paragraph
in text does not occur.
[58] Some went so far as to suppose, that Lord George, concluding the
Prince would be beaten, had a mind to have the honour of saving the
Cavalry--but I know nothing to confirm that opinion.
[59] Charles Spencer, second Duke of Marlborough. He died between the
expedition to St. Cas and the battle of Minden.
[60] John, younger brother of James, Earl of Waldegrave (the author
of the Memoirs), whom he succeeded in the title in 1763, died Oct.
15, 1784.
[61] Lord Chesterfield wrote and published a letter to expose that
infamous conduct.
[62] Barbara, a Princess of Portugal.--E.
[63] His name was Serras. He urged, “That the Prince was not an
incurable changeling; and that age, strengthening his constitution,
might strengthen his intellects.”
[64] The rejected Prince lived several years after at Naples, but
never attained any degree of understanding. He was allowed to take
the air in his coach constantly and publicly, and every body could
perceive his insensibility. The next Prince, become Prince of
Asturias,[65] was violent and brutal. The third, King of Naples,
was not void of symptoms of the malady of his family, though it was
doubtful whether his intellects were weak or deranged. Like his
father, he was indefatigable in hunting, and passed many more hours
of every day with his dogs than with his Ministers--such a sinecure
is royalty! Had the eldest Prince been capable of passing his whole
time in hunting, he might have been King.
[65] And afterwards Charles IV. of Spain. He never renounced his
right to the kingdom of Naples; and though he acquiesced in his
brother’s possession of it, always disputed his title, which, as it
was in violation of the law of primogeniture, was never distinctly
admitted by any government of Spain till the revolution of 1820.--E.
[66] Our author treats Charles III. with undue severity. He was no
hero or statesman, but yet not devoid of good qualities. Probity,
justice, consistency, and humanity, were among his virtues. On his
accession to the Crown of Spain he submitted to great inconvenience,
from a principle of honesty--he deemed it wrong to divert any portion
of the treasure of Naples from the service of that kingdom; and he
adhered so religiously to his scruple, that he not only left the
public funds untouched, but divested himself of all private wealth,
even to pictures, gems, and rings, considering them as the property
of the people whose resources had enabled him to purchase them. He
engaged, indeed, in two wars--one manifestly unjust, and both perhaps
unnecessary; but he protected literature and the arts of peace.
Though a bigoted Catholic, he suppressed the Jesuits, abolished,
or at least discountenanced, torture, and mitigated religious
persecution by his neglect and dislike of the Inquisition. In short,
few absolute Kings, and none of his race and country, have been more
free from the reproach of extravagance, injustice, or inhumanity. His
reign was less oppressive and less inglorious than any under which
Spain languished during the long suspension or evasion of her ancient
free institutions.--E.
[67] Edward Boscawen was second son of Hugh, the first Viscount
Falmouth.
[68] Jeffery Amherst, afterwards Knight of the Bath, and made a Peer
and Commander-in-Chief in the next reign.
[69] The affair of Lord Ravensworth and Fawcet.